Smiling to myself, I clean up the remainder of my long hair and place it in the garbage chute. In an instant, my childhood appearance is taken away from sight.
It’s interesting how something so simple can make such a drastic change. For some reason, my hair makes me look older, wiser. I can’t say I always feel that way, but I suppose I am in many ways.
Happier with my accomplishments, I set the scissors down beside the little blue vial and walk out of the allayroom and back to bed. I hope my hearing will be back in the morning. I want to know what Ammon thinks of what I’ve done.
Crawling back into bed, I pull the blankets up close. As if sensing I’m in bed, the lights dim and eventually go out. The house falls into complete darkness, and I let it consume me as I drift off to a deep, dreamless sleep.
I open my eyes to find Ammon standing over me, watching me like a hawk.
“Ammon, what are you doing?” I ask, bolting upright and clutching my chest.
I watch his lips mouth the words, “Can you hear me?”
Unfortunately, silence is all I hear, so I shake my head. He frowns, and then jabs a finger at my head.
“What?” I ask, then reach instinctively for my hair. It takes a moment, but I remember what I’d done the night before.
“Oh,” I mutter, “yeah, I sorta …”
He leans to one side, cocking his head.
Then he mouths, “You did this?”
I nod. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. Kinda just … happened.”
He pushes up a thumb, nodding.
“Thanks,” I smile.
“What happened to your eye?” he mouths slowly.
Instinctively, I draw my fingertips to my face, tracing the scar left by Tethys. I almost forgot it was even there.
“The blue eye, or the scar?” I laugh. “They were both gifts from Tethys.”
Ammon quirks his eyebrow a bit, then shakes his head.
It’s nice to know he’s able to see more—hopefully, his eyes will be fully healed soon.
We spend the next few days searching the house, the area nearby and all of the rock outcroppings for signs of what I’m supposed to be learning. Ammon is thankful to finally have real clothes to wear—even the strange ones from the Helix. By the third day of not being able to hear a single word, or a single sound, I’m about ready to go insane.
We’ve tried a number of different ways to communicate. Drawing in the sand with sticks, hunting for paper and an old fashioned writing utensil, you name it. But nothing has gotten rid of my lack of hearing.
“I’m going to bed, Ammon. I need to—I don’t know. Relax. Rest. Clear my head. Whatever.”
He opens his mouth, but I swat at the air in front of me, not wanting him to try to give me another muted response.
It’s gotta be near bedtime again, anyway.
I climb in the bed and pull the covers up and over my head.
I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
~Hello? Are you there?
~Who is this?
I instinctively ask, surprised.
~It’s me again. You know, Something.
I take a moment, remembering the last exchange we had. He’d left before without so much as a goodbye.
~Where have you been? You sound different.
~I sound like something? That’s weird. I can’t hear myself.
~Well, okay, not exactly. But you make sense to me.
~That’s sorta the point, right?
~Yeah, I guess. But I shouldn’t—I don’t think I’m supposed to be able to hear anything. So how can I hear you?
~Maybe you’re not hearing me. Not exactly.
There’s truth in his words, because in an odd sort of way, it’s more like I see them, in my mind. But they still come fast, and my brain translates them for me.
~Are you going to answer where you’ve been?
~I had to go. For a while I was somewhere else, but I’m back now.
~Where was somewhere else?
~I’m not sure, but it was familiar.
~Why do you keep coming to me, I ask.
~I already told you, whenever I think about being home, I find you. You must be home.
~I’m not a location, Something. I’m a person.
~Well, then you are an important person to me.
~I don’t even know you. Not really.
~That’s true, but maybe we’ve met before. It would make sense, right?
~I doubt it. There aren’t many people I know, and even less who know me.
~Why couldn’t I be one of them, then?
~Because they’re them. They can’t be you and them at the same time.
~Oh.
~Is there something you need to say? Why are you here again?
~I didn’t know where else to go. Sometimes it gets hard to be in the other place. So I come here.
~I see. Well, I’m having a hard time here, too.
~What do you mean?
~I’m supposed to overcome this trial, but I don’t know how. It’s been three days and nothing.
~What’s so hard about it?
~For starters, I can’t hear anything. And when I mean anything, I mean zero. I don’t even hear the wind or the sound of a door creaking, or my NanoTech clothing rustling as I walk anymore. I’m frustrating Ammon—
~Who’s Ammon?
~He’s my friend.
I wait for a response, but silence expands between myself and the analog written voice that is “Something.”
~Something? Are you still here?
~Do you like him? Ammon.
~Yes, he’s sweet.
~Oh.
~He’s also only eleven years old.
I laugh. What a weird conversation, justifying my friendship with Ammon with a voice in my head.
~Well, good. Good then.
~Yes, it’s been good. He would have died had I not found him.
~I wish I could find my friends. They’re all so far away.
~Why is that?
~I’m not sure. They were taken from me, and I don’t know how to get them back. It’s a strange feeling.
~I’m sure you’ll find them.
~I’ve got—there’s no—it’s here—got to—
A moment passes, and there’s no more exchanges from Something. I sit up on the bed, trying to focus to see if his presence is still with me. Instead, I can tell it’s just me in my mind again.
Disappointment washes over me. It was the first communicative exchange I’ve had for days and it wasn’t even a real conversation. Just fragments, and strangest of all, it was all done in an old fashioned text exchange.
I wonder how that was even done. How could it be translated in my mind that way?
Wait a second—
I look over at Ammon, now resting peacefully in the other bed. Could I do the same thing with him? If I can do this with someone who isn’t even in the same location, is it possible I could figure out a way to tap into it to communicate with Ammon? But does he have the necessary implants to even receive the exchange?
Then again, I’ve never been the one to initiate the exchange. It’s always been… Something. What makes him so different? How can he access my mind in a way that I have absolutely no idea how to tap into?
My eLink was supposed to be destroyed when I left Adrian, but—what if it wasn’t? What if in some way, it still works?
Snickering to myself, I shake my head. If I was using the eLink, Videus would have found us ages ago. The eLink was his system, his tool for monitoring everyone in the Helix. There’d be nothing to stop him from pinpointing our location. It can’t be that. But what?
I push aside the blanket, feeling my feet hit the cold ground. The coolness radiates up from the soles of my feet, making me feel more alert. Stepping out of the bedroom, I walk down the hall and open the door leading to outside. Light streams into the hallway, bold and bright and no longer inhibited by the daylight dimming windows.
Taking a seat on the stairs just beyond th
e house’s overhang, I dig my feet into the warm sand. The sensation extinguishes the chill from the floor inside, warming the rest of my body.
Who is this Something, anyway? Why does he keep finding me, of all people? Is he someone attached to Adrian? Is he confused because he’s having a hard time connecting? Or is it something else? Someone else?
I’ve never got the impression that I should be afraid of him. Instead, he always feels sorta—safe. Maybe I’m just too trusting.
I close my eyes, feeling the heat of the sun though my closed lids. I can sense it, too—even though I can’t see it directly.
What if that’s what this is? A test in understanding or sensing something, even when its hard to get the full picture. Goodness knows, I’ve only been getting bits and pieces of what needs to be done, but I also know to trust the process. To trust that at some point, my path is going to be revealed here. It has to be.
It doesn’t take hearing something to get information. I have a number of other senses I can rely on and I can’t sit around ignoring them all. That’s for sure.
With more ambition and enthusiasm than I’ve had recently, I stand up, looking at the house with brand new eyes. Maybe this could be like the scissors. Maybe there’s more I’m missing, more I need to dig into. To understand.
Why is this house here? Who’s would it have been? Is it really here, or is it an illusion?
I run my hand along the stone face, letting the rough edges cut into the palm of my hand. It feels real enough. I walk around the outer edge in a clockwise fashion, taking in every inch of the structure, seeking something—anything—that could give me a clue to what I’ve been missing.
Suddenly, something taps on my shoulder, making me jump. Spinning around, I come face to face with Ammon. He scratches his head, yawning. Then, with a shrug, he points back inside. It’s a question.
“I’ll be there in just a minute,” I say, turning back to the stone facade. “Then we can start breakfast.”
He nods, sleepily rubbing the top of his head.
There has to be some reason for being deaf. Some reason to be tested in this way. How could it help me in the long run? It doesn’t seem to make any sense.
I continue walking around the outside of the house, looking for any sort of clue that could help me, but nothing is evident. Nothing I see screams this is it.
A shadow comes up behind me and I smile.
“You just can’t wait, can you Ammon,” I say, smiling as I turn around. “I said I’ll be in in a minute.”
I squelch a scream. This is definitely not Ammon.
11
Runa
THE MAN BEARS AN UNCANNY resemblance to Traeton, but much older; more worn. Words appear to be flying out of his mouth, but I can’t make out a single one because he’s also talking with his hands. My eyes don’t know where to focus. Bewilderment is painted clearly across the man’s face.
“I’m sorry, I can’t hear you,” I say, backing up a bit and pointing at my ears.
The man stops short, cocking his head to the side and narrowing his eyes. I don’t know whether to run, or to wait to see what he does.
After a brief moment, he jabs a finger toward the house, then back toward himself.
Slowly and deliberately he points at me and then he mouths the words, “Should not be here.”
Nodding, I back up a bit more, “I’m sorry, we didn’t know. We found it vacant.”
“We?” the man mouths, his forehead wrinkled with concern.
Coming up behind him, I catch a glimpse of Ammon. He’s only clad in the boys trousers we found in the house and he sneaks up behind the man with a large wooden stick. I raise my hands to tell him to wait, but it’s too late. With arms raised above his head, he swiftly brings the stick down on the back of the man’s head.
I feel the reverberation of the sickening sort of pop as it makes contact. The man’s eyes roll backward and he drops to his knees.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I tell Ammon, catching the man as he falls forward. “I think he was just surprised to find us in his house.”
Ammon scrunches his face.
“Help me get him inside. Then I’ll explain,” I say groping for the man’s arms.
Ammon’s shoulders rise and fall, clearly disappointed that I didn’t say thank you—or congratulate him on a job well done. But he could have seriously hurt the man, and he may have the answers I need to figure out how to get my hearing back. Despite being clearly irritated, Ammon helps me get hold of the man and drag him inside. We place him on the couch in the living room area and wait for him to regain consciousness.
Pacing back and forth, I can’t help but notice how much he looks like Traeton. The resemblance is truly uncanny. The only difference is age and his hair is dark brown with hints of gray running through it. Could this be Trae’s father?
I shake the idea off, knowing his father and sister never made it out of the Helix. At least, I think that’s what happened. I drift back to the story Trae told me about when he left the Helix and ended up finding Fenton’s group at the Lateral. His father and sister Ava never made it to the rest of the group and he thought they were dead.
But what if they aren’t? What if—
I shake my head. It’s only speculation at this point. And besides, it could be I’m so desperate to see Trae again, that I’m making up correlations to make myself feel better about leaving him behind.
Ammon sits on the arm of couch, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes following me as I walk back and forth.
“Does this guy look familiar to you, Ammon?” I finally ask.
I stop pacing long enough to see Ammon’s answer. He takes a minute to look at the man, but shakes his head no.
He mouths, “Why?”
Sighing, I take a seat in the middle of the room, “Probably sounds dumb, but this man looks like someone I know. I think it could be his dad.”
The bruises on Ammon’s face have diminished a bit, and he purses his lips.
“Oh, don’t make that face,” I say.
Anytime I bring up my friends, particularly Traeton, Ammon gets a bit jealous. It’s cute, but he needs to understand he’s far too young to have a fixation with me.
Suddenly, the man starts to stir. His hands immediately raise to his head, as he rubs his temples with his palms. Then his eyes fly open, and he bolts upright. His eyes roll a bit, and he grips the cushions of the couch for support.
“Are you okay?” I ask, watching closely for his answer.
The man stares at his boots, taking slow deliberate breaths. Finally, he lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. He rests them with me for a moment, taking me in before turning to look at Ammon.
He starts speaking with Ammon, but I can’t understand a word. I stand up, trying to catch what’s being said, but his head is turned to the side as he and the little boy discuss something very fast and heated. Ammon’s hands fly up and down, the way I’ve seen apes do in my eLink history downloads. Every once in a while, Ammon will look my direction, but he turns back to the conversation.
“What’s going on here?” I demand.
Neither of them stop talking or take time to try to fill me in.
“Stop!” I yell.
Both of them pause in mid-sentence, turning to look at me with quizzical expressions.
“Please, will someone fill me in on what’s happening?” I ask.
The man throws a significant look to Ammon, then stands up and walks to the kitchen area. He opens a drawer and pulls out a piece of paper and a writing instrument from his chest pocket.
His hand flies across the paper, scribbling something down. Then he walks back to me, holding it out for me to take.
I grab the piece of paper, and try to read the scribblings. Reading isn’t something that comes easy, particularly with his messy handwriting.
You can’t stay here. Your friends are in danger the longer you’re here. You need to get back to them. Now!
I look up f
rom the paper. How does this man know anything about me or my friends?
He snatches the paper back and scribbles more.
You need to trust me. I don’t know why you’re here now, but you need to go back.
“If you know who I am, or my friends, then you know being here is part of my trials. I’m supposed to be here. I don’t have a choice.”
The man shakes his head.
I snort. The audacity of this guy, thinking he knows more than I do. Worst of all, his words give rise to a panic twisting through my insides that wasn’t there before.
“Are my friends—are they okay?” I ask.
I watch his response closely. He fidgets a bit, licking his lip in the same manner I’ve seen Trae do. After a moment, he nods.
“Then you need to be more specific,” I announce. “I can’t just leave this place without a good reason. I need to know why they’re in danger.”
The man pulls the paper back again, scribbling furiously. He thrusts the paper back as soon as he’s finished.
I can’t tell you everything. It would affect too much. You have to trust I wouldn’t lead you wrong.
I look up from the paper. He watches me closely, his eyes following my every movement.
I fiddle with the neckline on my NanoTech jacket and say, “How do I know you wouldn’t lead me wrong. I don’t even know you.”
I crush up the paper into his hand and close it.
The man pulls his eyebrows in, biting down on his lip again.
What is it he’s not saying? I can tell there’s more, but he’s just not willing to come out with it. Why?
Shaking his head, he stalks out of the room, making his way to the other bedroom with the large bed. He closes the door without even turning back. In a weird way, it reminds me of the way my mother would shut me out when I was in the Helix.
Anger bubbles up inside at the thought, and I walk down the hall and bang on the door until he opens it.
“You’re Traeton’s father, aren’t you?” I blurt out.
The Complete Pendomus Chronicles Trilogy: Books 1-3 of the Pendomus Chronicles Dystopian Scifi Boxed Set Series Page 35
