by Sean Clark
Above A Whisper
Whispers of a Planet: Book 2
Sean Clark
Contents
Contents
Book 1:The Life, Restarted
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Book 2: Return to the Planet
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Book One: The Life, Restarted
Chapter 1
At that moment, the world reappeared to him. His blurry existence instantly returned to fine lines, intricate details, and colors popping out in ways he thought he had forgotten. Cecil can feel the bridge of the glasses come to a rest on his nose, and the arms around his ears. In his peripheral vision, the thick dark lines of the frames rest, drawing a line between the two worlds. The first thing he takes notice of is the gazes directed at him, staring him down, as if awaiting a response.
“You look good, Cecil. Have you never worn glasses before?” The man with him asks, peering at him hopefully.
“No… As a kid, I don’t think my family could have ever afforded a pair. Luckily my eyesight was always good.” Cecil avoided the judging eyes of the optician. Although she was just there to make sure they fit, he feels her eyes examining him. Ignoring the pressuring feeling, he looks into the mirror by his side. The concave surface magnifies every inch of his complexion, visible before him in high definition. He pulls his eyes away before he has a chance to take it in.
He spots Alika’s reflection behind him in the corner of the mirror. The tan man pats him on the back. Cecil backs himself away from the desk and the unnerving reflective surfaces. The bright sunlight coming in from window catches his attention.
“Let me fill out some paperwork, and then we can get out of here.” Alika grabs his shoulders, helping him up from the seat.
“Have a good day, you two.” The optician girl calls as they turn away. Alika strolls to the front desk to talk with the receptionist. His voice fades out of Cecil’s mind as he becomes fixated on the window, or rather what was outside. He steps up to the large glass pane, gazing out at a simple tree, now vibrant, leaves with intricate forms, no longer just blobs of green. He reaches out to touch the cold surface of glass. As he slides his fingers across the slick material, he can see the prints left behind. Someone calls his name.
“Okay, we’re all done here, Cecil.” Alika grabs his shoulder once again, and leads him the few steps leftwards towards the door, swinging it open to let him through. The two shuffle into the car outside. Cecil fumbles with the buckle, still fixated on the world around him. As the car starts and pulls out of the parking lot, his eyes follow the buildings that pass.
“I think we can try and get you reevaluated for your driver’s license soon, Cecil.”
“I don’t know, really.” Cecil mumbles, his eyes glazing over as the buildings started to pass for his gaze to follow.
“Well… that’s fine with me then.” Alika says, sounding vaguely defeated. “I’m still here for you, after all.”
Cecil’s heart stops for a second upon hearing the tone in his voice. “I’m… sorry. I know you have a better stuff to do than babysit me all the time. I’ll get out of your hair someday.”
“You know that’s not my intention.” Alika shakes his head. “This is my job after all. But... as your friend, I want to help you too.”
Cecil turns to Alika in the driver’s seat, whose gaze remains fixed on the road before them. Occasionally his eyes shift to the rear-view mirror, but Cecil imagines it being a sideways glance at him. The car hums lightly, the silence otherwise unbearable.
Cecil’s eyes drift, now ignoring the outside scenery. He studies the dust on the dashboard, the cheap anodized plastic engraving of the brand name on the glove compartment. The little message on the side mirror catches his eye, ‘Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.’ Cecil comes face to face with his reflection once again.
Cecil can make out his image clearly now… his face is the one in the mirror. Looking at the blurry figure from before was bearable, but now his reflection is just a looming reminder of his past. His own face is now something he would now have to actively hide from. Hesitantly, he turns his gaze down to his feet.
Before long, the car sails to a smooth stop and the locks pop open. Picking his head up, Cecil looks out the side window. He is home, if he can call it that. The tall boxy buildings are glaringly bland even though Cecil’s new lenses. He can see the building numbers clearly now, with his apartment, complete with a silvery plate reading 204. As the door swings open, he catches another glimpse of himself in the mirror, which he quickly averts his eyes from.
“I’ll be here tomorrow morning for your appointment, Cecil. 9:45, remember?” Alika says, resting his hand on the steering wheel. “I’ll call you just in case too, about ten minutes before I arrive, okay? Try and get a good night’s rest.”
Cecil nods, turning the other direction. He shuts the car door behind him, waving goodbye. The muffler hums as the car putters off. Like autopilot, his legs take him up the stairs and into his apartment.
Chapter 2
A loud beeping invades Cecil’s limited consciousness. His eyes remain sealed closed, and the rest of his body rejects any form of movement. Forcing himself to roll over as if out of reflex, he fumbles with the alarm on the bedside table. The alarm stops dead. Chills run up his body as he sits up, letting the covers fall off him, the cold creating goose bumps up his arms and shoulders. The LEDs of the alarm clock are blurry, but he can make out the numbers; 8:47. It had been sounding for over fifteen minutes. He blinks.
“Glasses.” He thinks to himself.
Checking the table, he finds that they had been knocked to the ground in his search for the ‘off’ button. They are unharmed. Sighing with relief, he places them on his face.
His toes crinkle as they meet with the cold wooden floor besides his bed. Forcing himself up used to be so easy, there always used to be something to do. A doctor’s appointment, or a physical therapy session. The corneal transplant had happened over two months before, and the check-ups on their condition had come to an end. Since then, the frequency of various appointments had died out. As he trudges in the direction of the kitchen, he steps over the pile of laundry adorning his floor. He takes a second to try and remember whether it is clean or dirty.
The cold tiles of the kitchen meet his feet. Through his cracked eyes, he can see the dim light drifting in through the blinds, pulled down. Bright light overtakes the room as he flicks the switch on the wall. It is too bright still, and he quickly slaps his hand against the switch to turn it off again.
Pulling out bread from the cabinet, he takes out two slices of the plain white loaf, and pops them in the toaster. It is set right in the middle. All the cups sit dirty in the sink, so he sticks his mouth under the water faucet a
nd turns it on. The lukewarm water tastes coppery. Some runs down his chin and drips into the sink.
The chair slides out with a squeak against the tile. Cecil sits, staring at the toaster, waiting for it to inevitably pop up. A small fly buzzes around his head. Trying to find where it had come from, he spots the brown bananas sitting in a bowl on the opposite counter. The toaster pops.
The bananas are just the right ripeness for him, somehow. They spread easily on the golden-brown bread, even if a few bruised spots were unappealingly dark. In the back of his mind he figures wasting those parts are bad. After both the slices go down, he walks back to the sink for another sloppy drink of water. The warm, coppery taste doesn’t seem any better.
Cecil slips off his clothes as he makes his way back to the bedroom. He passes the mirror, seeing flashes of his reflection. Steam starts to flow across the cold wood floor as he turns on the shower. He remembers to take his glasses off, stopping to inspect a few specs of dust that had settled on the lenses. Somewhere, he had received a small cloth to wipe them down. Who know where it had gone. He places the frames down on the counter beside his razor.
Cecil stands under the stream. The water is warm, and it allows him to think thoughts that aren’t just about climbing back into bed. Steam dances around his ankles behind the curtain. He stares down at the floor, motionless, the water rushing over him. Slowly the water starts to become cold, and Cecil finds himself standing in the same spot. He wipes his face off with wrinkly fingers, and pushes the handle down. A few drips fall from the shower head, sounding loudly in the now silent bathroom.
A buzzing rings out from the next room. Alika is probably calling. Cecil quickly dries off and combs his hair. His dark bangs feel long and shaggy, hanging down just out of his view. Running his fingers through it is still a strange sensation.
Outside in the cold room, goose bumps grow on Cecil’s skin as he searches for clothes. Somewhere in the pile he finds a couple clean seeming pieces to put on. It really doesn’t matter. He slips them on, finally walking over to check the phone sitting atop his bed. The large rectangle of the LCD is still a blur, although bringing it up to his face helps. “Glasses.”
Running back to the bathroom, he finds them sitting in the same place he had left them. The fog dissipates slowly off the lenses. The world once again appears before him in clarity, and he returned to the phone. Alika’s name is displayed on the LCD screen, the message being received five minutes prior. Cecil grabs his shoes from beside the door, and sits down to tie them.
Five minutes feel like an hour, looking down at his freshly tied shoes. He waits. A loud knock stirs him, and he moves to unlock the door. As expected, Alika waits for him on the other side. “Good morning. Are you ready to go?” He smiles brightly, and Cecil looks back at him, nodding. Locking the door behind him, they head down the stairs to the car.
“Did you sleep well?” Alika gestures to Cecil with his elbows, hands on the steering wheel.
“As well as all the other nights.” Cecil says glumly, looking out the windshield aimlessly.
“I wish this guy would finally find something that works for you.” Alika sighs, focusing on the road.
The drive is short. Cecil looks out as they pass the Johnson Space Center sign. He can see Clear Lake out the driver’s side. The water glistens with the light of the rising sun. The road vaguely follows the lake as it leads into the town. In the distance, the familiar hospital looms. Beside it is the psychologist's office, where Cecil had gone more times than he could remember.
As they pull into the parking lot Cecil can make out the sign for the office, ‘Dr. Griogair, Psychiatrist.’ Cecil had heard the name many times, but had never seen the spelling. He finds it weird.
Cecil hops out of the car after they park, and Alika follows, locking the doors after them. As they enter, Cecil is greeted by the familiar voice of the receptionist. “Good day to you, Mr. Ruiz. The doctor is ready to see you, any time you are.”
Cecil looks back at Alika, who is already making himself comfortable in one of the faux-velvet waiting room chairs, picking through a stack of magazines. “I’ll be right outside, Okay?” Alika gives him a short wave. Cecil turns to the dark-stained wooden door.
As Cecil enters, a large wooden chair spun on its stand, making a slight squeak. “Ahh, Cecil, how are you?” The doctor’s dark voice rumbles at him.
The room is dimly lit, only with a few candles. There is a faint smell that Cecil can’t place. An entire corner is dedicated to a large bookshelf, floor to ceiling, packed tight with well used books. The gold details of the spines now stand out to him. There is a stereotypic lounge chair in the middle of the room, upholstered once again in faux-velvet. Cecil avoids it and moves to a smaller chair on the side of the room.
“I’m fine.” Cecil mumbles, propping himself against his knees.
“You look well. You got some glasses I see. Do you feel like you’ve regained your earth legs yet?” The doctor jokes, his stubby salt-and-pepper beard moving along with his lips. His eyes gleam subtly in the candlelight.
“Physically… it feels like I’m all together now, I guess.” Cecil stares at his shoes and the threadbare carpet that had seen too many shifting feet.
“And the rest of you? What about your sleep cycle? How have the medications been working for you?” The doctor rolls the chair towards Cecil before standing up, looking over the back lounge at him. The doctor rubs lightly at his large stomach, and leans over the lounge’s headrest.
“They still don’t do much.” Cecil twiddles his thumbs.
“You said last time you were only getting about four to six hours of sleep per night, is that still the case?”
“Yeah, sleep just kind of happens when it happens. I’ll close my eyes, drift off for a bit, wake up, and toss around until I go through it all again.” Cecil explains. “I don’t even try and look at the clock anymore.”
“Hmm… Let’s switch gears for a moment, and talk about what you do while you’re awake.” Griogair starts pacing around the room. “Perhaps you can’t sleep because your mind is too active, like you aren’t satisfying it with activity during the day. How have you been keeping busy, Cecil?”
“What do you mean?” Cecil looks up at the doctor, following the large man’s movement back and forth.
“How do you spend your days?” He postures slowly.
“I… don’t know.” Cecil shrugs. “Sometimes I’m out with Alika, doing whatever, or I’m here. At home, I’ll sometimes be reading manuals, doing my exercises, or just thinking. When there’s nothing better, I’ll sometimes just sit there and daydream. Before I know it, the whole day has gone by.”
“And what do you daydream about? What’s on your mind that takes all day to process?” The doctor looks him straight in the eyes. Cecil avoids the gaze.
“I don’t know. Sometimes I can’t focus on just one thing, and it all turns to white noise in my brain.”
“And when you are able to sleep, what do you see?” Griogair drums his fingers across the back of the lounge chair. “Any dreams that come to you?”
“I can’t really recall any of that....” Cecil shakes his head sadly. The room goes quiet. The flames from the candles cast dainty shadows against the wall. Griogair clears his throat.
“We’ve discussed this before, but the lack of sleep isn’t helping your brain heal itself. Do you feel as if you don’t have the motivation to get better?”
“What do you mean by that?” Cecil glares at the doctor.
“Well…” The doctor stops in place, arms crossed behind his back. “Perhaps subconsciously, you don’t want to get… better, so you can avoid the burdens of a more… normal life here on Earth. Reintegration as you might call it.”
“Of course I want to get better, to get out of here.” Cecil whines. “I feel… useless, can’t you see that? They won’t let me go until you say I’m ‘better.’”
“Good, good.” Griogair nods emphatically. “I understand your predicament
, truthfully. I just want to better understand what might be causing all this, at the very bottom of it all.”
“I’ve spilled my guts here, what are you missing?” Cecil groans, looking down at the floor.
“Let’s put everything into context, and see how it all connects together.” Griogair squints, nodding his head. “Tell me again. When you started your physical therapy, where were you at?”
“I got out of surgery with a hole in my head, having to recover from them taking a golf-ball sized tumor from my brain. Before that I was in cryonic suspension, basically in a coma for months without end. Mars was probably equally as rough on my body… after almost a year up there I guess I wasn’t prepared for Earth’s gravity again.”
“What motivated you to get out of bed, out of the hospital then?” The doctor maintains his fixed stare.
“When I woke up I could barely even move my arms. There’s no way to describe how it feels. I could feel the outside world, but I couldn’t interact with it. It was scary, like I was trapped inside my own useless body.”
“Tell me why that scares you, Cecil.”
“I was one hundred percent reliant on others to ensure my safety and well-being. I had no choice in the matter, whether I was to live or die. Most people can hardly take care of themselves. How do you expect them to take complete care of another person?”
“So, you wanted to escape that feeling.” Griogair raises his eyebrows expectantly.
“I did. The moment I had even an ounce of strength, I wanted to use it to exercise my own power. To feed myself, to wash myself, even to use the bathroom on my own. I can’t stand people doting on me.” Cecil grasps onto the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white.
“Fear and anger are very strong motivators, Cecil. Now that you are physically fit again, the only thing holding you back is your mental disposition, is it not?”
“I wish I could tell myself that it’s over, that I’m home and safe and that I never have to deal with that planet anymore.” Cecil shakes his head. “Somewhere in the back of my mind though, it doesn’t feel like reality. It’s like my mind is playing tricks on me. Sometimes I feel as if this world around me isn’t real, or rather, too real.”
