A Song of Death and Desire (The Sirens of Witches Cove)

10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

A fter my disastrous coffee date with Kelly, I walk around aimlessly. I feel lost. I should go home, but the idea of returning to the silence where the only thing I can hear is the song in my head makes me nauseous. When I’m amongst people, the noise of the busy streets, I can almost tune out the repetitive melody. Not completely. But almost. I’m so fucking tired. I haven't slept properly in weeks, but it’s getting worse. Kelly was right. I have been snapping at her about every little thing and often being unnecessarily mean. I don’t have a good explanation for why I’ve been like this lately. The obvious answer would be that I’m tired and possibly mentally unwell, but that doesn’t feel like all that’s going on with me.

The mood swings are uncontrollable—one minute, I’m finding it impossible to find a single shred of energy to care about anything and the next, I’m flying into a rage. I’ve never seen Kelly look at me the way she has been lately—like she is afraid of me. When I’m capable of emotions, the guilt is crushing, but then that fades away, too.

I’ve become obsessed with finding out what happened that day. Some of my memories are returning, and I can’t help but think that the tune I hear is somehow related to what led to the disappearance of my friends. I remember the lead-up to the storm, what I told Kelly and the police officers who questioned me. But now I’m also starting to remember that we jumped overboard. Why would we do that? That’s the part I can’t figure out. The boat was still intact when we jumped so why would we leave a functioning boat? Once we were in the water, it’s possible that the others succumbed to the harsh conditions. Perhaps the tides, the crashing waves, and the relentless pull to the bottom of the ocean bested them. It’s realistic to think that the chances of them surviving in the ocean in a raging, violent storm were slim.

My memories bring some answers but so many more questions. I can rationalize how they may have died or disappeared but still don’t know how we ended up in the water. I’m also not sure how I ended up on the beach but again, logically, I’m aware that I must have just been very lucky. I’m a reasonably strong swimmer. Maybe my survival instincts kicked in and I was able to swim to safety, although not completely unscathed. Through all the memories, one thing remains constant. And that’s the god damned song.

I’m surprised to find myself on the beach, having walked there while completely distracted by my musings. I haven’t been near the ocean since the accident, but it’s been calling to me. I dream of the ocean every night, often waking up in a panicked sweat, taking minutes to calm myself back down. And now, while moving in autopilot I ended up here, faced with the very thing I’m now most afraid of.

The sound of waves crashing onto the shore fills my ears and I breathe in the salty smell of the sea. Goosebumps pebble my skin despite the warmth of the sun, and the sound of blood rushes in my ears. My chest tightens with a feeling that has become all too familiar when faced with the triggers of the storm and the boat. My heart beats a pounding rhythm, my breaths become quick and shallow. I can't get enough air into my lungs.

I lower myself to the sand and try to focus on the things that I can see around me. I observe the group of teenagers playing beach volleyball, the children building sandcastles, and the women resting under umbrellas. I try to focus on these things as well as the feel of sand in my fingers and the sun on my skin.

I attempt to keep my attention on these things, but the sound of the song in my mind reaches a crescendo. It’s all I can hear. My body is paralyzed, and I can no longer feel the sensations I was using to ground me. And then the people on the beach change. Everything around me fades until all I see is her. The goddess that haunts my fucking life.

She sits beside me, singing, hypnotizing me with her enchanting melody. I long to reach out to her. To run my fingers over her soft skin, through her silky hair. To feel my hands roam her body and to hear her soft moans as I touch her. My heart slows to a steady beat, and the weight on my chest becomes lighter. I feel relaxed. Content. At peace. But then the vision shifts. Like a flickering television screen, the woman changes.

Flick . Her skin turns a blue gray.

Flick . Her pupils turn to slits.

Flick. Her nails grow to claws, and webbing forms between her fingers.

Flick. Her legs turn into a tail.

And then the two images converge until I am no longer sure what it is real. One moment I see the woman, the temptress. The next, the monster. The next, a combination of the two. The anxiety that had briefly abated roars to life once more and it takes all my restraint not to scream. I screw my eyes shut tightly to try and banish the visions. Hallucinations? Not for the first time I wonder if this is what it feels like to go crazy. Maybe Tom was right. Perhaps it could help to talk to someone about this.

Maybe everything that is going on with me is a typical symptom of post-traumatic stress disorder. That could be it, right? You hear stories about people going a bit crazy after a trauma so maybe that’s what it is. I’m pretty sure you can get specific drugs for that. Yeah. That’s what I need. Some trauma drugs to make it go away. I promise myself that I will schedule an appointment with my doctor tomorrow.

With this decision made, I'm able to pull myself together and refocus on reality. I stand up, brush off the sand that has collected on my clothes, and head back to my car. The sun is beginning its descent, and I'm shocked by how much time has passed. I've been at the beach all afternoon, but it feels like only minutes. I'm going to be in so much trouble when I get home. If I'm being honest with myself, I dread coming home lately. Kelly always wants to tell me that I'm doing something wrong. I'm not talking to her enough. I'm being lazy and spending too much time watching TV. I'm too dismissive of her feelings. I swear I don't mean to be like this, but I can’t bring myself to care about anything at the moment. Along with making the doctor's appointment, I vow to try and do better by Kelly. She doesn't deserve this kind of treatment.

Two weeks after the day at the beach, I haven't called my doctor. I haven't asked Tom for his therapist friend’s number, and I certainly have not been treating Kelly any better. Every now and then I tell myself I need to get help. I need to be better. But then the thoughts fade almost as quickly as they appear. I'm conscious of the fact that my life's falling apart around me, but I can't bring myself to do something about it. I don't feel much of anything towards the people and things in my life. My singular focus is on the song and the woman. The woman and the song.

Every day I find myself down at the beach. I never remember getting there and I'm rarely cognizant of the time passing. I haven’t even been attempting to go to work each morning. Kelly came home yesterday screaming at me because Tom called her to say he had to let me go. I recall the way I shrugged at this news in apathy causing Kelly to burst into hysterical sobs. Once again, she tried to talk to me about my mental health. She cried as she begged me to get help. To see a doctor, a therapist, anyone. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t. What would I even say?

She didn't come home last night.

I'm living in a perpetual state of hyper fixation and anxiety. When I'm not at the beach, I'm researching. I've come to the realization that what I'm experiencing isn't just a typical response to trauma. I’ve spent hours looking into PTSD symptoms, ocean attacks and boating accidents. Nothing has explained what happened to me. Somewhere around the time that I was deep in my exploration of accidents, I came across a mention of sirens. And then that led me down the rabbit hole of mythical creatures. I'm convinced there’s something supernatural or magical at play here. I’ve discovered that in different legends and lore, both mermaids and sirens seem to sing and lure fishermen. I'm still trying to determine the difference between the two, but I think I'm on to something. There are pictures, but none of them quite look like the vision of the creature that comes to me in my dreams —my nightmares. But this is the most logical explanation.

When I'm hyper focused on my research, I am able to forget about the existence of the real world but there are times when anxiety breaks through. It overwhelms me when I'm trying to fall asleep each night, visions of the storm, the smells of the ocean and the rain, the feeling of hopelessness as the raging sea throws me around. When these memories assault me, it becomes hard to breathe. I gasp for air like I'm drowning until the soothing music that has attached itself to my soul lulls me into an exhausted slumber once more.

Today, I'm taking my boat out. I need to find this woman. This siren. Because I'm sure that this is what she is and that she is what's causing all my problems. I'm going to search the waters around Witches Cove every day until I find her.