Silent Echo (7 page)

“For we are warriors, both you and I.

White wings fly, White wings fly…”

“No, Portia. Don’t do it. Please don’t kill him—we’ll get help. Please don’t!!!”

Charlotte had started to scream, but Portia was lost in her own song.

“No more tears clouding young eyes,

Floating up higher, flames blazing the skies.”

“Portia, no!”

Mr. Trotter’s grip on the rough-hewn stone was starting to give. Thick tears of fear blended with beads of sweat on his reddened face.

“Forcing us both to brandish our armor,

Guiding the evil, as a snake charmer.”

Charlotte and Mrs. Trotter grabbed hold of the petrified Harold Trotter, trying to pull him away from the sure death that awaited him at the bottom of the deep well.

“Portia, please stop!” Charlotte was pleading, tears running down her face, as she and her mother struggled to ease Mr. Trotter up out of the well. He couldn’t hold on much longer as the stone cut new welts into his guilty fingertips.

“For we are warriors, both you and I.

White wings fly,

White wings fly…”

Portia awoke to the distinct call of the male Red-eyed Vireo beckoning his mate. She was completely disoriented as she struggled to remember how she had ended up in her backyard hammock.

After the episode at the Trotters’ house, which began coming back to her in bits and snippets, Portia had collapsed to the ground, crossing over into a clouded semi-conscious state. Her eyes had remained open just long enough to see Charlotte and her mother pull Mr. Trotter out of the well. The desperate man had been a babbling fool of apologies and meaningless clichés as he thanked them for saving his life.

After that, she could only hear their voices through the dense haze that sheathed her while she slipped into oblivion.

“…gotta get her out of here…” Charlotte spoke conspiratorially to her mother.

“…can’t call any added attention to the situation…” Janie Trotter’s voice trembled.

“…the hammock in their backyard…”

And now here she was.

What day is today? Wednesday. I think it’s Wednesday.

At least Helena and Joshua weren’t home. They rarely, if ever, missed their standing dinner date with the Feins.

A bee flew over her throbbing head, its buzzing reminding her of the vibration that had hammered away at her throat, had enabled her to speak. No, to sing.

Did I actually sing?

The hammock began to sway in time to her trembling body as she leaned over the side and started to retch.

What was she thinking, trying to take on a situation like that by herself?

Portia wasn’t exactly a shrinking violet, but a warrior? Isn’t that what she had sung out? That she and Charlotte were warriors?

The retching continued, bringing up nothing but bile.

Where the hell had those words come from? That melody? That voice?

She returned her head to the hammock, the movement bringing back threads of the excruciating pain in her back, which had now settled itself into a tangible memory.

I have to get inside. I need to get inside.

Much as she yearned for her room, though, Portia was still too unsteady to stand. She reached for her cell phone and saw a text from Helena.

“Where are you, Portia? We’re out with the Feins—could you please text me to let me know you got home?”

It took Portia four tries to text back a legible message.

“I’m fine. Forgot to tell u I had to stay late for Lit Journal. Am home now. All good.” Thank God for that literary journal.

What if they go to the police? What if they accuse me of trying to murder Mr. Trotter?

She tried dismissing the concern, realizing how preposterous the story would sound:

“Yeah, this mute girl in our neighborhood started singing all of a sudden and almost forced him down into the well with the sheer power of her voice!”

Even Portia, the protagonist of this bizarre tale, could hear how ridiculous it sounded.

Allowing one leg to fall to the ground, she tried to gain her footing. The swaying of the hammock brought on a fresh wave of dizziness. She was determined, though, to get upstairs to the sanctuary of her room. To smell her pillows and touch her books. Something, anything that would help bring her back to reality.

She swung her other leg over and slowly pushed herself up. Her steps were sluggish and deliberate as she finally reached the back door. Punching in the code on the keyless entry, Portia was comforted by the familiar smells of the house. Her energy continued to wane, however, and by the time she got to the staircase, she had to resort to all fours, her muscles exhausted, her ears ringing with the echo of her own shortened breath.

Finally, she crawled into the safety of her room, closing the door and slumping heavily against it, where once again she drifted off into unconsciousness.

♪

She was sitting on her bed, Felix’s beautiful bird book spread before her.

Joshua poked his head in to say goodnight.

“Goodnight,” she signed.

He paused for a minute, “God, Portia, when did you go and grow up like this?”

She started to sign back again, but suddenly the book began to quake in her hands, its pages tearing themselves from the binding, flying around the room, whipping away her father’s form until he vanished. The only page that remained intact was the one with the white bird.

With a sense of dread, Portia cautiously extended her hand to the drawing, but the bird’s wings began to flap and flap until it flew off the page, circling her, laughing and squealing.

“Why did you sign to your father, young Portia? Why not show him your voice? That beautiful, murderous voice…”

The bird’s wings stretched out to the walls, knocking everything down in their path. Portia cowered into her bed.

“How did you know? What are you?” She spoke the words aloud, her voice as resonant as it had been at the Trotters’.

The bird’s wings broke through her bedroom walls, stretching and stretching through to the outside. She felt the cold rush of the night air and found herself chasing the creature, following it as it flew to Charlotte’s house.

It landed on the well.

“Have a look, dear Portia. Have a look at what you are…”

“I didn’t kill him! I didn’t do it! I am not a murderer—they pulled him out, I know they did…”

She turned to run, but the creature swooped her up in its giant wings, holding her directly over the black orifice.

“Open your eyes, Portia. OPEN YOUR EYES!”

She opened her eyes and looked down into the abyss, expecting to be met with the cold dead eyes of Harold Trotter.

Instead, Max Hunter’s lifeless face peered up at her from the darkness.

♪

When Portia awoke, she was lying on the floor, the wooly threads of her shag rug tickling her nostrils. It was all a dream. It must have been a dream. All of it. She can’t sing—she can’t even talk. And yes, she was upset by what Max said to her, but she certainly didn’t wish him dead. She sat up and took a moment to gain her bearings, unable to process the millions of bizarre thoughts that skipped through her mind.

A glance over at the clock told her that it was 9:30 p.m. Her parents would probably be home within the hour. She had to pull herself together. Testing her strength, she found she was able to rise steadily. The relief of regaining her footing flooded through her as she made her way into the bathroom, turned on the tub, and titrated the water to her favorite temperature—boiling. She poured some lavender salts into the water and allowed the fragrance to penetrate her tightly wound nerves.

Before settling into the tub, she went back to her bedroom and opened her laptop. Any hopes that the events of the past few hours had all been a dream vanished when she saw an e-mail from Charlotte. Filled with dread, she clicked it open.

Portia –

I don’t know what to say. I’m so ashamed. You must think I’m so weak. But you showed me strength tonight. You showed me something—something unbelievable.

Secrets have been the story of my life. Sometimes the threats of what he’d do to us if we told were worse than the abuse itself. We were always so worked up about keeping up his perfect reputation. Do you know they once photographed us for a spread in
Arch Digest
? He had to hire a special makeup artist to cover up my mother’s face…

I called the police after we brought you home. I’d rehearsed that call in my mind a million times—it felt so weird to actually be making it. When I hung up I felt almost giddy…

The police came and arrested him. They said that the road ahead is going to be bumpy. One of the cops was a woman—I could tell she was sincere. I wonder how often she sees this kind of thing. Anyway, I think we’re finally ready for those bumps. They can’t be any worse than what we’ve already been through, right?

I will never be able to thank you for what you did for us tonight, Portia.

Your friend (I hope I can call you that now),

Charlotte

Portia closed her laptop.

No, she had not dreamed any of it. It had all gone down just as she had remembered it. An obscene blend of euphoria and fear welled up inside her. Her mind scrambled to make sense of it all. She felt like she had won the Powerball lottery—excited about all the ways her life was about to change. Terrified of the ways her life was about to change.

The sound of the running bathwater was calling to her. She needed time to think. To sort it all out. But first she had to e-mail Charlotte back. To make sure that her winning ticket would remain under lock and key until she was ready to cash it in.

She reopened her MacBook.

Charlotte –

I don’t know what exactly happened over at your house—how I suddenly managed to speak out—no, to sing out. But I can’t really say that I’m sorry I interfered. What I am sorry for is that it has taken this long for someone to help you and your mom. I should have read the signs earlier. We all should have.

You deserve a life, Charlotte. You and your mother deserve a life.

About the singing, though. I know you have so much to figure out right now, but I think I do, too. Could I ask, then, a favor? Could you maybe not tell anyone about my role in whatever played out tonight? I need some time to make sense of it all.

She had carried the laptop into her bathroom, and the steam from the bath was drawing her in. She needed to wrap it up. Besides what else could she possibly say?

Anyway, of course you can call me your friend. I will definitely be calling you one of mine again.

Take care of yourself and your mom,

Portia

She rested the laptop on the decking of the tub. Before climbing into the scalding water, she tilted the screen so that it was well within her view.

A slow descent into the water proved incredibly soothing, the silken bubbles caressing her skin and easing her muscles. The scent of the lavender reminded her of Ms. Leucosia’s special ointment.

She glanced over at the laptop, surprised to find that she had one more e-mail from Charlotte:

Portia –

I already told him that if he ever so much as breathes your name, I will kill him. At first he started to laugh, but I stared him down. I can’t remember the last time I leveled my eyes with his. Anyway, I can assure you that, until you are ready to share your voice with the world, your secret is safe with us.

By the way, have you ever heard those stories about people showing superhuman strength when they’re in a crazy situation? Like a mother suddenly being able to lift up the weight of a car in order to free her child? Maybe that’s what happened to you tonight. Maybe when you saw our situation you somehow found that superhuman power. I don’t know—just a theory…

Anyway, I won’t even say thank you again because those words can’t really express the gratitude I feel.

I will say, though, that your voice is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard in my life, and I can’t wait to hear it again. Under better circumstances, of course.

Charlotte

Submerging herself back down into the water, Portia closed her eyes, allowing the words of Charlotte’s e-mail to float around her weary mind. Maybe her neighbor had a point. Maybe the singing was just a superhuman reaction to a life-threatening situation.

Her nerves tightened at the thought that perhaps the voice was only a one shot deal, a fleeting gift of strength to help halt the abuse. Maybe she only had enough of the Powerball numbers to collect the $10,000 prize, while the $100 million prize remained beyond her reach.

Portia swallowed hard at the thought that she might never hear her voice again.

I can’t go back now. How can I go back?

She was terrified to open her mouth and be faced with silence. Her pulse raced at the thought, and she half expected the water to rise up and down with the increasing intensity of her heartbeat. But the waters remained still. She was surrounded by silence.

She tried focusing on the sound of the popping bath bubbles. This was the symphony of her life. Sound bytes floating around her, bubbles bursting in her silent clutches.

I won’t go back.

Downstairs, she heard Helena and Joshua enter the house, laughing about something. If she was going to give it another go, she needed to do it now before her parents came upstairs.

Her chest tightened as she readied herself for the ultimate test. She could feel the blood pumping through her veins, burning her from within.

I just need to know that it wasn’t a one shot deal. Please…

She wasn’t even sure who she was pleading with as she lowered the back of her head into the bath, allowing the water to cover her ears.

Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath, inhaling the noiselessness, the absence of sound a reminder of the world she hoped to now leave behind.

She opened her mouth and coaxed out one word before she would retreat back into the façade of her silence.

“PORTIA!” she screamed into the scented water.

The still bathwater rippled at the sound of her angelic voice.