“I just don’t understand why she’d run away,” he said, with a now-familiar frustration taking over. “She had so much she wanted to do. And she was even dating Alex. Why would she leave? Even if she was mad at me.”
“She wasn’t mad at you,” Harper reassured him. She put the sandwich on a plate, then set it in front of her father, still without really looking at him. “You know this wasn’t about you.”
“But it doesn’t make any sense!” Brian insisted. “I called her swimming coach today, and he said that her times have been amazing lately. She worked so hard for that. Why would she blow it to run away with some stupid girls?”
“She’s sixteen, Dad.” Harper went over to the sink to start rinsing off what few dishes had piled up, just so she’d have something to do. “Teenagers are unpredictable.”
“But you guys weren’t,” Brian said, speaking louder to be heard over the running water. “Gemma may be strong-willed, but I’ve always known what I was getting with her. It’s like the last week she’s turned into something else.”
Harper accidentally dropped a plate, and it clattered loudly in the sink.
“And the timing couldn’t be worse,” Brian went on. “There’s that killer on the loose going after teenagers.” He took a labored breath. “Something’s happened to her, Harper.”
“Those were all boys,” Harper said, trying to cut off his train of thought. “And I saw Gemma leave. She told me she was running away. She’s fine.”
“She’s not fine!” Brian shouted.
Harper leaned against the sink and closed her eyes. For a moment all she could do was breathe in deep to keep from freaking out. Her hands were trembling, and she wanted to cry. She had to convince her father that everything was all right, when in reality she had no idea if Gemma was okay or if they’d ever see her again.
“I went to the police today,” Brian said, and his tone had leveled out again.
“Did you?” Harper asked cautiously. “What did they say?”
“They’re looking for her,” Brian said. “They don’t prioritize runaway teens, and with everything that’s been going on lately, they’re going to do what they can.”
“That’s good.” Harper had finished with the dishes, but she left the tap on, preferring the sound so it would drown out the silence and tension in the room.
“Harper, turn off the water,” Brian said. “I need to tell you something.”
She shut off the faucet but grabbed a rag to wipe down the counter, continuing her attempts to busy herself.
“Harper. Sit down. I need to talk to you.”
“Just a sec, Dad,” Harper said, scrubbing at a nonexistent spot on the counter.
“Harper,” Brian said, with a firmness to his words that made Harper flinch.
She draped the rag over the sink, then went over to the table and sat down across from him. The whole time she kept her eyes lowered, afraid of how she might react if she looked at him directly.
Seeing her father so haggard like that, she was terrified she would spill everything to him. But she couldn’t tell him about the sirens or what had really become of Gemma, and not just because he’d think she was insane.
In fact, that would be better than if he believed her. If he knew that Gemma was a siren, that she’d run off with actual monsters, he would lose his mind trying to protect her, and Harper couldn’t bear the thought of that.
“I have bad news,” Brian said gravely. He reached across the table, wanting to take Harper’s hand, but she wouldn’t give it to him. “When I was at the police station, I found out something.”
She gulped, swallowing down the painful acid in her stomach that wanted to rise. She wasn’t sure what else Brian could’ve possibly found out. And she wasn’t sure that she could handle any more bad news.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but…” He paused, trying to form the words. “Bernie McAllister has been murdered.”
And then in one horrible rush it all came back to her, pulling all the air from her lungs and twisting her stomach in knots.
Harper had managed to forget about it until now. But that wasn’t quite right, either. She hadn’t forgotten it. It would be impossible to forget about the death of someone who’d been so important to her.
Her mind had blocked it out, giving her a few more peaceful hours when she didn’t have to think about it. But now it was back, the image of his body eviscerated in the trees outside of his cabin.
Bernie was one of the kindest people she’d ever known, a gentle old man with a soft British accent. He’d helped care for both Harper and Gemma after their mom had gotten hurt in the car accident.
Then the sirens had killed him, gutting him like a fish and leaving him to rot as they danced and sang and tore up his home looking for valuables. The worst part of it was that he gladly would’ve given them anything they wanted, and not because they were sirens who put a spell on him, but because Bernie wanted to help everyone.