27. Chapter Twenty-seven #3
I smile. Just a little bit. And nod.
He beams at me, way brighter than before, like I just told him something amazing.
“How did that feel? Not throwing something at Ace, I mean, but making noise in the world?”
I… don’t understand.
I shake my head, pointing at myself, then tapping the paper where the computer is and trailing my finger up to one of the music notes in the air.
“It was you, though, wasn’t it? Just because it wasn’t your voice, it was still you.”
But it wasn’t. I wasn’t even the one controlling the music. That was Ace. I was all the way across the room. I tap where ACE is already written.
“Was Ace playing the music from his computer?” I nod.
“Alright, so you worked together then. That means it was the both of you making sound. You’re who chose what to play, though.
Without you, that particular sound wouldn’t have hit the air.
Without you, that song would have gone unheard.
You wouldn’t have heard it. Ace wouldn’t have heard it.
That’s making noise, Matt. You just used music to do it instead of your vocal chords.
You used music to make the world hear you.
To make Ace hear you. We’ve talked about how using a tool doesn’t make your communication any lesser, right?
Well, using music, and having Ace’s help, doesn’t make that noise you made any lesser either. ”
It’s not about that, though. I don’t think. Maybe it is?
It’s just… ghosts don’t make noise.
But I did.
I didn’t see it like that when I’d asked for the song. I’d just wanted Ace to stop playing that awful song and - and I guess - I mean, yeah - yeah, I chose a song and wrote it on the paper and threw it and - and he played it.
Ace filled the air with noise that I asked for. Then he sat there and listened to it. He sat there and heard what I wanted him to.
I made noise and Ace heard me.
Ace heard me.
He heard me.
He heard me.
Master Mica didn’t hear me. Not really. Master Mica laughed. Master Mica said, “What’s that, slut? I can’t hear you.” Master Mica said, “If you need help, just ask.” Master Mica said, “Stupid thing is going to choke to death without a hand on him. Useless.”
There was this sound, this sandpaper-whistle-thing. Master Mica leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Do you hear that? That’s the sound of you dying.”
There are shoes by my head.
There is only, only, only.
There’s - there’s… Bryce?
Was Bryce there at the same time as the shoes?
Bryce is saying - he’s saying - what’s he saying to Master Benny?
There are hands on me.
That awful wheezing sound is still happening.
The sound of me dying.
No one listened.
Ace listened.
Ace heard me.
Ace heard, he heard, he heard-
There’s something soft against my cheek. Stroking. I flinch, sucking in a sharp breath that makes me dizzy. A stupid slut, a stupid ghost, a stupid set of lungs that hurt when they get the very thing they need.
Everything burns.
Everything except the thing on my cheek.
“-that? He’s soft, isn’t he? That’s your bunny. Your blue bunny. You’re safe. You’re in the safehouse. You’re safe, Matt. Do you feel that? Do you feel your bunny?”
I blink and the blurry world focuses. Dr. Singh is crouched beside me, my bunny in one hand, the other hand holding one of the bunny’s ears up to touch my cheek with it. I shiver.
It does feel soft.
“Good,” he says like he can tell I’m back with him. Maybe he can. “We’re going to breathe, okay? Inhale until 4. Ready? Inhale 1-2-3-4. Good. Now exhale for-” he stops when I choke on the air. I sob, squeezing my eyes shut.
I’m so sick of choking.
I’m so sick of being without air.
I’m so sick of being a ghost, a revenant, forced to relive my death over and over.
“It’s okay,” he tells me. “It’s alright. Let’s try again. We can just try again. We just keep trying. Ready, inhale 1-2-3-4. Good. Yeah, Matt. Now exhale 4-3-2-1. Yeah. Good. It’s okay. Let’s keep going.”
We do it again and again until my chest feels lighter and he doesn’t have to talk anymore, the two of us just breathing in and out together. He smiles eventually, warm but a little sad. He lowers himself from his crouch to sit on the floor, drawing his knees up like mine.
“It’s okay if you’re afraid of making noise again,” he tells me. “That’s a very overwhelming thing, isn’t it?”
I nod. It is overwhelming.
He nods too.
“Let’s forget about making noise for a while. That’s too overwhelming. We’re going to start smaller. For now, I want you to work on building a relationship with sound. A healthy one. Okay?”
I’m not sure what he means by that, so I sign, Why? instead.
“Why should you do that?” he asks. It’s not exactly what I wanted an answer to, but it’s close, so I nod.
“I’m going to ask you to trust me and wait for me to explain that until we meet again.
I don’t want you thinking about the why, which you’ll be unable to help doing if I tell you it.
I want you entirely focused on building that relationship with sound.
Are you okay with that? If so, I’m going to explain how I want you to build that relationship. If not, I can tell you the why.”
He did one finger for if so and two for if not.
I put up one finger, deciding to trust him.
He smiles. “You’re going to build the relationship by getting to know the sounds around you, and learning to appreciate them.
I’m talking about the simple sounds, of course.
You can pay closer attention to the music you hear or listen closely to what each of your friends’ voices sound like.
But I also want you to dig a little deeper and find those sounds that we tend to automatically filter out.
For example, right now? I can hear the air coming in through the heating vent on the wall. Can you?”
I glance toward the wall, knowing what vent he’s talking about. I hear it too.
I hadn’t noticed it before. It’s a very soft sound. Just a steady little shhh.
He must be able to tell by my expression that I hear it because he says, “See? I want you to find all of those sounds, too. I almost want you to study them. Figure out where certain sounds are coming from. Pay attention to if they come and go, or if they’re steady all day - or all night - long.
Learn about the sounds that make up your world and then appreciate them.
Get comfortable with them. Do you think you can try that for me? ”
I nod.
I can.
I can try.
The sounds of nighttime at the compound were the sounds of nightmares.
In the early hours, there were the sharp sounds of the masters’ cruelty. There were whips cracking and skin slapping against skin. Screams. Sobs. Cheers. Laughs.
Later, when everyone was asleep or trying to be, there were the softer sounds of misery.
There were rustling blankets and muffled cries.
Whimpers of pain. Sharp hisses and cut-off groans as wounds were tended to.
The occasional snore when someone managed to pass out hard enough to sleep deeply.
The rattling coughs of those of us battling illness.
Nights sound different at the safehouse. Not exactly quiet, but safer. Softer.
There are no words. No voices rising and falling, heavy with the expectation of my attention, broken by my lack of response. It's just the house and the gentle, wordless sounds it makes to communicate.
I know when I start to listen for sounds tomorrow, it’ll be overwhelming.
Everyone will be awake, the house full of noise.
Dr. Singh said I could start small, though.
He also said that if I get too overwhelmed, I can take a break, can shut the noises off however I need to and let my world go quiet for a while.
I have a feeling I’ll need to do that a lot tomorrow.
But tonight, for now, I feel okay.
I notice that there are the faintest sounds coming from the outdoors, if you listen for them.
It’s raining, the water a soft pitter-patter on the roof, the whistling wind pressing against the windows.
I wonder, when I pay attention on other nights, if there will be sounds of animals or insects.
There was an owl on one of the security feeds, when Ace showed them to me all those nights ago.
The house makes sounds of its own, too.
The heating unit rumbles whenever it has to kick in, sounding angry about having to wake up.
It’ll run for a stretch of minutes, until the house is deemed warm enough by the sensors, before falling quiet again.
There’s always a slightly louder rumble right before it turns off, followed by a click-click-click as the machine expends its last bit of energy and calms.
If I’m on the main floor of the house, I can hear the clink-clink-clunk of the refrigerator making ice.
I can hear the subtle buzz of its electricity, too.
Since Nolan and Maison are sitting on the living room floor by the fireplace, I can hear the soft crackle-pop-hiss of the flames eating the wood.
The pool room is probably my favorite. There are so many sounds in one small space - the subtle gurgles of the filters, the higher buzz of the water heater, the lower hum of the air system trying to keep the temperature of the room stable, the barely-there buzz of the low lighting.
Tomorrow, the house will be full of sounds that will make me crawl inside my own skin.
There will be so many words, some of them aimed at me, most of them expecting something in return.
There will be laughter. There will be the microwave running and the fridge door opening and closing and doors slamming.
I remind myself that I can take it slow.
I appreciate the sounds of night a little longer.
Then I reward myself by seeking out my favorite sound of all; the sound of Ace.