The Siren (13 page)

“Almost,” Warren said.
 

He walked to the closet and pulled out the huge black gun case he had brought on the trip. He placed it carefully on the bed and used a key to open the lock. I had never even seen what he carried in it. Nathan stepped over beside him as he opened the lid. Inside, a sniper rifle and two black, semiautomatic handguns were encased in dark gray foam.
 

Nathan surveyed the rifle while Warren strapped a double shoulder holster over his t-shirt and attached the straps to his belt.
 

“Is that a Remington MSR?” Nathan asked.

Warren nodded. “Yeah. It’s awesome. One of the best rifles I’ve ever owned.”

While Nathan drooled over the gun case, Warren loaded both Glocks and tucked them into the holster. It seemed excessive.
 

I crossed my arms and looked at him sideways. “Why do you carry two guns?”

They both looked over at me. Warren’s mouth was agape, and his eyes were genuinely puzzled. “Because I don’t have three hands,” he answered.

Nathan laughed.

Warren shrugged into a vintage blue plaid button up to conceal the holster, and he adjusted his belt. He smoothed the front of his shirt with his hands and looked over at me. “Now, I’m ready.”

Warren carried the rifle case to the door.
 

“You’re bringing that thing with us?” I asked.

He looked at me confused. “Of course I am.”
 

At first, Warren carrying guns perplexed me since he had the ability to inflict death with a single glance. It finally made sense the night he shot the serial killer in the woods. He shot Billy three times without killing him because he knew we needed more information. Guns, to Warren, were just a stopping force. Warren himself was the lethal weapon.
 

“We should find a range while we’re here,” Nathan said as we walked to the elevator. “I want to shoot that rifle.”

Warren pointed at me. “I agree we should find a range, because
she
needs to learn.”

Nathan nodded in agreement. “Especially if she’s going to dress like that.”

I punched him in the shoulder.

* * *

It was almost dark by the time we reached the west side of town. Warren had stopped protesting my coming along, but he made me ride in the back seat of the SUV. We rolled slowly down a street lined with older, one-story, vinyl-siding houses where half the owners did their best to keep up their homes, while the other half did not. Rusted chain-link fences divided most of the properties, and there was graffiti covering the broken sidewalks. An old Hispanic man appeared to be reading a Bible on the porch of one house, while a group of teenagers were drinking forties and passing around a joint on the porch next door.

Warren slowed down as he pointed to a house on the left side of the street. “This is it.”

At one time the house had been blue, but most of the paint had peeled away. It had a stone front porch lined with fractures and a swing that was only hanging from one side. Most of the windows were dark, except for the main one in the front that flickered with the light from a television screen.

“Is he home?” I asked.
 

Warren shook his head and looked up and down the street. “I don’t think so. Last night he was driving a maroon truck and he parked on the curb. It’s not here.”

Nathan looked over at him. “Can’t you use your laser vision and see if he’s inside?”

Warren scowled. “I don’t have laser vision, and that’s not even close to how it works.” He jerked his thumb toward me. “Besides, Sloan’s better at that anyway.”

Leaning forward, I cupped my hand around my ear. “What was that? What did you just say?”

He didn’t turn to look at me. “Oh, shut up.”

I chuckled.

Over the past month, Warren and I had been practicing my ability to summon people. The power was definitely getting stronger, but I still only had a certain amount of control over it. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. I sat back in my seat and closed my eyes. Even though it made me a little queasy, I pictured Larry Mendez’s terrifying face and his black soul hidden behind his thick glasses. “Where are you, Larry Mendez?” I asked out loud.
 

When I opened my eyes, Nathan was peering out of his side window. “I keep thinking someone is going to fall out of the sky when she does that.”
 

“Turn left,” I told Warren.

He looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Why?”

I shrugged. “It just feels like you should go left.”

“You’re the boss.” He obediently turned left onto Blaine Avenue.
 

Nathan turned around in his seat and looked at me. “Since when can you find people like that?”

“Warren’s been teaching me,” I told him.
 

Warren was better than any bloodhound when it came to tracking down human remains. In total, he had found six of Billy Stewart’s missing victims without any aid or equipment at all. Two of them had been dead and missing for well over a decade. His theory was I could apply his same techniques to my connection with the living. My powers were still faulty, but I was getting better.

After a few minutes, I closed my eyes. “Turn right.”

We rolled down another street that forked a few blocks ahead.
 

“Now where?” Warren asked.

“Right again.”

The street curved in a semicircle around a gas station at the end of the block, and it stopped at a three-way stop sign. “Go right,” I said.

Nathan clapped his hands. “Congratulations, we have almost completed a circle.”

“Look!” Warren pointed down the street.
 

A dark red pickup truck pulled out in front of us a few blocks up ahead.
 

Nathan straightened in his seat, then looked at me with wide eyes. “No shit.”

I clapped my hands together. “I did it!”

“Good job, babe.” Warren pulled over to the right curb and turned off the headlights.
 

We watched in silence as Larry Mendez got out of his truck and carried a brown paper bag to his front door. He was talking on a cell phone and didn’t notice the brand new, sparkling white SUV parked a block down the street.
 

I took a deep breath as I felt my chest begin to tighten with panic, but I didn’t dare complain and risk igniting a series of I-told-you-sos from my boyfriend.

“I’ll bet he’s got beer in that bag,” Nathan said. “He probably went to that gas station we passed to get booze for the night. I doubt he’s leaving again.”

Warren nodded. “You’re probably right. Let’s give him a minute, and if he doesn’t leave again, we’ll take off.”

After six boring minutes of zero activity at the Mendez home, I pulled out my cell phone and started playing Candy Crush. After successfully completing two levels, I decided to text Adrianne to see how she was feeling. She didn’t answer, so I sent a message to my mom.
 

Mom replied after a few seconds.
Not feeling so great. Gone to bed early. Hope you’re having fun in Texas. XOXO.

After that, I sent a group message to Warren and Nathan.
I’m bored.

Their cell phones beeped at the same time. They exchanged puzzled looks before checking their messages.

“Very funny, Sloan,” Nathan said, tucking his phone into his jacket.

Warren straightened in the driver’s seat and dropped his phone on the console. “Well, what do we have here?” He pointed out the windshield.
 

I looked up and followed the direction of his finger. A young girl, with long dark hair and light brown skin, was walking up the concrete steps to Larry’s front door. She couldn’t have been older than fifteen or sixteen. She used a key to open the front door and disappeared inside.

“Could it be his daughter?” I asked.

Nathan snatched up the papers off the dashboard where he had deposited them and flipped through the stapled pages. “It doesn’t say he has any kids.”

“Huh,” I said. “I don’t like it.”

Warren grunted. “I don’t like it either.”

We waited for another twenty minutes, but there was no other movement at the house. I was half-asleep with my head propped against the glass.

“Call it a night?” Warren asked, looking around the car.

I leaned in between the two front seats and looked at him. “Can’t you just go break down the door and drag him outside?”
 

Nathan answered first. “No, he can’t.”

“Well, technically I
could
,” Warren said.

Nathan shook his head. “We’ll keep an eye on him. If he’s the monster you two think he is, we’ll get to the bottom of it without getting ourselves killed or worse, arrested.”

Warren grinned. “I can’t believe you’re such a rule follower.”

Nathan rolled his eyes. “And I can’t believe you’re any kind of angel. Let’s go.”

10.

“Take the gun.”
 

Warren pushed the unloaded handgun against my chest as he glared down at me.
 

I scrunched up my nose and looked around the dusty wooden shelter on the pistol range. It was hot, but sweat wasn’t rolling down my spine just because of the Texas sunshine. The thought of firing the Glock that Warren kept thrusting in my direction had me sweating like a turkey on Thanksgiving.

“Sloan,” he said again, snapping his fingers in front of my face to get my attention. “If you don’t do this, I’m going to leave you at the hotel with Shannon for the rest of the time we are here.”

I pressed my lips together and took the gun, holding it with two fingers out in front of me like it was contaminated with some dreadful disease.
 

He frowned and brought my other hand up to support it. “Hold it correctly.” He tapped the side of the barrel with his finger. “See this lever? This is the safety. If you see red, the safety is off.” He flipped it and a red mark appeared. He looked at me seriously. “Red is dead. Say it.”

“Red is dead,” I echoed.

He put the safety back on before putting his hands on my shoulders and turning me around to face the gray and black silhouette target downrange. Stepping up close behind me, he extended his arms along mine and looked over my shoulder.

I took a deep breath and sighed. A wave of dizziness washed over me, partly because I was bordering on hysterics but mostly because of the effect he always had on me. I looked over at him. “For future reference, you’re not allowed to wear cologne when I’m handling firearms.”

“Pay attention.” He began repositioning my fingers around the gun. “Keep your finger off the trigger and along the side of the barrel till you’re ready to fire. Point it at the target or down, but never point it at another person unless you plan on killing them.” He moved my arms down, pointing the gun at the ground, and then up toward the target. “Don’t forget and start waving this thing around.”

I nodded. “OK. Don’t point it at you unless I’m ready to shoot you. I got it.”

Warren didn’t laugh.

“Now, pull it in, keeping the barrel pointed away, and remove the empty magazine,” he said.

Obediently, I pulled the gun close to my chest.

He moved my thumb over a small button on the side. “This is the button to release the magazine.”

I pressed it, and a metal piece slipped out of the bottom. Warren quickly moved and caught it. He shook his head.
 

I beamed at him. “I did it!”

He handed me the magazine. “Shove it back in there and try it again. This time,
you
catch it.”

I pushed the magazine up into the handle, but it slipped down again.

He shook his head. “Don’t baby it. That’s a good way to jam the gun. It won’t break. Really slam it in there.”

I slammed it hard the second time, nearly knocking the gun out of my other hand.
 

He smiled. “Better, but don’t have butterfingers either.” He nodded toward the gun. “Now, drop the magazine again.”

I hit the button again and dropped the magazine into my left hand.
 

“Good.” He took the magazine out of my hand and laid it on the table. “Now, pull the slide back to clear the chamber.”

I pulled on the slide at the top of the Glock, but it wasn’t as easy as Warren made it look.

He scowled. “Stop being a baby.”

“It’s hard!” I whined. “I have nerve damage in my fingers, remember?”

He ignored me. “Yank it back.”

I pulled as hard as I could, and it slid into a locked position. “Hey, I got it!”

“Good job.” He put his hands on top of mine again. “Now, push it forward to look down the barrel, and then pull it back to look down the barrel the other way. You’ve got to make sure it’s clear in both directions.” He did the motion again. “Push. Pull.”

I obeyed, and he nodded with satisfaction. He handed me a loose bullet. “Now, put this in the clip to load the gun.”

“So many steps,” I grumbled.

I put the gun down and picked up the magazine. I pressed the bullet into it. There was a little resistance, but I did it without invoking more scowls from my beautiful, frustrated teacher. He actually looked pleased. Then he handed me the heavy box of ammo. “Now, load it full.”

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

One by one I pushed the ammo into the magazine, but with every bullet the task became harder and harder. “Geez! How many times do I have to do this?”

“It holds fifteen rounds.” His smile was getting wider as I struggled.

I stopped counting somewhere around twelve, and as I neared the end, loading more bullets was next to impossible. The last bullet simply wouldn’t fit.

“Help me,” I whimpered.

He shook his head. “Nope. If you can’t load it, you can’t shoot it.”

I put my hand on my hip. “I don’t want to shoot it!”

He nodded and held out his hand for the gun. “OK. Let’s go to the hotel and I’ll book you and Shannon manicures at the spa.”

I huffed and turned away from him. “Damn you.”

He chuckled as I went back to trying to press the bullet into the magazine. After what seemed like an eternity, I got it to go in.