Mute (Muted Trilogy Book 1) (13 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE:

Striking

“Good morning,” Jemma typed to Cecily after she finished getting her things situated in the staff room. Cecily, reviewing something on the computer, nodded in acknowledgment. Jemma moved around to the employee side of the desk, quickly using the backup computer to check in the books waiting in the drop box. After a moment, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Cecily smiling.

Cecily nodded at the last of the books Jemma had scanned in and mouthed,
Thank you
. Jemma nodded, then walked to the tablet.

“Busy day?” she asked, Delilah’s vocal translation turned low.

Cecily nodded again. “Quite,” she typed. “It’s slowed down now though.”

Jemma looked around, counting a handful of patrons still present, and smiled. “It’s good seeing people here.”

“Yes, it is. It would be even better if we had a third employee.”

Jemma moved her hands to type, then stopped. She’d been ready to ask Cecily if she was planning to hire someone, but that was Jemma’s job now. She considered for a long minute before typing. “I want to make sure this morning wasn’t a fluke. I can be on-call - on-text? - for a few mornings in case you need backup. If traffic stays high, we’ll get someone else in here.”

A smile crept across Cecily’s lips. “That was a perfect response,” she wrote. “It looks as if you have everything under control. May I leave now?”

“Of course!” Jemma waved at the older woman, who made her way to the staff room.

Jemma stifled a yawn as she listened for the employee exit to open and close. Jemma had let Cecily know about the unidentified noises, but since she came and went when it was light out, she didn’t seem concerned. After she heard the door, Jemma made sure nobody looked as if they needed help or seemed ready to check out. Then, she pulled up an internet browser.

She’d slept through her alarm, exhausted, waking with just enough time to get ready for work, so she hadn’t had a chance to verify the math she’d been given before falling asleep. She now entered the equation into Google, knowing that the built-in math functions were hit and miss, but the search engine provided an answer immediately, one that matched the answer she’d been given the night before.

She wasn’t sure why her brain still fought to accept that she might be able to speak to a stranger using communication that most of the world didn’t seem to have access to. Maybe it was the lingering possibility that this talent could put her in danger, or maybe it was the fact that interpersonal communication had never been her strong suit. Either way, her mind immediately flew to different ways she could have come up with the equation herself. She did like putting random numbers into Google when she was bored, something that occurred a couple times a year. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that, though, and the chances of her remembering that long of an equation were slim.

Maybe she’d started sleepwalking and hadn’t realized it? She checked again to make sure the patrons looked okay, and then she pulled out her phone, searching the browsing history that synced across her phone and her computer. There were no math problems in her recent history, and no results in the less-limited search function when she started typing in the numbers. She put her phone back in her pocket and rubbed her hands over her face.

The most likely scenario seemed to be that she really was communicating with this person. She wasn’t dreaming him or imagining him, but actually interacting with another human being.

In her bed.

At night.

Wouldn’t her mother be pleased?

Jemma sighed silently. Okay, so she was Talking to someone. She needed to decide what to do about that. She tried to breathe deeply, to slow her body’s reaction to the situation. At the scuffling of feet, she looked up, first blinking and then smiling at the person who was approaching her with a stack of books. The woman, around Jemma’s age, looked unsure until Jemma typed on the tablet.

“How can I help you?”

The woman’s face lit up, and she set down the books to type.

“I need to sign up for a library card.”

Jemma helped the patron sign up, explaining forms and recording the identification cards and bills that confirmed eligibility. When she finished, she handed the woman her books, new library card on top. The woman left with a smile, and Jemma took a breath, feeling much more settled than she had before the interruption. Her heart rate had lowered, her breathing had slowed, and her mind was working more clearly. She chose to focus on work for the next couple of hours, working through everything she could find, from reports to shelving and straightening. Mid-afternoon, she found herself blinking at Jack, who was sitting at the upstairs table she’d been ready to dust. He turned and noticed her, then waved her over with a smile, opening a blank Word document on his laptop.

You were busy putting books away when I got here, so I didn’t say hi. How are you?
he typed.

She leaned forward, her arm brushing against his as she reached for the keyboard.
I’m fine. Tired, distracted, but good.

Jack nodded.
I know the feeling.
He hesitated.
I don’t want to hold you up. I’ll see you at closing?

See you then
, she agreed.

She went back to work, but she quickly ran out of things to do. When she looked around, everything was clean and neat, and almost all the patrons had left; late afternoons and evenings seemed to still be at-home family times. Distractions gone, her mind wandered back to the person with whom she’d been speaking at night. She felt her mouth pull down as she considered her next action. She took a deep breath.

“Does this work during the day?” she sent, the question echoing in her mind as she awaited a response. She released the breath she’d held, and it hitched as she heard a reply.

“Seems to, yeah.”

“Good to know,” she sent back, rubbing her arm.

“Is that all you wanted to know?” he asked after a minute of silence.

“Not even close,” she blurted, closing her eyes as the impulsive words echoed, followed by his good-natured laughter.

“Okay, what else’ve you got?”

She watched another patron leave, then ran a hand through her hair.

“What do you—” she started, wincing automatically when he talked over her.

“Are you still—”

The expected mental feedback didn’t come, and Jemma let her shoulders relax.

“Well, this telepathy is just better all around, isn’t it?” he sent, and she nodded before remembering he couldn’t see her.

“Quite.” She paused. “Except for the maybe getting kidnapped or killed part of things.”

“That does put a damper on it, I’ve gotta admit. What were you going to say?”

She blinked. “I’ve forgotten already. Couldn’t have been anything too urgent.”

“Or it could’ve been the question to change the world.” She could hear the humor in his voice, and she felt herself grinning, letting her hand drop back to her side.

“That’s probably it. We’ll never know,” she sent.

“Are you a teacher?” he asked.

“What?” Her eyebrows drew together as she wondered at the source of his question.

“Well, I think this is about the time teachers get home, so it made sense.”

“Oh. No. I could never handle being in charge of that many people five days of every week.”

“Summers off, though.” The amusement that had left his voice when he was clarifying his question had returned.

“That part’s pretty nice. My parents are teachers. I admire it, but it’s just not something I could ever do. At least, not without a mental breakdown or two.”

“So you’ve decided I don’t fall into that category? I’m not some sort of mental breakdown?” he asked.

“I’m fairly certain.” She took a deliberate breath in, held it, then released it, glancing around the room quickly before continuing. “I’m not sure I’m more comfortable now, though, knowing I’m not just dreaming or hallucinating.”

“I was late to work after checking the information you gave me. It just wasn’t something I expected. I like people, consider myself a people person, you know? But I’m not close to many people. Can’t Talk with anyone outside of my family.”

“Talk. How do I know you capitalized that word?” she asked.

“Another excellent question,” he sent.

She searched through the information she’d acquired. “Oh! Right. Normal telepathy, at least, it uses the visual center of our brain, right?”

“Ah. Right. That’s the theory.”

“So it wouldn’t be hard at all to see a capital letter if someone was thinking it.”

“And yet, I haven’t been able to send pictures that way.”

She cocked her head, her eyes glazed over in the direction of the computer monitor. “Have you tried with me? This communication doesn’t seem to follow the normal rules.”

“I haven’t. Standby.”

She waited. She couldn’t see or hear anything other than the sounds around her, and she tried to figure out how she would go about her own attempt at sending a picture, how to mentally narrate an image.

She felt a slight vibration behind her forehead, but nothing else. She rubbed the spot on the outside of her forehead absently.

“Anything?” he asked.

“I think I felt you trying. It was like… Like a silent echo. Does that make any sense?”

“Maybe. You want to try?”

Okay,” she sent. She flipped mentally through a few options before choosing a simple image: a shiny, red apple. She focused on him, on his voice and what she knew of him, and she focused on the more obvious characteristics of the fruit until she felt that same vibration. She thought harder, pushing the color and texture along the established connection.

“I’m ready to check out,” said LeVar Burton, loudly, and Jemma gasped, eyes flying open, hand covering her racing heart. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” the patron typed.

“That’s fine,” she wrote back, not bothering to change the voice the man in front of her had chosen. “Not your fault my mind wandered.”

She finished checking his books out and saw her hand shaking as she watched him leave. She’d been startled, yes, but she shouldn’t be taking quite so long to calm herself. She found herself wondering whether maybe that form of communication, or at least the attempt at sending images, was draining or taxing by itself.

Her stranger didn’t reinitiate contact, and Jemma chose to use the quiet time to do a circle of the library, making sure there weren’t any patrons present she hadn’t noticed, straightening shelves, and concentrating on getting her hand to stop shaking. The downstairs was empty save for the books, which Jemma neatened automatically. She made her way upstairs and saw only Jack, who seemed absorbed in his computer work. Knowing she could message him more effectively than trying to communicate sans tablet or whiteboard, she went back downstairs and locked the door, just a few minutes before closing time. She moved to her computer and messaged Jack, then started closing duties, finishing up just as Jack came down the stairs.

She smiled at him, finally feeling settled enough to do so.

Productive day?
she asked when he was close enough to read the tablet.

He shook his head.
I was distracted today. Couldn’t get much done. I may need to stay home tomorrow.

Too loud here?
Jemma raised an eyebrow.

Jack smiled.
Unbearably. I think I’ll have to stop coming.
He winked.

Well, I’m ready to go if you are.

He nodded and waited for her to come around the counter before he started toward the door. They walked together to Jemma’s car, pausing at her door. She looked at him curiously when he hesitated. He opened his mouth, then closed it, shaking his head and adopting his typical grin, waving at her and walking to his own car.

***

The drive home was uneventful, the roads nearly deserted. When Jemma got inside, she was still feeling abnormally tired. She made herself a meal, curling up with it in front of the television instead of with a book. She flipped over to BBCA, which was playing pre-recorded shows that still had voice, and let her mind drift.

By the time both meal and television episode were finished, she was feeling much more herself. She cleaned the kitchen and living room, then spent some time on Facebook before heading to bed with her book, intentionally avoiding all news sites. She didn’t want to read any more rumors about people disappearing, not tonight. In bed, the book didn’t hold her interest for long, and she found herself staring up at the dark ceiling, thinking about her stranger.

“Are you there?” she sent finally.

“Yeah,” he answered. “You okay?”

“I am. How did…”

“I felt… Okay, bear with me while I get my words right.” There was a pause. “Okay, so I felt like I was about to see what you were trying to show me. I felt that silent echo you were talking about. And then there was this flash, and I got the distinct impression of a Do Not Disturb sign. I didn’t actually see it, and I felt like I could still Talk if I tried, but I didn’t think you wanted me to.”