Silent Echo (32 page)

Felix wondered how long he had to wait after knocking before entering Portia’s room. Based on Leucosia’s e-mail, he didn’t want to give it too much time.

“Deaf boy coming in!” he said aloud as he pushed open her door. “Hope you’re decent. If not, don’t worry—I have a lot of sisters…”

He stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw Portia lying corpse-like in her bed. She didn’t seem to register his entrance, her eyes remaining fixed on the far wall of the room.

Dropping to his knees beside her bed, Felix reached his hand out to touch her forehead. Though her pallor was almost as blue as her eyes, her skin was hot to his touch.

Smoothing her hair off of her face, he tried to get her to focus her attention on him.

“Portia, can you hear me? Jesus Christ, Portia, can you even hear me?”

After an eternity, she reoriented and looked into his eyes.

“Portia, I’m here. Leucosia told me it was bad, but I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

She brought her hands up to sign.

“It’s getting worse every minute.”

“What, Portia? What’s getting worse? Why are you so sick?”

She wished she could explain to him that what had started out as an invasion of her dreams had morphed into a full-on takeover of her body and soul as the big battle grew nearer. But she couldn’t. She had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t. And what would be the point anyway? Felix wouldn’t be able to help her. No one would.

Instead she focused all of her energy on sliding over a few inches, not believing how much effort the simple movement required. Felix settled in alongside her, and she rested her head on his shoulder, bringing her hands up once more before she drifted off to sleep.

“I’m scared, Felix. Hold me.”

And he did.

♪

When Portia was sleeping soundly, Felix eased her out of his arms and went downstairs to check in with Helena.

“How’s she doing?” Helena didn’t give him a chance to answer, speaking and signing nervously, “I definitely thought we were on the upswing after seeing the doctor. But this morning she started relapsing.”

“She seems better—I think she’s just tired,” Felix responded casually, grabbing an apple from a bowl on the counter. “I know from my sisters that teenage girls need a lot of beauty rest.” He hoped the light remark would stave off Helena’s worries. But for good measure, he flashed her his most charming smile, which thankfully did the trick, eliciting hers in return.

“I have to show a house in about an hour, Felix. I was going to cancel my appointment, but do you think you can hang around with her since she’s feeling a little better?”

“No problem, Helena. I got it.”

She sized him up. “Felix, I think you grew a foot since I last saw you. You’ve become a man overnight.”

“Not quite overnight.” He handed her her bag and started leading her toward the door. “Feel free to stay out as long as you need to. Maybe I’ll order us a pizza or something for lunch.”

“OK, thanks again, sweetie.” She gave his shoulder a quick squeeze and headed out the door.

The minute she was gone Felix planted himself at the desktop computer in the kitchen. In an instant, Leucosia’s worried face popped up.

“How is she?”

“She’s really sick, Ms. Leucosia.” No matter how many times Leucosia had told Felix to drop the “Ms.,” he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I swear to God, she looks like she’s dying.”

Leucosia’s face crumpled with fear.

“Felix, listen to me. She is not dying. She is not going to die. She just needs a dose of normal, do you understand? To keep the demons at bay. Can you do that, Felix?”

“Sure, I can do normal,” there was a hint of rage in his voice, “normal is all I do, actually. I wish I understood what the hell was going on here—why everything is so ‘not-normal.’ I mean, you guys have already told me some pretty insane stuff, so why can’t you just come clean with this? I don’t think it would be possible for me to think that you are both any crazier than I already do, you know?”

“I can’t, Felix. I need you to be safe.”

“What do you mean safe? Who’s not safe?! Ms. Leucosia, who’s not safe?”

But the nurse just shook her head. “Normal, Felix. Just give her normal.” And with that, her face disappeared from the screen.

He darted back up the stairs and was relieved that Portia at least seemed to be awake now, although the stillness of her body made it hard to tell.

“I got your mom out of the house. How are you holding up?” He sat down next to her and felt her forehead again. She was still burning up.

“The same,” she signed, “but not worse.”

“OK, OK, that’s a good sign. You think you could manage a bath? It might help break the fever.”

Portia had to admit that the thought of a bath was tempting. But the bathroom door seemed to be a thousand miles away.

“I’ll help you, don’t worry. And I promise to be a gentleman.”

Felix got up and headed for the bathroom. While he tempered the water, Portia managed to sit herself up. She allowed a moment for the lightheadedness to pass and then attempted to swing her feet over the side of the bed. She had one firmly planted on the rug when he came back out.

“Whoa, wait a second. Here, put one arm around my neck.” He scooped her up and carried her over to the bathroom. She gave him a weak smile when she smelled the lavender.

“You put in bubble bath?” she asked him. Her voice was stronger than before. Not that he could hear it anyway.

“Only the best for you. I’m gonna set you on the ledge of the tub and turn around while you get undressed, OK?”

His command of the situation was such a welcome relief. Portia peeled off her clothes, damp from sweat and eased herself into the tub. The bubbles felt like silk against her burning skin.

Felix slunk down to the floor and, true to his word, sat with his back toward her. Conversing with him this way was obviously not going to work. When Portia was certain that she was well blanketed by the foamy bubbles, she splashed some water at him, and he turned to face her.

She extended her hands above the water.

“Talk to me, Felix.”

To his credit, Felix rose above the awkwardness of the situation with tremendous grace. He took Portia on a welcome walk down memory lane, recounting the time when they had challenged each other to a gummy candy contest. Anything from Fruit Roll-Ups to Sour Patch Kids qualified, and they both ate so much that at the end they proceeded to vomit all over Helena’s brand-new rug. “Rainbow vomit” was what they called it—a concoction they referenced for years.

He reminded her of the time they were lying in the hammock, and Portia was going on about something to do with birds when suddenly a huge droplet of bird poop landed on her sleeve, sending her into absolute hysterics. From there he segued into the time when he had fallen asleep on the couch, and Wendy and Kate had convinced Portia to team up with them and give him a makeover. They had even managed to paint his nails before he woke up.

With every story Portia felt her strength ooze back. Thinking back on a time when she was normal—voiceless, maybe, but still normal—was truly medicinal. She marveled to think that her biggest worry used to be what prank she and Felix would pull next. Or how early they could get to the bookstore to get the next
Harry Potter
.

Felix kept talking, intermittently signing when he grew unsure of his voice, comforting Portia with his words, sheltering her with his stories. As her fever subsided, she added some hot water to the tub, inhaling the steam floating off the top of the water. The time with Felix was so natural, so easy.

Without thinking, she raised her hands and signed, “Felix, you know I love you, right?”

He turned to look at her, making sure his eyes were leveled with hers, though the temptation to let them travel was hard to resist.

“I know you will.”

She wasn’t sure what to say. For all she knew, by this time tomorrow, she could be dead. How could she leave Felix behind? Felix, who had been so patient with her. Felix, who remained by her side her even while she had become more and more infected by the evil.

He relieved her of the burden of having to find the right words by standing up, holding up a giant bath towel for her, and closing his eyes. Portia climbed out of the tub and allowed him to wrap her up in the soft towel. She was feeling much steadier on her feet and signed to him that she was OK to get herself dressed.

“I’m feeling much better. Why don’t I meet you downstairs, and we’ll have something to eat?”

“Yeah, OK. I’ll meet you downstairs.” Before he let go of her, though, he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, nuzzling his face into the side of her neck. She leaned back into the safety of him.

But after a moment, he gently pushed her away and, without a backward glance, headed for the stairs.

On the morning of the fated day, Portia woke up feeling surprisingly normal. The sun was illuminating her room, lending it a pleasant warmth. Watching dust particles float in the beam of the sunlight, she smiled to herself when she recalled the lazy Saturday she had passed with Felix the day before.

This isn’t so bad
. She curled deeper under her covers.
Maybe I was worked up for nothing.

The sunlight continued to pour into her room, forcing her to move her pillow over to avoid its glare.

She tried to recall exactly what Leucosia had told her to do that morning.

“Sit tight and wait for me to come get you. Whatever you do, Portia,” she had warned, “do not leave the house.”

Piece of cake
. She was feeling cocky now, except for the damn sunlight, which seemed to be following her across the bed.
What time was it anyway?

A look over at her bedside clock revealed that it was only 5:30.

Morning light should barely have broken.

Oh, shit.

She made to reach for her computer—she needed Leucosia. Now. But though her mind said, “your laptop is six inches away from you,” her arms mocked her.

Oh my God—I’m Harold Trotter! I can’t control my own movements! They want me to walk over to the light. I will not walk over to that light. I will not climb into the well.

And then she heard the laughter. Surely everyone heard it. It was the only sound on earth, wasn’t it?

“Good morning, Portia.” The voices spoke in unison. The light flashed brighter at the sound, a lightning bolt cracking her in half. Unwittingly Portia swung her legs over the bed.

When her feet touched the ground, she spotted her cell phone lying on the floor.

Portia, you are a Goddess, too. Pick up that cell phone.

She tried curling her toes around the iPhone, but her feet were just as useless as her hands.

“Do you really think there is any way you’re not going to come to us, young Portia?” The voices had broken apart, and she wasn’t sure which one of them was speaking to her. “You must not resist. Your story has already been written. Come to us now.”

The voice was so seductive. She knew she shouldn’t follow it, knew that death was now in the cards, although for whom she could not be sure.

They started laughing again, surly giggles that bounced off every crevice of her room. If only she could hold her ground.

But then they started to sing.

And so came the beginning of the end:

“In Hades there are songs we sing,

Songs the spirits know.

Some are sad, of truth they ring,

Some of love do glow.

But when we are alone at night,

Our voices join as one,

Welcoming the bloody fight,

Which now we know we’ve won…”

Portia’s feet started taking her toward the window. Toward the sound that was the only sound in the universe. Half of her knew the danger, but the other half wondered how she had ever drawn breath before hearing them? Why had she bothered existing before now?

“
Tartarus has open doors,

ever now inviting,

But first my lover evens scores,

Taking wrongs and righting…”

Portia could only assume that Ligeia was the lead vocalist for this verse, referencing Proteus, his determination to exact revenge upon Leucosia. She picked up her pace as the light shimmered through the silk of her window shades.

“Knowing not the fruit I bore,

For she was mine alone.

Knowing not that Scylla swore

To offer her a home…”

She trailed the voice mindlessly, surrendering herself bit by bit.

Once again they sang in unison:

“…
And now your former life abated,

The winds are blowing strong.

You cannot know how long we’ve waited

To hear your blessed song…”

Portia reached the window, her breath coming fast and sharp. Slowly she raised her hands to the shade, the same hands that had told Felix yesterday that she loved him. The same hands that had caressed Max’s beautiful face. The same hands that had once been held lovingly by her parents.

Easing back the drape, she readied herself for whatever was out there.

“I am a Goddess, too. I am a Goddess, too.” She repeated the words aloud.

When the curtain was drawn back completely, the light was blinding. Portia closed her eyes momentarily in order to acclimate to the fiery beam. When she reopened them, she was standing face-to-face with the giant winged creature that had haunted her many dreams.

“I’m not afraid of you.” Her words were tiny.

The blended form of Ligeia and Parthenope was both beautiful and grotesque. The whiteness of their outer feathers was staggering, but underneath the surface, Portia detected a layer of down that was graying and matted. With each blink the creature took, a murky film muddied its eyes and then evaporated into the air, revealing a haunting shade of green.

Once more Portia attempted a weak “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Well, naturally. There is nothing to fear, Portia. We are here only for your betterment, to show you a worldof pleasure that you never could have imagined.”

Beholding the creature while it spoke only intensified the effect of its voice. The evil disease that had been building in her these past weeks calcified instantly. She could feel the thick tumors of evil multiplying and filling up her veins.

She was playing in the big leagues now.

“Now, be a dear and go prepare yourself. Have you given any thought yet to what you would wear today, the day of your rebirth?” The giant batted its wings, giving off a faint aroma of stale lavender. When it spoke, its mouth divided in two so that each of the sisters could put in her two cents.

Their voice reverberated in places within her that she didn’t even know existed. She was inclined to drop to her knees and worship the giant creature.

“Hurry up, dear. Max is waiting.”

If the pleasure of his destruction came even remotely close to hearing the creature utter Max’s name, then Portia couldn’t waste another moment.

She threw on a white tank, which hinted scandalously at the black bra she was wearing underneath. It was a look Helena particularly hated, one that Portia had always avoided. Until now. A painted-on pair of denim shorts and the Frye boots she kept buried in her closet finished off the look.

Moving things along, Portia rubbed some scented oil over her legs until their bronze tone was glistening. With each preparation, her appetite for whatever events lay ahead was further whetted. She applied heavy strokes of black liner to her eyelids and then filled in her lips with the darkest shade of lipstick she had.

She could smell Max. Taste him.

Any resolve she had had to resist the sisters was forgotten as her head filled with images of Max begging her to spare his life. The anticipation was too much to bear as she inserted giant hoops into her ears.

She was bathing in a river of his blood. Dancing in a claret waterfall.

She admired her reflection in the same mirror that had witnessed her evolution these past months. What a fool she had been on the first day of school—her greatest sense of accomplishment coming from the fact that her braces had finally been removed. How could she have ever taken pleasure in anything so mundane?

Portia tiptoed down the stairs, taking care not to wake her mother. Why should she involve Helena in this? It would just delay her in reaching Max.

As she inched her way toward the back door of the house, she was momentarily paralyzed by the worst pain yet between her shoulders. The winged creature laughed at the sight of her wincing.

The laughter drove her on, and Portia emerged into the cool morning air. The promise the day held in store gave way to her absolute euphoria. She smiled up at the creature, supplicating herself, hoping that her appearance met favor in its eyes.

The pain pierced her back again with greater force.

Their laughter grew louder as the pains started coming one on top of the other, stretching her skin apart, choking her vertebrae.

Falling to her knees, Portia stopped breathing as the agony between her shoulders radiated its way down her spine. She was certain she was going to die. Breathing through this would simply not be possible. Grateful that at least the last sound she would hear would be the laughter of Parthenope and Ligeia, she tried desperately to gasp some air.

“Stand up, Portia! Where is your backbone?!” Parthenope laughed at her own wit.

“Portia, you mustn’t disappoint us,” said Ligeia. “For it is on this one day alone, the very anniversary of our death, that we have the strength for this journey. Now breathe through the pain!”

Portia wanted to do as the voices commanded her, but she felt as though her back was being cut open with a rusty handsaw. She managed a small breath, but still the world was receding from her.

“Portia, think of Max. Max is waiting for you.”

The sound of Max’s name forced her to gulp a bubble of air. Slowly she straightened herself out and started pushing through the pain. The stretching, the tearing—it was inconceivable. And then, just when she didn’t think she could take one more stab, she felt the wings emerge from her back. As they moved through her skin, she could feel the cool silkiness of the feathers, their tips soaked with the blood of her own flesh.

The pain receded enough to allow her own laughter to bellow forth as the wings carried her up to meet the spirits of the sisters. She was weightless, euphoric, high on the drug of her own powers.

“What say you, dearest Portia, who ever now has wings to rival even the greatest of the Gods?” The sisters were equally as delighted with the young Siren’s metamorphosis.

“I say,” Portia flapped her new wings boastfully, “what the hell are we waiting for…”

♪

Leucosia could not believe that she was brewing her father a cup of tea at 6:00 a.m. on what was perhaps the most important day of her interminable life.

Out of respect, she would never have refused the visit from Achelous, who had knocked on her door just as the sun was making its way into the sky. When she had felt the prickle on her skin informing her that another God was about, she had assumed Athena was coming to give her some last-minute words of wisdom, but instead opened the door to the worried face of her father.

“I’ve come to wish you great fortune on this day, my sweet Leucosia,” he said as she ushered him into the house. “For much have I heard from the Gods about your endeavors to defeat the great shape-shifting Proteus.”

Leucosia tried making light of what was indeed a dire situation.

“Many are the Gods, Father, who will aid us in the defeat of Proteus. You mustn’t worry. For what is the power of one God when upon him comes the wrath of so many?”

Achelous was old indeed. But with his age had come great wisdom.

“Leucosia, do not spare me the truth about the battle upon which you now embark. For I have heard that the spirits of your evil sisters have been growing ever stronger in their efforts to control Portia.”

Leucosia should have known that her father would have been privy to the gossip mill of the Gods. Her anxiety mounted as she noted the time. She had promised Portia she’d be there first thing in the morning, but how could she not appease the fears of her father, who had already lost two daughters?

“Father, your wisdom is boundless. Of course you are aware of my tiresome struggle with Proteus and my sisters. But you must take comfort in knowing that Portia is ready to battle the evil forces that are upon her, as are we all.”

The deep lines of Achelous’s face relaxed noticeably with the confident words his daughter offered him.

“Shall we partake in a cup of tea before you embark on your mission, Leto? It will help to calm your nerves and hopefully mine as well.” Tea had always been the River God’s drug of choice.

Minding the time, Leucosia hurriedly set about brewing her father a cup of tea. She took out her silver tea set and started rummaging through her refrigerator for some fresh mint.

“Come, dear child, sit beside me. It is but early to partake in breakfast fare.”

“Yes, I know, father, I was just looking for some mint.”

“We don’t need mint, Leto. Come sit.”

The hairs on Leucosia’s neck stood on end. Her father never drank his tea without mint.

“Father,” she ventured, “remember when we were little, and you visited us on the island, surprising us with a litter of puppies?”

Achelous released a hearty chuckle. “Yes, my dear. Ever did you and your sisters love animals.”

Parthenope had always been terrified of dogs.

Leucosia brought the tea set over to the coffee table. She lifted the silver teapot, positioning it over the tiny cup and saucer, then suddenly splashed the boiling contents into the face of the stranger who was in her home.

“WHO ARE YOU? WHO HAS SENT YOU?”

The stranger cried out in pain as the burning waters dripped from his face. In an instant, the figure of Achelous transformed into the God that bore the crescent moon scar.

“You are clever, I’ll grant you that.” He hissed his words. “What gave it away? I even used your nickname. Was it the mint? I had a feeling I should have just kept my mouth shut. But my mission has been accomplished. For even now does your precious Portia fly with her own wings to carry out her destiny.”

Total panic set in as Leucosia grabbed for the fire iron, the closest thing she could get her hands on. It was of no use, though. Proteus was already flaunting his spotted butterfly wings, flying up to the ceiling and circling her playfully.

She couldn’t waste a minute. Any efforts made by her to destroy Proteus on her own would most certainly be futile and she needed to get over to Max Hunter’s house immediately.