Eminent Silence

by Tristan Carey

  'Not if I can help it,' Pietro said, only half-jokingly.

  She reached behind me to punch him in the arm. 'Shut up. You cannot protect me forever, Pietro.'

  'I will certainly try.'

  Wanda just sniffed in annoyance, tossing her head, and I had to hide my laugh behind a hand so no one could overhear. 'You guys are killing me. Let's go already before you guys get us caught.'

  That inadvertently started another argument, of the twins accusing the one another of being the problem, and a 'No, you' back-and-forth took place in hushed whispers as we jumped from the building roof to the train below. The sound we made was covered by the train horn, and the subsequent chug of wheels. The boxcar beneath me shifted and rocked as we suddenly started forward. Our position was currently hidden by the building next to us, but if the train pulled out before we could get inside, then we were screwed.

  'Wanda! Help please!' I hissed at her as I tried wrenching open the top hatch of the boxcar we were standing on. It was tougher than I expected and I didn't want to make a scene by ripping off, all He-Man like, and needed Wanda's far subtler magic to pull it off. I was sure that this train would face inspections along the way, and I really didn't want to tip anyone off with a giant hole in one of their boxcars.

  'Sorry,' Wanda whispered back, having the decency to look a little hangdog as she cut off her fight with Pietro to weave red energy around the hatch and snap it open.

  I dropped down into the dark interior, landing feet first on the hardwood floor. The sound echoed, so I knew this cart was mostly empty before the twins followed me, Wanda lighting up the inside with an orb of spinning light. The hatch closed above us, and suddenly it felt very quiet, with the outside nose muffled, and the rumble of the traintracks right beneath us. We crouched on the spot, waiting as the train kept moving, picked up speed, until we were sure we were out of the train station.

  'That went well,' Pietro commented after a few minutes, when the all-clear was agreed upon. He stood up, took a look around, sniffing the air. 'Smells like spices. I wonder what is in these boxes…'

  On the far end of the car were a pile of stacked crates. We all went over to examine the contents, and Wanda let out a startling cry, making me and Pietro jump with fear, until it was revealed that she had stumbled upon was not, in fact, a ticking time bomb, dead body, or any other unpleasant surprise — but rather a crate filled with pre-packaged cookies and bread.

  Pietro discovered dried goods in another crate, and I found actual jugs of water. It wasn't until seeing them, sloshing around in their crate, did I realize how thirsty I was. We hadn't stopped at any time reaching the train station to get food or drink, not even to eat the snow, so I didn't hesitate to pick one out, pop the cap, (smell it first to make sure it was actually water), before taking a long swig.

  We had a good supper that night.

  Aside from the eating, there wasn't much talking — probably because we were so exhausted from today's events that to do anything else besides sleep for an age seemed silly. Wanda was already leaning heavily against Pietro, and seemed to be drifting off in the middle of munching on her cookies.

  I in the middle of eating my bread and water, wishing for at least a little butter, for some flavor, and trying not to think too hard about Mom's cooking, or Thanksgiving, or hamburgers or normal American food or home, when Pietro's voice broke through my thoughts.

  It was almost warm in here, probably thanks to our collective body heat, and even in the dark I could see that Wanda curling up, tucking her head against Pietro. Instead of complaining, like I'd expect, he sang. Soft, musical words echoed in the wooden interior, almost ethereal in the calm, dark quiet.

  'Odpocznij moje dziecko

  Dzień się skończył

  Słońce zaświeci

  Gdy przyjdzie poranek

  Ale teraz jest ciemno i świat jest spokojny

  Więc daj odpocząć oczom swym i zaśnij,'

  'What is that?' I asked eventually, my voice a low whisper.

  'A lullaby,' Pietro said, petting Wanda's head as she slept. There was a rhythm to it, his eyes distant and glassy, as if lost somewhere in a dream. 'Dat used to sing it to us, when we were little.'

  'What language is it?' I tilted my head. I didn't understand the words, but it sounded sweet, kind. 'It's not Sokovian.'

  'Polish, I think,' Pietro replied. 'Dat was from Poland. He said his parents used to sing him that song, when he was little. He told me the words once, in Sokovian, but I don't remember them now. I wish...I wish I could ask. I wish he was here.'

  'I thought you hated him.'

  Pietro shrugged, making a face. 'Sometimes. What I feel is for Dat is...complicated. I will always be angry he left. But I still miss him, anyways. I wish I did not. But I do.'

  I was silent for a long moment. I knew what Pietro meant — I was angry at my dad, too, for similar reasons. I didn't miss him, of course — can't miss someone you never met. But I knew the feeling of wanting him back, of being angry at myself for wanting that. 'What do you remember of him?'

  Pietro didn't answer right away, squinting slightly as he considered the question. 'Not much. His voice, sometimes. I hear it in my dreams. Other times, his face. His eyes. They were sad...always sad. I don't know why. He would never tell me. But l could see it. And I remember...I remember he had numbers. On his wrist.'

  I blinked, frowning. 'Numbers on his wrist? What, like a tattoo?'

  'Yes, yes, a tattoo. Faded.'

  'How old was he?' I asked, tilting my head. Tattooed numbers on his wrist...it sounded wrong. And...he was Pietro's father? Something wasn't adding up.

  'I don't know. Forties, I guess. Not old. Why?' Pietro returned my frown. 'Do you know what the numbers mean?'

  I hesitated. '...No. Well, maybe. I don't know.'

  If Pietro's father was in his forties, and if that tattoo was what it sounded like, a freaking Holocaust survivor - well, it couldn't be. His father wouldn't have even been born yet, to be alive during World War II, or anytime before it. Unless there was something else I didn't know about, which was probably the case. Something Pietro wouldn't be able to tell me, either. While I considering it further, Pietro interrupted my thoughts with: 'Well, it does not matter. He is gone now. Whatever, whoever he was, it is in the past.'

  'You sure?' I asked, raising my eyebrows in doubt. The conundrum sounded far too curious for me to let go, but I could see the resolution in Pietro's face, the utter indifference.

  'For now, yes,' Pietro said. 'Perhaps when we come back, and if he is still alive, then I will find Dat. But until then, I will be busy trying to survive.' Then he looked at me, curious. 'Did your parents ever sing you lullabies?'

  'Yeah,' I nodded, my gaze falling to the ground. 'Well, my mom did. No dad, you know. I spent a lot of nights in hospitals, and I couldn't go outside a lot, so my mom made me feel better with You Are My Sunshine. Do you know it?'

  PIetro shook his head. 'No. Can you sing it for me?'

  'What? No way.'

  'You don't know the words?'

  'Of course I know the words.'

  'Then sing it!'

  'No. I'm not singing. I don't sing.'

  'Neither can I. Does not stop me.'

  I scowled at him, and Pietro returned the look with a grin. Wanda shifted, her head shifting on his shoulder, before falling to rest again. I studied her for a second — then Pietro gave me puppy-dog-eyes, gesturing to her, and I groaned, 'Okay, fine! I'll sing it, but just this once.'

  'Ah! Wonderful.'

  I hesitated, wondering if I heard sarcasm in that, before settling myself against the back wall of the car. Pietro's stare was distracting, so I closed my eyes, tried to think only of my mom, those dark nights in a gurney, with the only the hum of machines as music to Mom's singing.

  'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

  You make me happy, when skies are gray

  You'll never know, dear, how much I love
you

  Please don't take my sunshine away

  The other night dear, as I lay sleeping

  I dreamt I held you in my arms

  When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken

  So I hung my head and I cried.

  I'll always love you and make you happy,

  If you will only say the same.

  But if you leave me and love another,

  You'll regret it all some day

  You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

  You make me happy when skies are gray

  You'll never know dear, how much I love you

  Please don't take my sunshine away

  In all my dreams, dear, you seem to leave me

  When I awake my poor heart pains

  So when you come back and make me happy

  I'll forgive and take all the blame

  You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

  You make me happy when skies are gray

  You'll never know dear, how much I love you

  Please don't take my sunshine away

  Oh, please don't take my sunshine away.'

  My voice drifted off at the end, just before my voice could break, and I huddled up, hugging myself and suddenly feeling nostalgic, and very homesick. I had never sang that song before, and doing it now just made me want Mom to be here. Just made me want to be home again, wish none of this was real. My eyes burned and it took all of my willpower not to cry right then and there.

  'Hmm,' Pietro had a soft, dreamy smile on his face, nodding as I finished. 'I liked that. Is that Beatles' song, yes? I'm glad you taught me English, to know what those words mean.'

  'I taught you English?' I asked, surprised. I hadn't even realized I'd been singing in English, although of course it made sense after the fact. I didn't know the song in Sokovian.

  'Yes, the way we taught your our language,' Pietro chuckled, his shoulders shaking a little, enough that Wanda grumbled in her sleep. 'It is how we became friends, in the Crucible. How we understood each other. How we understood ourselves. Without you, we would never have escaped. We would have never seen the sun again.'

  'Clearly you and I remember things differently, because I haven't seen any sun since I woke up.' I said, making him laugh.

  'Perhaps you just make the weather shit.' Pietro suggested.

  I threw a piece of bread at him. 'Just go to sleep, Silver Butt.'I had been dreaming of Mom, her singing voice and a warm fireplace, the smell of her chicken soup, all those small, sweet things I never realized I missed before — when I was shaken awake.

  'Amelia,' Pietro said, his hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me. 'Amelia, get up. You must see this.'

  'Mm,' I groaned, pushing him away, squeezing my eyes against the pale sunlight piercing my eyes. But shifting back to reality also opened me up to the chilling November cold, and there was no going back to sleep like that. My voice was thick and slurred when I mumbled, 'What? What is it?'

  'Come, come,' Pietro urged, taking me by the arm and helping me up.

  I winced at the crick in my neck — no pillows in the train car, after all. Slumping on my feet, I followed as Pietro led me to the open door. Wait, who opened it? Wanda was clinging to the side, wide awake, peering through the rushing wind into the distance. Cold, gray morning light filtered in, and I squinted out into the open; we were surrounded by massive mountains on all sides — their peaks were lost in thick, cottony clouds. It was already snowing, and the mountainsides were white and black, absolutely frozen. The train tracks led across on the side of the mountains, and the ground dropped steeply beneath us. It was a good half-mile down between us and the valley below. A winding blue river slithered its way around the base of the mountains.

  Wanda pointed to something on the mountain across from us, almost a mile away. 'There it is. The Crucible.'

  And that's when I saw it. A white stone castle, tall and austere, peering out of the fog encircling the mountain. It had blue-shingled roof and black windows, and no sign of life anywhere. It seemed lonely on its little cliff, with no surrounding town or village, no visible road leading up to it. Secluded, it seemed like the perfect getaway for the wealthy and powerful, perhaps the romantic vacation home of old Germanic royals.

  Now, it was the home to the Chairman.

  It seemed oddly fitting — the people of Sokovia existed in squalor, while their beloved leader lived like a king.

  'Huh,' I said absently, as we watched the castle slowly drift past. Was anyone there right now? It almost looked abandoned. 'Looks like a Bond villain lair.'

  'I do not know what that is,' Pietro said. 'But I agree.'

  A headache started forming behind my eyes, and I winced, pressing the heel of my palm to my temple. It was like this sharp, stabbing pain that took me by surprise. Either I really should've slept with a pillow, or something was wrong.

  'Do you remember anything?' Wanda asked, looking up at me with pinched brows. Her dark hair billowed behind her in the wind. 'We were here for many years, but we never knew what it looked like on the outside. The Chairman let you out sometimes, though. Training, I think. If anyone would recognize it, it would be you.'

  'I-I don't…' I grimaced, shaking my head. My vision went all squirrel-y for a moment, and I shifted unsteadily on my feet as my stomach did an unexpected flip. I suddenly felt nauseous, lightheaded — vertigo, even though I wasn't looking down. Still, it felt the world was spinning around me. 'I don't think so…'

  The Crucible didn't seem familiar - at first. But the longer I looked at it, the stronger the sense of déjà vu came over me. The same sense of déjà vu I had when I met the kids. No, no, I'd definitely been here before. Somehow, I had seen the outside of the Crucible, I had been outside and for some reason I hadn't escaped.

  'Amelia,' Wanda said, her hand suddenly gripping my shoulder. Her expression was baffled. 'Your nose is bleeding.'

  'W-what?' I blinked at her, but Wanda's face shifted in front of me. Double-vision. I raised my hand to my face, and noted with shock that she was right. Pulling my hand away, my fingers were covered in blood. Until she said it, I hadn't noticed the trail of warmth dripping down my face.

  I stared at the blood on my hands. This was far more familiar to me than the Crucible. Oh no.

  Was it happening again?

  I didn't get the chance to find out. I looked up to meet Wanda and Pietro's eyes, their increasing worry, before my knees buckled and I collapsed.

  I was out before I hit the floor.

  Cold.

  Mouth dry.

  Wheeze. Rattle. Shake.

  Bright white light filtered through my eyelids. I squinted, wondering if I was back in the ambulance.

  But there was nothing. No movement. No sound. Nothing aside from the beeping of a machine, the rhythmic press and release of some sort of gas, and the faint creaking as I shifted on the soft mattress I was lying on, the metal cot beneath.

  My chest felt heavy, too heavy on one side. Something was in my mouth, pressing down on my tongue. In my throat. I couldn't close my jaw or swallow.

  I could barely breathe.

  Something was wrong.

  My teeth rubbed against hollow plastic. I tried to bite it, to get up, to do anything, but I barely had the energy to blink. There's tape on my face. I couldn't do anything but wonder why the world's spinning around me.

  Then a bang echoed in the room, loud and metallic. I tried to pick up my head, but it's so heavy. Everything is so heavy. I'd never been heavy, but now I felt as if every bone in my body is made of marble, of lead. Heavy, hard, and so, so brittle.

  A shadow slipped over me. I blinked, squinting again. Breath rattling in my throat. It's Mom, wasn't it? I figured it out. I was back in the hospital again. This is the part that always comes after the ambulance ride. The tubes, the prick in my arm, the blankets thick over my too-cold feet and hands.

  The squeak of wheels. A swivel chair next to my cot. My eyes tried to
focus on the blur, but I wasn't wearing my glasses. My vision was a Youtube video on 180p. Worse than that. Blurry pixels, only the most basic of shapes and color. Its infuriating in ways few things are. I didn't have my glasses. I couldn't reach for them; even if they were nearby, I wouldn't be able to see them. I don't know what happened to them since I collapsed at home.

  'Hello, Amelia.' The voice of the black silhouette said. Male, smooth and low. An accent speaking perfect English. I couldn't determine the origin. 'I suppose you're wondering what's happened since the ambulance crash.'

  Ambulance crash? I didn't remember it. I remembered Mom singing to me, I remembered Peter's voice through the cell phone. I remembered the sirens and the blood. Nothing else.