The Sound of Him (Monstrous Survivors #4)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Matt

There are so many words involved in freedom.

There’s, “Oh my God,” and “What the fuck?”, and “Run!” as slaves panic and bodies start to drop.

There’s, “You’re safe,” and “You’re free now,” and “Are you hurt anywhere?” from men dressed in black body armor, or men dressed in black tuxes. From men with guns. Men saying they're here to rescue us, despite some of them being the same men we need rescuing from.

There’s, “What?” and “Why?”, and “How?” from our newest slave, Gabe, from our protector, Bryce, from our makeshift medic, Alexi.

There’s, “It’s alright, make yourselves as comfortable as you can, it’ll be a long ride.

We’re taking you to a safehouse. There will be a doctor there, and food and beds for you to rest. For now, you can clean up with these wipes and change into some of these fresh clothes.

Help yourself to the snacks here. To the water.

If you need anything at all, just tell me, okay?

He’ll be driving, so I’ll sit back here,” from the man in black who looks far too awake and healthy and heroic standing among the broken bodies and spirits of us slaves.

There’s, “I spoke to him, Matt. I spoke to Master Roarke. He said - he said he was undercover the whole time. He said that guy, Maison - you know, Carter’s brother?

Master Roarke said Maison was working with him all along.

That Master Benny was, too. That it was all - that they - but how - and Matt, he - he took my collar off.

He said his name is really Travis. He said that I’m free,” in the trembling voice of my best friend, Nolan.

There’s, “I know it’s been a long night, but this is the last stretch.

We’re going to pack you guys in pretty tight now so there are less vehicles driving in the area of the safehouse.

Do you three want to come out and join that crew?

Yeah, you three there. And you two, hop in with them?

” from a different agent, standing outside the open door of our current vehicle.

There’s, “What the fuck do you mean, those sick fucks will be at the safehouse too?” and “Stop the vehicle. Fucking stop. Stop driving. Let us out. Let us the fuck out. We’ll take care of ourselves.

I’ll take care of them. Let us out!,” and “Yeah, you gonna sedate me? You gonna tie me up? Let’s fucking see it, you piece of shit.

Be just like them. Prove me right. We aren’t free at all, are we?

What - we get sold? This some sick mind game?

Some test,” and “Don’t fucking touch me!

Don’t fucking touch any of us. I swear to God, I’ll kill you,” from our fierce protector, Bryce, after learning that our masters - who were apparently working undercover to save us in some sick and twisted sort of way - will be at the safehouse too.

There’s sobbing and shouting and whispering.

Bryce’s hands are bloody from slamming them against the window, trying to find us a way out.

The agent sitting among us looks just as exhausted as we are.

The safehouse glows in the dark, the agent promising us again and again that it’ll be safe, Bryce muttering under his breath for us not to trust a fucking word any of them say.

There’s, “Take a welcome bag, they’ve got names on them,” and, “Actually, it’s Jake, please call me Jake, I was undercover with Travis - the man you knew as Master Roarke,” and, “All of the slaves from the Roarke compound will be here, but usually after something like this, at least half leave within the first few days, so you won’t be doubled up for long,” from the man who used to be Master Benny, as he welcomes us to the safehouse that may not be safe at all.

There are a lot of questions. So many questions. Jake and the man beside him, their operation’s ‘tech guy’ according to Jake, answer as many as they can. They’re patient and kind, never cutting someone off or hurrying them along.

There are so many words involved in freedom.

And then there’s my silence.

There’s my tongue that feels heavy and thick in my mouth.

There's my throat that aches with all the words I haven’t been able to say.

There’s the panicky pain in my chest at just the idea of trying to string together a sentence, or even just trying to voice a single word.

There’s me trying anyway. There’s me trying so hard.

There’s me failing - again.

Even escaping to my assigned room with Nolan, his hand clasped in mine, doesn’t help things go quiet.

There’s so much he wants to say to me, so many words despite my brain being at capacity.

I try to at least listen, to absorb it all, but that floaty feeling I always get when everything becomes too much starts creeping in.

It’s like watching a movie after that. One with a foreign language and no subtitles to make up the difference. It’s all just noise.

Everything is so loud.

My head hurts.

There’s a newfound hopelessness building inside me as the realization sinks in that even in freedom, my body will fight against me.

I blink and I’m on Nolan’s bed with him, his arm around me.

I blink and he’s handing me a sleeve of crackers. There’s other food on the bed beside him. One meal bar has peanut butter and chocolate written on the front. I wonder if the other things have nuts too. If that’s why Nolan put them to the side.

I blink and he’s nudging my hand, eyes pleading.

I eat the crackers.

When he hands me a bottle of water, I drink for him too.

He hands me something else, something in a bag that crinkles, but the thought of trying to eat anything more makes me nauseous.

I try to focus on swallowing the overflow of spit suddenly in my mouth, but it’s hard with my eyes burning like they are.

I guess I had hoped that things would be easier now.

I hoped that freedom would make things better.

My stomach turns over and over as the worst of my memories try to creep out from the darkest corners of my mind.

I tell myself not to cry. Crying is pointless.

I cry anyway.

Nolan is touching his throat again, stroking the place where his collar used to rest. I don’t do the same.

My own body became my collar a long time ago, worse than anything our masters could have scrounged up.

It has spikes that dig and electricity that shocks and a latch that tightens until I choke.

It’s all in my head, but that doesn’t change anything.

It just means that taking off the piece of leather didn’t free me.

Free. So many people have tossed around versions of that word tonight. Promises of freedom. Declarations that we're free.

Maybe it’s fitting that I can’t say it. Maybe freedom is only for the others - the ones who escaped from that world tonight with themselves intact. The ones who aren't broken or hollow or dead inside.

Free is a word for real people. It belongs to someone who feels alive. Someone fully human.

Maybe I’m something else now. My body doesn’t work like it used to.

I don’t work like I used to.

But if they’re all free, then what am I?

Nolan holds me close in his bed, both of us ignoring the other one across the room.

We’ve always preferred to stick together.

It feels familiar and safe in a way nothing else about this experience has.

He’s plucking absentmindedly at the tag of his stuffed frog that was in his welcome bag.

I have my own stuffed animal tucked beneath my chin, a blue bunny that’s so, so soft.

The softest thing I’ve been allowed to feel in years.

The house falls quiet slowly, like the noise is trickling out the way water leaks from a faulty pipe, or like the way my words always seem to slip between my fingers when I reach for them.

It’s a while after the silence settles in that I manage to work my fingers into the shape of one of the few ASL signs he taught me from his childhood memory.

I jumble it with some of the letters from the alphabet too, trying my best to make my mind and my fingers cooperate long enough to get the gist of my question across.

We’ve done this enough times by now for Nolan to understand what I’m asking.

I want to know if he believes this is real. If he believes we’re actually safe.

He says, “Yes, I do,” but his voice trembles just as badly as my fingers had.

I don’t ask him anything else after that.

Not about the future, or if we can ever truly escape the horrors we’ve been existing in, or if happiness is even a possibility for us.

I don’t think his answers would be the same as mine.

I think for someone like him, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

He might be haunted by the horrors of his past, but he’ll be able to stay in front of them.

He hasn’t been infected like I have. He doesn’t have horror deep in his bones, ingrained in him forever. He isn’t broken. He isn't less than.

Nolan is one of the real people. He’s one of the ones who get to be free.

Nolan may be haunted, but not me.

I think maybe I’m just one of the ghosts now.

Maybe I'm the one doing the haunting after all.

The morning brings breakfast in bed from Nolan and gossip about one of the men in charge - Maison.

He’s the older brother of Carter, the slave that our owner Nathan - or I guess…

Travis? - had purchased all for himself not long ago.

It had supposedly been for revenge. Turns out it was to save him, a favor for Maison because of their friendship.

Because they’re teammates on the very same undercover operation that has us safely tucked away in some safehouse.

Because my life is apparently not just a horror show, now, but also some sort of whacky American version of a telenovela from 1983.

My mamá would be heartbroken.

Well, heartbroken and riveted, of course. She never could give up her telenovelas. Tuned in every night if she could. Recorded the ones she had to miss.