Siren

A Story by Sarah Jane

First short story in a long time, please be honest though. I want to get better so I need critique

Siren

I was in denial for a long time. Long enough to let her unravel my entire existence. Her name was Dakota, meaning “allies or friend” in the Dakota Language and perhaps when she was born that was the intention that her parents set out for her, but it is misleading. She had the biggest blue eyes that would suck you into a pool that you never could quite resurface again. Her curled eyelashes tangled you up in their lacquered webs until you could no longer see anything else but her image and her needs. Her soft, dark hair touched the top of her full hips and she always wore it down like a veil, keeping her intentions tucked safely into the nape of her neck.

She was poised and present. When she gave her attention, she seemed to give her whole self to you while everything else faded to nothing but ambient noise. As if you were her entire meaning of existence. When she abandoned you, it felt as if she had dissected herself from you, cutting raw flesh and nutrients until you withered into small bits of unsteady sand. The walls seemed tighter and the air suddenly cloudy and poisonous. She was suffocating. Even her feral persona was purposeful and planned. Dakota did nothing without intent. Every smile, every word, even the steadying of her breathing seemed to be Morse code for her true meaning.

It was never my intention to befriend her or for her to become more than just a passing glance birthing jealousy. It wasn’t really even my choice. I had an apartment in a safe neighborhood with a locking door, sealed windows and a strong foundation and still she seeped in. She found the cracks in the groundwork, she blew in with the breeze from an opened door. She slithered through the holes in the screens and sauntered through the walls. She was unexpected, as most bad things are but to meet her, you felt as if you won something. A smile from her and you thought you were let in on some secret. Only you didn’t get to know the secret.

I met her in one of the darkest moments in my life and I remember how brightly she shined against the shadows. Also how bizarre it was that such an immaculate woman was sitting in my shabby living room. She greeted me with a faint smile that spread to the dusty parts of my mood and I brightened immediately. It was as if there was an chemical explosion in the space that surrounded her. I was a good host, offering a beverage and something to eat, offering my home and ,unknowingly, my soul to this woman. I was a good person, undeserving of the dark intent Dakota carried with her into my world.

Lawrence, my boyfriend is who had invited her over and when he introduced us informally, I could tell he was as swept up as I was. I should have been more concerned about the way her longed after her attention and the way he swooned over every ounce of it. I wasn’t because I was competing to receive her attention as well. Looking back, I am not sure how we had her in our home, interwoven in our path for as long as it felt without knowing anything about her, anything that mattered during the police investigation anyway. She knew us intimately and during all of our time together, we felt close to her, but now, I am ashamed to not even know her last name.

~~~

Intoxicated, that is a good word to describe how I felt during those months. Not from alcohol or drugs but from Dakota alone. I could watch her do anything and it seemed to be magnified in importance. I remember, standing at the edge of our fate when I should I have been mortified at what we had done but instead, I was engrossed in the smoke curling off the end of her cigarette, the way her mouth puckered to catch the smoldering chemicals from escaping her lungs and pursed to exhale what felt like all of my anxieties. It was soothing and sensual. It is incredulous the way she could make everything she did look virtuous, even murder.

I wish I knew more about Dakota, more than the little that I know. The important details didn’t mean much at the time, not like the small details I could gather from watching or listening to her. She took a rather large steps for someone of her stature but it seemed fitting for the fast pace she managed on the lake shore. Lawrence was reluctant to get in the water with us because of the chill but Dakota was encouraging enough to lure him in where we waded waist deep in our bras and underwear. It was the only time I saw her near nude and I remember how she didn’t seem cold though the water still had winters grip on it. No goosebumps mangled the dimples in her back or covered the smooth surface of her chest. She was perfection in the flesh is all I recall thinking to myself the same moment that Lawrence’s head dipped beneath the water.

Dakotas hand was reaching for him and she seemed to be struggling, if only slightly, but he didn’t emerge. I offered my help and she welcomed it, but when I reached in and felt the waves of Lawrence’s hair I also felt the resistance he was fighting against. I touched her hand, placed firmly on his scalp and I remember looking with what must have been wide and panicked eyes but her own were free from worry, strain, and anger. She looked back at me blankly and we stood that way until I felt the disturbance release me. That is what Lawrence became to me, a disturbance and his death a liberation.

I loved Lawrence but it meant nothing, I see that now. I would do anything for Dakota one hundred times over. She smoked a cigarette with the waves lapping at our feet and she flicked the charred bud into Lawrence's grave. It floated like a buoy in the water above where we placed larger stones from the surrounding woods on our submerged victim. I wanted a cigarette too, though I didn’t smoke, but was more afraid of Dakota then than I ever was of losing her so I didn’t ask.

There was no clear motive, that is what the police told me during their scrutinizing interrogation. Lawrence and I did nothing to Dakota but love her unconditionally, dangerously even. That was proven true for Lawrence. Once she finished her cigarette, she turned to me and kissed me more passionately than any man had ever come close to and then began walking up the shore. She never indicated wanting to kiss me, I never saw any signs there on the beach and I never knew I could love the taste of smoke and salt water. However, I also knew that she didn’t intend on me following her.

I counted to one thousand while staring at the cool waves and shivering, afraid that If I moved I would find myself alongside Lawrence. After I reached one thousand, I gathered my clothing, redressed, and thought about the smile that played on Dakotas lips after she kissed mine. The walk home seemed harder than I thought it would. I knew I should have been at a loss over Lawrence but I was distraught over my loss of Dakota. I didn’t lick my lips or open my mouth the whole walk for fear of losing her taste that was already fading from my tongue. I had nothing of hers, my whole apartment was littered with Lawrence's touch so I tore the apartment apart in hopes of finding something of hers. Something I could feel the weight of in my pruned hands.

I have not seen her since, and I feel emptier as the days crawl by. The cell that I write this in is warm but I am still shivering from those winter-licked waves. I have told the investigators everything I know and I have halfheartedly apologized to Lawrence's parents for my involvement but they also did not seem convinced of my tale. This is everything that I know, and I know it isn’t much. I felt like I was watching a movie that starred Dakota and I couldn’t even tell you what part I played in it. Yet, I hold on to her kiss. I held onto it through my trial and I have held it through my sentence. I couldn't prove Dakota's existence and soon she didn’t seem real to the police, but she will always be real to me.

Tonight, I think about her lips, and her long, soft hair, and her motive as I ready the powder I got from one of the girls here. I am hoping that fate delivers this confession to Dakota so she knows what she has accomplished. She is intoxicating and dangerous. She is beautiful and treacherous. She is inviting and unpredictable. She killed Lawrence for nothing more than her own enjoyment and I hope that my death puts another smile on her face. More than that, I cannot live with never seeing Dakota again and I know I never will. She left me a shell on a beach, empty, and if you listen closely you can hear the roaring of the ocean or perhaps the muffled sobs of Lawrence. If you listen even harder, you might seize a moment to hear her song. It is all I hear anymore as I suffocate on dry land.