The Unseen Trilogy (4 page)

“Maddie!” I laughed.

“Well, you don’t know. A million different factors might have motivated his behavior. The fact that you couldn’t identify each of them doesn’t equate a failure on your part.”

But it does,
I thought. For the first time in our relationship, Maddie wasn’t making me feel better.

“Listen, I can tell I’m not helping, so let me change my tactic. I’m glad you aren’t hurt. Also, I’m glad that scumbag doesn’t have your phone number or your home address… wait, he doesn’t, right?”

“No.”

“Good. And in spite of the horrible circumstances, I’m glad you met a guy who shook you up a little. Good to know it’s possible, at least!”

“I guess.” She was right. I was glad I wasn’t hurt, and I would never have to see Ken again. And hey, I had a lot to look forward to—being done with my thesis, seeing Maddie this week, and graduation.

“You know what?” I said. “I think I should just stay away from men for a while. Maybe forever.”

She laughed. “You can’t! You’re coming to meet Bobby in like five days!”

“I promise I won’t try to attack you!” he called out in the background.

I smiled. He was a good sport, letting her talk on the phone this long during their date. “Well, he doesn’t count.”

“And why not?” She feigned indignity. “He’s as much man as anyone.”

I heard a slap, Maddie giggled, and her boyfriend said, “Don’t you forget it!”

“Ugh, you guys are getting gross. Get it out of your system before I get there, but after I get off the phone.”

“Duly noted.”

“All right. I guess I’ll let you get back to it. Have a better evening than I did!”

“Oh, we are.”

It was my turn to laugh. “I can tell.”

Her tone turned serious. “Really, though, I’m sorry your evening was such a crash and burn. If nothing else, I was hoping you could blow off some steam. You’ve been so stressed about your thesis, and I wanted this to be a fun night out for you.”

“Me too.” I sighed. “At least it was interesting, I guess.”

“Well, I promise we’ll have fun when you get here.” She paused. “Hey Mac?”

“Hey Maddie.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” In spite of everything, I hung up with a smile, like I always did. My best friend couldn’t read minds, but she had a special magic all her own.

My thesis was due on Wednesday, and the very nature of time seemed to change in the days leading up to that date. Some moments crawled, like when I spent an hour staring at the blinking cursor on my computer screen. Others flew, particularly when I started to get stressed about how little time I had before my fate was out of my hands entirely. In some of my lower moments, I thought about how much easier it would be if I could control minds in addition to reading them. But that was lazy and unrealistic at best, and devious and borderline evil at worst.

So I marched dutifully to my Thesis Defense on Wednesday, hoping for the best.

I walked into the appointed conference room, where I met Professor Peterson and—by coincidence, I was sure—the other three professors who had attended my original audition for the FSU College of Music. The room itself was relatively small, and it had already been set up for my presentation with a projector, screen, and some speakers. I only had about fifteen minutes to plead my case, and then they would have up to forty-five minutes to question me on my life choices. I swallowed hard, not looking forward to the next hour.

Nodding to all four professors, I tried to lighten the mood. “Just like old times, huh?” I pointed to my iLs, which was securely in place, playing
Gaspard de la Nuit
.

They all nodded and smiled. One of the men, who I now knew as Professor Brown, said, “Yes, and you set the bar pretty high with that audition, Ms. Day.”

“Heh. Yeah.”
Oh, good, knock them out with an intelligent response, why don’t you?

“Well, we’re all looking forward to this,” Professor Peterson said, giving me her reassuring smile.

“Okay. Let’s begin.” I hit play on my computer and immediately bombarded the professors with overwhelmingly loud noises—bombs exploding, fireworks, jack hammers, dogs barking, kids screaming, the list went on. I proceeded to begin my speech, knowing none of them could hear me.

Professor Brown—the one who’d been convinced I was cheating during my audition—raised his hand as his face twisted into a grimace that gave me way too much pleasure. I paused the background sounds. “Yes, Professor Brown?”

“We can’t hear you at all.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“This is what it’s like for someone who can’t focus. Someone who is bombarded with too much stimuli all day, every day. Someone with Sensory Processing Disorder. Someone like me.”

I laid another iLs, an old one of mine that didn’t work reliably, on the table. “Through the use of this device, an iLs, and the subsequent music therapy, I was able to conquer my demons, focus, and ultimately excel.”

“We’ll see,” Professor Brown said with a sly smile.

Unfazed by his attempt to rattle me now that I was on a roll, I just smiled and kept going. “I was only five when I was diagnosed with my condition and assigned an Integrated Listening System. School was impossible for me when I started. The noise…” I trailed off, remembering the barrage of voices. I stomped down the rising panic and continued on. “Well, let’s just say it wasn’t too dissimilar from what I just played for you. I literally couldn’t hear the teacher, and I was failing as a result. My teacher was frustrated, and I was non-functional.

“When nothing else helped, they tried music therapy, and it unlocked the prison that had become my mind. Just think what might have happened to me if I’d never been given an iLs, if I’d never been introduced to music therapy. Realistically, I’d probably be in isolation in an institution.”

I let that thought soak in. “What a waste of a life that would be.

“Michael Thaut, Ph.D. and Gerald McIntosh, M.D., said in an article, ‘Music can drive general reeducation of cognitive, motor, and… language functions via shared brain systems and plasticity.’ This is a relatively new discovery, made within the last five years, using brain-imaging technology to see how the brain relates to music. It’s now being used to help stroke victims, cancer patients, and amputees, as well as the mentally ill. Who else could it help? Could we use it on the general public to reduce incidents of road rage? Could it be part of the key to unlocking the cure for Parkinson’s disease? Alzheimer’s? FTD? How far could we reach?

“How many lost souls can be saved with music therapy? All? No, probably not. Some? Maybe. One? Certainly. Does that make it worth it? Absolutely.” With that, I was finished. I glanced at the clock.
Ten minutes.
I’d raced through it. Frowning, I hoped that hadn’t hurt me.

“I believe it’s time to open the floor for questions.”
So you can rip my fingernails off one by one.

“Why is one life worth your entire career path?” Professor Brown asked.

“Because, it is.”
Excellent answer.
“What if your granddaughter gets cancer one day? She is dying, and your family is desperate, so you take her to a highly regarded specialist, a miracle worker. That miracle worker saves your granddaughter. But he wasn’t always a miracle worker. Years ago, he was a troubled teenager flunking out of school, constantly getting into fights, heading toward a life of gang violence and drugs. Until his desperate parents brought him to me, and I showed him the world of music. He didn’t respond at first, but I kept trying until I found something that spoke to him. And he took that message and saved lives with it. That is why one life is worth it.”

They were quiet for a moment, and Professor Peterson was beaming. She cleared her throat. “I think that does it, but let’s ask some of the obligatory questions, shall we? Where do you see this field going in the future?”

“With new technology, I suppose the sky is the limit. Smaller iLs systems, integrated therapy into the subject’s classroom, and ideally, even their homes. Have you seen the iPad apps with a full piano on them?” I pulled out my iPad and opened the application. “It’s a complete keyboard in your iPad. And to be honest, it doesn’t sound half bad. Someone who needed music would benefit greatly from something like this, from being able to have such easy access to therapy. This is what they have now. Imagine what they will have in ten years when I’m introduced to your miracle worker, Professor Brown.” I smiled at him, and he nodded at me. It was the most encouragement I’d ever gotten from him.

Then his expression turned hard. “I only have one question left, Ms. Day.”

“Fire away,” I said, trying to sound confident.

“What have you done to deserve this Master’s Degree?”

“I think a better question is what will I do with the degree?” He sat back in his chair, his satisfied expression only partially hidden by his enormous grey beard. “And the answer to that is: I plan to unlock the future by freeing the minds of those who are imprisoned.”

“All right. Does anyone else have anything further to ask?” The other three professors shook their heads. “Then I see no point in wasting everyone’s time here.” Professor Brown stood and reached out his hand. I stared at it in disbelief. “Good work, Ms. Day. I will see you on Saturday at graduation.”

Euphoric. That was the only way to describe how I was feeling. Euphoric. That feeling didn’t fade either, not even with the daunting task of meeting and evaluating Maddie’s boyfriend ahead of me.

I knocked on her door right on time with a smile on my face and a booming song in my heart.

She opened it with arms spread wide. “Hi, my favorite smartie pants!” For a third grade teacher, she was remarkably strong. She lifted me off the ground, and we spun together.

I was breathless when she put me back down.

“How do you feel?”

“Excited! Weightless. Scared.”

She laughed. “Well, you can be scared after graduation. This weekend is for celebrating!” She ushered me into the living room.

Maddie’s apartment was small like mine. There was a living room, kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom, and that was about it. But, she’d made into a place you’d actually want to spend time in, not just a place to sleep. Earth tones on the walls made it soothing, but brighter accent pieces kept your eyes interested.

“The place is looking great Maddie. You should’ve been a designer.”

She chuckled wistfully. “Maybe in another life. One with more money.”

A man popped his head around the corner. Bobby, it had to be. “Do I get to be in this new life with more money?” His dark hair dangled down passed his shoulders as he leaned out of the kitchen. I’d never pictured Maddie with a long-haired guy before. It was an adjustment.

She walked over and kissed his cheek. “Of course you do. Now keep stirring that. Don’t let it settle.” He disappeared again obediently enough.

In a matter of minutes, Maddie had dinner for three set out on a table meant for two. We sat elbow to elbow, sort of staring at each other for a moment.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” I said as I reached for the bowl of pasta.

Maddie took some bread and passed it to Bobby. Adoration poured from her eyes, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at his phone.

Damn it. They’re down by two,
he thought.

I frowned. “So, Bobby, what exactly do you do? Maddie said you met at school.”

“Yeah.” He set his phone on his leg, out of sight, but still accessible. I didn’t approve. “I’m the new P.E. coach.”

“How do you like the school?”

His green eyes snapped up to mine, a trace of irritation in them. Despite the negativity coming from him, I could see why Maddie was attracted to him. As a rule, I didn’t entertain guys with nicer hair than mine, but his eyes were very striking against his pale skin and dark hair. “It’s good. And hey, the people I work with aren’t half bad.” He shrugged, and Maddie beamed.

I watched the two of them for a moment. Maddie’s hand was resting on the table at an angle that looked slightly uncomfortable for her, but she didn’t notice. Her thoughts were totally focused on him.

I hope Mac sees how wonderful he is. How could she not? Look at him.
She was just barely touching his hand. He sat back to glance down at his phone and, in doing so, moved away from her. She reached for her wineglass and even managed to convince herself it was her idea to do it.

“How long have you been teaching?”

He sighed, clearly annoyed to be pulled away from his phone. “This is my third year,” he said, jamming some pasta into his mouth. “Mmm. Man, Maddie, this is really good. Way better than that slop you tried to feed me the other day.” He looked at his plate when he said it, so he didn’t see the way she was beaming from his backhanded compliment.

“I always said she could’ve been a chef,” I said through my teeth, shocked at the fact that Maddie had completely ignored his barb.

“Chef, designer, teacher. I’m a triple threat.”

Dinner continued on that way, and I was fairly unhappy with Bobby by the end. While we were clearing the dishes, he parked in front of the TV. Maddie took the opportunity to interrogate me.

“Well! What do you think?”

“Maddie.” I hesitated, searching for the words that wouldn’t break my best friend’s heart. I’d never successfully found them before, but it hadn’t stopped me from searching.

“You don’t like him, do you?” Her voice turned quiet as disappointment smothered her normal jubilance.

“It’s not that I don’t like him. He’s perfectly pleasant.”

“So…”

“I don’t like how he treats you.”

“What do you mean? You heard him compliment my dinner! He loves me!”

“Not as much as he loves himself.” There. Harsh, but true.

Her face contorted like I’d smacked her, and her mind started whirring with emotions—panic, disappointment, anger. “What? What exactly do you mean by that?”

“I didn’t mean to make you mad. Maddie, you are always the one doing the fawning. Don’t you think you deserve to be the source of someone’s infatuation? I do. This guy ogles his phone more than he does you.”
And it doesn’t take a mind reader to see that.
“He just seems a little indifferent.”

She can’t be right, can she? Does he really not love me at all? How can that be?
Her mouth formed a thin line, and I knew our conversation was over.

“I’m sorry,” I said and walked out into the living room, where Bobby was already watching TV, giving her a moment to collect her thoughts.

I sat down on the other end of the couch, leaving a cushion of space between us. It was still too close for my comfort. He didn’t even acknowledge I was there. Knowing Maddie would need a few minutes to cool down, I didn’t really make an effort to interact.

Before long, a Victoria’s Secret commercial came on, and his mind exploded.
Yeah, that’s what I like to see. Wonder what she’s like in bed. Probably a firecracker. Oh, yeah, bend over a little more.

I couldn’t listen to any more of it. “Bobby, I’m going to cut right to the chase. Do you have any feelings for Maddie? Or is she more like a placeholder for you?”

“What? Jesus, Mac. That’s a little out of line, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said it.”

“Look, I barely know you, so I don’t think this is an appropriate conversation for us to be having.”

“I really couldn’t care less about you, your feelings, or how uncomfortable you are. I care about Maddie. Apparently a hell of a lot more than you do.”

“Whatever,” he said, shifting until a little of his back was to me.

Oh, like hell was that going to make me drop the subject.
“‘Whatever’ isn’t much, as far as declarations of love go.”

“Look, bitch, my feelings for Maddie are none of your business.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong—”

Maddie picked that moment to make her entrance back into the living room.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bobby demanded.

Her eyes darted from him to me.

I glared at him. “How dare you talk to her that way! If you have a beef with anyone, it’s me, not her.”

“Maddie, your ‘friend’ here is being a total bitch. I think she should probably go.” He said it so confidently, and why wouldn’t he? She’d always been at his beck and call before.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Bobby,” she said in a quiet but determined voice, “but it’s not her that I’m going to ask to leave.”

“What the hell happened here tonight? You girls just totally ganged up on me! Are you lesbians or something?”

I laughed. “You wish.”

He finally stood up and went to Maddie. “Listen, Maddie. Mac is just jealous. Her own date was a total sleazeball, and she’s taking it out on us. She doesn’t want to share you.”

Impressive.
“Wow. That’s some fast talking, Bobby.”

He reached for her hands for the first time, trying to salvage what was left of their ‘relationship.’
But why?
Maybe it was a pride instinct. He seemed like the kind of guy who liked to do the dumping rather than the other way around.

Maddie, on the other hand, was thinking about everything at once.
What a snake. I can tell he’s lying. Mac isn’t like that. She’s never been jealous of me, except maybe about my boobs. I do have great boobs. Oh God, he’s reaching for me. Is that the first time tonight he’s touched me on purpose? That can’t be right. I must be forgetting something. Surely, he kissed me when he came in. Or did I kiss him? Did I even give him a chance to kiss me? What is wrong with me?

He leaned in close to her. “Maddie, come on, please?”

She took a step back, but not far enough to escape his embrace. “Please what? Please be a little more of a doormat, so you can keep walking all over me?”

“No! I’m not walking all over you! She’s putting words in your mouth!” He jabbed his finger in my direction, and I just shook my head.

He’s losing and he knows it, but he’s having trouble believing it.
“Your arrogance is astounding, Bobby,” I said.

He rounded on me and got right in my face. I held my ground and stared back at him without flinching. We were practically nose to nose. “You probably deserved whatever that guy gave you last weekend.”

“Get out,” Maddie said quietly from across the room.

“Fine,” he said, snatching his keys off the end table. “You’re a lousy lay anyway.”

“Very mature of you,” I got in just before he slammed the door.

Maddie slumped in the kitchen doorway, withering under his cruelty. I rushed over and hugged her while her mind raced with why’s, how-could-he’s, and how-could-I’s. I wasn’t sure how long we stood there, but when her mind was finally quiet, either at peace or numb, I led her to the couch and covered her with the blanket that was draped across the back. Quickly, I retrieved a pint of ice cream and two spoons from the kitchen and came back to sit next to her.

Wordlessly, she took the spoon and indulged, the gratitude pouring off her washing over me like a warm breeze. I smiled in spite of myself.

“You know, this isn’t even good without sprinkles,” I said.

“Don’t you dare you even joke about ruining this gourmet ice cream with sprinkles! They’d make it look like clown puke.”

I looked at her from over my spoon. “I’m sorry Bobby turned out to be such a jerk.”

“Me too.” She paused as she sucked ice cream from her spoon. “Do you think we’ll ever get married?”

“To the right people?”

“Well, ideally, yes.”

Somehow, I couldn’t imagine myself getting married. Constantly knowing every single thought of your significant other didn’t seem like it could be healthy for a relationship. “I don’t know about me, Maddie. I really don’t. But I have high hopes for you. There’s someone out there who will adore you even more than I do. Then we’ll know he’s the one.”

She scooted closer to me and rested her head on my shoulder. “I’m not sure it’s possible for someone to adore me more than you do.”

“Of course it is! We just haven’t found him yet.”

We sat in silence, eating about half of the ice cream while I listened to Maddie stew. Suddenly, she flipped like a light switch.

“Enough.” She tossed her spoon into the carton I was holding. “We’re going to celebrate your thesis presentation tonight, not wallow in our bad luck with men.”

“All right. What do you want to do? Get wild?”

“Maybe. You know it’s open mic night at the Muldoon.”

I paused wistfully. “It’s been a long time since we’ve done open mic night.”

“Did you bring your guitar?”

“Of course I did.”

“I’m game if you are.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

Open mic night had been a staple of our teen years. Every weekend, we’d found somewhere to play together—I would strum my guitar and Maddie would sing. We even had a small following of people who’d come and see us if we gave them enough notice. But most of the time, we’d decide where to play at the last minute, much like we’d done tonight.

Muldoon’s was busy for a Thursday night, and just gearing up to start the festivities, so I put our names in while Maddie got us a couple of drinks.

The first few acts weren’t half bad, but I wasn’t surprised. Orlando had a lot of talent, talent that probably wouldn’t go any further than Muldoon’s.

I watched Maddie tap her foot to the music, wondering what she was thinking about, and if she’d been able to let Bobby go already. In the busy crowd, my iLs prevented me from checking in on my beloved friend. But maybe that was best. We all deserved some privacy in our dark moments.

Four or five acts in, they called our name. I grabbed my guitar and followed Maddie on to the stage. We hadn’t even talked about what we wanted to do, but I wasn’t nervous. No matter what I played, she would be brilliant.

I plucked out the first few notes of
California Dreamin’,
and she smiled wide—it was her favorite song. She started singing, and her performance was flawless. Her voice was deeper than you might think, with a richness to it that I loved. On the stage, standing next to my best friend, I felt at home. Even though we weren’t playing anything complicated like
Gaspard de la Nuit
, we were still living the music. And as I looked down at the faces in the crowd beneath us, I could tell they were living it too. Heads bobbed, feet tapped, lips moved along with Maddie, and at the end of our song, everyone in the house was on their feet, demanding an encore.