The Last Message:
Chapter Four
"Are you almost ready, dear? What do you need?"
So there is someone in the room with me after all. My future mother-in-law, my subconscious reminds. My waking mind is too distracted to operate. Her image reflected in the mirror is hazy, while the images of my thoughts are clear. This is the world I live in, but I do not think it's the world I chose. If you live in a world that someone else gave to you, then what do you live in? Maybe that's why I feel like much of my life is only a lie.
"I think there's something you should know," My silent said about six months after Mother's death. He usually dropped in once a month, sometimes more, to bring money for the mortgage, groceries and anything else I might need. I had offered to get a job and support myself, but he insisted I needed to be going to school, living a normal life. And of course when he suggested, I obeyed without much thought.
"What's that?"
He paused, turning away from me so I could not see his face. The more time we spent together, the more I saw these human gestures immerge. Turning in shame, pacing when anxious, idly touching my hand or face in passing, things that seem so simple, but which you would never see in another Silent.
I didn't press when no answer came. Words and expression didn't always come easily for him. I learned to appreciate silence.
I continued about the kitchen, sweeping the floor, checking my frozen pizza in the oven. When I felt his hand catch my arm, I stopped, throwing him a questioning look. His eyes still avoided mine as he traced patterns against my skin. I remembered the day in the hospital, thirteen years old, writing the word friend on his arm, his name.
The letters were difficult to interpret, but I concentrated on one stroke at a time, mentally drawing the letters in my head as he went. M-Y-F-A-U-L-T. His fault? I frowned, confused. I must have read it wrong. He repeated the pattern a few more times, still never meeting my eyes. At last, I was forced to conclude I had gotten the message. I stopped his hand, holding it gently in my own.
"What's your fault?"
He shook his head. "How do you cry, Cora? I would like to try please."
"I don't know…. It's just something that happens. Same way you can make people forget. It's just natural."
"You were right, you know. I am a machine."
His hand dropped from mine and turned away again. This time I followed, touching his arm gently.
"That's not true. You're the kindest person I know."
"I am not kind," his voice grew even deeper and harsh than usual, if that can be imagined. He was angry. With me? Or with himself? "If you knew, you would not call me kind."
"You saved my life, you provide everything I need," I smiled warmly, even if he would not turn to see it. "And you're my best friend."
He sighed. When at last he spoke, it was strained as if he had to force the words from his throat. "You don't understand. It's my fault."
"So you've said, but what is your fault?"
"It's my fault she died."
Screaming, fire, pain, shattered. A thousand images, thoughts and feelings, all painful to the brim. Six months was not enough time to heal. I withdrew my hand, my heart smarting. He was still talking, but I was not hearing. I deliberately looked away, welcoming the sudden rush of confusion.
Sweeping. That's right, I was sweeping the kitchen. I had a fleeting thought of Mother, a false idea that she had died. But that wasn't the case. She had disappeared, left me all alone. Maybe it was only a business trip; after all, I always had money to pay the bills. Maybe she'd be back tomorrow.
A hand on my shoulder, and the moment of blissful unawareness was gone. Tears slipped down my cheeks, leaving salty scars. It was as if Mother was dying again, every detail fresh as the day it happened. Our rule of avoiding death was broken, and I felt terribly betrayed by my friend.
"I didn't know they were following me," he whispered. "I wouldn't have come if I knew."
"I thought they were looking for Mels," I croaked. "I thought—"
"I know, Cora. I'm sorry. I should have told you."
I couldn't bring myself to reply. What could I possibly say? That I forgave him, I knew without question. But that I was hurt, destroyed, deceived, I couldn't reconcile. I thought I knew him, from the obvious alien exterior to the strangely human interior. This, this rocked me emotionally, knocked the breath from my lungs. Where did I go from there?
"I think I need a minute," I finally said.
"I should go."
"But then I'll forget. I just…. I just need to process."
"I'm sorry."
The new silence was not welcome. It tortured my soul, taunted my previous happiness. The sound was merciless against me, but I couldn't send it away. The rest of the evening, while I ate, washed the dishes, finished my homework, the silence remained my constant companion. I tried to ignore it, or fill it with needless chatter. My friend replied as often as I spoke. We talked of weather and school, of anything that didn't hold any real weight. But despite this, there was a silence of heart that killed even the lightest of conversation. There was an emptiness no words could conquer.
It was nearly midnight when I finally sent him away. He asked to leave a note and I agreed, if a little reluctantly. If the pain of remembering became too great, I could always hide the note away.
Cora,
I should have been more careful. I understand if you send me away for good. Our friendship was always improbable at best, now I see it was impossible from the start. Humans are made to love, but Silents…. I think Silents are only broken humans. An imitation run on isolation and human fear. I will not ask for forgiveness I do not deserve. Yet I will hope.
For three days straight, I kept the letter within arm's reach at all times. The emptiness of my soul was hard to fight, but it was easier to do so without an empty mind as well. Day after day, I thought about what he said and about how I felt. How could forgiveness come so quickly and yet the hurt still lingered? I didn't have an answer then; I suspect I may never know. On the third day, I made a choice. The emptiness left, filled instead with my new found determination. I looked with anxious eyes to the future, awaiting the return of my friend.
Nearly a month later, I still hadn't heard anything from him. I was worried, yes. But I knew he would return on his own time. In the meantime, I found myself in and out of clarity, sometimes remembering, most of the time not. I left the note on my bed where I could see it every morning when I first awoke and every night when I went to sleep. During the hours in between, life continued. I waited for the day Mother would return, I did my schoolwork (sometimes), I went to movies with my friends, and I met Jordan Faust.
He was clever and sensitive and when he smiled, I swear the sun was jealous. He was my first real crush. Or so I thought. But when I went to bed at night and saw that note sitting on my pillow, somehow I wasn't so sure.
Still when I was with him, and my silent was far from my mind, he held my heart in his hands. I hung on his every word, laughing and giggling, acting more like a teenage girl than I ever had before. When he asked me to the school dance, I said yes without hesitation. Nevermind, I had no money for a dress or any idea where to get one. I was going with Jordan, and that was the important thing.
Somehow, there was money. It was sometime later I realized my silent must have known. At the time, I wrote it off as Mother getting paid bonus for her extended trip. With the help of a few girlfriends I managed to find a dress and I was left counting down the days to the dance.
How could I know that at the same time, I was counting down to my friend's return?
I put the last lock of hair in place, twisting silver pins through the mess of curls and hairspray. I slipped into the dress, twisting at impossible angles in an attempt to zip it up. The layers of blue tulle followed my movements, kissing the floor in quiet swishes. I looked down watching it paint lazy circles round my feet. I knew it was beautiful; I was beautiful.
The T.V. played mindlessly in the background and I watched with no interest whatsoever as I searched from my heels. When I retrieved them, I sat on the couch to put them on.
I remember perfectly the moment when the broadcast was interrupted. Breaking News! I glanced up, curious what could be so important. My heart dropped when I saw a pack of silents under heavy gunfire.
Silents were rarely shown on the news and of course no one ever remembered it anyway. I could only remember it happening once or twice before in my lifetime. I watched the action, utterly torn. The brainwashed human inside me leapt with terror, begged me to find a gun, to take action. But my innermost soul searched with anxious eyes for a familiar face amongst so many that looked the same. There wasn't a physical difference to mark him from any others. But I would know. The minute my eyes found his, I would recognize him by the humanity of his Silent heart.
Because I lived so far from town, I was supposed to drive myself part way, where Jordan would pick me up at the home of a mutual friend. I never made it out of the living room. I remained riveted to the screen as long as they showed any sign of the Silents. The newscaster questioned what such a large group was doing, where they came from, if the citizens would win. I ignored his words. None of that mattered, when I faced the possibility of losing the last person on this Earth I loved. Eventually the shooting slowed, the humans emerged victorious. The previous programming returned and so did 'reality'.
I glanced at the clock on the wall, realizing I was nearly an hour late. I jumped from the couch, scouring the room for my keys. How did I lose track of time?! I felt only moments had passed since I paused to put on my shoes. And what could I possibly tell Jordan? I added cell phone to my mental list of things to search for. I had to call him, explain….. well, explain something. Apologize my guts out and hope he'd still give me the chance. I was rummaging through the kitchen drawers when the front door opened.
"Jordan, I am so sorry," I began, thinking he must have driven all the way out when he realized I wasn't coming.
To both my shock and relief, it was not Jordan who stood in the doorway.
"Have you got a Band-Aid, little one?"
I don't think he was expecting such an armful of dress, hair and human when I rushed towards him. But soon I was caught up in his arms as much as he was in mine. I stood on tip toe, clinging to his slim body. I cried freely, breathing only for the relief of the real, living feel of him. He was injured perhaps, evidenced by his weakened hold around me, and the hot blood staining the front of my dress. But he was alive. He was safe. I'd learned Silents healed naturally fast, and he'd been fine in an hour or two.
"You came back," I said, through a mouthful of tears. "I thought you weren't coming back."
"I'll always come back," he laughed and both our bodies shook with the sound. "Oh, Cora. I was worried about you."
"Worried about me?" I finally pulled away, regarding him with watery, yet smiling eyes. "I was worried for you. I saw the pack, all the killing. I was worried the humans had gotten you."
"My silly, little human. The pack was there to kill me. Apparently, I'm an abomination to my kind. Your humans saved me without even meaning to."
I laughed, wiping away tears, snot and mascara alike and making a mess of my face in the process. Bless those sweet, ignorant humans who saved my friend, my love. I'm not sure how the transition came about in my mind, but 11 years of friendship and protection and shared grief had changed something in me. I took his arm, writing a new word, a new name into his skin. L-O-V-E.
He watched intensely as I wrote. I blushed to realize my hands had picked up some of his blood. The words were not as silent as I thought. He looked into my face, and for the first time, I could truly see the smile behind them. My silent, my strong, kind silent was smiling for me. I touched his face, marveling how something once so strange and foreign could become so beautiful, so familiar to me. Maybe I had loved him, in my own limited way, all along.
His eyes dimmed and for a minute I was scared he would change his mind.
"What about your mum?"
I shook my head. I had made that decision. I knew my own heart.
"I forgive you. I think I forgave you the moment you told me. I just didn't realize it at first."
"Do you really mean it?" His gaze held mine intently, the smile resurfacing.
"I do. I mean every word."
I touched his arm significantly. I was not expecting his fingers on my arm, the slide of still warm blood drawing happiness in the form of letters. But my heart nearly burst when his hand lifted and I could see the very word I had written reflected now on my own skin.
"Do you really mean it?"
He nodded. Then he made a curious gesture, touching his left cheek and then his right.
"What are you doing?" I laughed again without real cause. It was laugh or face certain implosion from joy.
"I'm smiling," he explained, ducking his head shyly. "If you and I are to be…..friends….I should learn to smile."
"I think it's a little late for friends, don't you?"
He smiled again and then his arms lifted me, spinning me in a wide circle. I don't know where a silent learns to be romantic or how to hold a girl, but he held me as no one else ever had. I relaxed into his chest, hiding in his arms. I listened to his heart racing in time with mine and I closed my eyes. Here was home, here was love.
A/N So, pretty appropriate for Valentine's Day, I think. I hope you liked it, and I hope your Valentine's Day has been good. I think it's a beautiful day to appreciate the relationships around us. Whether those are romantic, platonic, familial, or any number of other kinds, we all have someone to love and to be loved by. Depending on a couple of variables, there will be anywhere from 1-3 more chapters. You can expect to see them periodically over the next few days. Leave a review, and thanks for reading!
Oh and my best guess for what's coming up: More Jordan, more love, and probably no wedding yet. Though that will make an appearance sooner or later.