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Sound in Silence
"Alright class, as I've mentioned, this project is worth 40% of your final grade." Mr. Colgate made his way around the room, handing out the assignment requirement sheets. Megan swallowed back a groan at the sight of the many, many bullet points and sub-bullet points. AP European History was already her hardest class, and this project was going to take so much time and energy.
"You have one month. You are expected to have a seven-page report, not including references, at least twelve references—half of which cannot be electronic—and a fifteen-minute PowerPoint presentation. There will be weekly check-ins to ensure that you are on track, which will have an impact on your final grade, so pay attention to deadlines. Review everything carefully, and if you have any questions, ask sooner rather than later." Returning to his desk, he grabbed a piece of paper. "I have already assigned you each a partner, and I will allow you the rest of the period to discuss with one another what topic you want, as long as it is post-WWII."
Megan couldn't help but sigh quietly. Connor had opted for AP World Politics instead, and none of her cheerleading squad members had a penchant for history, leaving her surrounded by classmates she hardly knew.
"Megan Morse with Eric D'Angelo."
She turned to the back corner of the room, where Eric was staring at his hands. Despite being three months into the semester, she couldn't recall ever hearing him speak. Well, that was going to change. At least, she hoped.
Mr. Colgate finished reading off his list, and the shuffling of students began. Forcing her concerns to the back of her mind, she approached Eric and smiled brightly. "Hi!"
His eyes flickered to hers, then back down to his hands, and he offered a barely audible greeting. Not a good sign, not at all, and a torrent of nerves fluttered through her stomach. "So, do you have any ideas? I'm really open to anything. I mean, I've done some brainstorming, but I don't have anything written down. I feel like there would be a lot of information on the Revolutions of 1989, but that might be too broad of a topic, and it went beyond Europe too. The dissolution of Yugoslavia is interesting, if you'd want to do that. Oh, or the creation of the European Union, I feel like that would be an easy topic. Or—"
"The dissolution of Yugoslavia is fine," he murmured.
"Okay! Great!"
With everyone else discussing amongst themselves, she felt compelled to continue speaking, knowing that she was blathering and not being able to stop herself. Eric, to her surprise and confusion, seemed to be paying rapt attention. He obviously cared, so his silence wasn't some sort of aloof, blasé approach to school, but other than nodding and sometimes scribbling notes, he made no contribution.
The bell rang, and Megan had never been so grateful. "Okay, well, I'll see you tomorrow!"
"Bye."
She headed to her locker, swapping her binder for her lunch, and met her friends in the cafeteria. Karen took one look at her and asked, "What's wrong with you?
Dropping into a chair, she explained, "I have a massive project in AP Euro—"
"Well that's what you get for being an over-achiever," Nicole muttered, and Karen nudged her.
"—and my partner is Eric D'Angelo. And he seems nice and all, but—"
"He's basically a mute?" Wendy offered.
"Yes! And I don't know what I'm going to do! How are we supposed to get anything done if he doesn't speak? And we have to present at the end!" She covered her face with her hands. "I need to do well on this!"
"Oh, trust me, you will," Wendy assured her. "I've been partnered with him before. Might be quiet, but he'll carry his weight. He's, like, stupid smart."
"And he'll speak when necessary," Karen added. "I've had classes with him since freshman year. He presents well enough. So stop freaking out."
"Plus your grade is probably strong enough that one project won't kill you. Unlike some people at this table," Wendy added, with a pointed look at Nicole.
"Um, rude! There is no need to be pointing out my obvious pitfalls."
They began to banter, and Megan's nervousness dissipated as she allowed herself to forget about class. There was nothing she could do about it now, so there was no point in stressing.
The next day, upon entering AP Euro, Sit Next to Your Partner was written in Mr. Colgate's scrawling print. Eric was already seated, fiddling with some papers on his desk, so Megan went to join him. As soon as she sat, a diluted dread crept up and down her skin. The abruptness took her by surprise, and she took a few deep breaths in an effort to remain calm. Eric raised an eyebrow at her, and she hastily collected herself. "Hi!"
"Hi." He nudged the papers toward her. "I did some research yesterday."
"Oh, wow. Great!" There were online sources and catalogue numbers of library books, a breakdown of what needed to be accomplished and by when, a bullet-pointed list of important events that they should probably cover. Karen wasn't kidding when she said that there would be nothing to worry about. "Thank you so much!"
The bell rang, and Mr. Colgate stood. "This is the last class period I'm giving you to work on your projects. Everything else will be on your own, so review the timeline carefully and go from there. Do not be afraid to ask questions." He gestured to a cart next to him. "Laptops from the library, one per group please."
It was a productive hour and a half, despite Eric communicating only in nods or bare fragments of sentences and Megan fighting the strange anxiety pangs still clouding her thoughts. As hard as she tried, she could not shake free the unwanted intrusion, and she struggled to pin why it was happening at all. Other than Euro, classes were going well, as was cheerleading, and hero-work had been relatively easy and minimal danger. Her and Connor were doing great, and there had been no problems within the Team or the League. Maybe her powers were changing? She'd have to talk to Uncle J'Onn if it didn't get any better.
As class was wrapping up, Megan turned to Eric. "Do you want to meet up at the library this afternoon? Check out some of those books?"
"That's fine."
"Alright, perfect! I'll see you then."
He nodded and turned to gather his things, and Megan allowed the smile to drop from her face. Sighing quietly, she rubbed at her temples and made her way to her locker. To her surprise, the apprehension gradually faded, completely disappearing by the time she got to the cafeteria.
Pleased though she was that it had ceased, an unnerving realization dawned on her. She had chalked up her feelings the previous day to being nervous over the project, but with what had just happened, she might have been unintentionally absorbing Eric's thoughts. While her powers did allow her to be more attuned to others' feelings, it was never to such an intensity, at least not without conscious efforts. It happened, though rarely, back on Mars, when one's brainwaves synced with another's subconsciously. The cause, more often than not, was high-intensity emotions that caused a "latching" of sorts, tethering the calmer mind to that under duress. The only explanation she could imagine was his feelings were all-encompassing, if not debilitating.
But what could make him feel that way?
As her friends chatted and laughed around her, Megan could barely focus on the conversation, her concern for Eric mounting. She could have been overreacting, or those sensations could have been completely unrelated to him, but if she wasn't…
There was one simple solution, but she had reservations of reading the mind of someone she barely knew, especially when she was relying on suspicion alone. If she had learned anything from her time on Earth, it was that matters of confidentiality intrusion, no matter how benevolent or benign, were frowned upon and not meant to be taken lightly. Until and unless she was certain that she had to intervene, she would refrain from taking that step.
Eric was already waiting for her in the library once classes had finished, and as she approached, the previous unease returned, simmering deep in her stomach. Ignoring it, she sat beside him. "Hey!"
"Hi," he offered softly, nudging a few books toward her.
"Oh, great, you already found them? Thanks!"
The only response was a small nod.
"So how do you want to do this? Break it down into sections? Divide and conquer?"
"Whatever you want."
"Um, okay." Pulling out the instruction sheet, she skimmed the timeline. "Well, it looks like the first checkpoint is outlining each of the topic sections and including where we're getting our resources. So I'll do the first four and you do the last four? Is that good?"
"That's fine."
Like pulling teeth, she thought, an expression she had learned from Wally, but she didn't push. He was willing to put in the work for the project, and besides, it was obvious that there was something far worse weighing on him. Just being in his immediate proximity made working on the project difficult, the raw, all-encompassing trepidation building in her core and battering her body like waves. She couldn't even imagine how awful it was for Eric, to have that pain at full force, and yet, when she could not stop herself from sneaking glances at him, he seemed completely absorbed in his work. Whatever was the source of his unease, he must have grown accustomed to it. Her stomach turned at the thought.
"I have to go." It was so abrupt that Megan almost jumped. Eric was quickly shoving his books and papers into his backpack, and she sensed a spike in his anxiety, pinpricks racing up and down her limbs.
"Do you want to meet up tomorrow?"
"That's fine."
"Okay, great."
He barely even glanced at her before nodding and hastily making his way out. As he grew smaller, she imagined opening his mind, just a quick glimpse…
And then he was gone, and the second-hand stress seemed to evaporate, and she sighed in defeat, almost ashamed. There was no doubt that there was something wrong, truly, deeply wrong with Eric, and she had missed her opportunity. She was a hero, and it was her duty to help others, and yet here she was, intruding on his innermost feelings without taking the final step to actually help him.
Tomorrow, she resolved.
Sleep was difficult, and she groggily made her way through classes the next day, barely able to focus. Despite knowing it was for the best, she still felt a twinge of guilt for what she was going to do. When she entered AP Euro and saw Eric, she steeled her nerve. It had to be done, and she could not back down or reconsider.
As Mr. Colgate set up and the other students entered, she focused on her target and entered his psyche. Treading carefully, she maneuvered around his conscious mind and began unraveling his deeper memories, buried far from the surface…
A young Eric was curled up on his bed, crying softly. A woman burst into the room, and he went stiff, trying and failing to silence himself.
"Shut up!" she shouted, marching toward him. "Shut up!"
"M-Mommy, I, I had a b-bad dream. Daddy—"
"I don't care!" She dug her nails into his scalp and threw him onto the floor. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't want to hear you?" A kick to his stomach, then another. "Just shut up!"
Eric was staring up at his mother, a smile bursting across his face as she scanned the paper in front of her. Glaring down at him, contempt staining her features, she sneered, "Do you think I care?" Tearing up the paper, letting the fragments flutter to the floor, she continued, "Your teacher may think you're impressive, but I know you the best, and there is nothing spectacular or wonderful about you. Now clean that up and start your chores."
She walked away, and Eric knelt down, whimpering quietly as he collected the pieces, staring at the gold star and 100% resting in his hands.
He lay on the kitchen floor, breathing heavily, cradling a badly swollen wrist. Seated at the table, his mother was eating her meal, completely unconcerned with his plight. "Mom," he choked out. "P-please, I think it's broken."
"Well, it will be broken when I finish my dinner, won't it?" She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "And after all I do for you, I deserve a nice meal. So when I'm finished, I'll take you to the hospital. Maybe."
He stared at her, tears dripping down his face, but he made no more pleas.
His mother was forcing him over the edge of a bathtub, his bare back under a stream of burning water. As he screamed, thrashing against her hold, she snarled, "You stupid bastard! You stupid, worthless bastard! Embarrassing me in front of my coworkers!"
"I didn't mean to!"
"I don't care!" The water was turned up even higher, and blisters rose on his reddened skin. "You ever do that again, you'll wish you were dead!"
His mother held a match to the tip of a knife and watched it glow from the heat. Eric, though taller than her now, was slouching, cowering before her. "Open your mouth," she instructed calmly, holding out the knife.
"Mom, p-please—"
"I will not be disrespected in my own home, and I've told you what happens when you speak out of turn. Now, open your mouth."
Eric stared at her for a few moments, and his mother violently grabbed him by his shirt and jerked him closer. "Open your mouth!"
And he did, and the knife was pressed against his tongue, and a scream was torn from his throat as his mother chuckled under her breath.
Eric, blood trickling down his nose, silently cleaned pasta sauce off a kitchen wall as his mother watched him with disdain. "All I do for you, and you can't even make something edible for dinner? Pathetic. The next time you screw up so badly, you'll be punished much worse. Understand?"
His lips twitched, as though to speak, but he just lowered his eyes and nodded instead.
Megan snapped back to the present, her heart caught in her throat, and she struggled to maintain her composure. There had been hundreds of memories, so much violence and pain and humiliation inflicted upon him by his mother. That anyone could even do that to their child…
She glanced at Eric, dutifully taking notes, and wondered what to do. His mother wasn't a villain, not the kind that she had grown accustomed to fighting, and she didn't know how to take her down. Even though she would easily draw a confession from her, it would be inadmissible in court [1]. An anonymous call to the police would probably yield no positive results. Maybe she could convince Eric to come forward himself, but how could she broach the subject? If he'd been internalizing and compartmentalizing his abuse for years, how could she draw the truth from him? She could, she supposed, admit to him about reading his mind, but he probably wouldn't react well to that revelation and might withdraw even further. She could get him to reveal the truth on his own, but she wondered how long that would take, how many more nights of abuse he'd have to suffer.
Perhaps she couldn't get him or his mother to admit to it, but if she were to witness it first-hand, that should be enough. It wasn't a fantastic approach, nor the most reliable, but it was the best chance she had of ensuring that Eric was freed from his personal Hell in the shortest amount of time. From the collection of moments she had absorbed, she doubted it would take long for his mother to act.
It was difficult to focus the rest of the day, but she made sure to maintain a perfect façade when she met Eric in the library, even as she latched onto his brainwaves and was awash with unease. She knew now, at least, the source, and though her plan was rudimentary, it gave her some sense of control over the situation.
They worked in almost complete silence for over an hour. That's when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she yelped in surprise.
"Sorry," Wendy whispered. "But we need to talk to you. Cheerleading emergency."
She turned to Eric, unfazed, and got up to follow Wendy to where Karen and Nicole were standing. "The Sharks stole our routine," Karen asserted, agitation clear on her face.
"What? How is that possible? And how can you be sure?"
The team captain rattled through the issues, getting more and more animated as she related what she had learned, finishing with, "And with regionals coming up, we're going to have to do a complete revamp. We're going to need a new routine, and fast, and we're going to have to practice every day. You're one of the best with coordinating segues, so I was thinking that tomorrow in homeroom, we start planning. Is that good with you?"
"Yeah, that's fine. I just can't believe—"
Suddenly, Eric was sprinting past them, nearly knocking her over. "Eric?"
"I, I have to go!" he offered quickly, and she heard the panic bubbling in his voice as fear pulsated through her. "Sorry!"
"Well, that was weird," Wendy muttered, but Megan barely heard her as she desperately tapped into his mind, searching frantically before he was out of sight.
A quick flash, a deep-rooted fact. His home address.
She had to follow him.
"Ugh, you know, I really should get home too," she said, returning to her table to collect all her things, throwing them haphazardly into her backpack. "Totally forgot about helping my uncle with something."
"Oh, really?" Nicole pouted. "But we need to figure this out!"
Megan would be lying if she said she wasn't concerned by this development, but she knew the longer she stayed, the farther behind Eric she became, and she could not allow that to happen. "Tomorrow in homeroom. We'll iron out every single detail, I promise. Bye!"
As quickly as she dared without drawing suspicion, she ditched her belongs in her locker and existed the school. Making sure there were no witness, she became invisible before frantically typing Eric's address into her phone. Ten-minute walk.
Five-minute flight.
She landed in front of his home and resumed visibility, making sure to adapt her Martian form. The door, thankfully, was unlocked, and when she entered the house, she immediately heard, "Shut up! Just shut up!" A slap followed, and the sound seemed to ricochet around her mind as a phantom pain lingered on her right cheek.
"Why is this such a hard concept for you to understand? I don't want any excuses," the verbal onslaught continued as Megan frantically made her way up the stairs. "How can you be so damn stupid?" Another slap, even more forceful than the first, and Megan then felt a sharp jab in her stomach.
Outside his bedroom, door half-closed, Megan saw his mother standing over him as he lay against the wall.
"You worthless bastard!" A kick caught him between the ribs. "How many times do I have to do this before you learn?"
She raised her leg again, and Megan thought about how easy it would be to snap it in half, or to throw her against the wall, or to enter her mind and shatter it into a million tiny pieces, but she fought against her rage and instead grabbed Mrs. D'Angelo's unconscious. Sleep, she commanded, and the woman went absolutely still before collapsing in a heap, her head connecting soundly with the floor. Oops.
Eric stared at her, eyes-wide, and she slowly approached, a tsunami of fear and pain and despair bombarding her. Kneeling in front of him, she whispered, "Are you okay?"
He pressed himself tighter against the wall, and she saw the tremors rippling through his body. There was nothing more she wanted to do than wrap him in a hug, but she dared not get any closer.
Silence ballooned between them, filling every inch of space, and when Megan thought she could take no more, he finally whispered, "How…why did you come here?"
There were so many excuses she could have offered, she had thought through each and every one of them during her journey over, but none of them would truly earn his trust. And if she wanted to put his mother in prison, she needed it.
Realization crossed his face as she shifted to her human form. "You…you're…but, but how? How did you know?" Lowering his eyes, he continued, so softly she almost didn't hear him, "I've been so careful."
"I'm a telepath. When, when someone has extremely strong, overwhelming emotions, I can sense them. And I started getting a read on you. It wasn't intentional." She paused, fighting to find the words to properly explain. "It's, it's not common, but it can happen without my conscious efforts. I, I didn't want to invade your privacy or anything, but…there was something wrong, and I couldn't just let it keep happening."
"Why not?"
The question caught her off guard, but before she could press, he continued, "I've let it keep happening. Ever since Dad died. I never, I never did anything."
"This isn't your fault," Megan objected, daring to rest a hand on his shoulder. He flinched but did not move away. "None of this is your fault."
He shook his head. "I'm stronger than her. I've been stronger than her for years. And…and I've just…I let her do this. I could've, I should've fought back. I shouldn't be afraid of her."
"There's nothing wrong with being afraid."
"It's pathetic," he countered. "When I was younger, maybe. But I'm not six-years-old anymore." With a sigh, he added, "I just…I figured I could survive another year and a half, you know? Then I'd get into college and never have to come back."
His voice was shaking, and tears were building up in his eyes, but he fought to keep them from falling. "What am I going to do? I can't, I can't testify against her. No one would believe me." Softly, he added, "No one wants to hear me, anyway."
"That's not true," Megan objected. "A jury would believe you. And it might not even come to that."
"But it might! And I can't…I can't do that. Please, just…just pretend you didn't see this, okay? I, I can make it until graduation. I'll be fine. Just, you gotta pretend this never happened."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?" It was a sob, and Megan felt her own tears escape. "Where would I go? Nobody's go-going to want a teenager. And, and it's not even that bad now, you know? It, it doesn't even hurt that much. I, I can be okay. Please, just…just leave."
"I'm not going anywhere," she insisted, forcing resolution in her voice, but it still didn't hide the waver. "I'm not going to let her hurt you again. Please, let me help you."
Their eyes locked for a few moments, but he looked away first. Pulling away, he tucked his knees tighter to his chest. Fighting against the vicarious hopelessness threatening to tear her apart from the inside out, she reached for her cell phone and dialed 9-1-1.
The following month left her hollow and disillusioned. Although the case never went to trial—having a hero as an eye-witness was quite damning—Eric's mother took a plea deal that dropped her abuse from a felony to a misdemeanor offense carrying three years. Without any family in the region, Eric went to live with a paternal uncle, whom he hadn't seen since his father's death, three states away. It was a painful goodbye, an inundation of fear and doubt and despair setting fire to her body. "It'll be okay," she had promised, offering a tight hug, but Eric only nodded, and she pretended that he believed her.
Rumors rippled through the school about his sudden disappearance, but they faded without much resolution, and it seemed as though he had never even attended by the end of the first week he was gone. Mr. Colgate had offered her to join another group for the project, but she had politely declined. Strangely, illogically, she was attached to the one they had already begun, and she could not bring herself to abandon it.
She even found herself confiding in Dinah, sitting much in the same manner she had after the disastrous failsafe simulation. "I just…it doesn't feel right," she explained, staring at the ceiling, trying to organize her thoughts. "I mean, he's not getting hurt anymore, but he had to leave the only life he's ever known. The police chief told me he was lucky, that most kids like him end up in the system, but he has to start all over! And he barely even knows his family. And his mother is barely getting any time in prison! None of this seems fair. And I can't…I can't help but think that maybe I should have just left it alone." She lowered her eyes. "That sounds horrible, I know, but the way he was asking me to just forget what I had seen, that he'd be able to make it another year and a half…"
When it became clear that she had no resolution, Dinah offered gently, "Neither you nor he knew if he'd be able to survive until he made it until college. She might have escalated her abuse, or kept him dependent and kept abusing him even after he graduated high school. You did exactly the right thing, even though it doesn't feel like that. And honestly, it might not feel like that for a while. But you did the right thing, and because of you, Eric isn't being abused right now. He doesn't have to live in constant fear and anxiety, counting down the days until he's free of his mother. He is safe, and he can get the help that he needs. He will be okay. Think about how hard he was working in school and how well he was doing. How much better is he going to do without living in that household? How brighter of a future he will have without being beaten and degraded? Eric will be okay, even though it might take a while to adjust, even though it might be immediate. You did the right thing."
And she knew, in her heart of hearts, that Dinah was right, but she still could not stop worrying about him. It wasn't until she was called to principal's office, an envelope with her name waiting to be read, that she changed her mind.
Eric had left her a simple note: Thank you.
She smiled brightly, re-read those words possibly a hundred times, then carefully tucked it into her pocket. He was safe, but there were more kids like him, and they needed just as much help. This was only one small victory, and she had to remain diligent.
Someone had to be able to hear the cries in the silence.
[1] Considering there are heroes that can read minds or perform magic to extract a confession, I would imagine that there are laws in place that prevent such confessions from being admissible in a court of law
Children of all ages are abused. Getting older does not mean they escape from their pain and suffering. They become accustomed to their mistreatment and do not believe that there is any hope. Even if they are removed from an abusive home, their journey does not end. There is a struggle to find acceptance and healing. In America alone, five children will die from abuse every single day.
ChildHelp is a non-profit that relies on donations to run prevention, intervention, and treatment programs, and the Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption seeks to increase the number of adoptions from foster care. Donate if you can. If you can't, write to your legislators demanding better laws against child abuse and an improvement in foster care. If you think someone is being abused, intervene, and don't stop until he or she is safe. Do what you think is best. It's not easy to intervene, and it may not always feel like the best path, but no child deserves to live in an abusive home.
To all the victims, you are in my thoughts and prayers always. If you need help, reach out. Someone will believe you. I do. Never give up hope, and never believe that you deserve anything other than love.
No more concrete angels