As he peeked around the corner to find cover for his escape, a voice spoke. Actually, it was more of a thought, but once again, not his own thought. “She’s not home, go in,” it said.
Then came another. “I’m Maddy. I’ll be your waitress today.”
“Key’s in the troll.”
“Okay to hide.”
He pressed his back against the garage and continued to listen to the random thoughts pushing out of his subconscious.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” said a slightly clearer voice.
“She’ll want to know,” said a deep, man’s voice.
Then a static voice: “Caller said he saw a suspicious boy running through his back yard...”
Jon rushed back to consciousness. As his eyes snapped open, he caught the tail end of a police cruiser through a missing slat in the warped, wooden fence. He slid out of the opening and beelined toward the house. If the voices said go inside, he was not about to argue.
The key was in the mouth of a yard troll next to the stairs leading up to the back door of the house. He snatched it and bolted up the stairs. The back screen door swung open with a creak he was pretty sure everyone in the neighborhood could hear, but he fought the urge to crouch. If someone did see him entering, he wanted to look natural. He didn’t need any more heroes calling the police with updated information on his whereabouts.
The key slid into the door, and the door opened easily. But it took every ounce of his willpower to push through. He wanted to look around to see if the neighbors or the police were watching, but he couldn’t afford to look suspicious. He wanted to peek into the window to see if the house was really empty, but, again, that might catch someone’s eye and raise suspicion. Instead he pushed through as if he owned the place, deciding to deal with whatever consequences lay on the other side.
Immediately he was hit with the smell of flowers and cooked sausage, but thankfully nothing else. There was no attack dog baring a set of razor-sharp teeth, no screeching woman or old man with a shotgun; just a dirty kitchen and a mixture of smells he wasn’t sure smelled good or bad.
“Hello?” he called out, moderately loud.
He searched the small, cluttered house, pulling shades and drawing curtains as he went. The bottom floor was mostly kitchen and living room, with a walk-in storage closet full to the windows with items one might find on eBay.
On the second floor there were two bedrooms (though only one was used as such), a closet, and a bathroom. Judging from the dozens of towels, hanging and littering the floor, and the sweet smell of flowers, he guessed the home was owned by a woman. Was it the woman whose voice he had heard? Was it Maddy?
The answering machine would be a good place to find out. He went back down and into the kitchen. No answering machine was immediately visible in the piles of junk, but on an envelope, balanced on a stack of letters next to the kitchen table, was a name: Madelyn Stein. Jon sank down into a kitchen chair and stared. Maddy was short for Madelyn.
He wasn’t surprised to find it was true, but he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed. Somehow he had tapped into her conversation. What could do that? What could allow him to hear police scanners and conversations going on around him?! Could it be some kind of psychic power? The voices used to be random; he was sure of it, but now they had become something more tangible. It seemed that some were talking to him—no—directing him. Were there others with the same power? Watching him? Guiding him? Were they watching him now? Could they see what he was seeing? He felt exposed and embarrassed as his mind started to drift back to private things he had done recently, things he would never tell anyone about. But he stopped himself. If they could read his thoughts, then they would know for sure the things he’d rather keep secret. It was possible his secrets were still his, and possibly his dignity as well.
He sank down into a kitchen chair. So, now what? Attempt to get the money from the Norfolk County Savings and Loan and flee the country? Track down the man who had turned his life into a living hell? Or both? He could do both. With the money, he would have the resources to avoid the police and search for answers. There was a chance he could get his life back. Then he wouldn’t have to leave the country.
“You could do it,” whispered his thoughts. “You can stop this.”
He put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. But I couldn’t go into the bank. They would recognize me.
“We’ll show you,” they whispered again.
Show me what?
“It can if you want it to,” said one.
“Is someone in here?” said another.
“We know who knows.”
He was beginning to get a sense for what was real and what was random. The real messages felt different, less like room noise, and more directed toward him.
A voice burst forth with an Italian bounce. “Never you mind-a.” He immediately disregarded it.
“The bank people don’t know you,” whispered his mind.
“One does,” it whispered again.
“I’m not feeling well. Can Davis take my shift?” said a female voice, way off in the distance.
Jon reached out into his mind. Who are you? He could almost sense the spot where the voices came from. It felt like vibrating energy, but there was no rhythm to the vibration. It undulated like waves in an ocean. As it destabilized, another phrase emerged.
“I count three cats,” it said.
What?
It undulated again. “I’m an astronaut, JIM!”
More random phrases.
Then it buzzed. “We protect you.” It was distinctly different, not so much in the way it sounded, but in the way it came to life inside his head.
It buzzed again. “Go- to- the bank.”
Would they protect him? Did they know?
“She’s home but don’t go,” it buzzed again.
His body went rigid as the front door opened, and footsteps moved through the living room. He sat frozen, staring at the doorway, his heart pounding in his chest. Was it Maddy? Wasn’t she at work?
He heard the sound of fluttering paper, then something clunked. The footsteps approached the kitchen. Before Jon could make a run for it, a teenage girl was standing in the doorway. She let out an ear-piercing screech.
His hands shot out. “This is not what it looks like!”
“Jon?” she panted, with a hand on her chest.
His hands slowly sank down into his lap.
“Jon Blake?” she gathered herself. “You scared me half to death!”
Did he know her? He didn’t recognize the wavy, blond hair and perfect cheekbones, or the round red lips and blue eyes. If not for her baggy clothing, he would have taken her for a cheerleader, or one of the popular girls at his school, which meant she was definitely not someone he hung out with.
“Does my mom know you’re here?” She stared at him with unsettling intensity.
“Ah... no, isn’t she’s at work?”
“Did Jakson send you?” she said, her beautiful sapphire irises floating in her wide eyes.
He shifted in his chair. “Um—are you sure you have the right Jon Blake?”
Her face soured. “I’ve been tracking you since you were ten, I’m pretty sure I know who you are.”
He stood up. “What is this, the Twilight Zone?”
“No. The Twilight Zone is hearing voices in your head—voices that know things.”
He pointed at her. “Okay. Stop. Just stop. I am seriously getting freaked out here!”
Her shoulders slouched. “Jakson was supposed to bring you up to speed. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
“Is this some kind of government experiment or something?” His eyes scanned the tops of the cabinets for cameras. “Are you messing with my head?”
She stepped toward him, grabbed his hands, and stared intently into his eyes. “I’m not good with people. You’re the only friend I’ve ever had, and we’ve never even spoken.”
Only friend she’d ever had? His brain
was reeling. The fabric of his reality was splitting. How did this girl know him? Why was she watching him? And how on earth did he just happen to wind up at her house?!
“My mother doesn’t know about what I do; her life would be in danger if she did. I’m begging you. Go. Jakson will explain everything.” He could see the emotion welling in the corners of her eyes, but the last thing he wanted to do was let go of her warm hands or stop looking at her beautiful face.
“Can I come back—some other time—maybe?” he said, unable to mask his desperation.
“I’ll call you on your iPad.” She drew away from him. “I’ll call, even if he doesn’t. Please, just go.”
Jon took the iPad from the table, and froze. “What about the police?”
“The police?”
“They’re looking for me because I took a box from the cemetery. They’re here, in the neighborhood.” He looked out the window, reflexively.
“What kind of box?”
“I thought you were watching me.”
“I- am.” She stumbled with her words. “I- I mean, I was. My mom left for work, and I snuck out to get a snack at the store. She doesn’t like me eating sugar. I thought you would be safe with Pete.”
She knew Pete too? How much did she know? Obviously not everything, otherwise, she would have known that Pete was murdered. He didn’t bother sugar coating it. “Pete’s dead.”
Her eyes got wide then slowly turned down toward the floor. Her mouth gaped open.
“A blue car with tinted windows pulled up in front of the 7-Eleven. I couldn’t see who did it but someone shot him dead.”
Her eyes snapped back up. “Do you know who killed him?”
“What?” He shook his head. “I- no, I couldn’t see anyone. The windows were tinted,” he said, matter-of-factly
Her face scrunched. “Windows?”
“The windows in the car,” he cocked his head, “you know, in front of the 7-Eleven.”
He studied her face. There didn’t seem to be any deception. Was she genuinely confused?
“They shot him,” he said. “All I heard were the gun shots. I didn’t see them. They drove up to the 7-Eleven and just killed him.”
“In front of everyone?” Fear washed across her face. “This is not good. They’re getting bold.”
“Who? Who’s they?”
“The government.”
“Our government?”
“Jakson should have told you all this.”
“You keep saying Jakson. I don’t even know who that is!”
She studied his face, looking even more perplexed. “Then—how did you find my house?”
He stared at her. “I have no idea! But the voices told me to come in. They showed me that your mother was at work and that I could hide here.”
“Did they say how long she’d be gone?”
He shook his head. “All I know is she was serving people at a restaurant.”
“How long ago?”
“Maybe twenty minutes.”
“Will they tell you if she’s heading home?”
“I don’t know. I’m only starting to figure out which voices are real and which ones are my imagination.” He let out a puff of air. “I can’t even believe I’m telling you this. It’s like I’ve stepped behind the curtain in OZ. Everything I thought I understood has been flipped on its ear.”
“I know this must be weird for you. This wasn’t how we were supposed to meet. Jakson said he would make contact with you.” Her eyes continued to train on his face. “He said he would bring you in like he brought me in. His agency recruits people like us, people with talents.”
Jon studied the girl’s soft, beautiful face as her eyes searched for what to say next. “He found me when I was eight, right after I broke into the Pentagon mainframe. He had to go slowly with me. He was afraid I might tell someone or let something slip because I was so young, and he didn’t want anything bad to happen to my mom.”
He rewound her words in his mind, and came to an abrupt stop. “You broke into the Pentagon when you were eight?”
She stomped her foot. “This is so awkward! I’m so bad at this.” Though she was clearly his age or older, she gave the momentary appearance of a child. “I don’t know what to say first, or what not to say. I’m trying to say that I can’t imagine what you’re going through. It must be scary, and I’m sorry.”
He didn’t know how to respond. There seemed to be no end to the questions swirling in his head.
“I’m sorry all this is happening to you, Jonny, and I wish I had time to explain, but you have to go.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.
“I need you to understand one thing, my mother and I have only each other. The man behind all this... He killed...” she choked back her emotion. “...he killed my father.”
“Wait. So you know who’s doing this to me?” The room seemed to shrink. Had the voices led him straight to the one person in the world who was both willing and able to give him all the answers?
“Let me finish, Jon.” Her response was sharp and lacking in social tact. “His name is Elliot James, he is a high-powered business man with deep connections in the government. Eight years ago my father stumbled onto something terrible, something Elliot James had been planning for years. A week later he was dead.”
More questions flooded his mind, but Jon reined them back. He didn’t want to scare her into silence; he desperately needed her to continue.
“After the funeral Jakson contacted me, well, more like recruited me. No one knows about this, not even my mother. If Elliot and his people find out what I’ve been doing for the last eight years, they won’t just kill her, they’ll torture her in ways you can’t imagine.” Her voice broke. “She can’t know who you are or why you’re here. You can never tell her.”
“I won’t. I promise,” he said, defensively.
She stepped in close. He could feel the heat of her body as her crystal eyes studied every crease of his face. “I believe you,” she said, with a tear threatening to break the corner ridge of her eye. “I knew I could trust you. I’ve truly believed it for some time. Is that weird?”
He had no idea what she was talking about, but he was willing to say yes; he was willing to say anything if she would keep looking at him like that. To be trusted by someone so beautiful was surprisingly intoxicating. It set all his fears and questions in retreat.
“I’ve wanted to speak to you, but I was so afraid.”
“Of what?” he said. “Of me?”
“Afraid to let anyone know my secret, and yet here you are, brought to me by your voices, as if they are saying it’s okay for me to give into the feelings I have had for some time.”
Was it possible anyone so beautiful could love him? If it was a mistake, he certainly had no desire to clear up the misunderstanding. He was happy to allow her to continue to think whatever it was that made her look at him with such rapt intensity, but a nagging question pushed its way to his lips and came out without his consent. “How do you track me?”
She pulled back slightly, and a blush rose up in her cheeks. “I’ve watched you.” She stopped abruptly. “But never inappropriately. I swear, I never invaded your privacy.”
“How? Is there a camera in my house or something?” The thought caused immediate alarm, not out of offense, but out of embarrassment.
“I sent a letter to your father through your mother’s email. I told him I was sending you an iPad for your birthday. He, of course, assumed it was from your mom.”
Jon looked down at the iPad in his grip. His father never told him it was from his mother. What else had he hidden about his mom? Had she tried to contact him in other ways over the years? His father had always painted her as a miscreant, but Jon still held out hope that she was not all the horrible things he had called her.
“I wrote a piece of code that lets me see where your iPad is, through GPS, and I can access all of its features.”
“Like—the cam
era?” He said, returning from his introspection.
Her cheeks flushed again.
He pulled back, unsure how he felt about his privacy being invaded. It helped that she was beautiful, and that whatever she had seen had not caused her to look on him with revulsion. But there were things about him he didn’t want anyone to see. Had she seen? Did she know the full extent of his sickness?
“I know what you’re thinking, and you don’t have to think that way. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
Her words were hitting too close to home now. He took another step back.
She pulled her sleeves up violently, exposing both forearms. There were several pink scars stacked on each arm, and a new wound that had recently scabbed over.
His eyes snapped up to hers, and her expression spoke volumes. This was what bonded them. This was why she looked at him with such fondness. They shared the same affliction.
She inched in toward him and reached for his shirt. He allowed her in close to his body, even though his emotions were screaming to withdraw. Her thin lovely fingers curled around the hem of his t-shirt and pulled upward, revealing his lean tight abs. He spent most of his time doing push ups and crunches to burn off his frustration, but when that fell short, which it often did, he resorted to greater measures to relieve his emotional torment.
She slid her hand across the scars on his side where he had dug at himself with whatever was available. He didn’t understand why, but the physical pain had a way of driving away the emotional pain. He guessed it had something to do with endorphins. They acted as an emotional anesthetic.
“We are the same, you and I.” She left her soft, warm hand on the scars and looked up into his eyes. “We care too deeply.”
He had never heard anyone put it that way. When anyone else had ever referred to his personality quirk, his caring too much, which was the source of his torture, it was always in terms of words like: petty, juvenile, or selfish. Everyone in his life, at some time or other, had felt the need to tell him to let go. They didn’t understand. He couldn’t flick a switch and turn his emotions off.
VOICES: Book 2 in the David Chance series (Suspense, Mystery, Thriller) Page 10
