Sound

by Juliet Madison

  My phone pinged. Not a loud beep like Talia’s or a flourishing jingle like Sasha’s, but a simple, soft ping. Enough to get my attention but not enough to make me jump like Talia’s sometimes did. Or like toast popping out of the toaster—even though you know it’s going to and you think you’re prepared. Sometimes knowing was worse, because that meant my nerves would be on high alert, ready to jolt me with a shock of adrenaline. Oh, there I go again, getting off track with my thoughts.

  Text from Lara: We’ll be 14% more likely to succeed with the topic: The inner universe, the wonders of the human brain. Confirm YES that you’re happy to proceed.

  “Yes!” I said out loud, then chuckled. It sounded like Lara was a computer-generated text message. I texted back YES, though if I’d said NO I was sure she wouldn’t accept my objection anyway.

  “What’s so exciting?” asked Savannah. “Oh wait, let me guess. Damon sent you a message?”

  “Who’s Damon again?” asked Talia.

  I ignored Talia and answered Savannah’s question. “No. Well, yes, but his message only said ditto. His sister just confirmed she’s happy to go ahead with the brain topic for our science project.” I smiled, and my sisters looked at me blankly. “Which means”—I held out my hands—“I can spend more time researching how our gift might be influenced by brain waves and other mechanisms.”

  “I’m glad I’m not in your science class,” said Sasha. “My brain hurts just thinking about it. Our teacher gave us a project today too, but it’s some written report thing.”

  “My group hasn’t decided on the topic yet.” Savannah sat on her bed and peeked out the window, probably checking if Riley was visible in his house opposite ours. “But I think the only word Mandy will understand from the list of choices is ‘social,’ so I bet we go with that social and environmental influences on health and disease one.”

  Talia put the journal away and went for the door. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat science, but I’m tired. First dibs on the shower.” She opened the door and walked out.

  “Second dibs.” Tamara followed.

  “I’ll have mine in the morning,” said Sasha, grabbing her pajamas from the chest of drawers.

  When the bathroom schedule had been fulfilled and night cast its quiet stillness in the air, I settled under the covers with my book light and copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I was rereading all the books, as apparently one can increase one’s intelligence by reading a book more than once, to pick up new things that the brain wasn’t capable of absorbing the first time. A buzzing sounded in my ears. Huh? But I’m not connected with my sisters… I rubbed my ears but it persisted. I glanced at Sasha. She was asleep. And Savannah was lying still on her side, but I could hear her tapping her fingers against the wall.

  The buzz intensified and I glanced to the side. Oh. A bug. An actual, real live bug. I tried to shoo it away with my book but it kept buzzing around me. I’d never get to sleep if it hung around. When it stopped moving I whacked it with my book and it dropped between the gap of my bed and the wall. Sorry, bug. I felt guilty. It was just an innocent creature, after all.

  A ruffling of blankets and sheets made me turn my head in the direction of Savannah’s bed. “You should have just said ‘Avada Kedavra,’” she mumbled, pulling the covers up to her chin and giggling.

  A burst of laughter shot from my mouth. The killing curse from Harry Potter. Trust Savvy to come up with a cool joke. I wished I could come up with cool jokes. Even better if I could come up with them while in the company of the opposite sex. “I’ll try it next time,” I said with a grin.

  She gave me a thumbs-up sign, then closed her eyes. Although I was a bit jealous of her and Riley, I was also glad. Glad that she had survived her aneurysm surgery and that she was my fun, sassy sister. Although I always felt like the odd one out of my sisters—the studious, geeky one—we were all in this together. This strange, amazing experience that allowed us to glimpse things that were yet to happen. It was pretty cool.

  I yawned and put down my book, suddenly tired. But the moment I switched off my book light and closed my eyes, instead of sleep, all that overtook me was that awful feeling of dread and the memory of what I’d heard tonight. That scream.

  Chapter 4

  No more screams, no more visions, just regular daily life ensued for the next few days. Well, as regular as could be when one could hear the future. It sounded so ridiculous, I mean, hear the future? If I told anyone I heard things they might think I had untreated schizophrenia. Which is why, as we walked together to his place after school, when Damon asked me what I had gotten up to that past weekend, I told him, “Nothing much.” Even though we had reread Dad’s letter while Mom was out. We’d also opened the box of tarot cards, and Talia suggested we ask Mom how to use them sometime. Maybe they could help add extra insight to our connected sensory visions.

  If only Damon knew what my sisters and I really got up to out of school hours.

  I was relieved when we arrived at the Jamesons’ house for our first session to work on our science project. The whole way there, Lara silently marched ahead, not being one for small talk, and Damon and I exchanged snippets of strained chitchat. Of course, I initiated the standard conversational topic to break the ice: “Nice weather.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Gee, my bag’s heavy with this new textbook.”

  “Here, I’ll carry it for you.”

  “Oh no, that’s all right, I can manage.”

  “Okay then.”

  “Is yours heavy?”

  “Nah.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah it is.”

  We could teach a class on Awkward Conversation 101.

  But after that, it had gotten a little better. A little.

  “Lara’s a fast walker,” I said.

  “She runs, too, for fun.”

  “For fun?”

  “Crazy, huh.”

  “Sounds like my sister, Savannah.”

  “You have four sisters, right?”

  “Yep. So there are five of us.” Facepalm. I’m sure he was perfectly capable of adding one plus four on his own.

  He must have thought my mathematical skills were just as bad, as he came back with, “It’s just two of us. Me and Lara.”

  A tiny smile tickled one corner of my mouth, but I scratched my cheek to hide it in case he noticed.

  Not only was I relieved upon arriving at their house, which was only a few minutes’ walk farther than our house, I was also gobsmacked. They practically lived in a mansion. They must be loaded.

  Sandstone walls towered over the expansive gardens on top of the hill, the blue sky and ocean a contrasting backdrop. The two-story residence was old and fancy; it looked like it could have about twelve rooms inside. The rectangular windows looked too small and dark in comparison to the surrounding walls, like they were trying to shrink away in shyness, afraid of revealing the soul of the house. Some had blinds drawn, like eyelids, sleeping the day away. A huge tree curved and twisted against the side of the house, leaves flapping against the wall as the whistle of afternoon breeze whooshed past my ears.

  “Big place you’ve got,” I said.

  “Yeah, my parents bought it at the start of the year. Dad runs his business from here, as well as…” Damon rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, come inside.”

  I stepped onto the cold porch and into the house, the chill replaced with a subtle blanket of warmth, which I detected to be coming from a fireplace in a nearby room as it popped and crunched.

  “Dad, we’re going upstairs to study. Another student is with us,” Lara called through to a room on the right.

  Footsteps shuffled, and Damon said, “We should get some snacks first. And I’ll introduce you to my parents.” He led me to the entrance of the living room while Lara was already trotting up the staircase.

  A tall man with brown, gray-flecked hair emerged, and removed his hands from the pockets of his trousers. A courteous smile f
lashed briefly across his face and he stretched out his hand.

  “Dad, this is Serena. Serena, this is my dad.”

  I shook his hand, which was so hot from the fire that I almost retracted mine in surprise. “Hi, nice to meet you, Mr. Jameson.”

  “Likewise.” He turned to the side and I followed his gaze. Behind a side table with a vase containing a huge display of fresh flowers was a thin woman in a wheelchair. She looked at me but her facial expression didn’t change, only twitched strangely, as did her body. Like she couldn’t get comfortable, or had ants all over her.

  “Linda, this is Serena. Serena, this is my wife.”

  I approached her cautiously and smiled. “Hi, Mrs. Jameson.” I tentatively held out my hand, then, as she didn’t seem to be able to extend hers very far, I grasped hers and gave it a gentle shake. It trembled, but her hands were silky soft.

  Her mouth opened, her lips taut. “Prit. Tee.” Her voice was quiet and slurred. Did she say “pretty”? The woman made a sudden noise like an involuntary gasp, and her gaze dropped away from mine as the side of her face twitched.

  I smiled politely again, and turned back to Damon and his dad.

  “How about we get those snacks?” he said, and I nodded.

  “It was nice to meet you both. Thanks for letting us use your house to work on our project.”

  Mr. Jameson nodded and said, “No problem.”

  I went with Damon into a kitchen that was about the size of our living room. Tamara would have a field day in here.

  Damon grabbed a bottle of juice from the fridge and three cups, as well as a packet of crackers and a wedge of cheese, placing everything on a tray. I thought about his mom, wondering what the situation was. Was it rude to ask? Maybe that was the special circumstance Lara had mentioned in class last week. If their dad cared for their mother and ran a business from home, Lara and Damon must have to pretty much look after themselves and help out around the house. Maybe that’s why Lara always felt such a need to be efficient. She had to be. But Damon seemed more relaxed.

  “Here, I’ll carry the tray.” I picked it up off the kitchen counter and we walked back to the entry foyer and up the stairs. Each creaky step on the hardy, intricate carpet sounded muffled and heavy, like the stairs had seen many hundreds of steps over the years and was voicing its weariness. When we got to the top Damon led me to another living room that overlooked the gardens, as perfectly groomed and manicured as Sasha’s hair and fingernails.

  Damon set down the juice and cups on a square table by the window, and I placed the tray down. Lara was already seated at the table, her eyes glued to her laptop screen. “We should meet twice weekly to work on the project. Thursdays too?” she asked without looking up.

  I mentally checked my calendar. Luckily she hadn’t suggested Wednesdays, when I had my violin lesson. If I said I couldn’t make it she’d probably find a way to convince me to reschedule my lessons due to our science project being more important. “Thursdays should be fine.”

  “Here’s an agenda.” She handed me a printout. It detailed time frames and guidelines not only for the whole project in the time we had to do it but also for each study session. Every minute was accounted for. If I were lucky I might get a bathroom break or a chance to scratch my head.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes to acquaint yourself with it,” she said. I had no doubt she was timing me from that moment.

  There was a clatter from downstairs and I raised my eyebrows.

  Damon waved away my concerns. “Mom probably dropped something again.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Must be challenging.” Not that I had any idea what they were going through.

  “Yeah, but we get by.”

  “Mom has Huntington’s disease,” Lara blurted, as easily as though she were saying her Mom had dark hair. “An autosomal dominant disease causing degeneration of neurons in the basal ganglia and resulting in involuntary movements and behavioral and intellectual changes.”

  My eyes widened and my voice froze. I had heard of it, but didn’t really know what it was. It sounded serious.

  Damon picked up a cracker and a piece of cheese. “Unfortunately, there’s no cure.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  “It’s okay,” Damon replied.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about,” said Lara, which sounded strange, as she never showed any signs of being considerate. “You didn’t cause it, a genetic mutation did. It’s the fault of genetics.”

  Oh, she was just being factual.

  And they wanted to study the wonders of the human brain? More like disasters of the human brain. Maybe me wanting to find out about brain waves was nowhere near as important as what they might want to understand.

  “Anyway, we should get to work.” Damon sat and opened his laptop.

  No cure. Did that mean fatal?

  My muscles tensed and I cleared my throat. “Yes, let’s get started.”

  “Right. The guidelines state we can be as broad or specific as we like in regard to the topic of the project as it relates to the human brain. I think we should start with a general overview of neurology, then focus on a specific field of study.” Lara obviously had it handled.

  Damon had the considerate gene that had skipped Lara’s DNA entirely. “What do you think, Serena?” he asked.

  “Oh, um, that sounds okay to me.”

  “Okay. Let’s pick a topic.” He eyed his sister, as though preparing for her to launch into a PowerPoint presentation about the pros and cons of ten different possibilities, narrowing it down to her choice and convincing us why it was the best.

  “We could do it on the science of sleep, or how emotions are simply a neurochemical reaction, or…” She rattled off a few ideas and I squirmed in my seat.

  I cleared my throat and blurted, “Or brain waves. We could do the project on the types of brain waves and what they mean for the body, how the different waves are responsible for different functions, stuff like that.” I raised my eyebrows. Lara’s stayed straight, like two tiny horizontal pencils above her eyes. Damon’s lips turned down and he nodded.

  “That sounds interesting,” he said.

  Lara looked at her screen and tapped at the keyboard. “Hmm. It could give us some interesting material to cover. And it would help in structuring the presentation. A certain amount of time for each brain wave, like chapters in a book.” She tapped at the keyboard, then without looking up, said, “Okay. Brain waves it is.”

  I smiled, and at that moment I happened to glance at Damon and his smile mirrored mine, like we had achieved a small victory in getting Lara to agree.

  “It would also allow us to delve into some of the science of sleep anyway, since the brain waves are part of that,” I added.

  “True,” said Damon. Lara nodded.

  Lara laid out a large sheet of paper and wrote “brain waves” in a circle in the middle, then drew lines poking out from it, like a wheel.

  “A mind map?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  We began brainstorming topics and ideas around our main topic, adding words to the map. I looked at the words delta waves and my skin tingled, reminding me of the moment I’d deduced that Savannah’s coma may have triggered some sort of remnant delta activity between us all in a waking state. It really would be interesting to hook us all up to EEGs, but I couldn’t see how that would be possible.

  I went to add EEG to the mind map and had written “EE” when I stopped, noticing Damon had just written it. My eyes connected with his for a split second and he chuckled.

  “Great minds,” he said.

  I smiled, and warmth spread across my face. We continued adding more ideas in silence, until someone said, “What do they think they’re doing?”

  “Huh?” I looked up, but Lara and Damon acted like nothing had been said.

  “Huh, what?” he asked.

  “Did you say something?”

  “No.” He looked confused.

  Lara gl
anced my way but didn’t respond.

  “Oh, I thought one of you said something.” My cheeks became warmer. God, was I hearing things? Remembering things?

  “It’s unacceptable,” the voice said.

  I put down my pen and looked around. Maybe it was his mother? No, the speech was too clear, and it came from up here.

  “So, um, is it just you two and your parents living here?” I asked.

  “Yes, why?” he asked.

  “Just making conversation.”

  “There’ll be time for conversation after our session,” said Lara.

  Sheesh, she was stricter than Mr. Jenkins.

  And great. There was definitely a voice. My ears pricked up, preparing to hear the slightest sound. I pretended I was thinking about our project.

  “We have to do something.”

  I sucked in a breath at the shock of the invisible voice and stood, my chair scraping.

  “Everything all right?” Damon asked.

  “Yes. Um, good. I just got a leg cramp, that’s all. Mind if I wander around for a bit?” The voice had come from a room nearby.

  “Fine. No more than five minutes,” said Lara.

  “In that case, I should take you on a little tour,” said Damon.

  I smiled and we walked away from the living room. An old clock tick-tocked at the end of the hallway, and I willed my heart to slow to match its beat. “What’s in there?” I pointed to the room the voice had come from.

  “Oh, that room hardly ever gets used,” he said. “It’s an old-fashioned sitting room. But we usually just hang in the living room.” He pushed open the door and I heard a slight whoosh of a breeze as the room seemed to suck in oxygen. The scent of stale flowers filled my nose and it felt clammy and cold. I looked at the small table beside the grand, upholstered armchairs. Teacups and saucers were on it.

  I coughed to hide a gasp.

  Hadn’t Savannah seen teacups and saucers?

  Could one of the voices from our vision be the same one I heard now, for real?

  “Looks like it’s hundreds of years old, right?” Damon said, sliding his hands into his pockets and walking through the room. “But it’s actually all new. Well, almost all of it. Apart from the fancy-schmancy tea set that was found in a box in the basement, the previous owners had sold off furniture and stuff before we bought the place. Dad had new—well, old—furniture brought in from another estate sale to keep the historic look. Apparently worth a fair bit, but he decided to leave it here on display.”