The Sound

by James Sperl

  Andrew cracked the tiniest of grateful smiles.

  “That’s kind of you, but I’ve been alone for a long time. I'm used to it by now. I prefer it if I’m honest. But those days are gone for now, I suppose.”

  His eyes swept everyone at the table, then, as if recognizing his confession of self-imposed exile didn’t translate as he’d hoped, he started for the front door.

  “I’m going to take a walk. Take a look around the property. Just to make sure everything’s…you know…”

  Clarissa smiled, but it felt anxious. “All right. Sure.”

  Andrew nodded and faced away but stopped after a step. Slowly he turned and regarded the women. Then he approached the table. Clarissa didn’t realize it, but she had unconsciously tightened her grip on the steak knife she held.

  Stepping to the end of the table, Andrew cleared his throat and said, “Do any of you know how to use a gun?”

  * * *

  Clarissa, Valentina, and Rachel bedded down hours later.

  As they had the night before, they spread out in the living room. Though Andrew had a perfectly adequate spare room he was willing to convert into a bedroom, the women all felt more comfortable in the living room, what with its high ceiling and open floor plan.

  They agreed to rotate. With only one couch and one cot, the sleeping arrangements left the third person to bunk on the hard ground. Andrew attempted to soften the blow by doubling up sleeping bags over a roll-up foam pad, but it didn’t make much difference. It was still a literal pain in the ass.

  Clarissa, having endured the discomfort of the ground the previous night, earned the cot tonight. It was no five-star affair, but compared to the hardwood floor, it felt like Club Med.

  Valentina, who slept on the sofa the previous night, drew the short straw this evening. She primped and fluffed the sleeping bags to no avail then stole several couch throw pillows to aid her transition from the sofa to the floor.

  “Okay,” she said, jamming a Native American-patterned pillow beneath her backside, “this shit ain’t gonna fly. I’m not going to get any sleep like this.”

  Clarissa giggled. “I know. It’s not exactly a duvet-covered king-size, is it?”

  “Yeah,” Valentina scoffed. “But only by a little.”

  Clarissa smiled, but it quickly vanished when she looked at Rachel, who had turned onto a side on the couch. Her eyes welled with tears, and she gnawed the ends of her nails compulsively.

  “Rach?” Clarissa said, propping herself up. “What is it, honey?”

  Rachel shot her eyes to Clarissa and Valentina before finding the room again.

  “I can’t stop thinking about that couple,” she said. “What happened to them. And I didn’t even see it. It happened just down the road from us, Clar. What if…”

  She couldn't finish her sentence and no one replied. No one had to. Everyone thought the same thing:

  That could have been us.

  Rachel pushed herself into a sitting position and pulled her blanket tightly around her.

  “Is that how things are going to be now? Where people can just go into someone’s home and…and torture them to death? For fun?” She shook her head in a short burst of back and forth shakes.

  “Newsflash,” Valentina said curtly, “it’s always been like that. The only difference now is that law enforcement is even more ineffectual than they were before thanks to that crazy sound.”

  “Val,” Clarissa said, admonishing her with her eyes before she settled on Rachel. “It’s scary, Rach. I’m right with you. What I saw today…man, I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to shake that image from my brain. But as horrible and inconceivable as what happened to that poor couple was, we know now what sort of people are out there. And we have to be ready for them.”

  Rachel’s eyes drifted to the handgun in Clarissa’s lap, which hadn’t been out of Clarissa’s reach since Andrew gave it to her.

  “I hear what you’re saying, Clarissa. I do. But…I’m not ready to go there yet. I guess I don’t want to believe that people can be so easily reduced to acting like animals and turning on one another. And even though I understand why you have…that, it still makes me really uncomfortable.”

  Clarissa regarded the gun.

  “Yeah, Clar,” Valentina chimed in. “It, uh…it kind of gives me the heebs too.”

  Clarissa picked up the weapon Andrew had given her before he left to walk the perimeter of his property. He called it a single-action Colt Mustang, which had a six-magazine capacity and used a .380 ACP round, but it could have been called a Daisy Duck X-1000 Turbo Blaster for all Clarissa knew about firearms. All she understood was that it fired six rounds and fit comfortably in the palm of her hand. Just like the one she shot in high school.

  In fact, the weapon might very well be the same one. She was a junior, and her boyfriend at the time, a kid by the name of Jerrod Haskins, who was as woefully mismatched to her as oil was to water, loved guns. But he didn’t just love guns—he loved guns. Clarissa couldn’t have been more indifferent to them, but Jerrod was a hunk that caught the eye of more than just a few girls. Back then, she would have done just about anything to get his attention. Introduced to one another at a forest keg party, they had gone to a couple of movies together and eaten their fair share of after-school hamburgers. By date six—did they call them “dates” back then?—Jerrod had invited her to go shooting.

  At first, the idea thrilled Clarissa. When she saw the veritable arsenal Jerrod had brought with him to a favorite remote shooting site of his, she found that she not only began to look forward to firing off a couple of rounds but that she also couldn’t wait. Up until that day, she had never shot a gun before, but the lure of unleashing so much power with the simple pull of a trigger captivated her. Soon, she was blasting cans and bottles as if she were born to it.

  Then things took a turn. Or more specifically, Jerrod did.

  The afternoon had started out as harmless fun, just a couple of bored kids shooting up a bunch of empty soda and beer cans. But apparently Jerrod had had enough of inanimate objects, so he decided to set his sites on a rabbit that had emerged from behind a distant pine tree. Before Clarissa could look away, he had pulled the trigger. The rabbit’s head exploded in a misty cloud of pink meat. Its body fell limp where it had been eating grass only two seconds prior.

  Jerrod nearly broke his own arm trying to pat himself on the back for his “one-in-a-million shot,” while all Clarissa could do was fight to keep from throwing up. The worst part about the whole event, though, was how dispossessed Jerrod was of remorse. To him, he had done nothing wrong. He had only killed an animal. What was the big deal?

  Clarissa viewed him differently from that moment on, and though he would always stand out as one of the most handsome boys in school, she could barely bring herself to look at him. They never went on another date, and Clarissa never held another gun.

  Until tonight.

  “Sorry,” Clarissa said, picking up the handgun and slipping it under a pile of her clothes, which lay in a heap beside the cot. She looked at Valentina and Rachel. “Better?”

  “Better,” Valentina said. Rachel nodded.

  Clarissa smiled then looked past her friends to Andrew, who tapped away on a laptop at the dining room table. It was funny. Here was a man who eschewed society and built a life for himself away from the company of others, yet he maintained an Internet account. It seemed even the most diehard recluse required a connection, even if it was of the digital variety.

  “Andrew?” Clarissa began. “Last chance. You sure you don’t want someone to stay up with you?”

  Andrew looked up as if he had just been caught ogling something inappropriate. His deer-in-the-headlights expression immediately gave way to a soft grin.

  “No, thank you. I’ll be fine. You can all get some sleep.”

  “Well, that’s the problem. I’m not sure I can.”

  “Heard that,” said Valentina.

  Andrew closed his com
puter. “Because of today?”

  Clarissa shrugged. “Yeah. And, you know…” She gestured to the house. “…we’re not exactly in our comfort zone here.”

  “Ah,” Andrew said, nodding. “Because I’m a man, and you’re all women.”

  “You’ve got to admit,” said Valentina, as she sat up, “it’s a little bit weird to have someone—and by that, I mean a man someone—watching over us while we sleep.”

  “I can see that. But it didn’t seem to bother you last night.”

  “True,” said Clarissa, “but I think yesterday we were all so over-the-top with emotions, we didn’t care. We were just happy to be somewhere safe and away from all the madness. But now that we’re all able to think clearer and recognize that this might go on for a while…I don’t know. We may want to adjust the sleeping schedule to be more…equitable.”

  “And by equitable you mean secure in the notion that I won’t do anything untoward while you sleep.”

  Clarissa didn’t say anything, only twisted her hair. Andrew got up from the table and walked up behind the couch. Clarissa’s hand twitched in the direction of the concealed gun.

  “Okay,” he said. “If it makes you all feel more comfortable, one of you can stay up with me.”

  Clarissa’s eyes darted between her friends, both of whom returned similar looks of disbelief.

  “Yeah?” she said.

  Andrew shrugged. “It’s not how I prefer it, but I recognize that adjustments need to be made. By everyone. We have to be able to trust one another. I realize that might be a tall order at the moment, but if we’re going to get through this, it’ll be necessary. Without trust, we’re no better off than the people out there.” Andrew flicked his wrist toward the front door. “So, if you’ll all feel better knowing that one of you is on watch with me, in the interest of trust, I won’t argue.”

  Clarissa didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t the response she anticipated. Judging by Valentina's and Rachel’s expressions, it wasn’t what they expected to hear either. Though Clarissa was sure his offer was sincere, Andrew had just called their bluff. Now the question came down to who would be the one to stay up with him through the night. Rachel was in no place to do it, emotionally speaking, and pairing Valentina with Andrew was a recipe for disaster. Whether fair or not, it looked as if the duty fell to her. She had just one problem: she didn’t want to do it.

  Andrew was right. Trust was essential. But among her, Valentina, and Rachel, Clarissa was the only one who felt that Andrew had already earned it. Yes, he was a loner, and yes, he was a bit peculiar, but who wasn’t? Everyone had his or her own quirks and idiosyncrasies. Andrew’s were just a little more pronounced. Even so, why should it fall on Clarissa to be the one to make Andrew uncomfortable? Clearly, the man preferred his alone time to “hanging out.” Why should she be the one to disrupt his routine further when it was her friends who had the issues? She regretted ever bringing up the word “equitable.”

  “On second thought,” she began, “we’re okay. Let's keep things as they are.”

  Rachel’s shoulders slumped in disbelief, and Valentina’s eyes swelled so wide, Clarissa thought they might pop from their sockets.

  “Are you sure?” Andrew said. “My offer’s genuine.”

  “I know it is. It’s okay. Trust is important. And I want to make sure we establish it among ourselves as soon as possible.” Clarissa looked at both of her stunned friends. “Unless either of you disagrees and would like to volunteer to stay up with Andrew.”

  As expected, no one offered. Equally as expected, Rachel and Valentina glowered at her. That was okay. Daggers Clarissa could handle. Constantly second-guessing intentions and motivations she could not. The events at the Railley house marked a definitive shift in the state of things. The violence wasn’t something she could watch on TV and comment on from afar anymore—this was at her doorstep. It was as real as things got. They needed to circle the wagons and watch each others' backs, and mistrust would only get in the way of that.

  Valentina pursed her lips and lay down, flopping onto a side, perturbed. Rachel eased back onto the sofa more calmly but no less troubled. Then Andrew’s soothing voice twitched them upright again.

  “Since we’re on the subject of trust, do you know how many people other than myself know about the hidden room I showed you today?”

  No one said a word.

  “Three.”

  Andrew looked at each woman, landing on Clarissa last. His satisfied smile was slight, but it was there.

  “If any of you should change your mind, I’ll be right over there.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the dining room table. “Good night, ladies.”

  With that, he sauntered over to the table and sat down. He opened his computer and resumed his tasks as if there had been no interruption.

  Valentina rolled her eyes, sighed, and turned away. Rachel wedged herself as far back into the couch cushions as she could and didn’t look at Clarissa again before her eyes slipped closed.

  Clarissa lay on her back and stared at the redwood ceiling. She watched Andrew's shadow play over the beams. She listened as he typed on his computer, the silence in the room occasionally interrupted by the gentle taps of fingers on muted, clacking keys. Had she been tired, she might have found the sound grating, but sleep was the furthest thing from her mind. She had a feeling it would be for some time to come.

  CHAPTER 22

  Something nudged Clarissa’s foot.

  The sensation was gentle and non-threatening as if a dog were nosing about for hidden treats. But as she climbed into the early stages of consciousness, Clarissa remembered: Andrew didn't have a dog.

  She pried open her eyes and peered into the still-dark room with the awareness of a surgery patient recovering from anesthesia. Her foot jiggled again, but this time, a word came with it.

  “Clarissa,” a voice whispered. Only it wasn’t just a voice. It was Andrew.

  Clarissa shot awake.

  “Andrew?” she said, rubbing her eyes. “What is it? What’s going on?”

  “You need to get up. Now.”

  “What? Why? What time is it?”

  She reached for her phone and tapped it awake: 4:31 a.m.

  Though he was mostly still a shadow to her, she could see enough of him to recognize that he had dropped to a knee beside Valentina. He rocked her gently and accompanied this by softly uttering her name.

  Rachel stirred on the couch then sat up ramrod straight when she spied Andrew hunched over her friend. The sight of him over her in the darkness was enough to elicit a scream, which intensified up to the moment Andrew flew to her side and placed a hand firmly over her mouth.

  “Quiet!” he hissed.

  Clarissa had no idea what was happening. To say that she was disoriented was an understatement. Her head still swam in the deep end of sleep, yet she was forced to reconcile Andrew’s bizarre and inexplicable actions. She rolled over and shoved her hand beneath the clothing piled beside her cot, but the gun she had buried there before going to bed was gone. Her throat burned like a desert.

  “Andrew, what’re you doing?” she said again. “What’s happening?”

  But before he could answer, she noticed the light. It was dim and flashed persistently from his laptop on the dining room table. A soft chime sounded with each dull throb.

  Clarissa swung her feet to the floor and pointed at the computer. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means we’re in trouble,” he said. “I need you all to get up and get dressed. Hurry. We need to be ready. Just in case.”

  Valentina groaned then sat up, the immediacy of the situation lost on her.

  “Get ready for what?” she mumbled. “The only thing I’m getting ready for is going back to sleep.”

  Andrew gave her backside a full boot-soled shove. Valentina did not appreciate it.

  “Hey!” she barked, now fully awake. “Don’t kick me!”

  “Keep your voice down!” he whispered harshly. “We don�
��t have time for this. Now get up and get dressed.”

  “But why, Andrew?” Clarissa asked, a watchful eye on the flashing computer. “You’re not telling us anything.”

  Andrew sprang from the couch and crossed to the front door. He pressed himself up against it and peeked through the side window into the early morning darkness before responding, “We may need to leave.”

  Clarissa climbed to her feet. “But…why would we need to leave?”

  Andrew abandoned the first window to take up position beside another. He peeled back a set of blinds and scanned the yard with an intensity Clarissa had never seen from him before. He had slung a rifle over his back, and the handgun he had given her—which she couldn’t find and had begun to wonder if she had misplaced—was wedged securely in his waistband.

  “Andrew?” Andrew stared out the window for a moment longer before he turned and met Clarissa’s concerned gaze. “Why would we need to leave?” she repeated.

  He removed the rifle from his shoulder and held it in front of him.

  “Because someone’s here.”

  * * *

  Clarissa, Valentina, and Rachel crept over to Andrew’s position. Rachel clutched Clarissa’s arm as if it were a safety rope.

  “Stay down,” he whispered.

  Everyone did as instructed. They settled behind Andrew and backed up against the wall near the door. Clarissa edged forward to look out the window beside it.

  Moonlight doused the trees and surroundings in a soft blanket of ambient white. Andrew’s truck was where he had left it, and she could see clearly both the chicken coop and the goat pen. But she saw no activity. Other than the lazy swaying of treetops in an early morning wind, the yard was quiet.

  “I don’t see anyone,” she said.

  “I don’t either,” Andrew replied. “That’s what bothers me.”

  “Why are you so sure someone’s out there?”

  Andrew nudged his head in the direction of his computer but kept his eyes glued to the yard.