Dark Water: A Siren Novel

by Tricia Rayburn

  Miss Marciano’s family is hopeful that the truth will eventually come to light, even though they, too, cannot contribute much. “She was at work,” said Pamela Marciano, the victim’s mother. “She was home all day, she went to work—and got there safely, according to a text she sent shortly after—and she disappeared on her break. That’s all we know. But someone must’ve seen something. My Carla said Murph’s had been even busier than usual lately. When they’re ready, witnesses will come forward. They have to.”

  Understandably, the tragedy has rattled local residents and visitors alike. Said Margot Davenport, a swim instructor at the Winter Harbor Community Center, “Am I scared? No. I’m terrified. This summer was supposed to be our chance to start over. But how can we ever move forward if we’re constantly looking over our shoulders?”

  The article ended with the police department’s phone number, e-mail address, and Web site. I skimmed the other front-page headlines, then flipped through the rest of the paper. For better or worse, Carla remained the top news story, which meant hers was the only death to report.

  “These are the biggest lobster rolls I’ve ever seen,” Charlotte said.

  I pushed the paper aside as she walked toward the picnic table carrying two paper plates.

  “Probably because with fewer customers, they have crustaceans to spare.” I took one of the plates and watched her round the table and lower herself, slowly, to the bench on the other side. Rather than climb over the seat, she kept her legs outside and sat at an angle. “I don’t know why you didn’t let me get lunch.”

  “Because I knew you wanted to save me the ten-foot trip from the Seafood Shack.” She smiled, spread a paper napkin in her lap. “And that wasn’t necessary.”

  I sipped my water to keep from disagreeing. She still looked great in her long sundress, crocheted vest, and big sunglasses, but she was moving even slower than when she’d first arrived in Winter Harbor. Even now, after the twenty-foot-long round-trip, she breathed quickly. Her forehead was damp with perspiration. Her hands twitched as she raised the sandwich to her mouth.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  She chewed, swallowed. “I feel fine, Vanessa. I promise.”

  “Good. But that wasn’t my question.” I wondered that to myself, of course, but didn’t want to pry.

  “Oh.” She sounded simultaneously surprised and relieved. “Well, what is it?”

  I was glad the cloudless blue sky made sunglasses necessary, so she couldn’t see my eyes shift to the newspaper at the other end of the table. “Have you heard anything … strange lately?”

  She’d been about to take another bite but stopped. “What do you mean by strange?”

  “I mean, I don’t know … voices? Singing?”

  She lowered her sandwich and I knew she understood what I was asking. “Why? Have you?”

  “No … but I don’t really know how to listen.”

  She looked around to make sure we were far enough away from the few other people on the pier, then leaned toward me. “How are you feeling? Have you been having headaches again?”

  I hadn’t, but this was a good segue to another question I wanted to ask. There were so many at this point, I didn’t know how to raise them without overwhelming Charlotte—or me. Assuming she’d have been less surprised at my initial question if she had heard something recently, I decided to go with the second.

  “I’ve felt better,” I admitted. When her face instantly tightened, I added quickly, “My head’s fine. No pain at all. But the rest of my body’s another story.”

  Her lips pressed together, as the skin around them softened. “Go on.”

  Not wanting to alarm her, I took a big bite of my sandwich before continuing. If eating came before what I was about to say, then it couldn’t be that serious.

  “It’s been a little unpredictable lately,” I finally said. “One minute, I feel strong and energized, and the next, I feel like I’m about to pass out.” She didn’t need to know that I’d actually collapsed behind the lake house a few weeks earlier. “I had a decent handle on it over the school year and knew that I’d need refueling after a certain amount of time or a particularly stressful situation. I also knew how to refuel, either by drinking, bathing, or swimming in salt water. But something’s changed. What used to satisfy me now does or doesn’t. If it does, the effect fades faster. In general, I get tired and feel cravings much sooner. I know you said I’d need more as a Nenuphar, but sometimes it seems like nothing’s enough.”

  “You’re becoming stronger,” Charlotte said evenly. “Even when you’re weak, your body’s still learning, developing, growing. What you described is happening faster than it did for me and much faster than I’d hoped for you, but it’s not unexpected.”

  I couldn’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but any hint of surprise was gone from her face. Even her lips had relaxed, turning down at the corners.

  “Parker King.”

  The name was like a slap in the face. I sat back, reached for my water bottle.

  “What happened with him?” Charlotte asked.

  “Nothing.” The word shot from my mouth. “After Simon and I broke up, I told Parker we couldn’t be friends—or anything else. We didn’t say more than five words to each other before graduation.”

  “What did you say to each other then?”

  Defensiveness burned in my belly and I struggled to stifle the sensation. Charlotte sounded merely curious, not judgmental.

  “He came up after the ceremony to say hi—and good-bye.” I didn’t look at her as I picked at my sandwich. “And to tell me he was going to Princeton after all, the way his father wanted him to.”

  “How did you feel about that?”

  “Terrible. He didn’t want to go to Princeton. He wanted to get a boat—a small one, not the kind of yacht his family had—and sail up and down the coasts.” I frowned. “At one point, he wanted me to go with him.”

  We were quiet for a moment. The only sounds on the beach were the oldies music coming from the Seafood Shack and laughter from a group of guys playing Frisbee.

  “You cared for him.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “If that were true you wouldn’t be so emotional now.”

  “We were friends. Not for long, but still. I’d feel the same way about any girlfriend who told me she was doing something against her wishes, because her parents wanted her to.”

  “Even if that girlfriend had come between you and the one person you loved more than anyone else in the world?”

  I pushed my plate away, drained my water bottle. It wasn’t just what Charlotte said now that was upsetting. It was thinking back to graduation day, when Parker had given me a shy smile and hug—and I’d resisted holding on to him and refusing to let go. It was remembering the months before then, when we hadn’t talked at my insistence, but exchanged fleeting glances in the hallways at school. It was being reminded of the time we’d spent together last fall, and how my body had been drawn to his, and the way my heart had started to follow. If he ever crossed my mind now—and he did, despite my best efforts—it was only as a reminder that Simon deserved as much as I could possibly give him, and more.

  “I’m not trying to upset you, Vanessa,” Charlotte continued. “I know you love Simon more than anything or anyone. But if you can, think about how you feel when you’re with him and compare that to how you felt when you were with Parker. Physically, I mean. You don’t have to share your answer with me, of course, but is there a difference?”

  I didn’t have to think about this. I didn’t have to compare. I already had.

  There was a big difference. Being with Simon was amazing and exciting and all I wanted.

  Being with Parker had been amazing and exciting … and all I’d needed. We’d only kissed a few times, but those brief exchanges, which I hadn’t been able to stop, no matter how hard my head tried to intervene, had energized me and set my body on autopilot for days.

  “You know what
I’m going to say.”

  I looked up from my plate.

  “I’m still not listening to your thoughts,” Charlotte said, “which is a topic, by the way, that we’ll come back to. But you’re a smart girl. You might not have let yourself believe it … but you brought this up with me for confirmation only.”

  “But Paige feels fine,” I said, still wanting there to be some other explanation. “She told me she feels no differently here than she did back in Boston.”

  “Because, as I explained a while ago, the long-term efficacy of salt water fades with time. It’s still necessary, but it’s not enough to sustain you. Paige transformed months after you did, so her body’s still adjusting.” Charlotte looked away, toward the harbor. “Plus, it’s unlikely that you’ll respond the same way to various energy sources. After all, Paige isn’t a Nenuphar. You’ll always need more than she will.”

  Before I could respond, a Frisbee landed on the table between us.

  “Sorry!” A guy in board shorts and a sweatshirt jogged toward us. He appeared to be in his late twenties. “Slippery fingers!”

  “Watch,” Charlotte whispered. Or at least I think she did. The word came and went in an instant.

  “Hey.” He slowed to a walk, motioned to our food. “Hope I didn’t ruin your lunch.”

  “Not at all.” Charlotte picked up the Frisbee, removed her sunglasses, and smiled. “Nice day for a game.”

  “Yeah, my friends and I—”

  He stopped, his eyes frozen to Charlotte’s. Still holding the Frisbee in one hand, she pressed the other to his chest. A high-pitched note sounded; I tore my gaze away from them to look behind me, thinking the Seafood Shack must be experiencing technical difficulties with its outdoor speaker system, but the music played normally. The steady note grew softer when I turned away and louder as I turned back.

  Charlotte. Her lips weren’t moving … but somehow the noise was coming from her. It lasted five seconds, tops, growing in depth and volume and wavering at the end, but it was enough for her fingers to straighten, her skin to smooth, her white hair to darken to gray.

  And then it was over. She dropped her hand from his chest and gave him the Frisbee.

  “Thanks.” He blinked and took the plastic disc.

  Charlotte put her sunglasses back on and returned to her sandwich. The guy stood there another second or two before backing away. There was another note, this one so soft and short, I thought I might be hearing things, and then the guy shook his head, turned, and jogged toward his friends. He didn’t look back once as he returned to them, or after their game resumed.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  Charlotte, as though finally strong enough to feel her appetite, ate hungrily.

  “He didn’t even look at me,” I said. “It was like I wasn’t sitting right in front of him. That—and please don’t take this as anything other than an appreciative observation—hasn’t happened in a very long time.” I motioned to her arm. “And look at your skin! It’s so smooth, like you just finished a monthlong swim or something.” I glanced back. “He’s totally oblivious. It’s like nothing happened.”

  “To him, nothing did.” She polished off the sandwich.

  I thought of my reflection in the bathroom mirror at the lake house the other day. Is that why I’d looked so pretty? Because I’d screamed in the basement—or tried to, though the sound had come out very different—with my arms around that guy? And his response had energized me, shaving unnatural age from my physical appearance?

  “Does he know he came over here?” I asked, returning to the present.

  “Yes, but he’ll remember only taking the Frisbee from the table. He won’t remember our brief conversation.”

  “But how’s that possible? I mean, you actually touched him, and for several seconds.”

  Charlotte placed her hands on the table, stood slightly, and lifted one leg, then the other over the bench. Her body was still frail, but steady. Our knees grazed under the table as she leaned closer.

  “Vanessa, what you’ve been experiencing—the inconsistent energy levels, the sudden thirst, the debilitating fatigue—will continue. In fact, it will worsen. The only way to stave off the symptoms for longer periods of time is to invite the attention, both emotional and physical, of a member of the opposite sex—preferably someone who’s interested in another girl, and whose attention you have to work for. This was the case with Parker, yes?”

  “Yes, but I can’t—”

  “Do that to Simon again. I know. That’s why I demonstrated a shortcut.”

  “A shortcut … to what?”

  “Your target’s heart. Using physical contact and your inner voice. It will never provide the same long-term results as forging a more intimate relationship would, but it does a million times more than that bottle of salt water you just polished off. And if done correctly and often enough, it will get you from one day to the next without having to do anything more.”

  I tried to make sense of this explanation and what I’d just witnessed. “But isn’t that kind of hard? To go up to some random guy and do what you did—especially in public, with people around? Or do you wait for a beach to clear?”

  “It’s not easy,” Charlotte admitted. “None of it is. It’s up to you to decide which battle is worth risking the potential consequences.”

  “So that’s it? I start a relationship with some guy I care nothing about and lose Simon now and forever, or I hypnotize lots of guys for short periods of time and hope no one notices? Those are my only two choices?”

  Her head lowered. I hoped she was wracking her brain or listening to another older, more experienced siren, one who could offer a more appealing alternative—preferably one that didn’t involve any random guys.

  Whatever she was thinking was soon interrupted. A scream pierced the air, drowning out the oldies music and making both Charlotte and me jump. I swiveled on the bench and scanned the shore. There were only a dozen or so people on the pier besides us and the Frisbee crew, and even fewer on the beach. It didn’t take long to locate the noise’s source.

  It came from a couple near the bronze fisherman statue—the same one Paige said all tourists needed to preserve forever via digital and cell phone cameras. The girl, still yelling but not quite at the same pitch, shoved the guy. He reached for her, put his arms around her, pulled her toward him. She yelled again, squirming in his grasp.

  I was so busy trying to decipher the words in her rant, I didn’t notice what she was wearing right away. When I registered the khaki shorts, black T-shirt, and black apron, I leapt up from the bench and started running.

  “Vanessa!” Charlotte called after me.

  “Be right back!” I shouted back, yanking my phone from the pocket of my shorts. I opened it as I ran, keeping my thumb poised over the nine. The police department was so close to the pier, there was a good chance an officer could see the scuffle without getting up from his desk inside, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

  As it happened, I didn’t need to call 9-1-1. The dispute broke up as I neared, and the guy stormed off to a blue SUV with Vermont license plates. The girl strode toward the beach and dropped onto the sand, covering her face with one hand and her neck with the other.

  “Are you okay?”

  Natalie gasped and looked up. “Vanessa?”

  I dropped to my knees. “What happened? Who was that?”

  She looked past me to the other people scattered across the pier and beach. “Oh no,” she groaned, now using both hands to cover her face. “I’m so embarrassed!”

  “Don’t worry about—” I stopped when my eyes fell to the thin pink ring around her neck. Stretches were turning purple, already bruising.

  “That was me.” Natalie held up a broken silver chain. “My hands were shaking so hard, I couldn’t undo the clasp, so I grabbed it and pulled as hard as I could. If only I were Sandra Bullock and this was a movie and not my life, it totally would’ve worked—without anyone getting hurt.”<
br />
  My internal alarm quieter, I sat back on my heels. “That was your fiancé?”

  “Ex-fiancé.” She made a fist, pounded the sand once. “I’m such an idiot. Why am I such an idiot?”

  Remembering Charlotte, I turned and gave her a small wave to let her know everything was okay. Seeing other spectators, I waved to them, too.

  “It’s just—Will told me he wanted to talk. He said it was so important, we needed to meet in person. And then he drove seven hours to get here! Seven hours! Before today, the longest he’d ever driven to see me was forty minutes—and that was only because there was a blizzard and he didn’t want to be snowed in at home without his iPod, which he’d left at my house.” She aimed her fist at the sand again, but it lost momentum and landed with a soft plop. “Idiot me thought he wanted to get back together.”

  “You’re not an idiot,” I said, then paused. “But that’s not what he wanted?”

  “Not even close.” She brought her legs into her chest and rested her forehead on her knees. “He wanted the ring.”

  “Your engagement ring? Why?”

  “To give to his new girlfriend? To sell so he could buy something else for his new girlfriend? Who knows? Who cares?” She sighed. “I care. Because—”

  “Because you’re human,” I finished. “Anyone else in the same situation would react the same way.”

  She rolled her head to the left and looked at me sideways. “Really? Anyone else would scream and yell and put on a mortifying public display of epic proportions?”

  “You thought that was epic?” I asked lightly. “Please. This is a tourist town. This pier has seen way worse than that—especially when people who’ve spent too much time in the sun during the day decide to drink the night away.”

  One corner of her mouth lifted, then fell. “It was enough to make you come running.”

  I nodded. “Yes, well. After Carla and what happened at Betty’s the other day … I guess I’m on high alert. But that’s my issue, not yours.”