Louder Than Words (5 page)

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you. My name is Ben, Ben Fisher.”

My breath came in short gasps. Of all the times not to be able to talk. My mind was racing, filled with gratitude and questions and the sensation of his hands on my bare skin.
If you hadn’t come along when you did, I don’t want to think about what would have happened. But how do you know my name?
Where was my backpack? I needed a pen and paper, my talk box. I desperately needed to make him understand me.

“After you left the library I asked the old lady at the front desk about you. I feel kind of responsible for this mess—you only left because of me.”

What are you saying? How do you know that? Who did you say you were?
My heartbeat began to slow as my body warmed and I fully recognized that I was safe. Where was my Hawkie Talkie?

“Not that you should be walking home alone in the dark anyway, especially without a coat, and when you have such a rockin’ little body, to quote a fool. Very tempting to those with not much self-control.” This Ben person took my jacket out of his backpack and wrapped it around me. “Glad I noticed that you forgot your coat.”

How do you know they said that to me? Were you watching from the bushes or something?

“No,” he said. “I just got here.”

We had been having a perfectly normal conversation, and I suddenly realized that even though I had said nothing out loud, this strange, brave boy had heard every word I thought. Had I hit my head on the cement? Was I unconscious? Was I hallucinating?
You know what I’m thinking
. This was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, I can read your mind.” He said this simply, matter-of-factly, as if he were admitting to being able to play the guitar or drive a stick shift.

That’s not even funny. There’s no such thing
. It was impossible to know what someone else was thinking. Maybe he was just incredibly observant and was reading my body language.
What’s the trick?

“As expressive as your body language was at the library when you shrugged your shoulders at me, I could hear what you were thinking.”

What exactly do you mean, you can hear what I’m thinking?

“I can hear your thoughts, as if you’re talking to me out loud.”

All my thoughts?

“Every last one.”

So that was why he was smiling into the book at the library. He knew all my dirty little secrets. Better not to go there right now.

Then you knew what was happening, and that’s why you came after me?

It seemed perfectly natural, and yet it was otherworldly, having someone answer my thoughts as if I had spoken them aloud. For the first time in four years I could communicate without a pen or a computer. It was a miracle.

“I never thought you’d get in trouble on the way home. I just wanted to return your coat.” I held up both palms to ask, what next? “Then I heard what you were thinking. You were terrified. I got closer, and then I could hear what
they
were thinking.”

You got to me just in time. Another minute and …
I couldn’t even continue. I had been seconds away from catastrophe.

“Yes, good thing I distracted you.”

What are you talking about
?

“That’s why you forgot your coat, isn’t it?” He arched one eyebrow. My rescuer was flirting with me, at a time like this? More than a little inappropriate, but he
was
awfully good-looking. Or was he just being nice? It wasn’t like I had any experience talking to boys. I would have to check with Jules.

I don’t remember
. Lying was clearly a waste of time, but I couldn’t help it.

“If they had done more than tear off your shirt, I would’ve killed them.” Suddenly he was being serious again. Was this guy crazy?

You could kill them? No offense, but you’re kind of skinny. What are you, a superhero? Did you get bitten by a radioactive spider or something?

Ben laughed. “No, just a fourth-degree black belt. Lucky I have class tonight.” He waved his nunchucks in the air. “When that creep bent over and touched you, I wanted to rip his hands off his arms. Who were those assholes, anyway?”

He reached behind me where my tattered bra lay in a crumpled ball, wordlessly picking it up and putting it in his pocket.

Thank you. I don’t ever want to see that again
. I shook my head, as if to erase the memory of having it torn off, feeling a strange hand grazing my breasts.
They’re football players—Jeff or maybe Jed Colter, and Tom somebody, Paul Welch, and I’m not sure about the other one, Phillip Johnson, maybe. At school they’re always together, and they all look alike, so I’m not even sure which one is which. Obviously not friends of mine
.

“Do you want to go to the police station right away, or do you want me to take you home first?”

I just want to go home. I’m not going to the police
.

I wasn’t sure about much, but I was sure about that. I felt ashamed, and somehow responsible for what had happened to me.

“Don’t you understand? Are you in shock or something? Those dirtbags would have raped you if I hadn’t shown up. They can’t get away with that.” Ben was right next to me, but he was shouting.

My rescuer was looking at me like I was insane. But actually, he looked pretty crazy, too—fists clenched, eyes wide. He was definitely more upset than I was at this point.

They could be charged with attempted rape, assault and battery, false imprisonment, maybe even kidnapping, since they carried me into the gazebo from the path
. I rubbed the back of my head where it had hit the concrete. There was a big bump.

“What are you, a lawyer posing as a high school student?” He looked at me quizzically.

No, my aunt and uncle are both lawyers, so I guess I’ve picked up a few things. But if we go to the police, those creeps might turn around and sue you for assault, even if you were only defending me
.

“I’m not worried about that.” This guy was awfully sure of himself.

And all the attention—I’m enough of a mutant in school already. You don’t know me yet, but you’ll see
.

“You don’t look like a mutant. Are you some kind of alien?” he asked. That maddening smile was back. Was this more of that flirting thing?

Really, could we just forget about this whole nightmare? And I promise to be more careful in the future. Besides, maybe they weren’t actually going to do anything
. I managed a weak smile, wanting to show that it wasn’t as bad as it probably looked.

“Well, they sure looked like they were about to do something terrible, and you don’t even want to know what they were thinking.” He shuddered and looked away for a second. “But whatever you decide. No pressure.”

That’s what I decide
.

“You shouldn’t let those assholes go free just because you think it’ll up your freak quotient. How can anyone think you’re strange just because you’ve experienced an unimaginable tragedy?”

His words were so heartfelt I wanted to cry. I had run through everyone’s compassion a long time ago.

So the nosy Mrs. Olsen told you about me and my issues
.

Mrs. Olsen, who had probably started working as a librarian when books were printed on animal skins, was both the custodian and receptacle of vast amounts of information in this small town, where everybody knew everybody. If you had any juicy secrets, Shoreland was probably not the best place to live.

“Yes, she told me about the accident. You’ve been through so much. I’m sorry about your family … and your voice,” he said softly.

She’s a little too chatty, the old bag
.

In truth, I was glad Mrs. Olsen had spilled my guts for me. Retelling my tale to strangers was too painful, and therefore I avoided new people. But she had done my dirty work for me, and now this remarkable boy was leaning over me, his forehead wrinkled with concern about my well-being, having tactfully disposed of my bra and wrapped my coat tenderly around my quivering shoulders. She had done me a huge favor.

I just want to pretend it never happened, and from now on, I won’t be so naive. Girls shouldn’t walk alone through dark parks. It’s not rocket science
. Although I knew it wasn’t my fault, I was still desperately embarrassed by my perennial helplessness.

“You should be able to walk wherever you want whenever you want, especially in a little town like this. Maybe I should teach you some self-defense moves.” Ben put away his nunchucks, picked up my backpack, and helped me to my feet. “Do you think you’re steady enough to walk home?”

I nodded again. I desperately wanted to talk, even though for the first time in a long time, it wasn’t necessary.

So, can you read everybody’s mind, or just some people’s?

This was an extraordinary development. If there was such a thing as mind readers, what other supernatural fantasies could turn out to be real? Ghosts? Vampires? Time travel?

“Pretty much everybody’s, although some more easily than others. I’m kind of like a radio, and the people around me are different stations, and some people have stronger signals than others. For some reason, your signal is really intense. I could hear you before I even saw you for the first time.”

Were you born like that?

“I think so. When I was really little, I thought everybody heard what I was hearing. But when I was three, I heard my mother thinking about where she’d hidden the Oreos that she didn’t want me to eat. I waited until she left the kitchen and then I ate the whole package.”

That’s handy
.

“That’s when I first realized I was different.”

I wish I knew what everybody was thinking
.

“It’s not that great. People are mean, and most of the time, it’s better not to know.”

Really? But information is power, isn’t it?

“Not always. When I was fourteen, I went to a girl’s birthday party, a girl I kind of liked, and I thought she liked me. But I could hear her thinking that my nose looked like an eagle’s beak and that my legs were hairy toothpicks.”

That’s terrible
. He looked pretty good to me. I didn’t mind his nose. It made him special, like the crack in the Liberty Bell.

“It was. I begged my parents for a nose job, but they said no, and I was afraid to talk to girls for almost a year. But I got over it, and the upside is I don’t have to waste my time chasing after girls who aren’t interested.”

That’s one way to look at it
. Could he tell that
I
was interested?
Can your parents read minds?

“Nope, just me. But my mother is definitely an unusual person. There’s something mystical about her. You’ll see when you meet her,” he said, as if taking me home to his mother were the logical next step.

I didn’t know what to say. Everything this very strange stranger had just told me was impossible, and yet I believed him without reservation. Despite his outlandish mind powers and his crazy martial arts skills, he felt familiar to me. On some level I didn’t understand, I already knew him.

It must be really noisy, hearing everyone talking in your head all the time
.

“It can be, but I’ve trained myself to tune it out when I want, so it’s like low static most of the time. Sort of like having a wave machine inside my head. I don’t know any different, so it doesn’t bother me, unless I really need to concentrate, which isn’t that often.”

Then what do you do?
I wanted to know everything about this incredible person.

“If I listen to music really loud, it drowns out most of the voices.”

We were walking along like two perfectly normal people having a chat, and it was wonderful. I had completely forgotten the simple pleasure of conversation, learning about someone new, sharing my thoughts and opinions without the help of Stephen Hawking’s robot voice. After four years of silence, I had stopped thinking about what I had been missing, and now it all came rushing back. Five blocks had never gone so quickly—we were standing at the end of my driveway, looking up at the stone and glass monolith that was Charlotte and Stuart’s house. Even though my toes were numb and a light snow had begun to fall, I wanted to keep walking forever so I wouldn’t have to say goodbye.

“Wow, that’s where you live?”

Ben stood looking up at what Stuart described as a late twentieth-century homage to Frank Lloyd Wright. With its cantilevered wings, it looked as if pieces of the house were somehow floating in air. The house was at once incredibly modern but also very natural, almost part of the woods in which it sat. It was an extraordinary building, unusual for Shoreland, which was full of old colonials and Victorians dripping with gingerbread woodwork.

It’s okay. It’s kind of cold inside. Impersonal. You know what I mean? Come in with me. I’ll show you. It’s beautiful, but I like old things better—they’re cozier
.

Ben stood patiently as I dug for my keys at the bottom of my backpack, which he continued to hold. Perhaps I had finally met what Charlotte called the rarest of breeds, a true gentleman. It was like seeing a unicorn. There had to be something wrong with him. It was only a matter of time until I discovered his fatal flaw.

We entered through the front door that looked like a giant tree trunk. The interior was no less dramatic than the exterior, with soaring ceilings and walls of glass facing the backyard, which was really just a giant stone patio surrounded by towering oak trees. Pale maple floors and sparsely placed leather and wood furniture made it look a little like someone had stolen half the contents. To me it was a lonely place, even when there were people in it. An enormous circular fireplace made of copper in the center of the living room was the focal point. I flipped a switch on the wall and the fire burst to life, instantly warming the room.

“Cool. Spontaneous combustion. This place is like something out of a magazine.”

We wandered around the first floor, Ben gaping up at the skylights and acres of white walls, punctuated by the occasional abstract painting.

This is home. But you see what I mean. It’s not too homey
. Taking off my coat, I went into the open kitchen and put the teakettle on the stove
. I’m still freezing. Do you want something hot to drink?