The Siren (3 page)

My mother put the roast on the table. “Come and sit down. You two can talk while we eat. I don’t want dinner to get cold.”

When our places were set and our plates were full, my father looked to me for an explanation. “Now, back to the headaches. What did you want to tell me?”

Warren reached over and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

My mother noticed his show of support, and she put her fork down. “Is everything OK?”

I nodded before drawing in a deep breath. I carefully looked at both my parents. “It’s not a tumor. It’s not weak blood vessels that are going to rupture. And it’s not an injury. You’re not going to find the answer in a book or on a CT scan or on an MRI image.”

My parents exchanged confused glances.
 

“Then what is it?” Dad asked.

“It’s something supernatural.”

2.

Certain memories will always be crystal clear in my mind. Watching the jets crash into the World Trade Center is one. Seeing Warren for the first time and wondering if he was actually dead is another. But even international terrorism and an animated corpse could never compare to seeing the look on my father’s face when I chose the word
supernatural
to explain my migraines. I was pretty certain I would’ve gotten the same reaction had I told him I could burp rainbows and spit out golden coins.

Beside me, Warren snickered.

“Supernatural?” my mother repeated, to be sure she had heard me correctly.

I looked to Warren for help, but he put his hands up in resignation and chuckled. “You’re on your own here.”
 

Dad leaned forward on his elbows and pushed his untouched dinner plate out of the way. “Please explain, dear.”

My palms were starting to sweat. “You guys love me, right?”

“Of course we do,” Mom said.

“And I’m not prone to lying or hallucinations or being dramatic, right?”

Dad shook his head. “No.”

I looked at both of them. “Do you remember why we left Florida when I was eight?”

Simultaneously, their expressions melted.

My eyebrows rose. “I think it’s time we talk about it.”

Mom’s mouth was smiling, but her eyes were not. “We moved because your father got a job here.”

I leveled my gaze at her. “We moved because I was attacked on the playground.” I rubbed the scar over my eyebrow. “We moved because people were figuring out I was different.”

Dad held up his hand. “Sloan, you were having problems at school, but let’s not dramatize it. We did believe a change of setting would be beneficial for you, but we didn’t move here just because the other kids were giving you a hard time.”

I cut my eyes toward him and held both hands up in question. “You never sent me back to that school, and we packed up and moved a week later.”

He shook his head. “It’s still not the whole reason we moved.” He folded his arms on top of the table. “Don’t you think we love you enough to at least talk to you about it if we were
that
worried?”

For that, I didn’t have an answer. “Didn’t you ever wonder what was wrong with me?”

His brow scrunched together, and his lips bent in a deep frown. “Sweetheart, there’s nothing wrong with you, but I do have some good friends at the hospital if you want to talk to—”

Cutting Dad off, I pointed at him and looked at Warren. “See? I told you he’d try to have me committed.”

Warren covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Dad was clearly not as amused as we were. “I’m not trying to have you committed.”

I smiled. “I know.” I leaned on my elbow. “Do you want to hear what I have to say or are we going to pretend that this, too, never happened?”

He looked like he wanted to argue or berate me for the snide remark, but he didn’t. He gave a slight nod instead. “Please continue. Tell me about your supernatural headaches.”

Here goes nothing…

I sucked in a deep breath. “I have some sort of sixth sense. I
know
people before I meet them. It’s kind of like when you see someone at the grocery store who looks familiar, but you can’t remember their name or how you met them. You know what I’m talking about?”

My mother nodded hesitantly.

“Well, I’m like that with everyone. I don’t meet strangers. It’s like I can already see a person for who they really are on the inside before I ever even speak to them.” I turned my palms up on the table. “I think I have the ability to see people’s souls.”

All the blood drained from my father’s handsome face, and I’m pretty sure Mom almost fainted.

I shifted uneasily on my chair. “Anyway, it’s how I found that little girl, Kayleigh Neeland, and it’s how I helped find that serial killer and those missing girls. I knew they were dead as soon as Detective McNamara showed me their pictures.”

Neither of them spoke.

“I know this sounds crazy, but the headaches aren’t explainable, except it has something to do with Warren and me being separated. Every time he’s left town, it has happened to both of us,” I said.

They turned their puzzled eyes on Warren who, in turn, scooted his chair back a few inches. He cautiously raised his hands in defense. “She’s right, but I’m not causing it.”

My mother rolled her eyes. “That’s preposterous.”
 

“It happens every single time, Mom. I swear.”

Her mouth was still gaping. “That’s highly coincidental then.”

“Mom, it’s not a coincidence,” I said. “Tell her, Warren.”

Warren shook his head. “I’m staying out of this.”

My dad looked like
he
was getting a migraine. “So, Warren, do you have this sixth sense as well?”

Warren hesitated. “Yes, sir.” I doubted he would be willing to elaborate on the differences between his gift and mine. I was right. Warren didn’t say another word.

My mother was staring at her plate like it might get up and walk right off the table. Dad took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his eyes shut. Warren, whose mouth was clamped closed so tight that his lips turned white, appeared to be counting the number of steps to the closest exit.

I put my hands in my lap. “I know this is a lot to take in. I just don’t want you worrying that I’m going to have an aneurysm and die or anything. It’s not normal, but I don’t think it’s life-threatening.” I looked at my father. “Dad, I’m not crazy.”

He slowly opened his eyes and focused on me. His expression was inscrutable, but he reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “I know.” He sat back in his seat and looked at my mother. “This is just a little hard to…” His voice faded as he searched for the right word.

“Believe,” I said, filling in the blank.

He shook his head adamantly. “No. It’s a lot to process, Sloan, but I’ll never doubt you.” He nodded toward Mom. “We’ve always known you were special.”

Mom’s shoulders seemed to relax a bit. She nodded in agreement but didn’t elaborate.

For several moments, the table was quiet. It wasn’t awkward or tense, but I was desperate to know what my parents were thinking about.
 

Finally, Mom’s gentle laugh broke the silence. “You terrified me as a child,” she said. “We would go to the grocery store or the mall, and you would take off and start talking to people.”

Dad chuckled. “I remember that. The stranger-danger talk with you was completely pointless.”

Mom put her hand on Dad’s arm. “Robert, do you remember Mean Santa?”

Laughing, Dad dropped his face into his hands. “How could I forget?”

I had no idea what they were talking about. “Mean Santa?”

Mom leaned forward. “You were maybe four or five, I guess, and we took you to the annual Christmas party with the hospital staff. Every year, they had a Santa there for the kids to have their picture taken with. Naturally, we waited in line with you so you could sit on Santa’s lap. When it was your turn, your dad lifted you up and put you on Santa’s knee.” She paused and covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. “You looked right at the man and said, ‘You’re not Santa.’ When he tried to argue, you fired right back, wagging a finger in his face and everything. You told him, ‘Santa is jolly and you are not jolly. You’re a mean Santa.’”

I laughed. “Really?”

Dad nodded. “You were right. I had to work with that Santa for a few years, and he’s one of the most hateful men I’ve ever met.”

I shook my head. “I don’t remember that at all.”

Mom’s laughter slowly subsided, and she reached across the table to take my hand. “Like your dad said, we’ve always known you were special, in the very best way.”

Tears prickled the corners of my eyes. “Thank you.”

Dad held up a finger. “And while we did not leave Florida just over the incident at your school, we did believe you’d be better off growing up in a smaller town.” His eyes softened. “We probably should have tried harder to talk to you about all this, but you must understand that we really didn’t know what we were dealing with. To us, you were simply very outgoing and intuitive. Your behavior was different but not alarming, so we agreed to not press the issue as long as you seemed healthy and happy. I hope we weren’t wrong in that decision.”

I shook my head. “Honestly, I’m kind of glad you didn’t make a bigger deal out of it. I already felt like enough of a freak.”

Warren’s arm slid across my shoulders. “I, for one, think she turned out just fine.”

We exchanged smiles and a quick kiss.

Mom’s eyes widened and she pointed at us. “This is why you had the blood test done! This is why you wondered if you were related.”

I nodded.

Dad’s eyes narrowed. “I know how you met, but how did you ever find each other?”

Warren leaned into me. “I saw her on the news when she saved that little girl. Like she said, we have a sense about people just by looking at them. I couldn’t read her at all.”

I looked at him. “And I thought Warren was a zombie when he first showed up in town.”

Mom shuddered.

I smiled. “It’s not as creepy as it sounds.”

“So, who else knows about this?” Dad asked.

I looked around the table. “Adrianne and Nathan.”

Mom’s head snapped back in surprise. “The detective knows?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I sort of let it slip when we first met.”

“That’s a hell of a slip, isn’t it?” Dad asked.

“A life-changing one,” I agreed.

Dad’s expression softened. “Maybe it was time.”

Warren squeezed my hand.
 

I smiled. “Maybe it was.”

* * *

“Well, that went better than I expected,” Warren said when we walked out of the house after dinner. As we walked to the driveway, he wrapped his arm around my waist, hooking his thumb into one of my belt loops. “Not nearly as bad as you have feared all these years, correct?”

I shook my head. “Not at all.”

He glanced toward the house. “They’re pretty great, you know?”

A warm tingle of gratitude rippled through me. “
Great
doesn’t do them justice.”

He looked down at me. “What exactly happened when you got that scar? It seems odd to me that other kids wouldn’t like you.”

I nodded. “I know. I’ve always thought it was weird, but there was this one kid, Ivan Moots, who always picked on me. I’ll never forget him. He’s the one who threw the rock and split my face open.”

“Why?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Don’t know, really. I kind of had a meltdown one day at school because of this horrible substitute teacher who was put in my classroom.” Looking up at him, I widened my eyes. “She was so scary my parents had to come and get me. The next day on the playground, Ivan was worse than ever, teasing me and calling me names. He and a couple of his friends started throwing rocks at me while I was on the swings.” I touched my brow. “He hit his target.”

“Seriously?” We reached the car, and he turned to face me. “That’s horrible.”

“Yep. Knocked me off backward.” My body shuddered. “It was awful.”

“Want me to hunt the bastard down?” He was grinning as he looked down at me.
 

I relaxed and smiled. “No, but thank you anyway.”

He pulled me close and pressed a kiss into my hair. “I say we go home, open a bottle of wine, and take a bubble bath.”

I rested my head against his chest. “That sounds like heaven.”

He held out his hand. “Give me the keys. I drive faster than you.”

Laughing, I kissed his perfect lips.

When he turned onto my street, a familiar tan SUV was parked in front of my house. Completely against my will, butterflies took flight in my stomach.
 

I looked at Warren. “Did you know he was coming?”

Warren laughed. “Do I ever?”

We parked in the driveway, and when we walked around front, Nathan McNamara was waiting on the sidewalk. He wore camouflage pants and a black fitted shirt. On his blond head was an olive green ball cap that had a space on the front for interchangeable embroidered patches to suit his mood. That day, the patch was a grayscale American flag signaling he was on duty.

“What are you doing here?” I asked as we approached.

He spread out his arms. “I haven’t seen you all week and that’s the kind of greeting I get?”

I nodded and walked past him up the stairs. “Yes, when you show up uninvited and unannounced.”

“Sloan, you know you’ve missed me.” He followed Warren and me up the stairs. “Warren, I’m a little surprised to see you back from Washington so soon. I figured they would have found you a nice warm bed in Area 51 by now.”

“Sorry. You’re not that lucky.” Warren handed me my keychain and added some dramatic flair while pulling out his own keys from his pocket. “I’ve got the door, babe.”

Nathan noticed. “Do you have a quota of times per day you need to remind me you live here now?”

I huffed. “Not this again. Don’t even start, Nathan.” Warren was smiling, and I pointed at him. “And you quit trying to stir up crap!”

Warren laughed and pushed the door open.
 

There was a fine line between admiration and loathing between Warren and Nathan. They secretly liked each other, but with me in the middle, they would never admit it. Warren and I were together, but there was a very gray area with Nathan McNamara. And everyone knew it.