My-Serendipity.net - Echoes in the Silence

Throbbing pain behind her eyes stole her vision even as she fought to get past it. Her legs and arms felt trapped, yet her head moved agonizingly free. Clinching her eyes shut, she wished she could make her arms move…to wrap them around her head and cover her eyes, anything to block it all out and focus on one thing at a time.

Yelling. No, crying. Wait. Screaming. No, yelling. Melissa willed herself to focus on the parts through the pounding in her head. There was crying, young and all consuming. Then the yelling became clearer…older, deeper. She’d lost the screaming, everything overpowered by the yelling. She moved her head from side to side to block her ears but the pain from the movement was worse than the noise, now getting louder and closer. There was a series of jerks that moved her wrists, followed by her legs being yanked. Was she restrained?

"You ain’t dead! I saw ya’ move! GET UP!" There was pressure on her ankles, pushes and pulls, something digging into exposed skin. The sound of his voice was blindingly painful and with her arms back, she clutched her head tightly. The beat of her own heart echoed in her ears, muffling everything she was trying to clarify.

"NO! Give him back! Leave him alone!" The screaming was right next to her, young and determined.

"Where am I?" she mumbled. "What’s going on?"

"I’ll tell you what’s going on!" The yelling was not helping her head or her concentration. "You’re gonna get up and shut these brats up before I do away with all of you."

Self preservation kicked in and her eyes flew open. It looked like a neglected summer cabin, the kind with discarded furniture and mismatched, well, everything. Cheap wood paneling, a pine bed with sagging mattress visible even under the 1970’s era gold and yellow floral patterned spread.

The yeller was a thin man with light brown hair just oily and dirty enough that it stood out from his head in spots. He didn’t look old, but didn’t sound young. Cheeks pitted with old acne scars and pale skin, he wore khaki Ben Davis pants that hung loose and a dark blue long sleeve t-shirt whose design was blocked by the baby held tightly by one arm.

The crier was a chubby lump of lungs, held without compassion or care against the body of the yeller. Wisps of translucent peach fuzz covered the baby’s scalp and a white onesie stretched over what appeared to be a very full diaper as Stay-Puff Marshmallow thighs kicked wildly in protest.

‘That’s the spirit little one,’ she thought to herself. Her head could have done without the crying, but the determination to get whatever it was the little bundle wanted was admirable.

"What are you doing just laying there? I untied you. GET UP!"

Melissa looked down toward her feet and saw a ratty rope still tied to one bedpost. Her feet were bare, white from cold and, judging by the pickling she was starting to feel, lack of circulation. She made her body move to a sitting position and tried to ignore the pins and needles along with the nausea her head was causing.

"That’s more like it!"

Without warning, the baby was thrust into Melissa’s lap which caused more crying and a fresh round of screaming.

"NO! I want him back! Give him to me! You can’t have him!" The screamer was now hitting Melissa’s arm, small hits without a lot of force. High pitched and dramatic, she guessed young girl but didn’t think she could stand the searing pain that turning her head would likely cause.

"You shut them up or I will," were the last words she heard before the door slammed and metal clanked on the other side.

"I won’t let you hurt my brother! Give him back to me!" The hits kept coming.

"Ok," Melissa said calmly. "Can you carry him on your own?"

The exasperated sigh that preceded "Yes" made an impression. It wasn’t just the baby who had spirit. Willingly she held out the crying baby, scooped up immediately by his sibling.

Within a minute the baby was calming down and the blood was regulating through Melissa’s body and away from her head. The prickling in her feet had dissipated to the point where she thought she might be able to stand up. "Does he need his diaper changed?"

"I can’t talk to you. You’re a stranger," she replied curtly.

Blinking a few times to restore her focus at a difference distance, Melissa watched the small girl take the baby to the bed and lay him down, even supporting his head as she did. Scanning the room she found a package of generic diapers by her, so she took one and held it toward them. "You’re right. I am a stranger and it’s ok if you don’t talk to me."

"I know," she shot back, taking the diaper anyway. She had long blonde hair, parted in the middle and clipped back in pink plastic butterfly barrettes. Probably not even old enough for kindergarten, she had porcelain doll features and wore pink bib overalls with a white t-shirt embroidered with butterflies on the collar underneath. Her shoes were pink and white with Sleeping Beauty on the side and Velcro closures. Even with all that young beauty, one color jumped to Melissa’s attention – the dark purple circles under her sad hazel eyes.

"Would it be ok if I asked you a question? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just…I don’t know where we are."

"He hit you hard," the little girl replied, still working on getting the diaper around her brothers kicking legs. Instinctively Melissa’s hand moved to her head and felt the sticky mass in her hair. "He made you bleed." The diaper was only halfway on when the little girl looked over at Melissa. "You looked dead," she said softly before returning her attention to her brother.

"That must have scared you."

Her tiny shoulders shrugged as she finished the diaper and snapped the onesie closed between his legs. Even with a dry bottom, the baby continued to cry softly. Looking over toward Melissa’s feet she spoke again. "He needs a bottle."

Next to the block of diapers was a baby blue diaper bag, Peter Rabbit adorning each side. Reaching in, she rifled around before finding a round container of formula alongside an empty bottle and holding it out as she had the diaper.

"He won’t drink it unless it’s warm and…and…" There was real hurt behind her small voice, a palpable sense of failure. "I’m not old enuff to use the stove." Looking toward the closed door she added, "He gets mad if I say anything."

Willing her eyes to work and her head to turn, Melissa winched through the initial movement and found it lessened as she went. While she sat on one bed, the little girl and her brother were on another. At the end of their side of the room was a closet, a slider made of flimsy press board doors with dirty brass colored circles of cheap tin for handles. Tucked back in the corner, beyond the closet, was a tiny bathroom. Pressing her palms onto the bed, she pushed her body up, trying to simultaneously balance and not pass out from the spinning her head was creating. Taking it slowly she moved toward the porcelain sink she had seen, noting that the little girl had stepped protectively between Melissa and her little brother. Letting the sink support her as she stood in front of it, she cranked the left handle and waited with a single finger under the stream.

"How much does your brother drink?"

"Mama says we fill it up to the 4. I know my numbers," she boasted proudly. ‘I’ve been practicin’."

"That’s great, practicing is always good. If you get the bottle ready for him, I’ll show you how to warm it up without a stove so he can eat."

The little pink shoes moved to where Melissa had been and grabbed the formula, pouring the premade liquid into the bottle to just the right line. Screwing on the top, she held it close to her body and stood steadfast against the wall between the two beds, putting as much distance between her and Melissa as possible.

"I filled the sink up with very hot water," she explained. "Now, I’m going to go sit back on the bed I was on before. Just put the bottle in the water and let it sit for a while. It won’t be as fast as the stove, but maybe it will warm it up enough that you can get him to drink it."

"I can take care of him," she stated empathically.

"I know you can. You are doing a very good job, but your dad gets mad…"

"He is NOT my daddy! He’s…he’s bad."

For an instant she wondered again what was going on, but it was overpowered quickly when she realized the sad hazel eyes had become even sadder yet. "I’m sorry. I…I just don’t know what’s happening. I know I’m a stranger and you are doing the right thing by not trusting me. You don’t even have to believe me, but I promise you, I’m a good stranger. I won’t hurt you or your brother. I’ll go back to the bed now, so you don’t have to be scared."

From the comfort of a horizontal plane, Melissa draped her arm over her eyes just enough so that the tiny framed sister, couldn’t see her watching. The bottle soaked until the baby really started to get worked up, which worked up the yeller from the other side of the door. Thankfully it was warm enough to suit him and he chugged it down before falling fast asleep.

"You are a very good big sister," Melissa whispered so she didn’t wake him up. "Where does he sleep?"

The girl stiffened with resolve. "He sleeps right here."

"He looks very comfy, but how do you sleep if you’re holding him?"

"He’s just a baby," her shoulders sagging slightly. "He needs to sleep."

Realizing she was on delicate ground, she rolled slowly to her side to look at the pair. The baby really did look content in his place of slumber, but the dark circles began to make more sense. "Very good big sisters need their rest too."

"He’s important," she whispered barely loud enough for Melissa to hear only a few feet away.

"But, so are you." The sad eyes stayed fixed on her brother so it was time for a quick plan ‘b’. "I bet if you were to lie down next to him, you could both sleep."

"I tried," she cautiously admitted. "He wakes up."

"May I help you? It’s ok to say no," she quickly added. "You could still hold him and never let go. I would just help so you could lie down and then we would both put him next to you."

"Are you a mommy?" The poor thing looked exhausted and for a moment, Melissa thought about lying for the sake of putting the little girls mind at ease.

"No, not yet…but I want to be someday."

"Do you have a brother?"

"I do." Her thoughts were still so blurry that she tried but couldn’t focus on a single memory or even the features of his face.

"Do you like him?"

"I love him."

She held her tiny brother in silence again and Melissa waited patiently, hoping she was winning over enough trust so that her tired eyes could rest. "But what if the bad man tries to take him and I’m sleeping?" she finally asked.

"He won’t," was the unyielding reply. "I’ll stay awake. You’ve been watching him all this time while I was asleep. I think it’s my turn. I won’t let him near you or your brother. I promise." Skeptical eyes gave her the once over again and again until she finally nodded. Easing off the bed, careful not to move quickly for both their sakes, she knelt in front of the other bed. "What would you like me to do?"

"Can you hold him for just a second?"

"Yes, but if I do anything you don’t like or that makes you feel scared, you just tell me and I’ll stop. Ok?" There was only another nod in reply before they were in motion. She reached out and supported the chubby bundle and the little girl lay down immediately and scooted to the side, making a place for her brother. As soon as she was still, Melissa placed him carefully next to her. "Would you like a blanket?" Another nod and Melissa took the cover from her bed and placed it over them.

"You’re gonna stay awake?"

"I promise," she said crossing her heart.

Melissa went back to her bed and propped herself up against the wall, eyes fixed straight ahead on the door and finally allowed herself the time to wonder just what in the hell was going on. The night of the party was clearest. She remembered Tove’s face and being relieved by his presence. While his words were lost, the feeling of assurance was with her still.

From there on it got sketchy. She could feel the weight of her duffle bag in her hand and the scratching of a pen on paper as she wrote something, but not what it was or what it said. She recalled driving into headlights and a loud crash. Her head began hurt again, throbbing beneath the clump of sticky coagulated blood incrusted in her hair. Nothing was clear, not even the multitude of possible scenarios that she tried to formulate.

Glancing over to the kids, she was happy to see them sleeping so peacefully. The young boy seemed to sense the safety of his protector and was sleeping the way only a child can, so soundly that no disturbance could get through. The girl was on her side right next to him and had her hand resting protectively on his belly. There was no way he was moving without her knowing it. Melissa could identify. That’s how she normally slept with…

A wave of terror washed over her and the memories flooded back, clicking off like a viewfinder in her brain. The closed airports, the despair, Hayden’s voice… ‘I miss you…I’m so sorry.’

She’d taken her duffle bag, left a note and left the house. She’d lost control…the truck had flipped over and over…the pain in her head flared with each remembered impact. There, in the quiet bedroom, she wrapped her arms around her head to protect it as she had tried in the car.

The memories flooded back faster than she could deal with them. She saw herself crawling out of the crushed cab and felt the sheer will to stand and walk. The knot returned to her stomach and she saw her …hurt…not moving. "Hang on…" she’d told her. The panic as she searched the cab washed over her and she clutched her head tighter. The phone didn’t work so she went to the road…it was empty but she saw a van in the distance and waved frantically. It stopped, she thought, to help.

The blinding pain of the blow to her head shot from the base of her neck up and over through to her eyes. Tears formed before she could fight them… "Oh god," she whispered to no one before running to the bathroom and heaving round after round of stomach contents into the toilet. Even when there was nothing left to throw up, her body still convulsed and tears streamed fast and constant. Laying with her head close, ready for the next round, she cried silently. "Kona…"