Silent Echo (29 page)

Rolling up his sleeves, the veins in his arms flexed excitedly, intuiting that they were about to get a good workout.

He banged a spoon on a glass tip jar that someone must have set on top of the piano as a joke. “Excuse me, excuse me, please.” The din in the room settled down—it wasn’t everyday that the students were treated to a lunchtime performance. “I don’t know if all of you know me—I’m Max. I’m a sophomore here at RPA, recently transferred. Anyway, I wrote this song the other day for my girlfriend, Portia Griffin. At least, I think she’s my girlfriend. But lately, not so sure, you know how it goes. Anyway, I thought I’d share it with all of you, if that’s OK.”

Max took the continued silence in the room as a go-ahead.

“All right, well here goes…”

He did the exaggerated knuckle thing and flashed his dimples to the crowd.

“Without games there’d be no music,

Without love there’d be no song.

But, babe, the way you play your games

Is to the right of wrong.”

Portia’s eyes ignited with fury as Max exposed her new persona to the entire RPA student body.

“You think my heart is made of clay,

Well, yours is made of stone.

You think your notes groundbreaking,

But I hear monotone.

So check the scoreboard, Baby.

I’m Home and you are Guest.

I think you’ll be surprised to see

You’re no longer the best…”

It wasn’t just the public airing that had Portia unhinged. It was the sharing of him. How dare he try to charm anyone but her? He was hers after all. Wasn’t he? She was seething. But still, she had to admit, the song was damn good…

“Your wits so sharp, you never thought

I’d prove a worthy match.

Your fingers stroke me tenderly,

And then go on to scratch.”

She looked around her table, expecting to gain sympathy from her friends. Instead they were blatantly ignoring her. Charlotte was engrossed in the song and Jacqueline was carelessly doodling hearts in her notebook. Luke and Lance were saying something to each other about that kid “having brass balls,” and Felix just shrugged at her.

Her fury was rising.

“You want to snake your venom in,

Then be the antidote.

You wrap your arms around my neck,

then you’re a noose around my throat…”

His voice was so smooth. Portia couldn’t decide if she wanted to throw herself at him or cut him down entirely.

“…So you better check that scoreboard, P,

I’m Home and you are Guest.

I think you’ll find after this song,

You’re no longer the best…”

He finished with a flourish and bowed to the applauding crowd. When he met Portia’s furious gaze, he let out a smug grin.

And it didn’t take a lip reader to make out the three words he threw her way before sauntering out of the dining hall.

“Game on, Baby.”

♪

“Wow, that was some performance today—I mean Max’s. Well yours, too, I guess, but…” Charlotte left the sentence unfinished as she took the seat next to Portia on the bus, something she hadn’t been so quick to do since the onset of Portia’s raging mood swings.

“Yeah—I guess I deserved it, though,” Portia said humbly. “Right?” Her voice broke a little, a precursor to tears.

“Look, Portia. I wish I could say no. Or that he was being harsh. But you’ve been treating Max like shit. You’ve kind of been treating everyone like shit. And the thing is, I know that that’s not who you are. It’s like
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
or something. Do you think maybe you should go talk to someone?”

Oh, but I did. I talked to Zeus and Ares and Athena…

“You thinking Vitamin P, Charlotte? Zoloft, maybe? I think Felix is thinking the same thing. Meds aren’t going to help—I promise you.”

“How do you know, Portia?” Charlotte moved in a bit closer, lowering her voice. “My mom started Prozac, and it’s been working wonders—”

“With all due respect, Charlotte, my situation isn’t even remotely similar to yours or your mom’s. Or to anyone’s, for that matter.”

Charlotte looked like she might slap Portia, who did feel ridiculous claiming the lion’s share of problems here. But, as ever, Charlotte extended Portia a patience that even she didn’t think she deserved anymore.

“I’m not sure what your ‘situation’ is, Portia, because you’ve become so secretive.” Her tone was not accusing, just curious. “I thought
I
was a good secret keeper, but you’ve turned it into, like, an art form…”

A silence hung in the air, Charlotte’s face expectant. Portia wished she could fill the void with a plausible explanation for her behavior, but the silence remained.

“Well, anyway, Portia, even if you’re acting bitchy beyond reason, I’ll just convince myself that you’re having really bad PMS or something. But I’m here for you—you know that, right?”

Portia nodded, afraid that if she spoke she would end up bawling.

“Anyway,” Charlotte continued, relieved to have her little awkward speech out of the way, “we all have our crosses to bear, right? Like this stupid Newark thing.” A flash of pride danced across her face.

“What are you talking about? What Newark thing?” Portia was happy to divert the topic.

With a slight blush, Charlotte admitted, “Well, I, um, was awarded this, like, state prize for that poem I read to you the other night.” She clearly still had no recollection of her encounter with Portia in the stacks bathroom the following day. “And there’s a poetry slam in Newark in a couple of weeks, and I’m supposed to read it out loud to like a million people.”

Portia was bursting with pride for her friend, astounded by Charlotte’s courage, her honesty. It was so inspiring to see Charlotte muddle her way through the mess of her life. “That’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t tell anyone. I’m too scared. I don’t know how I’m going to get through it.”

“Oh, I think you’ll do just fine, Charlotte. In fact, I’m one hundred percent sure you will.” Portia gave Charlotte’s hand a quick squeeze along with a reassuring smile.

She did trust that Charlotte had it in her to kick some ass at the poetry slam. But she would sure as hell be there just in case. Portia looked out the window as the bus plodded along, mentally patting herself on the back for achieving voice throwing in under three generations.

Hermes arched his back, executing the perfect cat pose, a favorite of Leucosia’s yoga asanas. She scratched the silken cat under his chin, allowing him to settle his flat face on her shoulder. She could feel the vibration of his purring and marveled to herself how easy it was to please a feline.

Opening her MacBook, the Goddess couldn’t help but smile when she remembered first suggesting to Zeus that they get Wi-Fi at Mount Olympus. The assembled deities had looked at her like she was trying to stage some kind of technological coup. She was persistent, though, bringing her laptop with her one day and showing them all how easy it was to navigate this thing called the Internet. Within weeks, her fellow immortals had e-mail addresses and were setting up websites, birthing an entire divine virtual underworld.

Scrolling through her e-mails, she tried losing herself in the diesel engine that was Hermes’s special language, but she just couldn’t relax. In fact, Leucosia couldn’t remember the last time she had actually experienced a true moment of relaxation.

Her sisters’ control over Portia was growing stronger by the minute. And the sudden regressions in her own speech were becoming more frequent, a sure indicator that Proteus was indeed only a stone’s throw away. From the way Portia described Max’s musical tongue lashing of her, Leucosia suspected that the mischievous shape-shifter was no doubt encouraging Max’s boldness. Surely in all their time together, Ligeia would have explained to Proteus that the more a mortal tries to resist a Siren, the stronger her desire to destroy him will become.

Now that Max was showing Portia some true gumption, Leucosia worried that the young Siren’s desires would get the best of her sooner rather than later. And where was that gumption coming from? She wondered at Max’s ability to stand up to Portia, even if Proteus was egging him on. The last time she had seen a mortal show true signs of resistance was with her dear Nereus. Taking comfort in the similarity between Max and Nereus, Leucosia was at least assured that her charge had fallen for a true gentleman.

Hermes rolled over for a tummy tickle. He and Leucosia danced their special dance, her scratching his tummy, him deigning to lift all fours into the air with the haughtiness that only a cat can possess. Scrolling through her e-mails, she was intrigued to find one from Dionysus, who enjoyed the apt e-mail address,
[email protected].

“Dearest Leucosia,

I hope that this electronical mail finds you in good tidings. I must admit that often do I venture off into this wonderful interweb. Even I have learned a thing or two from winenthusiast.com. I dare say that the Napa Valley has been blessed with the most delectable grapes…”

Leucosia adored Dionysus but couldn’t help feeling impatient as she read through his verbose description of his latest Cabernet discovery and the new set of stemless wine glasses, which were gifted to him by Ares. About two paragraphs into the e-mail, the Siren was finally stunned back into reality.

“But as you know, Leucosia, my domain reaches beyond only the hedonistic. I know we often avoid the topic of Madness, as your sisters were so obviously consumed by the worst kind. But something has come to my attention, which could have been procured by chance but also could be more than just a coincidence.

A strange disappearance occurred recently at the Havenhurst Institute. A nurse who for many years did work at the Institute, attending to those encumbered by all forms of madness, did recently vanish. She was replaced instantly by a perfect candidate who was at the ready. You might dismiss this as idle news, but is it not intriguing that one of the patients of this nurse is none other than the father of Max Hunter?”

Leucosia went stiff at the sight of Max’s name.

“Am I correct in bringing this matter to your attention? Please advise if you’d like me to delve further.

Ever yours,

Dionysus”

Dionysus’s words further enervated the exhausted Leucosia. How far did this plot stretch? Were her sisters preying not only on the innocent Max Hunter but on his poor ailing father as well?

She considered her options, but her overworked mind couldn’t see any of them through to the end. The thought of launching a whole new investigation was altogether paralyzing.

“Dear Dionysus,

Ever am I grateful for your e-mail, which I do consider to be of the utmost importance. I beg you, as you are privy to the world of those who have been stricken by madness, would you pursue this matter?

Indeed, if my sisters and Proteus are trying to weave a web that extends far past the confines of Ridgewood, I must know of it.

Many thanks and ever yours,

Leucosia”

Within five minutes, she received a surprisingly brief response from the great God.

“Dearest Leucosia,

NP.

Dion”

She admired his brevity of speech and wondered just how much time he had actually been spending on the “interweb” learning about pop culture and the like. She felt a relief that he would be looking into the matter for her, alleviating her of yet another burden.

What she never suspected was that Dionysus had sampled a magnum of his new favorite Cabernet before responding to her e-mail, which he then deleted, never to be remembered again…

Jonah and Ryan were fighting at top volume over who was going to pick out the one bedtime story promised to them by their big cousin. Of all the nights for his aunt and uncle to go out. Max wasn’t sure he was going to make it through this babysitting session without losing his mind.

The day with Portia had been particularly harrowing. Every time he tried to engage her in conversation, she would throw a spiteful laugh his way and saunter off. And despite all of his attempts to think about something, anything else, he couldn’t process a single thought that was not monopolized by her.

“I have an idea,” he raised his voice above the screaming of the boys. “I think
Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief
is On Demand. How ’bout we watch that and I’ll go make us some popcorn with, like, a sickening amount of butter?”

The boys looked at each other, not believing their luck.

“And Buncha Crunch?” they practically asked in unison.

“Don’t push it, boys.” Max navigated the buttons on the remote and bought the movie, settling his cousins into their parents’ bed.

When he got downstairs, he took out his aunt’s biggest pot and drizzled its bottom with peanut oil. His mom had always opted to make popcorn this way, insisting that it tasted better from a pot than from a microwave. He melted some butter over it, allowing the smell to envelop him and bring him back in time.

Smells were often the trigger for his memories of her. An unexpected whiff of the Coco Chanel she always wore. The smell of hazelnut coffee freshly brewed (milk, no sugar). The mouthwatering aroma of General Tso’s chicken from the Chinese takeout.

When he got back upstairs, the boys were contentedly snuggled in their parents’ bed, engrossed in the mythological thriller. Max handed them the bowl of popcorn, along with a careful warning not to make a mess. They immediately shushed him, afraid of missing a single critical moment. Envying their ability to get lost in the land of make-believe, Max remembered when names like Poseidon and Zeus used to intrigue him, too. As a child he had loved all of that mythological stuff and was even enjoying
The Odyssey
as an adolescent. But it all just seemed so removed from the realities of his life right now.

And what exactly were the realities of his life right now?

He plopped down on the chaise to ponder the question. He had a girlfriend. Well, at least that’s how he liked to think of Portia, who had been avoiding him ever since he had taken a chance by singing to her in the dining hall. At this point, he had grown accustomed to her blowing hot and cold. But lately she was just blowing cold.

And he missed the heat.

Over and over again he had wracked his brain, trying to figure out why she was toying with him.

When he had first met her, he would never have pegged Portia as a diva. In fact, in the beginning, he had been drawn to her for what he thought was a rare maturity. Either because of, or in spite of, her handicap, voiceless Portia had seemed so disinterested in typical high school antics and drama.

Why couldn’t he just move on? He knew he wasn’t a bad-looking guy. Plenty of girls had shown interest in him. Even his father’s new nurse, Khloe, who was undeniably beautiful, albeit maybe a little old for him, had flirted with him the last time he was in New York. But even then, all he could talk about was Portia. Though she didn’t seem to mind hearing all about it.

Khloe had lent him a sympathetic ear in the hospital cafeteria, encouraging him to tell her anything and everything about his troubled girlfriend relationship. She listened attentively while he poured out detail after agonizing detail about Portia’s mood swings, her violent behavior, and her constant taunting of him. At the end of the conversation, she gave him a pep talk, reminding him to show some gumption. Her words had really imbued him with confidence, her voice soothing his worries.

He had felt so much better after their exchange, stronger and ready to face Portia and her moods. But by the time he had gotten back to Ridgewood, he was checking his phone every five seconds to see if she had texted him.

Jonah and Ryan were arguing with each other about who would be a greater success at Camp Half Blood.

“What do you think, Max?” Ryan looked up at his cousin beseechingly. “Me or Jonah at Half Blood?”

Max was no fool. He knew that the only diplomatic response was to declare a draw.

“I think you’d both make great demigods, guys.”

“That’s lame, Max.” Jonah was stuffing another fistful of popcorn into his mouth. “Hey, though, you know who would make the best demigod of all?”

Max couldn’t wait to hear this one. He was sure that his little cousins were about to pay him some major homage.

“Portia!”

He was completely startled by the sudden mention of her name.

“What makes you think that, Jonah?”

“Because, Max, Portia can do magic.”

Max stared at his little cousin in amazement. Had he been so obvious in his obsession with Portia that even Ryan and Jonah had caught the bug?

“Yes, little dude, she certainly can…”

He flipped open his laptop and once again tried inviting the elusive Portia Griffin in for an iChat.

♪

As the numbness settled upon him, Alan Hunter glanced bleary-eyed at the IV sending the potent drug through his veins. Reclining deeply into the La-Z-Boy, he couldn’t recall his psych meds ever being this strong.

The redheaded nurse took his vitals and scrawled a few notes into his chart.

“So how are we today, Mr. Hunter?” she asked, her voice enveloping him like a silk stocking.

“Better. Now that she was here. Much better.” His tongue felt thick and sluggish as he formed his lazy lips around the words.

She sat down on the edge of his bed. “Who are you talking about, Mr. Hunter?”

“Norah. She was here just a few minutes ago.”

The nurse let out a huff. “How many times are we going to go through this, Mr. Hunter? She wasn’t here. There is absolutely no way your wife could have been here.”

“Why do you keep saying that? How do you know?”

“Because I know. And one day you will, too.”

She started to sound distant as the effect of the drugs grew stronger.

“Would you like me to continue reading to you?” she questioned.

“I’m telling you, she was sitting right where you are now. She was asking me all about Max, wondering when he was coming in next. She told me that I should encourage him to keep going out with his girlfriend—I think her name is Portia.”

Suddenly he had the nurse’s full attention. She put down the worn-out copy of
The Odyssey
that she had been reading to him and moved a little closer.

“She told you about Portia?”

Alan offered a slow nod.

“What else did she tell you about her?”

“She said that Max’s girlfriend is giving him a hard time, but that he should stick with her because it will all be worth it in the end.”

The nurse plugged him for more information, slowing down the drugs, so that he’d be lucid enough to tell her everything.

“Before she left, she said she didn’t know when she’d get to see me again, but that it would all be over soon. What did Norah mean ‘it would all be over soon’?” His voice grew confused and panicked. “Why can’t she stay? Why the hell can’t she just stay?!” His words were garbled, his voice stricken with grief.

Khloe gleaned a few more details about these mysterious visits from him before speeding up the drugs again, calming his tears.

And then, just in case the drugs weren’t enough,
Erase a Memory
…

♪

Portia was tired. Really tired.

The opposing forces within her body were battling it out on a moment-to-moment basis. And, as the day of the great attack against Proteus and the sisters neared, she couldn’t help but feel that the evil force was winning out.

Her dreams were perhaps the most inviting forum for her unstable emotions. Anytime she drifted off, her mind was poisoned with twisted images of her perverse self, taunting groups of boys and men, lifting them up into her hands and crushing their bones. While sleep was still upon her, she felt invigorated by the pain she was inflicting. But when she awoke, she was flooded with guilt and tried consoling herself with the knowledge that the evil was way beyond her control. In the end, though, that realization proved more terrifying than comforting.

Worse yet were the destructive thoughts that were a constant barrage while she was awake. What might start out as an innocent conversation with an unsuspecting male classmate had Portia fantasizing within seconds about what it would feel like to bring the boy to his knees and have him beg for his life to be spared. Though cognitively she knew that she had to put the kibosh on these obscene thoughts, her savage instincts were slowly getting the best of her.

She considered ditching school entirely, but her mom and dad would never tolerate truancy. She would have to suffer through it, hoping beyond all hope that she would not be the cause of irreparable destruction.

These were the thoughts preoccupying her when she found Max waiting at her locker on a Wednesday morning.

“Hey. I’m not going to be able to study French tonight—I have to go back to New York after school today. I got a call from my dad’s nurse yesterday saying that he was really agitated.”

Mock him. Laugh at him!
Portia tried desperately to ignore the evil voices in her head. She had still not figured out a way to silence them.

“What do you think set him off?” she managed.

“I don’t know. She said she was in the middle of reading to him—funny, she likes to read him
The Odyssey
—and that all of a sudden he just started ‘flipping out.’ Strange choice of words, actually, for a professional, but she’s young, I guess.”

Portia could feel her internal tug-of-war gaining momentum. She tried to stay focused.

“Do you want me to go with you?” She didn’t even think about it before the words came tumbling out of her mouth.

Max was shocked by the offer. Niceties were so rarely offered by her lately.

“Thanks, but I think my dad would be embarrassed for anyone to meet him this way. Besides I need someone to take good notes for me while I’m gone.”

Why don’t you tell him how hopeless his situation is? Explain to him that his father would be better off dead.
Portia’s mouth was watering as the voice persisted. Her only hope of not ruining the moment was to get away. Fast.

“When will you be back?” she gushed quickly.

“It depends, I guess.” He reached out and allowed the back of his hand to graze her cheek. “I’m hoping I’ll only have to be gone a day. I guess I’ll have to gauge the situation once I get there.”

A grotesque image of Max’s bloodied, lifeless body suddenly flashed in her mind. She tried blinking it away, but she could smell his blood, taste it even.

With a quick peck on his cheek, she started to make a hasty exit. “Well, text me—”

“Whoa, where are you going?” his hand gripped her arm.

When Portia turned back to him, there was nothing at all friendly about her smile.

She yanked her arm out of his grip, ignoring the shock on his face. “You think you can control me? Tell me where and when to go? You got it backward, Max. I control you.”

She moved in closer to him and rather than telling her to go screw herself, Max reached his hand around her waist and pulled her in even closer.

“Poor Max. See what you’ll be missing while you’re in New York?” she purred as his hands traveled up the smoothness of her legs. “Go tend to your father. Go see what good you can do. But know this: getting over a woman you have loved is impossible—”

A grip from behind interrupted Portia. She turned around to see Felix, staring at her wide-eyed.

“You need to come with me now,” Felix signed.

To Max he said, “And you—get your hands off her. Can’t you see she’s not right? She’s—um—confused…”

The spell broken, Max flushed with anger. “Yeah? Well, we’re all bloody confused.” He gave Felix a shove to the chest. “You wanna stick around to help through her ‘confusion,’ go ahead. I’m out. No more games for me. I’ve got enough shit to deal with.”

Felix ignored the shove. He actually felt bad for the guy. He had heard through the grapevine what a hard time Max was having with his father. The last thing he needed was to be at the mercy of some ruthless bitch whose favorite game was “How far can I push Max Hunter before he attempts to rape me?”

“You’re right, and you should go take care of all that other stuff. Seriously, dude, go…”

To everyone’s horror, most of all her own, Portia started laughing at all the drama.

“Shut up, Portia.” Felix admonished her. He turned back to Max. “Get out of here, Max. Go. Now!”

Max started backing away, his eyes holding a curious blend of pride and defeat.

Felix pushed Portia in the direction of Leucosia’s office, ignoring the light that was now flashing on the school bell.

It was one of those rare moments when he was grateful that he was deaf. He couldn’t have stomached the laughter that continued to flow out of Portia’s mouth.

♪

“I never saw anything like it,” Felix was speaking and signing to Leucosia, a shell-shocked Portia sitting upright on the gurney, staring off into space. “He was practically ripping her skirt off—right there in the hallway!”

Leucosia took a moment to let Felix’s story settle in. She found herself thinking out loud, “There’s something about that Hunter boy. Something that ties him to her so viscerally, even after everything she has put him through.”

“Yeah, the guy’s in love with her,” Felix pointed out.

“With all due respect,” ventured Leucosia, “so are you, Felix.”

Portia was still staring off into space, oblivious to the conversation.

“Maybe I am,” Felix defended himself. “Maybe that’s why I haven’t totally checked out yet. I mean, I must be crazy to even try to buy into all the insane stuff that Portia has said to me. I mean, Ms. Leucosia, she actually thinks that she, that you both are Sirens. Why aren’t you getting her any help? Shouldn’t you be telling her parents? They’re a close family—they’ll get her help.”