Preda’s Voice
CAROLYN GROSS
Copyright © 2015 Carolyn Gross
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1511874252
ISBN 13: 9781511874250
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015907023
CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
North Charleston, South Carolina
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
EPILOGUE
1
She sat in the front seat of his Crown Victoria and stared at her hands. Preda willed them to be perfectly still as they gripped her legs, but her fingers continued to shake despite her best efforts. The detective kept talking, and his voice had long since turned to buzzing in her ears.
She stole a side glance at his stoic face. It looked like granite reflected in the sun. He was staring straight ahead, and she realized he had stopped speaking. He was waiting for her response. Preda’s voice caught in her throat as her mind went over the day’s events.
It was Friday morning, and she had been sitting in her advanced placement history class and taking careful notes on the fall of Rome when he had knocked on the door to the classroom. Preda had immediately looked up from beneath the hood of her sweatshirt and known whom he was there for. Preda had never been in serious trouble in her whole life, but that morning, she knew this man had come for her.
He opened the door slightly, and her teacher immediately stood up. Ms. Brown was a middle-aged woman who brooked no nonsense in her classroom from her students. Preda was sure she would be no different toward this intruder. Ms. Brown drew herself up from behind her desk with an obvious expression of annoyance. She stalked over to the door and opened it the rest of the way for him, but stood in the threshold ensuring he stayed just outside in the hallway.
Preda could see he was a large man standing at least six feet in height. His head towered over Ms. Brown, and he silently mouthed the name “Preda Torrance.” At that moment he looked in Preda’s direction, and their eyes locked. She had no time to consider that this man had never met her or to wonder how he knew it was her. She stood.
Quickly assessing her lack of other options, Preda shoved her notebook into her book bag and walked over. She could hear her classmates’ whispers start to build, but she refused to look as frightened as she felt. Preda made eye contact with the man and silently nodded her assent to go with him. She could see a badge was in his hand. It looked official enough, and it read “Detective Fox” in burnished gold letters.
Ms. Brown was at a loss what to do and took Preda’s chin in her hand so that she was forced to look into her eyes. “Do you need me to come with you?” she asked with the utmost sincerity.
Preda just silently shook her head and squeezed past the detective into the hallway. He looked down at her from his considerable height. He towered over her slight five-foot-three frame and nodded. As she made to leave, Preda had one moment to look back in through the open door of the classroom and past the worried look on Ms. Brown’s face. As she scanned the faces inside the room, she somehow knew her life would not be the same if she returned. Most of her classmates looked on with extreme interest and, she thought, more than a little delight. One person in the sea of faces stood out, as he always did.
Will Stall had been the only person in the ninety-six days she had been in this particular school who had shown any kindness toward Preda. Even with the whispers growing louder, he looked only at her, and their eyes met for a brief instant. She thought she saw concern and sympathy in his expression. Preda quickly turned away. The whispers turned to giggling, and the sound followed her into the hallway until the door closed behind her.
Detective Fox deliberately walked down the hall without looking in her direction. It was obvious to Preda that he fully expected her to just follow him. Preda kept her head down as usual and had to skip every fifth step to keep up. She had always been considered small, but next to him, even though she was nearly eighteen, she was like a child.
The detective made very little sound as he walked. This was a wonder, given his sheer size. When she looked up at the back of his shoulders, Preda could see the enormous amount of muscle beneath the gray jacket he wore. His fine black hair was cut close to his scalp in an almost military fashion, and despite his clean-cut nature and perfectly pressed suit, she had noted a hint of stubble could be seen on his chin and neck before he turned his back on her. In any other situation, she would have considered him quite handsome, even though he had to be at least twenty years her senior.
Walking with the well-dressed detective, Preda felt self-conscious about her clothes. She fervently wished she could crawl under a desk and stay there. Her black pants were too long—nothing new there—and the hems dragged across the hall floor as she walked. Preda wore her favorite gray hoodie. Although she was grateful for its comfort and bagginess, she was acutely aware of the tiny holes in the shoulder seams and the frayed ends of the drawstrings hanging from the hood. She prayed the bell would not ring until they left the building. Preda couldn’t handle any more attention on herself or her escort that day.
Detective Fox didn’t even spare a glance in her direction as they walked toward the double doors at the end of the hall. When they reached the metal detector in front of the exit, Preda watched as he dropped his badge into the bin. A large, curved, sheathed knife followed. This particular weapon struck Preda as odd for a detective. Why not a gun? she thought.
The guard who normally sat by the detector to monitor the comings and goings of high-school students stared at the knife and then at Preda in stunned silence as he let them through. She lowered her head and blushed furiously as she ducked out through the exit. Detective Fox was patiently holding the door open for her.
His car was the only one in that part of the parki
ng lot and was parked under a large palm tree. As she sat in the front passenger seat in her heavy clothing, Preda was grateful for that tree’s shade as well as the blasting air conditioner in the car.
Her long, straight, jet-black hair had fallen in front of her eyes again as she stared at her hands, and she was forced to bring her head up to look over at the detective. Like so many times in her life, Preda stayed silent despite the heavy expectation to speak. He looked over at her then, and the genuine sympathy in his hazel eyes struck her. “Do you understand what I’ve told you?” he asked.
Preda nodded as a traitorous tear slipped down her cheek. He had told her that her father had been killed. For a while they stared at each other. Then he seemed to understand her unspoken question. “You probably want to know how I know this.”
Preda simply nodded in response.
“We’ve been watching you, Preda.”
Preda’s mouth hung open, and for the first time, she made as if to speak. Detective Fox saw the distress on her face and looked slightly alarmed by her reaction. He put his hand up to forestall her. “We’ve really been keeping track of you since you were born,” he said quickly.
Preda started to interrupt. She was keenly interested in expanding upon the subject of her birth, but again he forestalled her. “I promise in time I’ll tell you everything about your origin,” he said, “but you must listen to me now.” The urgency in his voice and the empathy in his sharp eyes kept her quiet. “I know about your talent.”
Preda scoffed silently under her breath. She had never thought of it before as anything but a curse. Thinking about that morning’s events made her throat constrict, and she took a deep breath to regain her composure. She looked at him again and realized eye contact seemed to be enough for this man. For once Preda felt comfortable in her own silence.
She knew there should be no true mourning for the man who had called himself her father. Preda couldn’t help herself, though. Her shaking hands and trembling lips belied her emotions. Her life was no longer going to be her life. Philip Torrance, her father, was the only constant she had ever had.
Detective Fox kept speaking with his deep, reassuring voice. “We know the events of this morning were purely…accidental,” he said. “We’ve been keeping a close eye on things lately, but we didn’t foresee this.”
With that statement he looked down at his hands as though disappointed in himself. Preda couldn’t fathom how this could possibly be his fault, but then his demeanor changed back to that of the stoic detective from before. She figured she must have imagined it.
Detective Fox continued. “Truthfully we expected to have to intervene soon but not this soon. Events beyond our control are also leaving us with very little time. We have known about your voice’s ability since you were born, Preda. I am so sorry you have been alone all this time, but you must understand. We had no other choice.”
We? Preda was overwhelmed. The thought that she had been watched this entire time, especially when she and her father had worked so hard to stay under the radar, was jarring. She couldn’t even begin to process how this man knew about her voice. Her thoughts were racing as she replayed her last conversation with her father.
Philip Torrance had been angry, but that was not new for Preda. He was just becoming adjusted to his new life in Miami. He had assured her that this would be where they would stay for good. Preda’s father was an expert in downsizing struggling companies. His job consisted of going into failing businesses and finding extraneous positions, or “unnecessary people,” as he liked to call them. He was also an expert at finding various other methods the companies could use to cut corners and save money.
Preda had always known her father’s favorite part of the job was the layoffs. He would smile as he walked out the door and say, “Today’s the day I trim some fat.” Preda would always make a comment under her breath in reference to his considerable girth, which could have benefitted from some trimming.
That morning, however, he had been angry. He had woken her up by storming into her bedroom and pulling the sheets out from under her. Preda had fallen unceremoniously to the floor. It had hurt. She had looked up at him expectantly and waited for his next move.
“It’s always your fault,” he had said. “Every time we have to move, it’s because you screwed up, Preda-Tor. You know you’re not supposed to bring attention to yourself.”
Preda shuddered at the memory. Using her name in that way was always meant to hurt as much as possible. Sitting in the car with Detective Fox, she rubbed her arm where her father had grabbed her. She could still smell the cheap vodka on his breath mixed with his unbrushed teeth as he had lifted her up to his face.
Detective Fox’s next words brought her back to the current reality. “We are leaving immediately,” the detective said. “Is there any reason to go back to your house first?”
Preda considered this question. Yes. There was something she felt she couldn’t live without. She nodded emphatically. Detective Fox looked surprised, as though he had expected a different answer. “All right,” he said after a moment. “Let’s go back then.”
2
Detective Fox pulled the car out quickly and pulled around to the street exit. Preda looked back at the school one last time. This feeling of finality was not new. Her entire life she had been forced to move as often as every six months. Children and then teenagers had been equally unforgiving about her status as the “mute new kid.” One person here, however, had been the first different one.
All Preda knew about Will Stall was that he had moved to the city only a few months before her, but already he was one of the most popular people in the senior class. He was so charismatic. Others were instantly drawn to him. Ever since she had arrived, though, it seemed Will was interested only in her. This had served to further isolate her from the other girls her age. Preda could still envision their faces as they knocked books out of her hands, shoved her into lockers, and told her to stop talking to him. Preda always found this last point secretly amusing.
She never talked to Will. She never talked to anybody.
She would never forget the first time he had spoken to her, though. She had been sitting in the corner of the cafeteria and eating her lunch on the second day of school. Her father always made her purchase the low-income lunch. His admonition whenever she wanted to go grocery shopping for lunches was always, “We have to save up, Preda-Tor. You never know when you’ll force us to move again.”
Will had walked over to her and asked, “May I sit next to you?”
She nodded dumbly. He never asked her any questions she would need to answer with words—only yes or no. It was like that every day. He would always ask for permission—as if her answer would ever be no. Then he would prattle on as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
His one-sided conversations were usually about sports, but it never mattered to Preda. Will would sometimes go on and on about some test they had just taken or how lame it was that his family had moved him during his senior year of high school. He would just let Preda eat her lunch, and she would nod occasionally. Her silence never seemed to bother Will, and he never asked her about it.
Every day he would walk her to her class after lunch and carry her books. The other girls would make remarks under their breaths and snicker as they walked by, but Will was unfazed.
One day as they were walking, Will was talking about a new movie that was coming out, and they overheard a vicious comment from one of Preda’s tormentors. Ashley Burke was a devastatingly beautiful blonde. Preda had watched her get her way with almost every person in that high school since her first day there.
“Look, girls,” Ashley purred as they walked by. “Will is volunteering for charity again.”
Will stopped midsentence, and his eyes narrowed. Preda tried to keep the hurt out of her eyes and smiled at him reassuringly. He wasn’t fooled. Will whirled away from
her and rounded on Ashley. The girl’s eyes got very big, and she took a step back toward the row of lockers behind her.
“Where I come from,” he said so quietly Preda could barely hear him over the noise in the hall around her, “someone like you wouldn’t be allowed to speak to someone like her.” With that cryptic statement, he turned back to Preda and asked, “Where was I?”
Preda stood dumbfounded and watched Ashley Burke blink her pretty eyelashes in confusion.
Preda thought back to Will’s face, and her trembling started anew. It occurred to her that she would never see him or any other familiar face again. She was sure Detective Fox intended to take her away to a facility somewhere and remove her from the rest of the world. After this morning she thought that would be completely justified. Philip Torrance had always said she would be better off in a place like that. It was a sad justice that her father would not live to see her condemnation come to fruition.
Preda was abruptly brought back to reality as the Crown Victoria came to a stop. She hadn’t even noticed when they turned down the familiar palm tree–lined road that was her street. Detective Fox didn’t turn the car off. He looked at her expectantly and said, “You have ten minutes.”
It struck her as odd that the detective would trust her to go into her house alone and not try to run away. That thought immediately crossed her mind. Preda quickly considered the back door and the two and a half miles she would have to run to the nearest bus station. She looked at Detective Fox’s face then. The quiet confidence she saw told her this plan would not work.
Preda took a deep breath, opened the car door, and started to head toward her home. She set her shoulders back as she walked toward the door and tried not to think too hard about how she would likely never have a house to call home again.
Preda pulled out the house key and started to put it into the lock, but the door swung open as soon as the key touched the handle. She had forgotten the lock was broken from earlier that morning. Preda walked into the dark house and didn’t waste time going directly to her room. As she opened the door, the events of that morning replayed themselves against her will.
Preda's Voice (Guardians of Vaka Book 1) Page 1