Silent Siren (Climatic Climacteric Book 1)

  Silent Siren

  Climatic Climacteric, Book One

  L.B. Carter

  Copyright © 2018 L.B. Carter

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 97817323732201

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the express written permission of the author L.B. Carter, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by L.B. Carter

  Cover art by Tim Huyghe, Martin Sattler, and Fernando

  DEDICATION

  To all those who keep me afloat and wait out my silence

  Chapter One

  “Don’t fall in.”

  Though sarcastic, the unexpected voice behind her caused Rena to jump and spin. The creak of wood was ominously absent as one foot stepped backward onto… air. A second wave of adrenaline chased the first in a sickening moment of dread as she teetered on the edge of the pier. The startled gasp turned into a scream that lodged in her throat.

  She was going to fall in.

  The ocean was going to claim her this time.

  Suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed the front of her t-shirt, halting her fall. Her fingernails dug desperately into the tensed muscles of a forearm. Rena’s panicked gaze locked on that of a dark-haired boy to avoid looking down at the innocently undulating surface of her nemesis. The sound of the gentle lap of water against the pier struts and the old half-submerged pier below was enough to fuel her anxiety.

  Switching to the role of Hero, the boy tugged her back upright and pulled her a step further from the treacherous edge. Evidently a gentleman, her savior also took a step back so she still had space. With both feet firmly planted, Rena swallowed her fear and finally let out the breath she’d sucked in when he’d startled her. It was shaky and her eyes fluttered closed in relief.

  That had been far too close.

  The tension on her shirt disappeared, replaced by a warm palm smoothing it back down over her stomach. Rena’s breath hitched, her eyes shot open and she finally saw what she hadn’t noticed before: his irises were blue. A deep, rich blue.

  Ocean blue.

  “You okay? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” he misinterpreted her shudder, speaking gently, in a voice similar to the one her best friend Kayna reserved for her baby brothers—when she wasn’t sick of babysitting them.

  Surprisingly the deep timbre did calm her. It was certainly preferable washing over her than the saltwater would have been. Besides, it wasn’t his fault she had let herself be lured so close to the edge. The sea-breeze cooled her stomach as he moved his hand to catch a few strands of green that blew across her face. He rubbed her hair between his fingers, eying the color curiously.

  She was used to that.

  When she pulled back a bit, he tucked it behind her ear, lingering there. The ghost touch caused tingles to erupt all over. Her pulse shot up again.

  She wasn’t used to that.

  No one touched her, not since Grandpa first offered her a hug at the hospital and she’d had an embarrassing panic attack, rudely clawing her way out of his trapping embrace.

  Part of the PTSD, They said. She’d welcome touch again, They said. The nightmares would fade, They said. She’d speak again after a few months, They said.

  They.

  They in the white coats who called her Jane and questioned ceaselessly. Who shone lights in her eyes and poked her with needles. Who handed her small cups of unidentified pills. Supposed medical professionals, claiming to just want to improve her health. But it made her feel like a lab rat.

  They, who seemed to know more about her than she knew herself. She didn’t even remember the accident. They told her about that too.

  She’d been found on the muddy shore of the inlet, They said. The car had gone over the bridge the night before, They said. Her parents had died on impact, They said. The water that flooded her mind at night was a part of a memory, They said. She’d remember all of it someday, They said.

  But They didn’t know how the memories always ended. Nightmares, Rena corrected herself, unconvincingly. Not memories.

  “Hey. It’s okay. I wouldn’t have let you drown,” the boy promised, again misreading her discomfort, as if drowning were her fear.

  She shut her eyes as guilt churned her stomach, simultaneously urging her to take a step backward into the water and to run far away.

  “It’s okay,” he repeated softly. His voice sounded closer and she opened her lids to find his blue eyes filling her vision as he looked back and forth between hers, concerned.

  It was too familiar. Her imagination unwittingly pulled up the nightmare.

  Instead of the boy’s strong jaw, clean-shaven cheeks and mess of brown hair, she was staring at identically-colored eyes wide with terror and set in an older face, weathered and wrinkled like leather. A full dark beard framed the mouth that opened and closed in a fruitless search for oxygen...

  Fingers letting go of the locket, her nails scraped uselessly at the skin on her wrist to snap the elastic band she usually kept there, which was missing, but the pinch did its job dislodging the vision. She shook her head to fully remove the image, like it was an Etch-A-Sketch, until the eyes were again framed by a face around her age. The motion grazed her cheek against the fingers he still had stretched out near her ear.

  And that was the final drop in the bucket.

  Rena ducked under his arm and sprinted off the creaking pier blindly, the slap of her sneakers on the wooden planks turning into the crunch of sand and finally the gentle rustle of forest debris as the path began to incline. Skidding behind a large pine, she pressed her back up against the rough bark, breathing hard, then smacked her head against its trunk.

  Nonetheless, as though she’d pressed play on a paused film, the rest of the nightmare unfurled regardless of how tight she scrunched her face. Her nails now dug into wood, though she didn’t feel the rough texture…

  Instead, she felt the sandpaper scratch of a man’s beard against her palm as she gazed into blue eyes, the pupils so wide they almost concealed the irises. Her other hand gripped the chain of his necklace just above the collar of his button-up shirt. Its hem teased her bare legs, which were wound tightly around his waist, anchoring him to her while his hands, gripping her shoulders, tried to pry her off of him. She watched wistfully as a few last anemic bubbles slipped from his mouth and surged upward like his soul searching for the surface. She had long quelled that desire.

  Then he involuntarily inhaled.

  Drowning was never quick. Raw terror, hysteria, and lastly surrender flashed through his eyes replacing the pleading, though they didn’t once veer from hers. Their focus withered and became vacant, the blue alluring depth shallowing into puddles. His arms went limp, letting go to drift around their interlocked bodies like seaweed. His jaw went slack, mouth agape, like a fish washed ashore...

  No.

  Another head-butt against the tree caused pieces of bark to rain past her face, joining the cascade of tears trickling down her cheeks. She gulped back bile and shoved it all away. Her mind tried to press a solid lid of denial on her mental box, leaking guilt and disgust, inside of which was nestled the thought that her father died in her embrace.

  No.

  She hadn’t killed him. He’d died on impact with the guardrail, They said, before the car had even gone over into
the water. Even if the vision was real, it would have been self-preservation to cling to her parent in a moment of panic. That’s what Dr. Spelmann would assure her if she had ever told him the truth during their sessions.

  God, she was messed up.

  And she’d been so close to going in again, thanks to that guy’s sudden and unwelcome appearance. Her stomach gave another tumble. It was as though the water lusted after her, like she hadn’t meant to escape the accident, or maybe it was just her subconscious suggesting a suitable punishment, a way to end the niggling feeling that the nightmares were real—she was a murderer.

  Only a few more months, then Rena could move inland, away from her trigger. That was the only thing that kept her crawling into bed at night knowing what was awaiting her in sleep. She needed to stay away from the temptation of the shore for just for a few more months.

  Angry with herself for succumbing to its lure again, she palmed the tears off her cheeks with renewed vigor and shoved away from the tree—

  —smacking face-first into a very warm and very solid someone.

  Shrimp! Grandpa’s favorite cuss-replacement was on the tip of her tongue. The clean, spicy deodorant that filled her now-aching nose was enough of a giveaway, but her suspicion was confirmed when she stumbled back and blinked at the white t-shirt. She looked up from chest to chin and higher, catching the blue gaze.

  “Are you okay?” Sound was muffled by the blood pounding in her ears, but she was able to read his lips as they moved.

  Was she okay? She was a danger! He should be thankful he was okay. What if they’d both tumbled in the water? Would he have become her second victim? His intentions seemed honorable, but she needed to get away from him and keep him away from her.

  Averting her gaze to avoid picturing his mouth opening and closing like that underwater, she noticed his nose was slightly small for his face and up-sloped—not one of those long noses people were always either pitying or sneering down at her with. Grandpa would frown on her next move even more than cursing, but she was sure it’d be effective.

  The boy probably could’ve blocked it. Certainly he was strong enough to stop her swing, but surprise was her advantage as Coach always reminded her.

  His head snapped back as her fist met with his perky, little nose.

  Then she pushed off the tree and darted around where he stood groaning, hands cupping his face, and sprinted away from him and away from the ocean, as if she could outrun her nightmares.

  ◆◆◆

  The old boards groaned ominously as she vaulted up the porch steps, finally skidding to a halt in front of the screen door. She bent over, hands braced on her knees, sucking air like she was starved for oxygen, like–

  She punched the door-frame, pain spearing through her still throbbing hand, no gloves to pad the impact. She swiveled and plopped her butt in the closest Adirondack chair homemade by Grandpa’s own dad. It felt very grounding beneath her as she rested her chest on her jeans-clad thighs. Her dangling fingertips just grazed the splintery surface of the porch and she flexed her right hand carefully. The skin pulled on her now bruised knuckles, which was at least distracting.

  It hadn’t been a fair fight. She wasn’t sure Coach would be too proud. But it had been her first real punch, first punch on a human rather than a sandbag. She allowed herself a small smirk. They had been the ones to suggest she find an outlet for her emotions. Pride added another layer pressing the box closed on the dark emotions. She’d nailed him perfectly; he wasn’t chasing her to play Hero now. She was no damsel worth saving, anyway.

  A barge sounded its horn in the distance as it came into port reminding her Grandpa would be coming home from work soon. She got up and slid through the creaky screen door, making a beeline down the short hallway to the cozy kitchen to grab some frozen peas from the freezer. She didn’t want bruised knuckles adding to Grandpa’s worries.

  She also pulled butcher-paper-wrapped fish from the fridge—undoubtedly a gift from their burly lobsterman neighbor who was a little too aptly named Gil. The heavy cast-iron skillet plunked on the stove.

  Leaving Grandpa to fend for himself when she went to college was hard, but without her to provide for, he could retire again. He’d gone back to work at the coast guard when he brought her home from the hospital.

  Rena slapped the peas on her knuckles and hissed at the sting. Keeping her pea-toting hand as flat as possible, Rena unwrapped the fish and thwacked it in the now crackling oil.

  Only a dispatcher now that he was in his seventies, that still meant getting up each day before the fog had lifted and he’d slept even less before she’d learned to quell her screams at night. If Grandpa knew the ocean was the instigator of her terrors, he’d make them move and she didn’t want to uproot him from his family’s place.

  She carefully flipped the sizzling fish with her left hand. Ha! Pure skill.

  About ten minutes before Grandpa would be home, Rena checked her right hand: still red, though that could be from the cold. At least the peas had kept it from puffing up. She moved to toss the bag back in the freezer and paused.

  Hmmm, peas... And they were already defrosted.

  She was mixing lemonade powder and water from the sink in a glass pitcher when she heard the screen door creak open and snap shut, followed by the thud and click of the heavy red door shutting and locking. Rena dropped the spoon in the sink and placed the drink on the table.

  “Hiya, Guppy,” Grandpa called out jovially from the hallway, the thud of his boots preceding his entrance to the kitchen. He tossed his satchel and jacket on the desk between the door and the entryway to the living room, before turning to look at her with his arms akimbo.

  She waved the spatula hello, then slid the fish and a scoop of peas onto two plates and met him at the table.

  “Right on time. Thanks, Guppy, I’m starving.” He beamed at her as he sat, the gesture crinkling the corners of his faded grey eyes.

  She cut up her fish and blew on it, waiting for Grandpa to start talking.

  “Long day, today. Some rich idiot ran his yacht over the old sunken pier” He shook his head and poured them both some of the lemonade. “Heck, I don’t know why we bother with the warning buoys.” He shook his head in dismay. “Lucky for him, it was the flat planks by the marina, so he just marooned himself, rather than destroying his baby.” He harrumphed and chewed grumpily for a moment.

  She reached out and patted the table in front of his hand, avoiding contact. He recognized the reassuring gesture, and his face softened.

  “So what did you get up to today?” He didn’t wait for a response, knowing he wouldn’t get one. “Did you finish your summer reading essay for tomorrow?”

  She bit her lip. Barnacles. The essay. Writing about Moby Dick was what tempted her to the pier, before she could finish.

  Grandpa saw her reaction and scowled in disappointment. “You didn’t finish it?” She shook her head. “First thing after eating, young lady. I’ll wash up tonight. You don’t want them keeping you in school longer, do you?” A bushy brow rose. He knew how excited she was for college, if not the real reason behind it. Since they hadn’t known what grade she should be in, she’d been tested and passed out of almost all the senior classes.

  Rena furrowed her brow, noticing the purple bags under his eyes, but diligently, though reluctantly, she left the plates in the sink and jogged up the stairs to her little room to write about an old guy and a whale, all the while forcefully ignoring the pull from the swaying waves beyond her windows.

  Chapter Two

  Father always enforced a protein-heavy diet, but staring into a freezer stuffed haphazardly with ziploc bags labeled with a date and a scribbled “venison” or “fish”, Nor wished for a moment his host “parents” were vegetarians. Hadn’t they heard of a balanced diet? Five-a-day?

  Another few bags, jointly at least a whole deer, were tossed with a clunk onto the counter, revealing the corner of a white and green package in the shadowy depths. Goosebumps lift
ed the hair on Nor’s arm as he snaked it all the way back into the chill, wrenching on the slippery package. It didn’t budge.

  Screw this. Nor spun, yanked open a drawer on the island, skimmed its contents, and slammed it shut. Cleaning supplies belonged under the sink, not in drawers. He impatiently tried a second, then a third. Bingo.

  Hacking a butchers knife like a deranged serial killer, Nor flung ice every which way. A piece caught Nor on the bridge of the nose and he had to pause until the sharp flare of pain passed. Fueled now by frustration, he snagged the damn thing by a corner and the bag popped free with a crackle, sliding out.

  The tink, tink on the floor sounded like rain and it immediately washed away the righteous grin on Nor’s face. With a sigh, his gaze dropped from the label, following the trajectory of a waterfall of yellow corn kernels and green peas. They hit the tile and bounced around the kitchen, skidding under the fridge, into the hallway, and under the overhang of cabinets.

  Fuck.

  Nor tossed the wrapper toward the counter, the empty plastic fluttering gently before landing atop the carcass perfectly, like a shroud. Muttering a bitter curse, he pulled it off again and tossed the corpse carelessly back into the freezer. On second thought… He wrenched it open again, snatched a bag at random, and shouldered it shut.

  “What the hell?”

  Nor whipped around to find Reed standing in the doorway, a look of utter bewilderment twisting his face.

  “Stashing the body in the freezer is so cliché. The cops will definitely look there first. What are you thinking?”

  Nor blinked, frozen like the meat in his hand amid a scattering of ice and vegetables, realizing he still gripped a huge cleaver.

  “This isn’t… It’s not... It’s Tom’s meat.” Nor shook his head. “No, not Tom’s meat as in his meat. I mean, it’s his deer. His venison. I was just... I needed something frozen.”