The Melody of Silence: Crescendo

by LP Tvorik

  Just after lunchtime, two new officers came into the room and hauled me off to booking. They uncuffed me to print my fingers, and if either of them took notice of the bloody grooves in my wrists, they didn’t mention it. I held the placard with my name and the jurisdiction of my arrest while they snapped my photo from the front and both sides.

  Once they’d processed me, they took me back to the interview room. They cuffed my hands in front of me, though, which was a considerable kindness. One of them brought a paper cup of water, too, which I guzzled the second they shut the door behind them.

  I used the sleeve of my shirt to wipe the bulk of the blood from my face, and then settled in for the wait. The next person I saw was going to tell me about Alex, whether they wanted to or not.

  Chapter fourteen

  alex

  “Aly, sugar, can you open your eyes for me?”

  The familiar voice, while low and soothing, sent jackhammers of pain roaring to life in my skull. I groaned, lifting a hand to my aching head, but my arm was heavy and unwieldy. I let it drop back to my side.

  “Is she coming around?” asked another voice, this one louder and unfamiliar. Feminine and chipper. It was more like an icepick than a jackhammer.

  “I think so. Aly, can you hear me?” Fingers gripped my hand, squeezing hard, and something told me I needed to squeeze back. I tried, and heard a stifled sob. Something wet dripped on my arm. “Oh, sugar, it’s okay. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay. I’m right here.”

  Daddy? I tried to speak, but my tongue was as dry as sandpaper and my throat felt swollen and sore.

  “Open your eyes for me, Aly,” said the female voice, closer now, and small, cool fingers brushed over my forehead. I thought of Momma and a tiny, weary ache flared to life in my chest. “If you open your eyes you can have some water.”

  This lady knew how to make a deal. It hurt like hell, but I managed to peel open one gritty eye, then the other. The lights were dim, but I still flinched as shafts of pain seemed to shoot straight through my eyeballs and into my brain.

  “Good girl,” Daddy said, and his face materialized above me, puffy and tear-streaked. His jaw was covered in stubble, and dark shadows surrounded his eyes. Even so, he was smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he leaned in close and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “You’re okay, Aly. I’m right here.”

  Where is ‘here’?

  Mr. Winger, why don’t you go get Aly some ice chips,” the stranger’s voice said, and I tipped my head toward her as my father left, with promises to return shortly. A young woman in a purple top with rainbow polka-dots stood on my right side. A stethoscope hung around her neck and there was a badge clipped to her pocket. A doctor? Nurse?

  Hospital?

  Panic flashed through me, sending a flare of agony through the thick soup of my brain. Why was I here? The last thing I remembered was… what was the last thing I remembered? School, maybe? Fighting with Nate in the hallway? Was I in a car accident or something?

  “Easy, Aly,” the woman said, pressing a hand to my shoulder as I fought the pain in order to rise. “You’re safe. You’re at St. Luke’s and you’re gonna be just fine. My name is Maria and I’ll be your nighttime nurse while you stay with us. Do you remember what happened?”

  I shook my head minutely, aware that any greater movement would set off bells in my pounding head.

  “That’s okay,” Maria said, smiling broadly. “You’ve got a pretty bad concussion so it’s normal to have some memory loss. It should come back.”

  Should?

  I wanted to ask her what the hell had happened, but my father came back, holding a paper cup and a plastic spoon. He settled into the chair next to me while the nurse fiddled with a machine by my bed. All I could do was lay there while my father spooned ice chips into my mouth. They melted on my tongue, soothing my throat, and I nearly moaned in pleasure.

  “Not too many,” the nurse chided, patting my shoulder before turning to my father. “I’ll be right down the hall if you need me. Just press the call button.”

  Daddy just kept feeding my ice chips, until I weakly pushed his hand away. Tears hovered in his eyes and he kept wiping them away before they fell, like that would somehow keep me from noticing.

  “What happened?” I whispered, throat aching.

  Daddy’s face crumpled, and he let his head drop forward onto his hands, which were wrapped around one of mine. My other arm was in a heavy plaster cast, propped up on pillows by my side.

  “I’m so sorry, sugar,” he moaned, shaking his head without looking up. “I’m so sorry I let him hurt you.”

  Alarm jolted through me. “Who hurt me?” I asked, but he was crying, his shoulders shaking. “Daddy, who hurt me?”

  “Just rest now,” he said, raising his head and offering me a quavering smile. “We’ll talk when you’re feeling better. Go to sleep, okay? I’ll be right here.”

  I didn’t want to obey, but my eyelids were weighted down with tar and every muscle in my body felt battered and bruised. Sleep sounded awfully appealing.

  “Where’s Tom?” I mumbled, letting my eyes slip shut.

  “He’s here,” Daddy said, letting go with one of his hands and brushing it gently over my hair. “He’s out in the hallway with the cops.”

  The cops? But before I could muster a coherent query, the darkness swallowed me up.

  ‥ ‥ ‥

  The next time I woke, it was with one pressing, urgent thought—

  Where is Nate?

  My father was still by my side, slumped in an armchair by my bed. Tom was curled up on the hospital bed beside mine, the curtain between us pushed back. He was wearing his pyjama pants and a shirt that was on backwards. Now that I paid attention, Daddy was dressed in track pants and a ratty old t-shirt as well. They looked like they’d crawled right out of bed.

  But where the hell was Nate?

  My memory was spotty, but the important bits had, to my relief, returned. I remembered what we did at the spot. I remembered the walk back. I remembered insisting that I climb through the window. I remembered falling.

  Then nothing. Not even a flicker of a clue to what happened after I hit the ground.

  My arm was broken. I knew that much by the heavy cast that encased it from elbow to wrist. My head pounded with my heartbeat, and I felt sharp pain and scratchy tape on my temple. Reaching up with my good hand, I probed the area and felt a thick gauze bandage. There was an oxygen tube blowing a trickle of cool air into my nose, an IV in the back of my hand, and a handful of wires protruding from the neck of my hospital gown.

  I gathered that I had fallen from the tree. I gathered that I was in rough shape. I gathered that I’d scared the hell out of my father and brother.

  But where the hell was Nate?

  He’d been there when I fell. Had he run off and left me bleeding? No. I knew with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t do that. Had he summoned help and then taken off before it had arrived? Maybe, but still unlikely.

  He should be by my side. I wanted him by my side, no matter the hell it would raise with my father. Surely Nate knew that. Maybe he was just out in the waiting room because he wasn’t family.

  “Daddy?” I tried, but my voice came out harsh with disuse. Wincing, I cleared my throat and tried again. “Daddy?”

  My father jerked awake, blinking sleep out of his eyes and looking around in bewilderment. When his gaze met mine he shot out of his chair and sank onto the edge of my bed.

  “Aly, how are you feeling?” he asked, gripping my hand.

  “I’m okay, Daddy. Where is—”

  “You must be thirsty,” he cut me off, reaching for a plastic cup on the table by my head. It had a straw in it, and he held the straw to my lips. I took three large gulps, grateful for something more than ice chips. When I’d slaked my thirst, I turned my head away and he
set the cup back on the table.

  “Daddy, where is Nate?” I asked, frowning when his face sagged, fresh tears glistening in his eyes.

  “He’s nowhere near here, sweetheart. He can’t hurt you, anymore. I promise you, you’re safe.” His hand stroked my face, but I jerked away, confused.

  “What? He didn’t hurt me!” I exclaimed, astonished. I was so loud in my conviction that Tom sniffed and shifted in his sleep, rolling away from us.

  “Oh, sugar, I know you don’t remember,” my father said, gripping my fingers so hard it almost hurt. “But it’s okay. He won’t hurt you again.” There was steel in his voice, which I hadn’t heard in years. In other circumstances, I’d have been thrilled at the life and conviction where I was concerned. The proof that he cared about me.

  Maybe later, I’d have time for gratitude.

  “Daddy, he didn’t hurt me,” I repeated, more firmly. “I fell out of a tree, that’s all. Where is he?”

  “The police have him,” my father said, sitting back and frowning down at me. “Sugar, you just don’t remember. The doctors say… they say he…. he…” His faced collapsed once more as he fell into shuddering sobs. Realization coursed through me, and I tried to sit up before pain sent me back to the pillows.

  “No,” I breathed through the pain. “He didn’t. He didn’t, Daddy. That was consensual. I’m so sorry. I know you’re angry, but it was consensual. We…” I trailed off, trying to gather my thoughts. I cast around for a way to explain everything to him without hurting him, but all I could come up with was the truth. I took a deep breath and fell into our story, from the beginning.

  By the time I finished, my father had moved back to his armchair and was sitting on the edge of it, hands clasped in front of him, staring at the white tile floor. His brow was furrowed, the only sign of movement his right thumb, which tapped a rhythmic beat on his left. He breathed deep and steady through his nose, absorbing my story.

  I’d left out the gritty details, of course, but over the course of ten minutes he came to learn everything I’d been trying for so long to keep from him. He learned about my midnight adventures. He learned about my long-standing secret friendship with Nate. He learned that we’d kissed, and that Nate had been in my room every night after mom died. He learned about my depression over the last few months, and he learned that I had asked Nate for sex last night, and that he’d given it to me.

  Unexpected shame began to creep over me as I finished my story. I’d told myself I no longer cared about my father’s opinion, but that was before I awoke to find him shattered and distraught at my bedside. I didn’t regret my actions, but it worried me that he would be disappointed with my wanton sexuality.

  “Daddy?” I asked, when my story drew to its conclusion and he didn’t respond, still staring at the floor in silence. “Daddy, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I let you down.”

  “Stop,” he said firmly, looking up at me, but there wasn’t anger in his eyes. In fact, if I didn’t know better I’d say I saw a smile lurking in the tired, glassy blue eyes that were so much like mine.

  I snapped my mouth shut, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “So he didn’t…” he trailed off, pulling a deep breath and gathering himself. “He didn’t force himself on you?”

  “No,” I said.

  “He didn’t hurt you?”

  “He’d never hurt me.”

  “You fell out of the tree?”

  “If you go home and look, you’ll see where the branch is broken by my window.”

  He drew a deep, shuddering breath and let it out before standing, brushing his palms against his legs as if to wipe sweat away.

  “Never lie to me again, Alexandra,” he said firmly.

  I waited for more, but that was all he said. I nodded. “I won’t. I promise.”

  “Use the front door from now on. I’d rather you break curfew than break your neck.”

  “You’re not mad?” I asked, confused.

  “I’m furious,” my father said, sinking onto the edge of my bed and wrapping a hand around my shoulder, leaning close. “I’m furious with you, Alexandra. But I just spent the last twenty four hours thinking my baby girl was raped and beaten. I would prefer ten thousand secret boyfriends and premarital sexual encounters to that. Tell me you understand.”

  I blinked unbidden tears from my vision and nodded silently. He bent forward and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’m going to go talk to the police officers. I need to get your young man out of jail so I can give him the ‘wrath of God, hurt her and I’ll kill you’ speech,” he said, pushing to his feet.

  Warmth flooded through me as I nodded against the pillow. He squeezed my fingers, smiling down at me, and then left me alone with my sleeping brother.

  Everything was going to be okay.

  ‥ ‥ ‥

  I didn’t see Nate the next day.

  I gave the police my statement from my hospital bed the next morning, using every opportunity to emphasize his innocence. After they left, I waited all day for him to show up. Surely he would come to visit me as soon as he was released from custody.

  He didn’t, though. He didn’t show up that day, he didn’t sneak in that night, and the next morning when my father signed me out of the hospital I still hadn’t seen him.

  Maybe he was still trying to protect our secret?

  Daddy and Tom doted on me endlessly when we got home. I was situated on the living room couch, surrounded by pillows I didn’t need and covered with blankets that made no sense considering how warm it was outside. They fed me an endless supply of medicine and food, and Tom insisted that I choose the channel on the TV even though all I did was sleep.

  By day three of the coddling, I was losing my mind. I felt good, except for a lingering headache and a persistent but low-grade pain in my arm. I saw no reason to remain chained to the couch, and the role-reversal with the men in my family was starting to drive me insane.

  And I still hadn’t seen Nate.

  With nothing to do all day, my mind wandered to things I’d rather not think about. What had the rumor mill had come up with to explain my absence? How would people look at me when I showed back up? Gemma had brought me my books and homework, but she was evasive when I asked her what people were saying.

  Mostly, though, I worried about Nate and fretted over his continued absence. As the days wore on, I convinced myself that my initial assessment had been right. All he’d wanted was sex and now that he had it, he had no time for or interest in me. Gemma said everybody knew he was with me that night. Our secret was out. There was no reason for him to avoid me.

  Then, on the evening of the fourth day, the doorbell rang. I rose to get it, but my father beat me to it, glaring at me as he passed by the living room.

  “Stay still, Alexandra,” he scolded. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy.”

  I sat back, frustrated, only to shoot up again, heart in my throat, when I heard Nate’s familiar voice from the doorway.

  A few seconds later, my father escorted him into the living room. “I’ll be in the kitchen,” he said, giving Nate a pointed look before walking away. I rolled my eyes, but Nate just smiled.

  “Hey, angel,” he said, closing the distance between us and sinking onto the couch by my hip. Before I could speak, he leaned forward and planting a firm, possessive kiss on my lips. When he pulled back, his hands lingered, one cradling the side of my face, the other curved around my side. His fingers brushed the edges of the horrific bruise on my temple. It had turned a mottled purple-green color with a row of heavy black stitches marching up the center toward my hairline. Nate grimaced. “You look like shit.”

  “So do you,” I said honestly. He looked like he’d gone and goaded a grizzly bear into a fist fight since the last time I saw him. Both his eyes were underscored by fading black bruises and an ugly scab sliced through his
lower lip. “What happened to your face?”

  He grinned sheepishly, and pressed a tentative finger to the side of his nose. “I tried to catch you when you fell,” he said. “You clocked me pretty good. Broke my nose.”

  That didn’t explain the purple-red knuckles or the split lip. I wondered if he’d fought the cops when they tried to pull him away. I’d seen the way he exploded at school, sometimes, when his temper got the best of him.

  I wanted to call him out on the half-truth, but I also didn’t want to fight. Not here. Not with my dad in the next room, probably listening closely.

  “Where were you?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “The cops released me to my foster dad, and he kept a pretty close eye on me for a few days. Wouldn’t even let me at a phone.”

  “Why?” I asked, confused. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Unless you tried to beat up the cops.

  He looked down and took my hand, brushing his thumb over my knuckles, refusing to meet my eye. “I still got arrested,” he said, lifting a shoulder and letting it fall. “Plus the cops told him what I told them, and he’s real pissed I’ve been sneaking out every night.” He laughed, but there wasn’t a lot of humor in it. “Anyway,” he said, brightening his tone and looking up, offering me a worried smile. “How are you, really? Don’t lie.”

  “Bored,” I said with a sigh. “I’m chained to this stupid couch.” I lowered my voice so it wouldn’t drift to the kitchen. “My dad is driving me crazy.”

  “Well, you’re supposed to be taking easy, right?” Nate asked, squeezing my fingers. “So he’s right to hover.”

  “You’re teaming up on me,” I said with a groan, dropping my head back against the pillows and closing my eyes. “It’s a conspiracy.”

  Nate laughed. “Well, when did the doctor say you can bust out? It’s gotta be killing you to miss so much school.”