Whisper (16 page)

“Corey’s girlfriend.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but he didn’t really want to admit he’d picked her up after some trouble, fed her, and she and Whisper now hung out.

“Can I drop the girls off Monday? That’s when the mom’s having surgery.”

“Sure. Anytime. I’ll be home.”

“I’ll get supplies from the back and bring it with them.”

“Save the stuff for kids here. Are they average size?”

“Maybe a little small for two year olds. Really, let me bring what they’ll need. You’ve spent enough money and with you taking them, I feel…”

“Relieved?”

“Yep,” Miles gazed at the activity as the storeroom filled. “Thank you.”

“You know, you really ought to offer a better cup of coffee when you drag someone into your lair. It’d make swallowing your sob stories a whole lot easier.”

“I really don’t need to. The coffee hasn’t 131

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improved over the years, and you keep coming back.

Maybe you’re just a sucker.”

****

The house was more chaotic than normal, but Keith hadn’t minded. The girls were as cute as little buttons. Mid-afternoon on a Saturday, Keith managed to get Heather out alone. They both wanted to do some shopping. He still used crutches to get around, but the new improved cast made doing it a whole lot easier. With his knee then bendable, he figured he could manage a few months with the extra weight.

When they walked into the house, the smell of baking and dinner hit him square in the face. He loved coming home to the scents of food, especially on a cold December day. He and Heather ate lunch at the mall, but nothing compared to a home cooked meal. From the spicy scents drifting from the kitchen, they’d be treated to chili.

Muffled bellows and thumping resonated throughout the house and he smiled. The kids were at it again. Corey and Heather spent the hours after homework writing new lyrics. More often than not, the band practiced in the evenings. Whether he became desensitized to the noise, or they’d actually improved, Keith didn’t have a clue. The beat didn’t sound nearly as annoying lately. He might actually call it enjoyable.

“Whisper?” he called, wondering what she’d gotten into. The woman barely managed five hours of sleep a night, and controlled his home the rest of her waking moments when she wasn’t at work. With the headaches less severe, and him able to manage better, he figured he should start pulling his weight.

She’d been more than helpful and he felt guilty.

“With dinner on the stove,” Heather said, “I bet she didn’t go far. I’ll check upstairs.” Heather darted 132

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off and came back a few minutes later. “Not upstairs. Maybe she’s in the crypt. She promised to help with timing on some of the songs.”

“She has some sort of musical background,” Keith said, stating a fact. Maybe he’d get lucky and Heather would offer up some information.

“She does. Bob was,” she said before falling silent, her eyes growing big. “I mean, her dad…” She looked scared.

Generally, he didn’t push, but he wanted to know a few simple things. Two sisters could have different fathers; his own little brother was a product of his mother’s marriages. Why the secrecy?

“So you and Whisper have different fathers?”

“Yes.”

“And Whisper’s father is a musician?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s where her knowledge comes from?” Heather nodded and blushed. “I have to take this stuff home now to hide it. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Heather vanished out the front door. What could it be about their past that made it impossible to relay basic facts? Being a patient man, he wouldn’t push—for now. He didn’t need to crowd either of them. Little odds and ends slowly came out. He’d pay attention and piece things together until one of them felt comfortable enough to talk openly.

The kitchen was spotless and a frosted cake stood under a glass pedestal. A layer of transparency separated him from some sort of amazing chocolate confection. He’d lost ten pounds after the accident.

He’d put on twelve the last few weeks. He’d need to be careful because he could easily pack on a bunch more weight without the daily grind of work and a lot of mouth watering food available. Come to think of it, Corey put on some mass and no longer looked like a scrawny kid.

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He pulled open the basement door and carefully trekked down the stairs. The musical rumbling grew in intensity. When he made it to the last step, he saw Billy and Mark seated on the couch, both of them hovering over a book. They spoke loudly, Mark asking questions and Billy answering. They toiled over information for a history test on Monday.

Half the basement was a rec room and laundry area, with the other half enclosed for the soundproof room.
Soundproof
didn’t necessarily equate to
devoid
of sound
. But it sure as hell muffled it for the neighbors, and he could listen to the television at a normal level while they played. The speakers outside of the room could be adjusted to increase or decrease the volume from inside. Mark and Billy had it turned on, listening to rehearsal while Billy studied.

In the middle of a song, everything groaned to a halt. Through the large window into the
studio
, he saw Connor throw drumsticks at Corey.

“What the hell’s wrong now?” Corey asked.

“I can’t stutter the tempo like you want. It won’t work.”

Whisper stood from the chair she’d been sitting in and collected the sticks. She said, “Sure you can, but it won’t happen overnight. You have to practice.”

“I don’t have a set at my house. How the hell am I supposed to practice?” Connor replied.

“Without the drums. You walk around banging on everything around here. You don’t need drums to practice.”

“Sure, Whisper, that makes total sense.” If the little man didn’t check his attitude real quick, Keith would do it for him. He had no right speaking to Whisper in that tone. In fact, Keith wouldn’t tolerate it.

She handed the sticks to him and grabbed another set from the shelf . She touched his shoulder and he stood. “Get the other stool,” she said.

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She sat behind the drums while Connor got the stool.

“Right there.” She pointed so he’d bring the seat closer. “Now, drum with me.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Connor asked.

Corey, Jade, Dusty and Connor all had disbelieving looks on their faces. Mark and Billy put the book aside, stood, and gazed in the window.

Whisper took her hair, twirled it from the base before stuffing it down the back of her shirt. She didn’t make eye contact with any of them as she adjusted the stool and looked over the set up. She tested foot pedals, each of the drums and cymbals before running through it with more and more speed.

All of their mouths dropped open. Once she seemed comfortable, she said, “Let’s run through
Disclosure
once. Three—two—one…” Slender arms and legs started moving, and the sound staggered him. The kids stood there dumbly until Jade’s guitar came to life. Dusty started picking out notes on the bass. Connor sat in a stupor until Whisper stopped.

“The purpose of this is so you’ll learn,” she said.

“You with me this time? And Corey, I’ll set the tempo this once. Try it my way, and then it’s up to you. All right?”

She began again, the kids following her lead.

When Corey started blasting out lyrics, they sounded like a real, honest to God band. He’d heard the song before as a muffled misconception of beats.

It flowed with Whisper guiding. Rolling sounds of staggered rumbling lead to extended basic rhythms.

He didn’t know a damn thing about drums or drumming, but clearly understood Whisper did.
The
expression on her face!
Absolutely confident of every strike and roll, for the first time since he’d met her, she looked secure, connected, and
aggressive
. She’d 135

Kathleen Lash

done a hell of lot more than
listen
to the radio or CDs. Corey’s voice overtook the instruments to belt out lyrics flawlessly, emotionally and with absolute precision. When Jade went wild with his guitar, the drums blended to create an undercurrent to accentuate the screaming, whining chords and notes.

About four minutes later, the fiercely charged, heart pounding rush escalated with the roar of thunder created by Whisper’s lightning fast hands and feet.

The hair stood up on his arms as she struck the drum set one last time. A hush fell over the lower level of the house as the symbol gradually sizzled to stillness.

She placed the sticks down on a snare drum and stood before gathering her hair to drop it between her shoulder blades. She said quietly, “I’d tune the set if I were you. If you need help, ask. You need more practice with rolls. The fills are fine.”

“Whisper,” Connor said, “you ever drum pro—”

“Dinner’s got to be almost done. I’m going up now.”

“Thanks, Whisper,” Corey said, staring like he’d never seen her before.

“Welcome.” She walked from the room and after closing the door, she bumped into Keith. She offered an uncertain smile. “Dinner.” She hurried by and raced up the stairs.

Corey walked out a few seconds later. “Did you see?”

“Yeah. She’s good, huh?”

“No. She’s phenomenal. Scary phenomenal.”

“Don’t bug her about it, get me?”

“Why?” Corey asked.

Keith spelled it out. “You drug her down here, didn’t you?”

“Sort of.” The answer came with the slump of Corey’s shoulders and shuffling of his feet.

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“She wanted to help and ran out of ways to tell you, so she showed you.”

“Damn, she showed all of us. I wonder how she got so good.”

“Keep wondering. Don’t push. She already regrets what she did. Let her see it was no big deal, and she might get comfortable.” Corey’s gaze became fixed. “Her and Heather both. They’ve been around for months, practically live here, and neither one of them trust us any more than they did. Why, Keith? We haven’t done a thing wrong.”

It’d been forever since Corey needed an opinion or answer from him. Did the kid mature a bunch over the last few months, or did the change come from Keith being home and available? A portion of the intelligent, trusting boy, who cared about an older brother’s view on a subject, couldn’t be more welcomed.

A squeeze to his shoulder replaced the hug Keith wanted to give. “Like her drumming, they’ll share when they’re ready. She opened up a little and when nothing bad happens, she’ll learn she can safely let more out. That’s how some people trust.

You know, slowly.”

“So we really shouldn’t mention it?”

“Keep practicing. If it helped, thank her again and drop it.”

“I won’t ask her, I’ll listen to what you just said, but damn, I’d sure like to know where she learned.” Keith squeezed his shoulder again and made his way to the stairs. He’d like to know too, but he’d follow his own advice. Whisper and Heather would be around for a while, and at the moment, his time was unlimited. He’d keep listening to all the stuff she didn’t say, and see if answers would start coming out. As long as he didn’t need the pain medication, he’d be more aware.

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The ache inside Whisper’s bones wouldn’t go away with the freezing cold roughening her skin.

She huddled under three blankets and two quilts on her bed, shivering. She couldn’t get enough to drink and wished Heather would return with a gallon of water. The incomprehensible thought of getting out of bed, fizzled away.

Uncomfortable and a little scared, she felt like she did when she’d lived with Doug. Hands touched her, but she didn’t receive anything to quench her thirst.
Hands, hands everywhere, with not a drop to
drink
, strolled through her muddled mind. The room tilted as someone lifted her. Broken complaints spilled from her parched lips. “Please leave me alone.”

“It’s okay, Whisper, I’ve got you,” he replied.

Why? Where are you taking me?
A blast of frigid air made her gasp before she coughed into the blanket over her face. When she could finally breathe again, her muscles gave up and dissolved.

All sorts of activity swirled around until she came to rest against something soft. Maybe she could get warm there.

Jerked into a sitting position, she wanted to cry with how bad everything hurt. Pills were put in her mouth and she spat them out. “No, I won’t take anything. Go to hell! Leave me alone!” She tried moving away from Doug, but didn’t get far. Maybe he’d already given her something. Not having a clear mind terrified her. Maybe that’s why 138

Whisper

she felt so terrible.

“Hold her,” he said.

Her arms hurt because someone forced her to sit upright. She’d have more bruises. Pills pressed against her lips and she opened her mouth, didn’t have a choice.

“Please, Whisper, take the pills.” Doug sounded strange, like he actually gave a damn.

At long last, a glass touched her lips and she grabbed hold. Her shaking hands made water splash as she gulped it down. Maybe she’d sleep through the ensuing high. He’d only drugged her once, but she learned some things quickly. The spacey confused feelings weren’t enjoyable. “Bastard,” she said, unable to swallow any more. “Why would you do it? You promised, you son of a bitch.” Keith tried stroking her cheek so she wouldn’t be so afraid. She flinched away and fought harder.

“Whisper!” he said loudly, “it’s okay, settle down.”

With the high fever, she didn’t recognize him.

Seriously contemplating an ambulance, he tried once again to get the thermometer in her mouth. The device would give a quick reading, but she wouldn’t stay still even with Nomad holding her.

As she calmed, he managed to place the thermometer. When it flashed, he read it. One hundred and three, and that was after she drank cold water. If the pills didn’t work in half an hour, Nomad could load her in the SUV and they’d drive to the emergency room.

All at once, the fighting ended, and Nomad eased her down. Her teeth chattered and they layered blankets over her.