The Siren (21 page)

Warren plopped down on the couch in the den and turned on the television.
 

Dad tapped his finger on the bottom corner of the surveillance photo. “Is this date correct?”

I nodded. “It was taken a few weeks ago.”

He looked up at me. “And you met this woman?”
 

“Yeah. We met her the night you called me in Texas and said to come home. Why?” I asked.

He dropped his head into his hands. “It would be impossible,” he mumbled.

I squeezed his shoulders. “I’m learning there isn’t much in this world that is truly impossible.”

“You being pleasant in the morning is impossible!” Warren called from the den.

Dad and I both laughed, but I was rolling my eyes. “Dad, what do you know about Abigail Smith?”

He turned around in his seat to look at me. “You’re going to think I’ve lost my mind.”

I gave him a reassuring smile. “Try me.”

His mouth fell open, but it took him a moment to form words on his lips. Finally, he spoke. “If this is who I think it is…this woman might be your biological mother.”

16.

Looking at my dad, I was keenly aware of how others must feel when I reveal I can see and manipulate souls. I stumbled back a few steps till I slammed into the kitchen bar. Warren was on his feet and suddenly standing next to us. I gripped the counter for support as my mind struggled to process what my dad had just said.

Dad pushed himself up out of his chair and paced the kitchen, wringing his hands over and over. “When I knew her, her name was Sarah. She was a nurse at the hospital where we worked. I remember her well because she was such a likable person. Everyone loved her. She got pregnant while she was there and stayed through most of her pregnancy, but one day she didn’t show up for work. The hospital received a letter by mail that she was relocating to be closer to her family.”
 

He turned to look at me from across the kitchen. “About three days later is when Audrey found you outside the hospital. Even then, your mother and I wondered if you might be Sarah’s child because of the timing of her disappearance and your arrival, but no one could ever locate her. We tried for a while.”

I looked to Warren for help, and he shook his head. “It can’t be,” he said. “Abigail can’t be much older than you are right now, and we’re talking about twenty-seven years that have passed. Nobody ages that well.”

Dad stopped pacing and leaned against the countertop. He tapped his finger on the granite. “I’m as certain as I am standing here that the woman in the photograph is the same woman I worked with at the hospital in the early eighties.” He walked to the table and picked up the folder. Underneath it was another photograph of a large group. “Here. This was taken at our department Christmas party.”

I had seen the photograph before. My parents, just in their twenties at the time, were at the front of the group, standing together. Dad reached over and tapped his finger in the middle of the picture. Abigail Smith was smiling in the center.

My breath caught in my chest, and my eyes slowly rose to meet Warren’s. “That’s her. That’s her, Warren!” My voice was slightly frantic. “I remember seeing this photo when I was a kid. I told Mom the lady was dead, and she completely freaked out on me.”

Dad nodded. “Audrey told me about that when it happened, and we both talked about it again the night you came over and told us you were different.” He held up the photo. “She was pregnant when this was taken.”

Perhaps fearing I might pass out, Warren grabbed my arm. His eyes were as wide as mine. “Whoa,” we said at the same time.

After a moment, Dad looked up at us with imploring eyes. “Who—or what—is Sarah? I mean Abigail…or whoever she is.”

Scrunching up my nose, I looked at my dad sideways. “She’s a social worker.”

He cut his eyes at me over the rim of his glasses and frowned. “Sloan, tell me the truth.”
 

Warren stepped in between us. “She’s an angel. When we met her, she told us that Sloan and I are like angel hybrids. Part angel, part human. In the angel world, we are called the Seramorta.”

Dad sucked in a deep breath and held it in his mouth, causing his cheeks to puff out. Finally, he released it slowly, like hot air leaving a balloon. “Angel hybrids, huh?”

I held my hands up cautiously. “Don’t freak out.”

He shook his head. “I’m not freaking out.” His shocked eyes glanced around the kitchen. “I do, however, need a drink.”

“Me too,” I agreed.

“Let’s all have a drink.” Warren moved to the cabinet where Dad had stashed a bottle of Tennessee Honey Jack Daniels. I’d only ever seen him drink it when he was sick with severe chest congestion. Warren poured three tumblers and passed them out to us. Dad’s was gone before my glass even touched my lips.
 

The warm whiskey burned its way down my throat, making me cough. Warren chuckled as he poured my dad a second share.
 

“Shut up,” I said.

Still laughing, he shook his head. “I didn’t say anything.”
 

I began to pace around the room, tapping the rim of the glass against my bottom lip. I stopped and looked at Warren. “If this is possible, how do you explain the age thing?”
 

He shrugged. “You said it yourself. Maybe angel genetics are different.”

“Don’t you think Abigail would have mentioned she might be my mother? I mean, if she suspected I might be her daughter, she would have brought it up,
right
?”

Warren drank a big gulp of whiskey. “Maybe she was as surprised by it as you are right now. We did kind of broadside her by showing up out of nowhere like we did.”

“That’s true, but still.” I tossed my free hand up in the air with a frustrated huff.

“Call her. You’ve got her number,” he reminded me.

My eyes widened, and I handed him my glass before I ran out of the kitchen. I took the stairs two at a time and jogged till I reached our bedroom. Abigail’s business card was tucked into the front pocket of my suitcase. I dialed the number as I walked back downstairs.

 
A woman answered as I reached the kitchen. “Morning Star Ministries, how may I direct your call?”

My heart was pounding in my chest. “Hi. Can I speak with Abigail, please?”
 

“I’m sorry. Abigail is out of town on business. May I direct you to her voicemail?” she asked.

I resumed my nervous shuffling around the kitchen. “Do you know when she might be in the office, or do you know of another way I might contact her? I really need to talk to her.”

“May I ask who is calling?” the woman asked.

“Sloan Jordan.”

“Oh! Hello, Ms. Jordan.” Her tone had completely changed. “Ms. Smith directed me to give you her cell phone number if you happened to call here looking for her while she was away.”

“Great! What is it?”

I scribbled the number down on the corner of an old newspaper and thanked the woman profusely before ending the call. Staring at the number on the paper, I froze. I hadn’t paused to think about it before, but I was about to potentially find out the identity of my birth mother. This day had been on the back burner of my mind for as long as I could remember.

Warren must have noticed the shift in my demeanor. “Are you OK?” he asked.

Slowly, I sank down onto the barstool. “This is just…
huge
.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You don’t have to do it.”

Yes, I do.

I dialed Abigail’s cell phone number before I could change my mind. As the line rang, I gnawed on a hangnail.
 

She answered on the fourth ring. “Hello?” Her voice was smooth and melodic, nothing like my own.

“Abigail, it’s Sloan.”

“Hello, Sloan. I’ve been hoping to hear from you again,” she said.

My finger started bleeding. “Are you my mother?” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

There was silence on her end of the line. “Perhaps this is a conversation you and I should have in person.”
 

Her response wasn’t a confirmation nor a denial.

“I know you’ve already left Texas,” she continued, “but do you think you could return for the weekend? I’ll be back in town in the morning. I would be happy to pay for your plane ticket.”

Caught off guard by her proposition, my brain scrambled for a response. “I’ll have to talk to Warren, but maybe. I don’t know. You didn’t answer my question.”

“I will clear my schedule for you if you can come,” she said.

My frustration was growing. “Abigail! I’m not hanging up this phone before you tell me the truth. Are you my mother?”

Silence.

“I am.”

My phone slipped from my grip, bouncing off the counter before clattering onto the kitchen tile. I was paralyzed by shock.

Warren spread his hands out in front of him. “Babe, you’re kind of leaving us hanging here.”

Finally, I picked up my glass and finished off my whiskey with one painful gulp. “It’s her.”

Their jaws fell slack in unison.

“Holy shit.” My father’s words came out slowly. I had never heard him curse before.

Suddenly, I felt dizzy. “I might fall off my chair.”

Warren crossed the room in two steps and put both of his strong hands on my shoulders to steady me. I slumped over the counter and thumped my head on the countertop. I rolled my forehead back and forth against the cool stone. “I’m losing it. I’m officially losing my mind.” I watched the granite swirl in and out of focus an inch below my eyes.

His hand came to rest on my back, and I trained my attention on the warm buzz of comforting energy it transmitted. I slowly lifted my head as my nerve endings settled into place.

“This is impossible,” my father stammered again. He made a few laps around the kitchen island before he turned on his heel and walked to the table. He picked up Abigail’s photo again and thrust it toward me. “She has to be at least my age now!”

Warren groaned. “Dr. Jordan, something tells me she’s been looking at your age in the rearview mirror for quite some time.”

Everything made sense. Abigail was an Angel of Life. She had a very attractive personality. Everyone loved her. I was found at the hospital, and Abigail disappeared because angels are forbidden to raise their offspring. If I was a summoner, then Abigail was too. All this time, all the coincidences…

“She was summoning me.”

Warren’s eyes snapped to meet mine. “Oh my god. Do you think so?”

I held out my hands. “How else do you explain the crazy stuff that’s happened lately?”

He didn’t have an answer.

I took a step toward him. “Why wouldn’t she tell me? I think if I were sitting across the room from my daughter, I would say something!”

He was quiet for a while. “I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know about any of it. We need more information before we start making big assumptions.”

I rubbed my hands over my face. “This is too much. I can’t process this.”

Dad leaned over the counter toward me and raked his fingers through his hair so hard the tendons in his hands strained with tension. “You don’t think
you
can process this? How do you think I feel? You’ve had a chance to get used to this supernatural stuff, and I’m still trying to get my head around the news that you can see people’s souls!” He sounded a bit maniacal.
 

He must have realized he was starting to go a little Jack-from-The-Shining on us, and he walked over and pulled me into a tight hug. “I’m sorry. I’m rattled right now. We’ll figure this thing out together. What can I do for you?”

“Will you be all right here for a couple of days if I go to Texas again? She wants me to come talk to her about it in person. Or, you can come with me?” I suggested.

He shook his head. “No, sweetheart. I think I need to sit this one out. This is a lot for an old man to handle. You and Warren go. I’ll be fine.”

My heart was torn between desperately wanting to talk to Abigail and not wanting to leave my father alone. I also felt guilty that this revelation had come so soon after my mother’s death, like she might be looking down on me and fearing I had already found her replacement.
 

Maybe my father heard my anxious thoughts. “This is something you need to do, Sloan. Honestly, I want to hear what this Abigail woman has to say.”

I smiled and nodded my head. “OK.”

Warren refilled my father’s empty glass for a third time and looked over at me. “When do you want to go?”
 

I turned my palms up. “She said she’ll be home tomorrow. Could we leave right after I get off work?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll get online and look at flights tonight.”

My eyes widened. “You’ll come with me, won’t you?”

He smiled. “You don’t really think I would let you go alone, do you?”

I shook my head. “I hope not.”

My dad’s arm was still around my shoulders. He seemed to be leaning, ever so lightly, on me for support as he sipped his drink. He held his glass toward Warren. “Sloan, I really like this young man. You need to get your act together and marry him.”

Laughing, and a little bit embarrassed, I patted his chest. “I like him too, Dad. Have you eaten today? You wouldn’t let me bring you dinner.”

He shook his head. “Nope.” The word popped off his lips.

I patted his hand and then pried the tumbler from his grip. “No more whiskey till you’ve got some food in your system. Daughter’s orders.”

I prepared a turkey and provolone sandwich and put a bag of chips on the plate. Dad was sitting next to Warren at the counter. “Here,” I said, placing the sandwich in front of him. “Eat this before you get sick.”

“Buzzkill,” he grumbled with a smile.

 
After a moment of looking around for my phone, I realized I had never picked it up off the floor. When I retrieved it, the screen was cracked. “Damn it.”

Warren looked over. “Uh oh. Does it still work?”

“Yeah. I’ll have to replace it soon though. It’s busted pretty bad.” I turned it around to show him the spider-webbed glass on the front.