Silence Ends

by Jade Kerrion

  “Maybe. I’m not good with directions and maps.” Jessica opened her eyes and shrugged. “Never needed to be when I could just pick directions out of people’s heads.”

  “So how are you tracking him?”

  Jessica pressed her lips together. “Uh…”

  “Spill it.”

  “I put a psychic hook in his mind.”

  Dee arched an eyebrow. “Is that allowed?”

  “I should have asked first, huh?”

  She could not stay angry with Jessica when the psychic hook was the only thing still connecting Dee to her missing brother. “You did good.” A radiant grin spread over Jessica’s face, and Dee chuckled. “Let’s go.”

  4

  Dum stared down at his sneakered feet as they pounded on the pavement. The combination of the sound and impact entwined through his spirit, matching the beat of the music in his head. He sang along silently, always in perfect pitch. Sometimes, he changed the words to match his mood, but the beat remained primal and eternal.

  His heartbeat was steady, no longer fluttering like a terrified animal in a cage. The run had helped, certainly, but the music had helped more. His stride was fast. It came easily, as effortlessly as the soaring harmonics. His heartbeat had slowed to match the cadence of the beat in the music. His life was grounded once again in the song, in reality.

  His face relaxed into a smile. How did people live without music?

  Miserably, judging by all the faces around him, etched in lines of worry. Voices spiked with frustration and snapped with anger. Unhappiness coiled within them, easily abated with a song. He knew that much.

  Music wasn’t an escape. It was reality, the only reality he cared to know. If only Dee understood it and stopped yanking the ear pods from his ears. Her actions, though, hardly mattered anymore. He heard the music inside, throbbing through his head, echoing through his chest. He controlled the music—the beat, the harmonies—and selected each song to speak what he could not say.

  Dum crossed Suitland Parkway, the border between Barry Farms and Anacostia. His pace slowed. The Anacostia Metro station, several hundred feet off Suitland Parkway, swarmed with people who were scrambling to and from Anacostia and taking advantage of the fact that it was still light. Safety was an illusion, but illusions held up better in the light of day. In the early onset of dusk, the graffiti-covered walls were more art than territorial markers.

  Dum flipped his mental soundtrack. The music settled into melodic undertones, quiet and contemplative. On his iPod, the music switched, echoing the song in his head. Slipping like water over a pebbled riverbed, he navigated the crowd in front of the Metro station. An elderly woman, face set in haggard lines, brushed past him, and the psychic resonance slammed like a fist into his stomach. Dum jolted, teeth gritted as he braced against its impact. He glanced over his shoulder, but the woman had vanished into the crowd.

  A pity. He had just the song for her—a beat and a tune to lure the flicker of a happy memory and tease a smile back to her lips. No matter. Dum shrugged and kept going; drifting in the cheery warmth of his world to music that only he could hear. He slowed when he reached the entrance of the free clinic. The music responded to him, its pulse somber. He inhaled deeply, pushed the door open, and stepped in.

  The receptionist behind the desk scowled at him. He had a tune for her too, though she would need more than just a tune to sweeten her mood. He slouched down in a chair, content to wait until the last patient was dismissed. Minutes later, however, the door of Danyael’s office opened, and a patient walked out. Danyael caught a glimpse of him and beckoned him over. Damn it, he was in trouble now. Pissing Danyael off was the last thing he wanted to do; the alpha empath did not need more headaches in his life. Fixing a nonchalant expression on his face, Dum sauntered over to Danyael and stepped into his office.

  Danyael shut the door behind him. “Your sister was worried about you. I’ll call her and let her know you’re here.”

  Dum arched his eyebrows. If that was Danyael’s definition of a scolding, the alpha empath obviously needed more practice.

  Danyael asked, “Have you had dinner? Lunch?”

  Dum shook his head.

  With apparent difficulty, Danyael crouched to retrieve a loaf of bread and slices of ham and cheese from the mini fridge tucked under his desk. “I won’t be done for another hour or two, but you can eat in here.” The alpha empath ushered Dum into the adjacent room, which contained a narrow operating table, a sink, several cabinets, and a metal drawer on wheels. “Pull a chair in from reception, and there’s water in the cooler out there,” Danyael said before he closed the door on Dum.

  A ham and cheese sandwich was not quite on a par with a dinner at the council headquarters, but he had not even expected Danyael to feed him. Danyael probably meant to leave the scolding to Dee. God knew, she was brilliant at it.

  The music, a light jazz, started up as he chomped through his sandwich. He was making himself another when Dee and…Jocelyn…no, Jessica, burst into the room. Dee started scolding. He cranked up the volume, loud enough to drown her out, but the music in his head had changed; its beat fast and erratic. Dum grimaced and fought to steady it, but the music was alive and defied his control.

  The door between Danyael’s office and the surgery opened, and Danyael stepped into the room. Dee fell silent. The music pounding through Dum’s head and body died, its accelerating and terrifying beat killed in mid-stride. He inhaled deeply, his eyes widening as they locked on Danyael. For the first time since that awful day when the music began in his head, peace accompanied the silence.

  Jessica looked up at Danyael, too. “That’s one way to stop a fight. Quench it with alpha-level empathic powers.”

  Danyael hobbled toward them, his stride quick in spite of his crippled left leg. “I need the room. Jessica, I want you to keep things calm outside.”

  “I’m not an empath—”

  “Do the best you can. Don’t let them start a gang war.”

  Dum pressed against the wall, his sister beside him, as two burly men carried an unconscious woman into the operating theater and laid her gently on the bed. Recognizing her, Dum recoiled. The pregnant woman had been in the clinic the prior night. Blood stained her mint-green blouse. Her chest heaved, her breath erratic.

  Danyael and Jessica exchanged a glance, perhaps even a short telepathic conversation. Jessica nodded and slipped out of the room on the heels of the two men, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Danyael leaned over the woman and placed a hand against her forehead. “It’s going to be all right,” he promised. “You and your baby will be fine.”

  The lyrical harmonics of harp and flute—Danyael’s music—whispered through Dum’s head. Dum slumped against the wall as Danyael’s potent empathic powers inched past his defenses and eased the tension out of his shoulders, lulling him as it did the woman. Her panic seemed to vanish in mid-breath. She relaxed; her eyes fluttered closed as her breathing steadied and deepened. Danyael had put her to sleep.

  Dee’s cold fingers closed around Dum’s hand. She was silent, unusual for her. Together they watched, wide-eyed, as Danyael broke every rule of surgery. Without aid of antiseptic or anesthesia, Danyael cut a clean incision in the woman’s upper abdomen and extracted a bullet.

  The harmony layered with the haunting strain of the oboe. What was Danyael doing?

  The alpha empath inhaled deeply and then made another incision lower on her abdomen. He leaned over the woman, reached into her uterus, and slowly eased out a tiny, wriggling body. “Dee, get a towel. Cabinet over the sink.”

  Dee yanked her fingers from Dum’s hand and scrambled to obey. With reverence, she held the towel in her hands to welcome the squirming infant. Danyael suctioned the mucus from the infant’s nose and mouth. The baby mewled, an indignant, pitiful sound. Dee’s mouth dropped open, and her eyes lit with wonder.

  “Support his neck. Dry him off and keep him warm. I have to close the incisions,” Danyael said.
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  The soft strains of music flowing through Dum’s mind transformed. The soundtrack changed without warning, the triumphant roar of a full orchestra drowning out the cooing sounds that Dee made to the infant. Dum inched forward. Beneath Danyael’s healing touch, the incisions on the woman’s abdomen sealed, the scar tissue receding as healthy skin took its place.

  The orchestra faded into silence. Danyael’s shoulders slumped. His shallow breaths hitched with barely concealed pain. As the music, once again Dum’s own, started up in his head, Dum slipped an arm around Danyael’s waist, supporting him. The alpha empath nodded. “Thanks. I just…need a moment.”

  A full minute passed before Danyael seemed steady enough to stand on his own strength. He washed his hands off in the sink and then limped to the door, his hand trembling on his crutch. He held the door open and ushered Dee out before him. With a smile, Dee carried the baby to the man who had seemed so protective of the woman the prior night.

  Hands shaky, the gang leader received his newborn son. For a moment, he stared into the tiny face and then looked up at Danyael. “Is she…”

  Danyael’s quiet voice concealed his exhaustion. “Joanie’s all right, but she’ll need a blood transfusion. You need to get her to a hospital. I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  “Can I…”

  “Yes, you can wait with her. Do you have someone who can care for the baby until she recovers?”

  The man nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. The family will care for him.”

  The music in Dum’s head struck a discordant chord.

  Danyael stared the gang leader down even though the gang leader had three inches on him. “You don’t have to kill for your son. He’s too young to appreciate it.”

  “The Skulls hurt Joanie. If those cock-eyed pussies shot any straighter, they’d have killed her and my baby.”

  “She’s alive, and so is your son. You start a gang war, and people are going to get hurt.”

  The man thumped his chest. “I’m not afraid to die to protect what’s mine.”

  “Dying is easy. Living is difficult. Who’s going to protect Joanie and your son when you’re gone?”

  The man had no answer for Danyael.

  Danyael exhaled, a soft sigh, and dragged his subtly misshapen left hand through his hair. “Don’t do anything stupid.” He glanced at the long line of people waiting to see him, even though it was almost eight. He cast his receptionist, Marie, a quick glance. “Give me five minutes, then send the next one in.”

  Dum slouched into a chair. He did not want to be in Danyael’s position, but he recognized and respected courage and compassion. Danyael was a hell of a guy. What would it be like to have the power to control emotions and to heal? More importantly, what would it cost to gain that kind of power?

  Dum’s scowl matched the discordant music pulsing through his skull. More than likely, the answer was “far too much.” He did not need that kind of power. He would not know what to do with it even if he had it. Danyael’s training was likely to be nothing more than a waste of everyone’s time. He should just leave and—

  Dee sat beside him and reached for his hand.

  The dark and brooding tune in his mind chortled a happy gurgling sound like a bubbling brook. If Dee wanted him to train with Danyael, he supposed that he could go along with her crazy, idealistic plans for a while longer. Dum met his sister’s gaze, smiled, and for a brief moment, all was right within their small world.

  By the time the last patient walked out of the door at nine thirty, the reception area smelled of lemon and bleach. “Watch your step. It’s slick,” Dee warned Danyael as he hovered by the door of his office, awkwardly balanced on his crutch.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet. His gaze flickered among Dee, Dum, and Jessica. “I’m sorry it took so long. The surgery set my day back quite a bit. And thank you for cleaning up. You didn’t have to.”

  “We wanted to.” Dee grinned up at him.

  “Have you had dinner?”

  “Your ham and cheese sandwiches. We left enough for you. We cleaned up the surgery too.”

  Danyael nodded and waved Dum over. “Come on, let’s get started.”

  Dee rolled her eyes. Danyael did not invite her to Dum’s training, but then again, he had not closed the door on her either. She eavesdropped freely, not that there was much to hear. Danyael spoke little, and of course, Dum spoke not at all. At least Dum was not screaming or vomiting.

  Was the council’s training really that bad?

  Dee glanced at Jessica. The younger teenager had been wiping down the chairs. Dee shrugged and dipped the mop into the pail of water. “Yeah, it was awful.”

  You can think it, you know. I’ll hear you.

  It’s…weird.

  Takes some getting used to, but it’ll feel as natural as breathing, eventually.

  I suppose it’s good for making snarky comments without others hearing.

  Jessica’s expression did not change. Me? Would I do such a thing?

  Dee chuckled. Jessica was like the kid sister she never had.

  As surely as if she had eavesdropped, Jessica’s grin flashed, wide and full.

  The cleaning was completed long before Danyael and Dum finished their training session. Dee did not know how the mostly quiet hour passed for training, but when Dum walked out, smiling slightly, his gait relaxed, and those ever-present ear pods tucked in his pocket, Dee grinned too. The training sessions with Danyael were going to work out.

  “Will you three be able to get back safely to the council headquarters?” Danyael asked.

  Jessica smiled. “Yes, of course. That’s why I’m here. I’m their personal bodyguard.”

  “If the council gives you a hard time, let me know.”

  “They won’t. They’re treading very carefully around all their council-trained alphas. They don’t want to lose another one the way they lost you and the others.”

  “I take it that Andrea, John, and Erin never returned to the council either.”

  Jessica shook her head, and her small mouth twisted into a frown. “No, they never forgave the council for what it did to you.”

  Dee arched an eyebrow. The politics were murky, and if the council’s dismal mutant rights record were to be believed, it had backstabbing down to an art form. She had to get out from under the council’s control. “I’m looking for an apartment, maybe around here.”

  “Anacostia’s not the best place to live.” That statement, coming from Danyael who understated everything, equated Anacostia to a suburb of hell. “The gangs teeter on the edge of open warfare. I deal with gunshot wounds at least twice a day, and the hospital deals with a hell of a lot more.”

  “It’s affordable, though.”

  “Yes, but there’s more to life than paying low rent.”

  She glanced at Dum. “It’s too expensive outside of Anacostia. I don’t think we can afford to live anywhere else. I’ll need to find a job too, waiting tables or something.” She released her breath in a sigh. “I just want to get out from under the council’s thumb.”

  Danyael shifted his weight. “Would you accept a loan?”

  Dee’s gaze shot up to Danyael’s face. “Huh?”

  “I have some money put aside. It’ll be enough to get you and Dum started.”

  Dee scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t take your money.” Danyael had barely enough to begin with.

  “It’s a loan, not a gift. Pay me back when you can.”

  Jessica’s voice whispered through her mind. Take Danyael’s loan. It beats stealing, right?

  She supposed so. “All right, thank you.” Dee smiled as she and Danyael shook hands on the deal.

  5

  Two days later, Dee stood in a blaze of sunlight that poured in through an open window. Dust motes floated around her in a lazy pirouette. Hands poised on her hips, Dee turned to her brother and to Jessica. “Well, what do you think?”

  Dum did not respond immediately or for several minutes af
ter. Instead, he walked slowly through the one-bedroom apartment that was thirty percent smaller than the two-bedroom suite that they shared at the council headquarters. A thin layer of cheap carpet covered the concrete floor. The walls were a dirty white, and the grout in the tiled bathroom was black. The fixtures dated back fifty years, maybe more.

  Jessica hemmed and hawed. “It is…kind of a dump.” Her aristocratic nose wrinkled with distaste.

  “Well, maybe, but Danyael’s living two doors down—”

  “Great. Considering how thin these walls are, that’s just a scream’s throw away. That’s a good panic button. I expect you’ll use it quite a bit.”

  “You were nicer before you grew a smart mouth.”

  “Always had it. You just didn’t notice before.” Jessica scanned the room. “It’ll look better with furniture and a couple of posters. Maybe.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “I think you’re moving too quickly.”

  “I’m not going to hang around the council. Did you see how Seth looked at us this morning when we told him we were leaving?”

  “Like he didn’t care.”

  “Yes, but for a split second, when he looked at me, I…panicked.” Dee pressed her clenched fists against her stomach, against the memory of rising bile and nausea. She closed her eyes but could still see Seth’s brilliant blue eyes locked on her, their gleam dangerous, almost malevolent.

  “I didn’t feel anything,” Jessica insisted. “And I’m shielding both Dum and you. You shouldn’t have felt anything either.”

  Shuddering slightly, Dee shook off the memory. “I didn’t like it. In three days, he’s gone from friend to creep.”

  Jessica shrugged and glanced up as Dum completed his slow prowl of the apartment. “Dum’s asking where are the cleaning supplies?”

  Dee’s jaw dropped. “He spoke to you?”

  “Yeah, he even stopped the music long enough so I’d hear him clearly.”

  “What music?”