Violet Fire

Police Chief Hal Purcell took his coffee black, no sugar, one cream. He knew each employee by name, and his greatest pleasure was harassing the new people at every opportunity. The youngest Police Chief in California had little hair that wasn’t touched with gray, which the baristas at the coffee shop unanimously agreed only made him more attractive.

Chief Purcell’s morning began as each morning did, oblivion of his adoring baristas included. He pulled into his usual parking spot at the station, sipping his coffee. His morning changed direction as soon as he stepped inside the building. The instincts that had gotten him his position kicked in.

“Jones,” Purcell turned to one of the officers nearby. “Report.”

Jones slid her hands into her pockets, looking at the floor before meeting Purcell’s eyes. “The Monroes went to check out a lead. They haven’t been heard from in over twenty-four hours.”

Purcell took a sip of his coffee, his gray eyes looking nowhere. “Get someone out to follow their trail. We’ll find them.”

“Chief, there’s more,” Jones looked at the ground again.

One eyebrow rose a fraction.

“Their daughter is here, as well as her babysitter. Someone tried to kidnap the girl early this morning.”

Purcell nodded thoughtfully. “Get Thompson and Aveda out looking for the Monroes, and bring the girls into my office.”

“They’re waiting for you already.”

Purcell nodded once, polishing his coffee off as he walked over to his office. The soft closing of the door was enough to make the babysitter jump. Purcell smiled gently, sitting on the edge of his desk facing the girls. It didn’t take much coaxing for the babysitter to tell her story again. Between sobs, the babysitter explained that she didn’t see much, and that the little Monroe girl hadn’t made a sound since then. The girl’s parents came while she was explaining, so Purcell took a moment to speak with them before sending them all home.

Purcell took a moment to examine the Monroe girl. She had sat quietly staring at her shoes during the entire interchange. She couldn’t have been more than three, small and curly-haired. Purcell came and crouched in front of her, his eyes warm.

“Are you hungry, sweetheart?”

The mass of curls lifted slowly as her eyes met his. Purcell pulled back a fraction. The tears trailing down her face were expected, but her large violet eyes were not. She wiped her nose with a small hand and nodded once before throwing her arms around Purcell’s neck. The youngest Police Chief in California gave her a good squeeze and carried her out of his office.

I sprinted the entire way home. When I got inside I ran to the bathroom and shut the door. I almost felt like throwing up, but managed to calm myself. I just stood leaning against the cool countertop for a few minutes, letting my heart beat slow. I glanced at myself in the mirror and noticed that I wasn’t wearing contacts. I stared at my eyes, for the first time thinking that they were beautiful. But why were they like this? I sighed and turned away from the mirror.

After I had showered and eaten breakfast I went to the library. I hadn’t done any research on the Monroes yet, but I didn’t want to do it at home. I was afraid of upsetting Mom, and I thought that looking this up would upset her. I looked up newspaper articles from the date that the Monroes went missing and used the computers to search the internet. I learned a lot about their detective work, but very little was known about their disappearance. They seemed to have just vanished into thin air.

Emma texted me while I was at the library, and she picked me up a few minutes later. I put my bike in the back of her car and we drove to the beach. On the way, I told her about the Monroes and the research that I had done at the library.

“Why is this so important to you?” she asked quietly as we spread our towels on the sand.

It took me a long time to answer. “I don’t know. I just… Never mind, it’s silly.”

“Jules, you can tell me anything,” she replied, fixing me with intense brown eyes.

“I feel as if I should know them,” I said quietly. “Isn’t that weird? I’ve never even seen them before.”

“You said that your mom was acting weird the day that the story was on the news, right? Maybe your mom knew them,” Emma suggested.

“Maybe.”

We stayed at the beach late into the afternoon, and then Emma dropped me off on her way home. I walked in to find the house a complete mess. There were boxes of files, loose papers, and receipts strewn about the house, with narrow walkways between. Mom had started on her annual paper cleaning project. It was when she went through all the papers that she ignored the other 364 days of the year.

“Hey honey!” she called from her seat at the kitchen table, half hidden by the large stack of folders in front of her. “Could you go into my room and find the folder marked ‘tax returns’?”

“Sure,” I replied, eyeing the teetering piles of boxes.

I fought my way carefully to my room, wondering how Mom could squeeze through such narrow openings carrying boxes and stacks of folders. I made it to my room without falling flat on my face – quite a feat, considering all of the boxes I almost tripped over – and dropped my bag on the floor before making my way slowly to my parents’ room. It was much tidier in there since Mom had moved all of the boxes from their closet to the rest of the house.

I then proceeded to dig through the boxes left on the floor. I didn’t find anything in the first two boxes of any use, so I moved on to the third. I thumbed through the folders stacked inside, but paused when I saw one with my name on it. Curious, I brought it out and opened it. I looked through the papers stapled together in it until I found something completely unexpected – adoption papers. Next to the adoption papers was an envelope addressed to Mom. I pulled out the neatly folded letter and began to read.

Dear Elaine,

I’m so glad to hear that the move went well. Congrats on the new house! Finally you can get out of that cramped apartment you’re always complaining about. To answer your question, Juliet’s doing really well. She’s walking around and getting into everything!

She’s actually the reason I’m writing. You see, Caleb and I are going away. We need to help our friends, you know who I’m talking about, and we don’t think it’s safe to take Juliet with us. Please take care of her for me. I want her to have a normal life, and I’m not sure if we’ll be able to make it back.

I love you big sis, and I know that you’ve always wanted kids. Please raise her as your own. Give David my love.

Love,

Evelyn

Wait a second, I thought, double checking the return address on the envelope. Evelyn Monroe! The Monroes are my parents!

Forgetting the other file, I got up and went into the kitchen. I walked over to Mom and put the open folder and letter in front of her. It hit the table with a loud smack.

“What is this?” my voice shook.

“Where did you find that?” Mom asked evasively.

“You didn’t answer my question, Aunt Elaine.”

She sighed. “We were going to tell you.”

“When?” my voice was getting louder and more unsteady with each word I spoke. “When I went off to college? When I got married? Or just after I found out?”

“Juliet, please hear me out,” she pleaded.

I stood for a moment, trembling with fury. After taking a deep breath, I sat down facing her.

“When your parents disappeared, we were devastated. My little sister was my best friend, and she was just…gone. We waited six months before we declared Evelyn and Caleb legally dead. Afterwards we adopted you and raised you as our own,” she explained. I opened my mouth to say something, but she cut me off. “What were we supposed to do? You were only three years old and there wasn’t a trace of your parents.” There were tears streaming down her face. “It’s what Evelyn wanted.”

I got up and started pacing as I absorbed everything that she had told me. “Do you know what they were looking for when they disappeared? Who are these ‘friends’ she mentioned?”

“I’m not the best person to answer that,” she replied.

I stopped and looked her dead on. I was upset and frustrated, and tired of not knowing what was happening.

“So you mean that you won’t tell me? Fine, I’ll find out for myself.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but I didn’t wait for a reply. I couldn’t stay in that house, couldn’t look at her for fear of doing or saying something I’d regret. I turned and headed for the back door.

“Where are you going?” she called, but I ignored her.

I walked my bike through the gate and onto the sidewalk before mounting. I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going. I was too angry, too confused, too hurt to even notice until I instinctively stopped in front of Grandma’s house. I leaned my bike against the fence and walked quickly to the front door. Grandma opened the door before I could even knock. I swept past her into the house, then rounded on her after she had closed the door.

“You knew and you never told me,” I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice.

“Told you what?” she asked, confused.

“About my real parents.”

“Ah, that,” she replied, looking down guiltily. “I promised your aunt and your mother that I would keep it secret.”

“I’ve had enough of secrets,” I snarled.

“Have you?” her head snapped up, and there was something in her eyes I had never seen before.

Her eyes were hungry, searching. Like a predator’s. I had never seen her like this.

“You want to know the truth? About everything?”

I nodded, although my heart had begun to race. Grandma walked past me without another word and began closing all of the curtains. I watched in silent confusion as she went through this little process, then she stood before me again. An evil smile lit her face, and then her face began to change. Her eyes turned a shockingly bright blue and her wrinkles melted away. Her long white hair turned pale blonde, and two fangs sprouted from her canines. From the waist up she was a very pretty human, but the rest of her body was that of a snake’s. I opened my mouth to scream, but the tip of her tail shot out and covered my mouth before I could make a sound.

“The truth is, I’m not your Grandma,” she hissed.

The tip of her tail pulled slowly away from my face as I gazed at her in horror.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“You would be unable to pronounce my name,” she said dismissively. “The question you meant to ask is what am I. I am a siren.”

“A siren?” I asked in confusion. What is that?

“Many people confuse us with mermaids,” she snorted derisively, as if anyone could compare her to a mermaid. “Your stories say that we lure hapless sailors to us with our singing, but we’re not picky about who is drawn to us. Then we eat them.” She laughed at the look of disgust on my face. “But what your stories don’t mention is the fact that after we have eaten a person, we can assume their shape. Oh yes,” she purred, seeing comprehension dawn on my face. “Your grandmother met a similar fate.”

I spotted a trashcan nearby and lost my lunch. The siren laughed again, a high melodic sound that did not suit her evil nature in the slightest. I thought of a lot of nasty names to call her, but my mouth was too occupied to say any of them. When

I was calm enough, I straightened and faced her.

“What do you want from me?” I asked in a surprisingly calm voice.

“The person I serve has need of your help,” she replied, surveying me as I imagined a lioness surveys a young gazelle.

“Why would your boss need my help?”

“They have need of your…abilities,” she said cryptically.

My what? I thought, seeing that they had obviously chosen the wrong person.

“Your boss is just going to have to do whatever it is they want my help for without me,” I said.

The siren’s eyes flashed. “No one refuses me,” her voice was deadly calm and quiet.

“I just did,” I was surprised at my own boldness, because my heart was hammering so loudly I was sure that she could hear it.

She smiled unpleasantly and changed again, back into my grandma.

“You don’t want to refuse. You want to help,” she sang in a beautiful voice.

I felt strange, as if the whole world was silenced, except for her voice. I felt tired and sluggish. Of course I want to help you, I thought. What are you doing? whispered a voice in the back of my mind. I tried to ignore it, but it kept persisting. That thing killed your real grandma! I wanted to tell it to shut up, but it was starting to get louder. You idiot! SNAP OUT OF IT!

I shook my head, for once glad of that nagging little voice.

“I said, you just have to do it without my help,” I said loudly.

I cut off whatever she was about to say, and in her rage she changed back into her horrible self. She was positively shaking, and there was murder written on her face.

“You will help us, even if I have to wear your face for you!” she screeched, rushing forward.

My heart pounded a fierce rhythm in my chest, and I threw out my hands to push her away. An odd purple light swirled around my hands, and I began to tingle from the top of my head, to my fingers, to my toes. It felt as if an electrical current were running through me. The siren sprang, and a blast of pure energy shot from my hands, hitting her in the chest and knocking her into the wall.

She hit the wall, then landed on the coffee table. Her head hit the corner of the table with a sick smack and her shape changed back to my grandma as her eyes glazed over. I looked at the still siren, then down at my faintly glowing hands. What have I done? I thought, right before I screamed.