The Silent Sounds of Chaos

by Kristina Circelli

  The old man swallowed hard, letting one hand drift through Finn’s hair. “Tommy, Snow is … Snow is dead.”

  THE STEADY HUM of a corner fish tank filled the large bedroom. A wide window along the far wall let in thin streams of morning sunlight through the clouds, lighting up the grayish-blue walls and carpeted floors. And there, in the center of the room, lay a boy not much older than twenty, his grandfather sleeping soundly next to him.

  The door opened and closed with a small click, stirring the man with deep worry lines etched around ice-blue eyes. He peered across the room at the middle-aged woman who had entered, her expression gentle and friendly. Standing, he ran his hands down his dress shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles before straightening to assume his usual air of grandeur.

  “Dr. Jenn,” he greeted coolly, though she could hear the underlying tone of concern. “Please, excuse my state. Thank you for coming.”

  The doctor nodded, her fiery-red hair framing her face in soft curls. She accepted his proffered hand, then sat in the chair he placed next to the bed, her soft yellow dress swishing around her ankles. “Of course, Charles. You know how much I care for him.”

  “Yes, well, I don’t know how much you can do for him this time. Circumstances have changed.”

  Another nod, her lips pursed thoughtfully as she looked around the familiar room, then down at Finn. “How long as he been out?”

  The man known to most around town as Charles Stone resumed his seat. “A little over two days. He’s been sedated twice. Each time he comes out of it, he panics and flies into a rage. We have been sedating him at home. I’m sure you understand why we cannot bring him to a hospital.”

  The warning was clear, and unnecessary. She did know, and respected those reasons as much as she feared the repercussions of going against them. Instead of replying, Dr. Jenn took a moment to look over the sleeping patient, eyes narrowing thoughtfully when she saw the figurine on the bedside table.

  Picking it up, she ran her fingers over the tiny wooden child wearing a painted cape like a superhero, memories taking her back to a time when she marveled over a little boy’s ability to create such trinkets. “What’s this?”

  “One of his figures he left on my front porch.” Charles reached into his pocket and pulled out a second figurine, a girl crafted of thin wingnuts and copper wire with yellow-twine hair. Though he didn’t give it to the doctor, he did allow her to observe it before securing it away again. “This one was in his pocket when they found him.”

  “He still makes them? After so many years? So many of our sessions?”

  “He never stopped.”

  The confirmation had Dr. Jenn’s eyes lifting from figure to father. “Charles, what happened?”

  “You are a respectable doctor, Jennifer, intelligent and knowing. Certainly you saw this coming.”

  She suspected the reply was a delay rather than an accusation. So, she asked again, “Saw what coming, Charles?”

  “His eventual break.”

  “You know these things can’t be predicted, Charles. Especially in his situation.” Dr. Jenn folded her hands together. “Now, tell me what happened.”

  “I thought he was getting better,” Charles replied, scrubbing a hand down his face, the tough-man façade fading for only a moment in the presence of an old family friend who he knew could be trusted. “He went out, had fun like a normal teenage boy. Even got himself a girl, a pretty one too. He brought her around a few times, though never to his apartment out back. Only to the main house, the room he had growing up. I didn’t know he was still talking to Snow until a week ago, when he said a friend was in trouble and he had to help her. At first I thought…”

  His voice faded, prompting the doctor to reach across the bed and touch his hand. “What happened a week ago?”

  A deep breath preceded the quiet reply. “My wife … his grandmother, passed away from a heart attack. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard.”

  “I did hear, when I got back in town two days ago,” she confessed, eyes downcast. “And I am so sorry for your loss. She was such a lovely woman.”

  Not wanting to get lost in his own grief, Charles continued. “Her death … it broke what was left of the Tommy we used to know. You know how he was before. Alert, intelligent, not quite sane but still able to live in the world. After I called him with news of my wife’s death, it was as though Tommy lost what little grasp he had on the world. It happened so fast, a flip of some kind of mental switch. He no longer recognized me as his grandfather and boss. I was … Well, to be honest, I don’t know who he saw me as.”

  “How do you know he didn’t recognize you?”

  “When my wife had her heart attack, Tommy was at a party. I called him and ordered him to come to the hospital. Except he never came. He ended up at his apartment out back, and when I confronted him the next morning, he seemed to have no recollection of our conversation the night before. Instead he was rambling about needing time off in order to help a friend. He wouldn’t tell me who, but I suspected it was Snow, given how he spoke of her.”

  Charles shook his head. “He left Infinity and I went home to take care of matters regarding my late wife. Imagine my surprise when someone called me, a young man named Finn who needed a favor, for me to take care of Tommy.”

  At Dr. Jenn’s confused frown, he continued, “That was my reaction as well. He insisted I take care of his little brother, Tommy, while he went to take care of something. I realized then that he was gone. One hour he recognizes me as his boss, in charge of Infinity and all it entails, and the next hour I am a stranger he met when he was eleven years old, trying to track him down at his mother’s trailer after he slipped out of the house. And now I was being asked to take care of a little boy who didn’t even exist … some other child made up in his mind to make up for the past. All I could do was ensure his safety as he did whatever he had to do to process his grandmother’s death, send my most trusted second hand with him for security. And still I failed even at that.”

  Dr. Jenn’s head cocked to the side, trying to process the meaning in his declaration. He didn’t give her the opportunity to question him. “There is brilliance in insanity, wouldn’t you say, Jennifer? Even when Tommy was lost to the world, some part of him was conscious enough to merge his fantasy into reality. He’s the one who suggested I send someone along with him, knowing I would have chosen Joe, the only person who could have possibly known Duane’s location after he fled town. A brilliant plan, masked by insanity. I doubt even he knew how perfect he became in his vengeance.”

  While she didn’t understand everything Charles said, the doctor’s heart clutched despite the malice hidden in the quiet rambling. It seemed to do the same to the man opposite her, and they both fell quiet, reflecting on the many years shared between them.

  The first time she met Tommy he’d been watching an animated film about superhero action figures. At first he’d opened up about his imaginary friend named Snow, excited someone finally believed in her too, but he shut down quickly.

  The last time she visited, he’d been a teenager who looked at her like she had three heads for even suggesting he talked to someone in his mind. She still remembered the day so clearly, watching him build a snowman in the backyard with a black-haired girl who achieved the rare feat of making him laugh. Tommy had always loved the winter, spending hours among the white fluff, as both child and adult.

  “You always cared so much for him,” she commented, perhaps only to break the silence. Just as Dr. Jenn remembered her sessions with Tommy, she also remembered how closely Charles watched. “It always struck me as oddly comforting.”

  “In what way?”

  Her gaze lifted to his, bright eyes twinkling with a knowing glint. “Charles, they call you Top Pop for a reason. I may be a respectable doctor, as you so noted, but our families have always been close. We both know what rumors I hear, and which ones I know are fact.”

  Charles regarded her with a cautious stare, fingertips tapping tog
ether. “Top Pop,” he murmured. “Such a ridiculous name. I would love to find the person who came up with it. Those who ever directed it toward me in conversation learned to never do so again.”

  She smiled despite the underlying meaning to his words. Charles was an old man, but powerful—perhaps the most powerful in the state. His profession was no secret, a successful import and export company masking the trade of narcotics and other illegal products and services. It was a reputation he wore with pride. But Dr. Jenn knew what he kept hidden, the guilt he lived with each day, and the love he felt for a grandson with a tormented soul.

  “So, what are your thoughts on how to move forward?”

  “I’d like to speak with him when he’s awake before making that decision.” Conversation now focused once more on the medical, Dr. Jenn pushed back thoughts of less-than-honorable trades and intentions. “My hope is that we can get Tommy back to where he was, get him to properly grieve his grandmother, but if he’s truly lost to the state you have described, we may have to take more drastic measures.”

  “I will not have him committed, Jennifer. You know this.”

  She held up a hand in gentle defense. “I know. I simply mean a different route. Continued therapy. Medication, perhaps. We can—”

  Her suggestion was interrupted by a knock at the door. When Charles made no motion to move, she answered it for him, finding a young woman on the other side, jet-black hair pulled back into a loose bun, shadows under her eyes. “Hello, dear. I assume you’re here to see Tommy?”

  The girl nodded. Dark eyes roved over the bed, the room, before she replied, “Um … yes. I heard he was home and that he was … injured. Chix let me in.”

  Now Charles did stand, arms clasped behind his back as he looked over at the young woman and greeted, “Hello, Amelia.”

  SITTING IN THE soft chair Charles had vacated, Amelia stared down at Tommy, one hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. He looked so peaceful in sleep, so unlike the tough and tormented boy she had known nearly all her life. She’d thought he left her. Found another girl in his mysterious apartment he never took her to, wanted to start a new life with her. Now, seeing him so clearly hurting even while sleeping, part of her wished that had been true.

  “He just disappeared,” she whispered to whoever was listening. “He seemed a little off lately, but I thought he was just stressed. I don’t understand what happened to him.” Now she looked over at Charles, who was watching her carefully. “What’s wrong with Tommy?”

  Instead of answering, Charles gestured to the doctor, who nodded. “Right. I’ll take my leave for the day.” Dr. Jenn gathered her purse, then pressed a kiss to her fingers and gently touched them to Finn’s cheek. “Charles, please let me know when you need me to return.”

  When she had gone, the older man turned to Amelia, holding an arm toward the door. “Come.”

  Though it took every bit of nerve she had to defy the man who terrified everyone in town, the young woman shook her head and gripped Finn’s hand. “No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

  “I’m not going to tell you,” Charles said with a hint of irritation. “I’m going to show you. It’s time you knew the truth.”

  AT FIRST, SHE thought Charles was leading her outside to get rid of her, to stop her from seeing or talking to Tommy for some reason. But when he brought her through the porch and into the sprawling two-acre backyard, past a gorgeous stone wall rising high above her head, to an expansive section surrounded by towering oak trees, she realized he was answering her question the only way he could.

  Charles stayed at the entrance to the small slice of land tucked away from the rest of the yard, hands in his pockets, as Amelia ventured inside. For a moment she, too, stood on the other side of the wall, not able to comprehend what she saw awaiting her on the other side. But the sight lured her forward, her hands grazing the smooth stone-walled entrance, feeling like she was walking into a fantasy world she’d only ever seen in movies. Her brow furrowed deeper every time she turned her head.

  An entire city lay sprawled out before her, miniature in form but no less in grandeur. At her feet began a long road made of tiny scrap-metal cobblestones, winding its way through trees and mountains carved of wood and painted to depict a beautiful fall season filled with brilliant oranges and reds. High up, the mountains were dusted in snow, tiny snowmen lining the hills and valleys.

  Her eyes followed the road as her feet stepped carefully along an obvious path. Along the road were vehicles of all different colors constructed of wires and thin strips of steel, some with tiny figures made of what looked like paperclips in the driver and passenger seats. A highway arched over the main path, dipping through the trees before disappearing beyond the boundaries of the wall. Branching off the road were smaller streets leading to stores and neighborhoods, some protected by trees, others by metal gates.

  The road wound up, through a grass woodland where wildflowers made trees, into a new tier of the city, where grand homes were built against a forest backdrop. Each house was crafted with a careful hand and close eye for attention, with square and oval windows cut into wooden walls, roofs etched to look like shingles, even huge yards spotted with colorful landscaping. She recognized the home she was in, a black toy Mustang in the driveway.

  On the other side of the makeshift city lay another house she recognized, a bright-green trailer sitting on top of a mostly dirt plot of land. It was surrounded by other mobile homes, some of which had children in the yards with tiny basketballs and wire-made bicycles. Farther down the road, all the way at the end and around the corner, a small cemetery was spread out with tiny stone grave markers surrounding a garden. The same cemetery where Amelia found Tommy hiding in all those years ago, the day after … Just, the day after.

  This was her town, his town, except … different.

  Lights strung throughout the yard’s many trees and high-reaching plum pines glistened above the town, illuminating the homes in a soft yellow glow accented by twinkling white, blue, and pink stars high in the sky. A rainbowed prism reflected off the metal roofs, cars, people. Amelia followed the kaleidoscope of color until her eyes settled on a child’s tiara with big plastic gemstones tucked up above the mountains. Before she could ponder its meaning, chrome-colored chimes hooked along branches swished together in the cool breeze, their songs bringing the small town alive with music and color.

  Amelia’s breath caught as she listened to the music, almost able to imagine the town bursting with laughter, children playing, traffic, even gunshots from the parts of the city awash in carefully constructed shadows. The song surrounded her, spinning her in a circle in the middle of the town she’d known her entire life, bringing a smile to her face despite the strange history of this hidden creation.

  It was beautiful. Evocative and melancholy and astounding all at once in its glittering existence.

  She didn’t know how long she stood there, observing the city within a backyard, before she finally found her voice. “I … I don’t know what to say about this place. I don’t understand.” Looking over her shoulder, she saw Charles watching her carefully, unable to read his expression. In this moment he didn’t seem like the dangerous gangster everyone said he was, who she knew him to be. “Did … did Tommy create this?”

  Eyes on the town, Charles replied, “Created … creating.” At her frown, he continued on a sigh, “He has been creating this town since he was seven years old, the day he came to live with us. This is where he lives.”

  Heart breaking, Amelia whispered with tears in her eyes, “In Silver City.”

  They sat at a glass table on the patio, the beautiful city of wood and metal creating a colorful backdrop in the distance. On placemats before them were two mugs of tea, though neither one was yet to be touched. Amelia waited, somewhat impatiently, for the elderly man to reveal the secrets of the hidden town.

  “Know that what I am about to tell you, I do so only because I believe you may be Tommy’s last link to reality,�
�� Charles began. The implication to his opening was clear—she was not a member of his trusted circle, and she better keep her mouth shut if she knew what was good for her. Amelia nodded.

  “Tommy came to live with us when he was seven. Child Protective Services took him away, and so we took him in. You know this. I would wager most people in this town know. What you never knew was that I didn’t want to care for a child, not after what our daughter became, but I would not stand to have my own blood stripped from my family. We knew right away Tommy was sick. My wife hoped we could help him. She tried hard to save him from what he’d become. But … we were too late.”

  Amelia frowned, wrapping her hands around the warm mug as a chill swept through her. “What do you mean?”

  “Annette … She made terrible choices. She let bad people into her home, let them do terrible things to her … and to her children.” Something hard settled into his eyes, though his hands remained perfectly still atop the table. “Things she managed to hide from me, until the day he was taken away.”

  This was the Charlie Stone Amelia knew. The cold, unforgiving man her father bought drugs from, worked for on occasion when he owed too much money. Whatever happened in the past, it was enough to bring out the killer in the old man.

  “I don’t understand,” she said again when he fell silent. “What does that have to do with this makeshift town? This Silver City, as he calls it?”

  “To understand his town, you must understand Tommy,” Charles replied simply. A long moment passed, his own years of painful memories and her misperceived ones creating a gaping barrier between them. “The life Tommy knew as a child was a nightmare. Even when he awoke from that nightmare, he couldn’t escape the fear. So, he created the world he wanted to live in, a world where he was strong enough to fight back. All the people he ever met, they all were given a place in his story, a story he created as a way to process what happened to him. Of course, this is what the doctor told us. I preferred to believe he was simply an over-imaginative boy, not wanting my own blood to display such mental incapacities, but as he grew older, we could not deny the truth any longer.”