Chapter 10
BEA
I still can’t wrap my mind around what happened.
The implants I’ve relied on for years, decades even, betrayed me.
The voice I heard wasn’t actually there.
It came from somewhere, of course. But not my apartment.
It didn’t come from anywhere on the Blade and Arrow property, Tyler confirmed after a lengthy check of the security system.
No sign of an intruder. No suspicious movement outside the perimeter fence; a hiker ignoring the private property signs or a jogger too caught up in his run to realize he’d gone off course.
All the cameras picked up were some innocent rabbits and squirrels scavenging for food. And since I’m pretty certain a bunny wasn’t responsible for the malicious voice in my head, that leaves only one other possibility.
Someone hacked into my implants.
I don’t know how. But it’s the only explanation that makes sense.
When it first happened, the thought never occurred to me. I was too panicked. Too shocked. Too fearful of the words I couldn’t escape.
And then that sound, like nothing I’ve heard before—a horrible cacophony that made my head feel like it was about to explode.
I can’t even explain what it was like. Indy asked, but I couldn’t find the right words. All I could think of were violent scenes from movies, where the hapless victim would hear something so terrible that blood would flow from their ears.
That sound made me rip the implants and throw them across the room. An action that, hours later, I still can’t believe.
I’ve always handled my implants so carefully. Reverently, almost. After all, I know what they bring me—normalcy, a world of sound, the ability to work with my patients—and I know how much new ones would cost.
Insurance might cover some, but if I broke them? What if the insurance company refused to pay for replacements? Or only paid for one? I can’t afford tens of thousands of dollars out of pocket.
So that’s another thing to worry about on top of the rest.
Some creepy, disembodied voice threatening me.
Somehow hacking into my implants.
And not just making threats against me, but my parents. My parents, who should never have been involved in this.
“We’ll fix this,” Indy told me once he brought me to his apartment. “I know it’s scary right now. But we’ll fix this.”
He spoke carefully, not dragging out his words like some people used to do when I first lost my hearing, but enunciating and making sure to face me while he talked. Back in high school, whenever someone would do it, I felt awkward. Different. Embarrassed.
But Indy didn’t make it weird. And I didn’t feel awkward about it. At least, not as much as I feared.
I’m used to the silence when I go to bed. Or when I take a shower. But during the day, with people around? It’s disconcerting. I keep listening for sounds I can’t hear. And while I can talk to people without my implants on, it feels odd, and I always worry I’m talking too loudly.
With Indy, though…
In the three hours—has it only been three?
Time’s been funny since then—since the incident in the kitchen, he’s been incredible.
First bringing me back to his apartment, carrying me no less, which in hindsight, was actually pretty nice, then making me some kind of tea that tasted a bit like grass, setting out a veritable buffet of chips and store-bought cookies, finding a Top Chef marathon and turning the closed captions on, and pretty much staying glued to my side since we got here.
He’s alternated between holding my hand and stroking my hair, which has also been nice. And if I wasn’t still feeling shaken and worried sick about my parents, I might even have considered trying for a second kiss.
But as soon as my mind shifts to more pleasant things, like the solid heat of Indy’s thigh pressed against mine, or the tingles his touch leaves behind as he combs his fingers through my hair, reality makes an unwelcome reappearance.
Then I’ll shudder, or a small sound I can’t hear works its way up my throat.
My eyes will burn with unshed tears or my stomach will decide to try out for the circus.
And Indy will get this guilty look on his face, like the fact that some crazy person decided to one, try to kill me, two, frame me for murder, and three, use my cochlear implants to threaten me, is somehow his fault.
It’s the strangest sort of incongruity. Half of me is horrified by what’s happened. But the other half wants to cling to these moments with Indy and pretend the rest is just a figment of my imagination.
Just as one of the Top Chef contestants is bemoaning his forgotten garnish, Indy touches my hand. He waits until I’ve turned towards him before he says, “Are you hungry? Can I make you something to eat?”
I hate not being able to hear his rumbly voice.
Gesturing at the assortment of snacks in front of us, I reply, “I’m okay. We’ve got plenty here.”
His gaze sweeps across my face. Then it moves to the bags of chips and cookies, which I’ve barely touched since he set them there. “You missed dinner. Some chips aren’t enough. You’re still healing. And with the stress…” His lips thin. A muscle works in his jaw.
If things were normal—okay, not normal, but more normal than this—we’d already have had pizza. We might still be watching a movie, maybe cuddled together on the couch in front of the fire. We might even have shared our second kiss. Or perhaps our third or fourth one.
But instead, I’m sitting here in Indy’s apartment, watching old episodes of Top Chef and trying my very best to keep from losing it.
I know which option I’d pick if I had the choice.
“It’s too late to order pizza,” he continues, “but I might have a frozen one. I can try to make it nicer with some extra cheese and vegetables.”
Maybe a different woman wouldn’t consider Indy’s offer to fancy-up a frozen pizza to be sweet. But I do. Because I know if it were just for him, he’d toss the pizza in the microwave and be done with it. He wouldn’t worry about extra cheese or adding vegetables or—
“I could make a salad, too. I can ask Ace or Webb to bring over some of the stuff at your place.” A crooked smile quirks his lips. “I think I can manage to chop some tomatoes and carrots, at least.”
Aw.
“Maybe after I talk to my parents.” I briefly spoke—well, texted—with them once we got back to Indy’s apartment, so they know I’m okay.
And Rafe is working on getting protection set up for them, so I’m hoping the next time one of Indy’s teammates calls him with an update, I’ll know for certain my parents are safe.
Indy squeezes my hand. “I’ll text Rafe. See how things are moving along.” He leans over to snag his phone from the coffee table, then starts to compose a message. But a few seconds later, he pauses mid-text and looks at the front door.
Glancing back at me, he says, “It’s Tyler. And Rafe. I’m going to let them in.”
As he stands, he kisses my cheek. His beard tickles my skin. His citrusy scent—lime and blood orange blended with amber, according to the soap bottle I snuck a look at when I used the bathroom earlier—seeps into me, loosening the band of tension wrenched tightly around my chest.
I watch him as he crosses the living room; a space similar in size and shape to the one I’m staying in, but without all the cozy decorations.
The furniture consists of a giant sectional couch with recliners on either end, a plain glass coffee table, and an enormous TV that takes up half the wall.
There are a few scattered photos of his family on either side of it, but none from his time in the Army, so unlike the collection of old pictures my dad saved.
Maybe he’s not ready to put them out yet, I consider.
Maybe they were too hard to look at.
Maybe they reminded him of all the things he lost.
Maybe the photos are just waiting for the right time to come out again. Maybe they’re stored in a box in the closet or under his bed, along with the graduation cap I gave him.
I still can’t believe he kept it.
But thoughts of photos and graduation caps disappear as soon as Rafe and Tyler walk into the apartment. They both look solemn. Almost grim.
My stomach makes a daring leap into my throat. The few potato chips I ate threaten to make a reappearance.
They follow Indy over to the couch, where they each take a seat in one of the recliners. Indy sits back down beside me and rubs my back. “It’s going to be okay. Don’t look so scared.”
I shoot him an are you kidding me look, and he flushes a little. “Sorry. Stupid thing to say.”
Tyler hands a small box to me. I open it to find my implants sitting atop a cushion of bubble wrap. The sight of them is both comforting and frightening.
Once my gaze lifts to Tyler’s, he says, “They’re safe to use, Bea. And they should work fine.”
My hand twitches towards them. But there’s that niggling fear of that voice coming back again.
But he says it’s safe. And while I haven’t known Tyler long, he’s never given me reason not to trust him. I mean, he arranged for Indy to break into the hospital, hacking into the security and the electrical system to do it. And if Indy trusts him…
So I put one on, then the other.
For one silent moment, I hold my breath.
Then Indy says, “Are they working, Bea?”
There.
That rumbly voice. The one I never forgot.
“Yes.” I adjust my hair around them. “They’re working.”
He rubs my arm. His eyes meet mine. “Do you need me to get your phone? So you can adjust the settings?”
“I have it,” Tyler volunteers. He slides the plain black smartphone from his pocket and hands it over. “I double-checked everything to make sure it’s completely secure.”
Even though it’s not my old phone—the one with a shimmery blue case and a Hearing Health Foundation sticker on the back of it—the solid weight in my hand is still a comfort.