Whispers of the Damned: See Series Book 1

by Jamie Magee

  Chapter Four

  Once inside I hesitated before I closed the door. The house was silent. Not a single whisper. A calm hum absorbed the vibe. I struggled to remember if home had always felt like this. If it had, I couldn’t fathom why my gut was telling me it was dangerous for me to be home.

  Kara was at the kitchen table on her laptop. She glanced up as I closed the door and continued to focus on the nothing I could hear.

  “You good?” she asked.

  I didn’t answer. Her concerned eyes danced all over me.

  “Where’s Mom?”

  “Your room.”

  I started to walk that way.

  “Hey,” Kara said, standing to stretch. “Madison came by; she wants to take you to a party band thing tonight. I told her you’d be back in a little bit.”

  “A party, um, that’s why I’m here, remember,” I said, looking for an excuse not to go anywhere. It would be dark soon. I’d already had a bad enough day. I wasn’t going to give the whispers behind the shadows another opportunity to torture me.

  “You’re in trouble for having a party, not going to one. Mom said you could go.”

  “You’re joking,” I said as I watched my excuse wash away.

  “Nope,” she said, “it’s pretty much doctors orders—get you into your routine.”

  I started to point out that it had been months since I’d been home but couldn’t gather the energy to stand my ground.

  “Here…take this. She told me to have you look through it,” Kara said, handing me one of Madison’s tattered sketchpads.

  All right then, I thought.

  Kara turned back to her keyboard, and I gripped the pad and slowly turned to go to my room. I crossed the living room to the stairs and began to climb. My room wasn’t really a room. It was the center of the second large level. When I was little, I moved my room from one of the side rooms to this one. I never felt alone or scared on that level because from that room you could hear the entire house.

  It was also the brightest.

  If a single light was on, it illuminated the room. It made me feel like I had independence, but I was still connected to everyone. My mom had walls built around the space that was supposed to be a living room area to give me more privacy, but one wall was still short and looked over the floor below and above. Kara hadn’t made any changes to the house at all. Even when her husband was in town, they barely left the bottom floor.

  My mom wasn’t in my room, but I could tell that she had been. A new bedspread was on the bed, and my clothes were hanging in my open closet. Air humidifiers blasting lavender were on each end table.

  “Mom,” I said loud enough that my voice would carry through the open house.

  “Are you back already?”

  I tossed Madison’s sketchpad on the bed and walked to the short wall of my room and looked down, trying to judge where she was.

  “Yeah, where are you?” I yelled down.

  “Up here.”

  I glanced up to see her leaning over the banister of the top level. My heart started to pound. She was in my father’s studio. We never went down the ‘dad’ road. I was pretty positive, despite the unexpected privileges that had been given to me today; she thought I was not only jacked up—but one episode away from the insane asylum.

  Before that stupid party I was a pro at hiding how I felt on the inside, even better at never engaging the darkness. Now I was cut raw and didn’t know what was what. I’m sure to them it did seem like I flipped a switch and my entire personality changed.

  My dad’s personal space being pulled into focus could only mean mom was desperate to connect with me. Most times we lived in different worlds, hers was silent and mine used my father’s weapons to fight my demons.

  The only way to get to the studio was a short staircase inside of my room. I waited for her to come down, but she never did—she wanted me to come to her. I balled my hands into fists and tensely walked to the short staircase. At the top of the stairs, I found the banister she was looking over empty, and the door that led to the studio open.

  When I reached the doorway, I saw her adding a guitar to a stand in the middle of the room. There were five lined up there. In the center of the room a black button leather couch sat with a guitar case lying open. Besides a large amp, that was all that was up here. I’d forgotten how the simplicity of this space made it so beautiful. The floors were a light hardwood. The top half of the back wall was a window. It looked out at the distant treetops. They told me Dad never recorded here, clearly, it was far from sound proof, but he’d write for hours—days on end—in this room. I always sensed him in this house, but in this room, I was sure he saturated the walls.

  Pride kept me from glancing down in shame. I didn’t really feel scorn in the air but if I had a bad habit, it was being hard on myself. I couldn’t help it. I’d always felt a step out of rhythm with life because of my ability. Hiding my aliment—the state of shock I stayed in, meant I had to walk the line. People overlook the kids who blend.

  “What’s going on?”

  She glanced at me, then all around me. “Are you all right?”

  “Tired,” I answered, gazing at the guitars behind her. I felt the pain I’d battled all day knocking on my door, and for once, I didn’t acknowledge the ache as memories flooded through a wall in my mind. I knew how nearly all of those guitars felt when they were played. I could fathom the sounds that would cry out of them. My fingers moved against my leg as the vibration of my imagination soared through my body.

  One problem. I don’t play.

  I had a list of reasons why, didn’t I? Was it because I was afraid I’d never be as good as my father was? I’d shame his only heir? Did I not want to put Mom through listening to sounds that would remind her of him?

  These were the excuses that didn’t hurt when I gripped them. That is why I didn’t trust them. Today the most healing moments came when I pushed through the pain.

  An awkward silence settled around us. Mom was waiting for something, watching everywhere my eyes landed. The air filled with static. It almost felt like cob webs were brushing by me, but it wasn’t bad, or scary. My skin didn’t chill. My heart didn’t race. The only emotions I was feeling were my own erratic ones. The feeling loomed like a sphere around me then vanished.

  Mom glanced away then at me like she was at a loss for words.

  “Some of your dad’s classics,” she said with a tick of her chin toward the stand.

  “Got an auction or somethin’?” I’d heard stories of how long it took for Mom to get any of dad’s royalties after he died. His friends found other ways to help her out. Now and again when they call needing to raise money for a cause they are supporting, she finds a way to let go of something to repay them for their charity concerts they threw for her.

  “For you, Charlie.”

  My name, Charlie Myers, was my father’s too. Each guitar set out had the name somewhere on it, at least his initials.

  “You need to play, Charlie. It will help.”

  I swayed my head looking for a steady rhythm deep inside.

  “I—,” I stopped. How could I tell her that I couldn’t play when I had two versions of what I could and could not do in my head?

  “It’s been a while,” Mom agreed. “I saw Evan at the restaurant today,” her smile was sad. “He said he’d love to help you brush up.” Her eyes landed on the case resting on the couch.

  She was giving attention to the one guitar in the room I knew better than any other, according to my rebel thoughts I’d learned to play on it.

  “Charlie,” Mom whispered when I’d sunk deep inside myself trying to piece together the threads this day had given me. She was right before me when I did focus. “I’m sorry.”

  I furrowed my brow as my eyes glazed with angry, confused tears that I was determined to hold in.

  “I kept you close for a reason,” she said, like the words ripped at her soul. “I knew in a blink of an eye
you’d be gone, doing what you were born to do. You needed a foundation; a place where you could ignore what tormented you. I gave it to you the only way I knew how.” She tilted her head. “It was a mistake.”

  “Not your fault, Mom. I messed up; don’t plan to do it again.”

  She reached for my hands, a calm surge resonate there. “Someone is always watching, Charlie. Living the way we have was for more than foundation.” She tightened her grip. “There are things about your heritage that you will not be given time to understand. I need you to trust the impossible right now and every day that comes after.”

  On all levels this conversation fit like a square peg in a round hole. Who was this woman and what had she done with my mom? Was she trying to tell me I had a predisposition to drugs or something? I could assume as much if I wasn’t a cursed soul. Both my parents had their wilder days.

  “What did you see?” I asked in a shaky whisper. “When you came in my room that night—what did you see?”

  It was tragically hard to imagine I’d forgotten chunks of my life. I wasn’t scared to figure out who or what belonged in those voids. All pain is temporary. On the other hand, each time I went near trying to recall that night it wasn’t only the pain that stopped me—it was petrified fear, the kind that shocks you into submission.

  I could remember letting Britain and Bianca in, I remember Britain’s friends showing up minutes after the deliver guy. Everything else...it was like the doctor said, the mind blocks trauma. For all I knew when the drugs kicked in, my demons stepped out of the shadows.

  Mom drew her chin up. The strict woman who never colored outside the lines morphed before me. “A battle not meant to be fought alone.”

  There was no way to read her answer. When I didn’t question what she said she grimaced like she heard tragic news then pulled me closer. “I have to go.” When she reached the door she glanced back. “When I get home from this trip,” she glanced toward the guitar stand, “you’re going to play for me.”

  I turned white as snow as I watched her leave. The idea of playing for her was more terrifying than anything I’d faced. You simply did not let my mother down.

  It was a long while before I moved. I wasn’t really there, but inside working on me. I don’t know how to explain it but when I did want to leave, I couldn’t. I didn’t feel a wall, didn’t sense negative vibes or hear a thing. I just knew my leaving wasn’t welcome.

  I edged closer to the guitar on the couch as more memories punched through my mind. Your dad wrote with this one...he gave it to me after we wrote our first song together. He said it asked for me, I hear it asking for you now...

  Evan’s voice, a man who was a stranger when I woke up this morning, now had roots in my life.

  I slowly sat down on the couch. I was starting to trust that I was in a safe haven. As long as I didn’t push too hard, I could remember without the pain stopping me. Bravely, I drew the guitar from its case and set it across my lap. The act was natural, the fluidness stopped there. Five simple strings had humbled me.

  I toyed with how to hold my fingers, the sounds that came when I moved them just so. It was horrible. I sounded like a kid turned loose in a music room hitting all the wrong chords

  I heard the sound echo into something I couldn’t have possibly created. Firmly gripped by shock I tried to remember the way I’d touched each string. Frustrated, I let my fingers loosen. I closed my eyes.

  The strings beneath my still fingers moved.

  My eyes flew open, and I watched as the strings were pushed down and the vibration of the sound echoed around me.

  I jolted up and was halfway across the room as the sound played all around me. I stopped at the threshold surprised I’d gotten that far, whatever was holding me in the room before had given way.

  I stared at the empty room as my chest rose and fell.

  “I need all the help I can get right about now, Dad...if they gave you wings or somethin’ send good vibes my way.” An unsteady breath blew across my lips. “I don’t want to feel crazy anymore.”

  The looming feeling I sensed before, the static, surrounded me. Silence came. Not from the guitar that I could still hear playing, but from my twisting thoughts. The war between my mind and gut was hushed. I don’t know how long I rested there in the calm of my mind.

  Kara yelling my name from the first level broke the spell.

  When I reached the bottom level, Kara was holding a brown box.

  “What’s that?”

  “You tell me,” she said, handing me the box. “A delivery man just brought it for you. He refused to go until I signed your name.”

  I curiously reached for the box. There wasn’t any kind of label. Only a small piece of tape was holding the sides down.

  “If that’s Chinese food, it’s going in the trash,” Kara said, crossing her arms.

  I felt my face flush with fear. Could they have found me—that fast? What was this?

  I pulled the tape loose, and on the inside was a phone with a single red rose lying next to it. A note was taped to the touch screen that read, I think I found most of your bands and put them on here. If I forgot anyone, you can buy them with the password ‘Charlie.’

  Britain didn’t sign it, but I recognized his handwriting. Kara cursed under her breath as she read the note.

  “I’m starting to regret Mom taking this from you,” she said, pulling my phone from her pocket.

  “I knew they’d find me,” I said slamming the box shut. Poisoned. I’d brought my plague home.

  Shakily I reached for my phone. It was pretty much a diary—drenched in data that highlighted my personality. Now, more than ever, I needed to read the plot my life surrounded.

  “Mom only restored the music,” Kara said when she saw me clicking away; trying to break into social media apps, only for it to ask for a password I didn’t know. “She said when she came back, one way or another, she’d put it all back.”

  Considering her corporation was with an international cell phone company I didn’t doubt she had someone somewhere that could find my lost info chilling in some data cloud. What I did doubt was that she needed days for this to happen.

  “Perception is a bitch,” Kara said. “What’s in those apps is a front. What you wanted others to believe. Now’s not the time to fool yourself. Find the answers inside, in what you love.”