Unheard Voices Chapter 7 and 8

Sue suffers the aftermath of her excursion into the old high school. She soon finds herself with a possible lead to free the trapped Miranda.

Chapter 7

               

                My mother was livid. “Idiot,” was the most appropriate word she signed. Most of her gestures were random motions with no sense to them. I doubt her spoken words were any more coherent. She was pissed off. Her face was a shade of red I had never seen before. My father was at a complete lost for words. His fists were clenched tightly and while he shook them as if to throttle me. Joe rocked back and forth in amusement and agitation at me.

                “How could you do something so…” my mother raged. She was unable to calm herself enough to complete her sentence. “You went there with a boy you barely knew. A week? What were you thinking?”

                I bore my mother’s criticism. I had no defense for what I did. How could I tell them about Miranda? They would never believe it. The old scribble on the wall had confirmed my mind. Miranda was real. I knew it. I knew it. All I had to do was weather this storm before I could find out how to help Miranda escape that book.

                My mother slammed her hand onto the exam table I sat on. “Are you paying attention?” she continued to rant. I bowed my head in shame, shielding myself from view of my mother’s hands. Tilting my head, I saw Roger speaking with his parents. It was obvious that they were as furious with him as my parents were with me. Shame washed over me. He was here because of me. He had followed me into that building. And because of that, he broke his ankle.

                My mother forced my head up to look at her again. Her hands flew in rapid succession. Her signs were poorly formed in her haste. It was the same as before. The only thing my mother knew how to sign now was her frustrations at my poor judgement as she called it. It was needless to say that I was grounded.

                Her ramblings ended as the ER doctor walked up to us. He yawned from his long shift. He rifled through his papers. His lips moved as he conversed with my parents. Joe was kind enough to translate for me.

                “No broken bones. You’re lucky there, but we are going to put you on a strain of antibiotics. You’ll need to come in and have those bandages checked and to check on those stitches. We don’t want an infection of any sort.”

                My parents nodded their understanding. They then turned their attention to Roger and his parents. His folks were as agitated as my own. They exchanged words. By gesture and the color in their faces, I knew that they were not all pleasant. Fingers were frequently aimed at me, with due cause. I turned my gaze back to the floor in shame. If not for my brother’s poking, I would not have looked up to see Roger hobbling over to me on a pair of crutches.

                He stood there looking dumbfounded. If not for Joe, I don’t think he would have founded his words. “Are you okay?”

                “Better than you,” I pointed out.

                “Why did you go in there?” He demanded to know.

                That question I could not answer. The two boys stared at me.

                “Aren’t you going to answer?” Joe pressed.

Still, I had nothing to say. I kept my hands in my lap until we were back in the car and throughout the whole drive home. I made no intention of sharing a single thought. My family kept throwing accusing glances at me; but in the dark of the car, that was all they could do.

As soon as we got home, I raced for my room. My foot only touched the first step before my father’s hand slammed against the wall hard enough for me to feel it through the handrail. I stopped dead in my tracks. My head slowly turned to face the red face of my father. He pointed to the couch. Reluctantly, I followed his finger and took a place across from him and my mother. Joe lingered by the stairs, only to be cast upstairs by a single glance of my father.

His hand formed a single sign. Just one word, “Explain.” It was a command. It was a question I knew was going to surface again. My silent car ride had given me time to think.

“I wanted to see what was there.” It was a dumb answer, but the truest I could offer.

My father’s fingers pressed into his knuckles in agitation with my answer.

“You wanted to see what was in there? Why? Why would you do some moronic idea like that? Why? Why act up?” His movements were sharp and quick. His eyes pierced me. I had never seen them so stern before.

“I don’t know.”

“What? Did that boy pressure you?”

“No. It was my idea.”

“Sue. I need an answer. An honest answer. No crap. What possessed you to go into that burned down and condemned building? You got out by a hair. You could have been killed. That boy was hurt. You are lucky.”

I just folded my hands into my lap for several minutes before raising them. “Joe accused me of being stuck in the basement.”

“That is idiotic,” my father growled at me. “You’re grounded again, until you can give me a real answer.  You will only go to school and then come straight here. Upstairs now.” My dad did the last sign so roughly, that he ended up smacking his knee in the process.

As I ascended the stairs, I cast a glance back to my parent’s. They were speaking to each other. I dare not linger as I saw their heads incline towards my room.

Back in my room, I dropped onto my bed and pulled the leather-bound book. My mind raced as I felt the cover. I could feel Miranda’s pulse bounding through my fingers. In my mind, I thought and knew the truth. I thumbed through the pages I read before.

You believe me now. Don’t you? I read the curved script as I opened it to the next page.

Yes, I believe you, Miranda. I found your name written on a wall in the old school. My finger twitched to turn the page again, but something bounced onto my bed.  I rolled over and slammed the book shut in a single movement.

“Joe,” I slapped him as he laid down over my bed. “It’s late. Why are you in my room?”

“How are you? They can be rough,” he gestured downstairs towards our parents.

“Fine. Why are you here?”

“What’s that?” Joe asked with one hand while snatching Miranda’s book with the other. Before I could stop him, he had it flipped open to a page in the middle. “It’s blank. Make for a dull diary,” he teased me before I snatched it back.

“Out,” I demanded.

“One question. Why go in there?”

“Out.”

“Fine. Good night.” Joe smiled curtly as he left me. I fumed as turned my attention back to the book.

Sorry, I thought. My brother barged in.

It’s okay. I understand.

What can I do to help you? Is there a way to get out of the book? My mind spun.

I don’t know. I have no clue how Harriet sealed me inside. She might have something in the library or her home. Surely, she has evidence somewhere close to her or someplace special to her.

Something there? What could be there? Would she keep a spell book or shrine in there?

Back in school, she used to keep an odd black diary with her. She never left it far from her. I am sure she’ll have it on her.

She wants me to steal the book? Steal from a witch. Yes, I had to. Miranda needs my help. I need to help her get out. How?

                I was grounded. My parents would not let me go to the library. The only place I was allowed to go was school. How could I get to the library? Could I slip out at lunch and make my way to the library. No, Green River is a small town, but even so I would not be able to walk to and from the library within an hour. No, that would not work. I would need more time at least two. How could I do that? My lips curled into a smile as I came up with a plan.

                I had to wait until Monday to escape the judgmental glares of my parents. Their watchful eyes never left me alone for a few minutes. Mrs. Farris greeted me at the door when I arrived on Monday. There was something in her eyes that told me that she had heard of what I did. How much she did not reveal.

                “Did you have a good weekend?” I asked her as she escorted me to my locker.

                “So-so. My husband I got the camper ready. He always takes it out when he goes hunting. He sleeps poorly on the hard ground.” She shared nothing else. Her hands stayed on task as she translated the teacher’s words through the day. My stomach growled as we crawled towards lunch. I had skipped breakfast in my hurry to get to class, to get out of the view of my parents. I was wondering how I would sit through two more hours of class when a new woman appeared at the door. She was oblivious to her disruption of the class and went straight to our teacher. A few conversations later, the newcomer was escorting me from the room Much to my surprise, Mrs. Farris stayed behind.

                I wanted to ask why, but she did not sign. She did not look back at me until we were in a small office. I scrutinized the woman as she settled into her chair. She was a heavy-set woman with greyed hair.

                My hands asked, “What?” but she did not answer. She riffled about inside her desk for a pen to hand me before pulling out several sheets of blank paper. She began to scribble with her left hand. While she wrote, I found myself breathing heavy in the small warm room. 

                “I am Mrs. Goldberg. I am the school counselor. I was told your behaviors have been odd since moving here. How are you adjusting?”

                I jotted a single word down, “Fine.”

                “How are you getting along with Mrs. Farris? You haven’t had an interpreter before?”

                “No, I went to a deaf school in New York. There was no need and when I went out, it was with friends or family. It is frustrating having to speak through her. I feel I miss many things.”

                “How are your classes?”

                “They’re classes. Mythology and English are alright. Most of the others are dull.”

                “Have you made any friends?”

                I lowered my pen to the page, intent on writing a “No,” but Roger popped into my head. Changing my grip, I wrote down, “Just one. His name is Roger.”

                “The boy you went into the school with.”

                “Yes, him.”

                “Why did you go in there?” So here it was. She had finally asked the question that she was going for. I had figured that this one would come as soon as she said she was the school counselor. My fingers twitched as I wrote my answer down.

                “I wanted to see what was inside. I was curious.”

                “Why? What was interesting about it?”

                “It was a burned down building. Nothing more.”

                “Did Joe suggest going?” she continued the interrogation.

                “No. Mine. I wanted to go.” She kept staring at me. She pressed her pen to the paper.

                “Thank you. You may go. If you need to talk my door is open.” She gestured towards the door.

                “Thank you,” I ended before escaping into the hall. There I could breathe a sigh of relief. I settled into the cold brick walls. My heart raced. Not only from the meeting, but because I could not put my plan into action. I was free of all supervision.

                I could feel dust on the floor as I walked down the hall towards the door. My eyes darted side to side as I searched for my tool. I gave a little jump as the little red box set into the wall. No one was watching as I walked over to the fire alarm. There was not even a camera nearby.

                My heart raced as my fingers wrapped around the tiny lever. It gave more resistance than I expected. Lights flashed about as the sirens lit up. I assumed a scream was echoing in the halls. Before any students or staff slipped from their classes or offices, I raced for the front door. A cold wind whipped me as I stepped outside. Silently, I cursed myself for leaving my coat in my locker. I could not worry about it.

                The first thing I did was spin around to get my directions. As soon as I was sure, I took off. I sprinted across the parking lot and up a hill. A mixture of dust and stones slipped into my shoes, but I could not stop. I raced down the sidewalks as fast as I could. I only hesitated for a moment to duck out of view as firetrucks rocketed down the street. I kept checking my watch as I went. It would take them some time to figure out it was a false alarm. By that time, it would be lunch I hoped. It took me nearly half an hour, but I reached the library.

 

 

Chapter 8

 

                The air was even colder inside. I padded my arms for warmth as I took in the scene. Off to the left, I noted a room filled with young children and their parents. They were enticed into some activity with paper puppets. Harriet was swooping about like an old vulture. I did not risk any more time, and hide among the bookshelves.

                I glided through the narrow space between the countless volumes. The bookcases sat oddly on the uneven floor. My mind made me think of a fun house. I jumped at every shadow that danced about me. Fear plagued me as I worried stumbled across another person. I could feel my blood rushing through my neck.  

                As I moved, I kept glancing around in search of the offices. Of some place, that Harriet could hide her something to help Miranda. Finally, I caught the glint of a window high on the wall. So far up, that it had to on the second floor. I looked about for a staircase up. Darting around, I made my way to the counter where I first met Miranda. It was empty, much to my relief. I smiled as I opened the door behind the counter. Immediately, I was faced with a staircase which I quickly ascended. At the top was a minute office crammed with a desk and several large outdated computers.

                Something grabbed hold of my pant leg as I stepped through the door to the office. I glanced down to see a nail biting into my jeans. It had caught onto a small fray. Silently, I cursed as I knelt-down. I tugged at the fabric until the threads tore. Bemoaning my luck, I hoped that it would not continue. I took a single deep breath to strengthen my resolve.

                Taking a seated in the large chair behind the desk, I began to search. An old black and white photo showed a young woman on her wedding day. The man beside her was not smiling, however. He seemed sad. Miranda’s words echoed back to me. Harriet had been jealous of Miranda for the affection of a man. Had Harriet charmed the widower after Miranda was cursed? Yes, that would explain it.

                Putting that thought from my mind, I rummaged through the drawers. One by one, I emptied their contents and then diligently returned each pen and paperclip, each notepad and stapler. I was careful in my replication of their place. My heart skipped a beat as I found a small notebook filled with strange scribbles.

                Was this a spell book? I stared at it for several minutes before deciding. No, this could not be. I found several dates written on the pages. Some form of shorthand. Surely, that’s all this could be. Positive of my assumption, I put it back. Next I turned to the file cabinets. Inside was nothing but staff files and lists of old library contents. Revulsion swept over me as I stared at Harriet’s file. A picture of her stared back at me with accusation in her eyes. Before I shut the drawer, I made a quick mental note of what her address was. If I found nothing here, I was sure I could find it in her home. I looked at the address a second time to confirm it. My heart shuddered as I realized that she only lived a few blocks from my home. Confident that there was nowhere else to hide anything here, I moved back to the door.

                As I peered down the stairs, I notice a shadow lingering by the door. I hesitated. Adrenaline poured into my veins as it entered the stairwell. I immediately recognized the hunched figure of Harriet. Spinning on my heels, I dove into the corner of the room. My back pressed against the wall as I crammed myself into the space below the copier tray. My knees were in my throat, but so long as she did not look at the corner I was hidden… I prayed.

                I could feel her footsteps through the aged building. It reverberated through every bone of my body. Beneath my shirt, I could feel sweat running down my spine. The breeze followed the aged librarian into the room. Her eyes were transfixed on her desk. She paid no mind to my pathetic hiding spot as she swept about. She pulled open the drawers. She did not even bother to sit at her chair as she searched.

I feared my breathing giving me away. I could not hear it… I never had and I had no clue how loud my own breathing was. Dozens of movies swept across my mind as where those hiding were given away by their breathing. Was that true? Was breathing really that loud? No, if it was that loud, people would complain constantly.

Clenching her fist, Harriet closed the drawer and made her way over to the door. Her long dress swaying back and forth with every step. My heart stopped as her hem caught hold of the same nail which bit into my pant leg. She kicked at her dress feverishly. She was only two feet from me. My heart ceased as she knelt to free herself. She was set on freeing herself, that she never realized I was there. Without speaking to herself, she then vanished down the stairs.

I remained hidden until her footfalls had done the same. Still I lingered in the corner, unmoving. Mustering my courage, I rose and moved to the stairs. My hand rested on the handrail as I looked over the emptiness. Nothing disturbed the light at the bottom. An no one was present as I arrived behind the counter. I slipped back onto the floor, completely alone. My eyes swept back and forth frantically. I knew Harriet was here, but I could not hear nor see her. My heart thundered under my ribs. At any second, I knew she could appear.

I moved through the bookshelves in silence. My eyes jumping to my watch. Lunch would be ending soon and I needed to get back to class. Mrs. Farris would be panicking now. Surely, she would have realized that I was missing by now. I could tell her I got lost in the commotion of the fire drill. Would she believe it? Probably, not but, she would have no clue where I went. Regardless, I had to get back. I had little over half an hour before my next class started and then I would be caught.

Shrugging of the thoughts, I headed the front door. My heart stopped dead as I saw Harriet ushering children through the front door with their parents. Spinning on my heels, I slunk back into the bookshelves. A warm light broke the library’s cold curse. I had back up to a window. For a moment, my mind froze as I saw the burnt bookcase nearby. But, only for a moment as I turned back on the window.

It was held shut only by a simple latch. Pushing myself onto the windowsill, I easily grabbed it. I fumbled only for a moment, before it gave way and a blast of autumn air hit me. The wind streamed into the library and tossed my hair about. I dropped a single over the edge and looked door at the yellowed grass below. A sliver of anxiety held me back. In that one moment, I looked back over my shoulder at the bookcases.

Atop the scorched shelving was another notebook bound in leather. My mind swam. Was this Harriet’s spell book? Yes? No? Maybe? I did not care. I sprang back inside and raced to the furniture. Using the shelves like steps, I climbed to the top. The heavy case wobbled from my weight. As soon as my fingers clasped the dusty leather, I sprang to the window. My force sent it clattering to the ground. Books falling in all directions before another bookcase followed the other down. I knew that made noise. Instinctively, I looked back to see Harriet storming across the library. Before she saw me, I leapt through the window. I winced as my legs took the impact of the fall, but I could not wait.

I ran openly. My breathes were short and my heart pounded like a drum in my haste. I ran and ran. I ran over streets and grass. Sweat drenched my face before I was back on school grounds. My chest ached as the school came into view. I gave only the shortest of looks to my watch before stepping inside. I had gotten back with only a few minutes to spare.

My stomach complained as I took my seat. Immediately, Mrs. Farris asked her question, “Where have you been? I went down and Mrs. Goldberg said you left before the fire alarm went wrong.”

“I got lost in the mess of the evacuation. Found a spot to sit and read and lost track of time.”

Her eyes narrowed at my feeble defense. And that was what it was. A pathetic excuse which she would never believe. Would she call my parents about my absence? Surely. They might believe it. I had forgotten things before because I was reading. Would they accept it a second time? Not after the burned-out school. No, but they had no other idea. Nothing to tie me back to the library.

She did not share her thoughts with me until the end of the day. As soon as my last class ended, I was called back down to meet with Mrs. Goldberg. I choked on my breath as I entered the room… My mother was sitting there with a grim look on her face. But she was not alone. Roger sat beside my mother with a very confused expression. My mother’s hands formed only a single sign, just one. “Explain.”

“Explain what?” I asked.

“Where were you? Mrs. Farris called me about your disappearance with the fire drill. Did you have something to do with it?” My mother signed as she spoke. Roger looked even more befuddled with the conversation. He could not fathom what he was being implemented in.

“I was outside the school. I was going back to class after meeting Mrs. Goldberg when the fire alarm when off. I went outside like we did back in New York, but I did not see any other students right away. I found a spot and pulled out my book.” To demonstrate, I pulled out a heavily read book and laid it before them. As I opened my bag, the leather book caught my eye. I feared what would happen if my mother examined it. I did not even know myself what it contained. While the others spoke for a moment, I used that chance to shove the leather book deeper between the folds of my bag.

“How could you be so stupid?” My mother demanded to know. “If that was a real fire, you… No. No. You cannot be that idiotic. Don’t expect me to swallow that fish. I am not that gullible.”

“Sorry,” I signed timidly.

The fury in my mother’s eyes seamed only barely contained. Her stare shattered any resolve I clung to. I was forced to avert my eyes for fear that she would see my shame and lies. But she forced my chin up so I could continue to watch her rantings. Finally, her hands fell still and she awaited an answer from me. “What has gotten into you? You never acted like this back home.” When I did not lift my hands, she continued. “What? Are you trying to protest moving out here? Is this boy bullying you into this? What are you thinking?

It was an answer that I could not give her. She would never understand. She would not believe me if I told her of Miranda. She would not listen to me. She was blind. So, I endured her harsh criticisms without offering a defense. After what felt like an eternity, Roger and I were ordered out for my mother to speak with the counselor.

We had barely gotten out the door before Roger forced me against the wall. Wrenching a notebook and pen from his backpack, he scribbled a single note across a full page in large slopping handwriting, “WHAT WAS THAT? WHY WAS I DRAGGED INTO THAT?”

He forced the notebook into my hand, “When the fire alarm went off, I went outside. I lost track of time while reading.” I showed him my handwriting.

Snatching the book back so quickly, that the wire bindings cut into my palms. “Bullshit!” He jotted down and underlined until I got his point.

His finger tapped the page impatiently.  I stared back into his brown eyes for several minutes before I reached out for notebook. The pen quivered for a moment on the page before I began to write. For several long minutes, my hand rolled across the page. Slowly, I laid everything out for him. I told Roger everything.

“When I first arrived in town, I went to the library to get a card. When I was there, I found a strange book that had nothing to tie it to the library. No checkout slip or anything. Inside was a handwritten message. A plea for help from a woman named Miranda Warren. She was trapped in the book by a witch. That’s why I went into the old school to confirm she was real. The yearbooks from her time were gone, so that was my only source. I had to know if it was true, and know I do. I snuck out when the alarm went off to check out the library. Miranda said that Harriet, the witch and current librarian, might have hidden something there. There, I found this.”

By the time, he finished reading my work, I had pulled out the leather-bound book. Adjusting his notebook, he added, “What’s in it?” Curiosity filled his eyes mixed with concern, and… was it humor? Was he coddling me because I was deaf?

“I don’t know. I haven’t had time to read it. I found it hidden like Miranda’s book.”

Roger pulled the old book from my hand and opened it randomly. Dust escaped from the pages. I leaned forward to see what it contained. Inside were sketches and symbols that I could not even fathom slightly as to their meaning. They were a strange mixture of lines and circles. Small runes ran along the fringes of the yellowed paper.

“This isn’t chemistry. I have no clue what this is,” he added to our record. “Some of these are Pagan, I think.” I took back the new book and deposited deep within my bag. “I don’t know. I think you might be crazy, but my dad always said, ‘To wait until you have all the information before judging.’ Why don’t you bring me this Miranda’s book and I will take a look at it. But right now, I think you are just crazy and lonely.” As I was reading, I noticed that he had copied some of the marks into the notebook.

His last words stung, but he was willing to see. A faint smile played over my lips for a moment. He stored his notebook back inside his backpack just before my mother appeared be us. She tapped me on the shoulder. She said something to Roger before escorting me to the car. I waved to him quickly while I could.

We drove straight home. My mother never took her eyes from the road the entire time. Even so, I could see her lips pressed tight together. I fidgeted in my seat uncomfortably. I could bring myself to cross into words with her. My heart plummeted as we pulled into the driveway.

I expected my mother to point me to the living room… to speak… to yell at me, but instead she pointed me to my room. Gladly, I climbed the stairs. Tossing my backpack onto my bed, I swung over to my desk. I laid the leather-bound book I found in the library beside Miranda’s. They were identical.

I found something in the library, I thought to her. It is filled with strange runes that I do not understand.

My fingers brushed the paper as I cracked the book open. Before I could get to the next page, my mother arrived. She dropped an empty moving box onto my desk before grabbing the leather books from my desk and dropped them into the box.

“What?” I protested.

“I am taking your books away. You are grounded. No,” she silenced me. “I don’t know what has gotten into you, but this rebellious streak ends now. When you give me an honest answer, you can have the books back. She was storm that swept around the room. Her hands snatched up every book insight. One by one, she dropped them unceremoniously into her box.

She gave me a stern look before leaving me to myself. I sat in stunned stillness. My room was as barren now as the day we moved in. But worst of all… She had taken Miranda.

Author's Note

Opinion of character development, story, etc...