Chapter 9 and 10 Unheard Voice

Sue searches for Miranda's missing book and seeks a solution to freeing the woman from the pages of the book.

Chapter 9

I shifted about beneath the canopy. Rain played down the leaves. The air grew colder as the hour lengthened. I was nursing deep bruises around my wrists. In the confusion, I had lost sight of my men. Now, I was alone in the jungle. No supplies, no machete, and no map. I had never before been so lost.

Cursing my luck, I pulled my overcoat tight around me and pressed on. The rain quickly soaked me to the bone, but I could not stay. The savages would still be looking for me. I had to keep moving. My eyes shifted to the mountain on the horizon. That’s where the treasure had to be, that’s where I would head.

I recalled that passage perfectly. It had been one of my favorite scenes from the book. How the broken explored pulled herself back together and began again. That’s how I felt right now. My mother had stripped me of all my books. The only thing I had left were my textbooks. But that left me with time to think. I had to find my books. I had to find Miranda. She needed my help.

I thought it through all night and into the morning. By the time I arrived at school, a new problem had arrived. I chose to ride the bus to school to escape my parents’ gaze. It was the first time I could breathe. I settled into the aged seated as the bus bounced through the town. It only took a few stops for a shadow to drop down beside me, but I did not look. It was not until that they tapped me on my shoulder that I bothered to look at them.

Roger had seen me and dropped into the empty seat. Instinctively, I reached into my bag for paper and pen, but he cut me off. He lifted his hand and rolled his wrists to point at me. It was crudely done, but I understood, “How are you?”

“You sign?” I wondered.

Slow, his hands spun his answer. His gestures were off, but I understood what he was trying to say, “I looked up a little online.” Smiling, I showed him the correct signs. “I know no more.” I laughed at his foolish attempt. It was touching. He retrieved his note book and scribbled down his question, “Did you bring the books?”

“No,” I replied. My handwriting was sloppy from the bouncing surface of my knee. “When I got home, my mom freaked out and took all my books. Including Miranda’s. It’s her form of grounding me. I did not have a chance to ask her.”

“I said I would wait for proof, but without it you just sound insane.”

“I know.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“We still have some boxes that haven’t been unpacked. I’m betting it is in with them. I’ll see if I can find them tonight. My folks are having a work dinner and I get to stay home. Blessing of being grounded.”

“That’s the first time I heard being grounded was a good thing.”

“It’s better than having to sit still while other people talk. Luckily, I don’t have to listen to the work jabber.”

“Why don’t you join me for lunch? You don’t have to sit alone.” He offered.

“No. I don’t want Mrs. Farris tattling to my folks. That’s how they found out I snuck off campus. I don’t want them getting suspicious of you.” He nodded his acceptance just as we arrived at the school. I skipped off to class and settled into my seat for Mythology. It was mostly empty save for Mrs. Salem who was laying out a handout on each desk.

I looked on in confusion as she handed me a sheet. Weird triangular pictures covered the page. Each was lined up with a word or letter. I stared at the strange language until class began. Something kept biting at my mind as I examined the writing. By the time, Mrs. Farris arrived class was ready to begin.

“The handout I gave you is a translation of Cuneiform. It was the language used in Mesopotamia, such as where our story of Gilgamesh takes place. No, you don’t have to memorize all of this. It’s just to know. Gives you an idea of how these were written. Chipped into stone surfaces by a chisel and hammer. That’s why their writing was limited to straight edges and triangles.

I quickly put the thought out of my mind as the class began in earnest. It bit at my thoughts throughout the day. Several times between classes, I snuck a look at the handout. Nothing came to me. Not once throughout the day. It still plagued me as I returned home and began my homework. Deprived of my usual distractions, that was all I could focus on.

Or until my mother tapped me on the shoulder. Looking up at her, she signed, “We will be going know. There is dinner in the frig that you can warm up. Joe is still at practice, but will be home before long.”

“Okay. Have fun,” I teased her.

“No. Only your father enjoys talking about rocks,” she exasperated. “You want to go in my place? I’ll unground you,” she tempted me.

“No. You have fun.”

“Thought I would try. Bye. We’ll be home late. Nine or ten or so.”

“Bye,” I waved her off. I waited several minutes at my desk. Eagerly, I waited for the trembling of the garage door to tell me of their departure. Even after I was sure they were gone, I waited just to be sure. Timidly, I moved through the house; checking every place my parents might be hiding… their bedroom, the kitchen, the laundry room, and finally the garage. Everywhere was empty of people. I grinned at the thought. I was free to search for Miranda.

Giddily, I plunged into what was to become a guest room for the rare occurrence of our grandparents visiting, but for now, it was a store room. Unopened boxes were stacked over six feet tall. I read the black marker labels. Dishes, blankets, coats, pictures… all things that we had not had time yet to sort through since arriving. How much unused junk we had astounded me. Why did we drag all of this crap across the country? Clear tap sealed many of the boxes. Only a few had been breached. Lifting an open box down, I rummaged through the contents. Seeing only random knickknacks that my mother used to spread around the house, I shoved it aside and started on another box. I found Christmas decorations, photo albums, collections of old bills and report cards. I found everything, except my books.

Where did she hide my books? I pounded my head in thought. A rumble rushed through the floor. Leaping to my feet, I feared my parents return. I took the stairs two at a time and spun into my room. Throwing aside the blinds, I looked out at an empty street. There was nothing in the driveway. What was that? I know I felt something from the floor. Walking down stairs, I felt the tremor once more. My heart beat hard in my chest while I thought and check the garage. My parents were still gone.

Was that an earthquake? What could make the house shake?

Basement. I had forgotten about the basement. We never had one before in our old apartment. The air felt foul as I opened the door into the cold abyss. It was pitch black down there. I groped the wall for a light switch and found nothing, full knowing that it was down there before I even tried. I had avoided this place since we moved in. It felt unnatural. By day, there was so little light and even less by night. The air was filled with an uneasy cold that never relented. My bare feet touched the wooden steps, splinters nipping at my toes. I held back panic as what felt like a spider’s web brushed my face. Revulsion swept over me as my feet touch the concrete flooring. A layer of dust lay over the cold stone. A rumble continued up my legs.

Finding the light on the wall threw back the shadows. Various boxes and furniture left by previous owners filled the room. I swept over the boxes and other objects. My mind as filled with odd fascination at what was left behind. In the back of the room, sat the water heater which rumbled in its place. A verse from my favorite book came to mind while I searched about.

I plunged into the cavern. My torch light danced over the carvings I found. Who put them there? It was a question that I could hardly bother to ask. Several bats darted from my flame, but they were of little concern for me. I felt as if it was the first to pierce these shadows in over a thousand years. The air in this cavern was stall and it nearly snuffed my own life out, but I persisted by will and fear. My heart leapt as the flames were reflected back to my eyes. Gold! Yes, this is where the Conquistadors left their hoard.

I was pulled back to the basement as I found it… a boxed filled with my books. Eagerly, I pulled each book from its prison and sat it upon the floor. My collection mounted before I reached the bottom. Finally, the two leather books were exposed. My fingers trembled on the bindings. My legs cramped from kneeling on them. Moving only slightly for comfort, I sent my library cascading to the ground. No, I snapped at myself. I rapidly piled my novels into the box again. Holding the two books I came for in my arms, I fled from that place.

Once I had fled back to my room, I dropped onto my bed. I breathed heavily as I peeled the book open. In my mind, I told Miranda what I found.

What? Really?

Yes. I did. Absently, I flipped the new book open. The eerie symbols stared back at me, then my mind clicked. Springing from by bed, I landed on the floor beside my backpack. I flipped through my notebooks until I found the handout from this morning. Back on my bed, I compared the cuneiform markings with those in Harriet’s book. They were the same. My eyes danced between the two pages to find a connection. I picked out a few words here and there, but none that I understood.

I don’t understand anything in her book.

Keep going through it. There has to be something in there.

I read her plea and flipped through the pages rapidly. Most of it was the same ancient runes, but occasionally a word of Latin or another language was slipped in. Finally, near the book, I found it. Several passages written in plain English.

Bind the soul. Thoughts unseen turn to words seen. Flesh wraps the body and then the pages.

I found the spell.

The spell? Does it say anything about undoing it?

I read on. Directions for the spell: Form a circle of salt and your hair, lit by three candles of equidistance. Place the book at the center. Recite the incantation for the first time. Recite a second time before the intended soul.

That was all that it said. Nothing about undoing it. Sadness oozed from the pages.

Nothing really? There’s got to be a way.

I read it again: Form a circle of salt, lit by three candles of equidistance. Place the book at the center. Recite the incantation for the first time. Recite a second time before the intended soul… There was nothing about undoing it. I held that thought as I turned the page.

Wait. I have an idea. What if we reversed it. Read the incantation in the same way it was primed. Make a circle of salt and hair.

Her idea burned in my mind. Was it possible? It was worth a try to help her, but…. I would need hair. And I doubted my hair would work.

I think we need Harriet’s hair. I am sorry, but this is the only way.

Her hair? Where would I get that? It is not like she would offer me her grayed hair upon a request. Oh, where would I get a few strands? Her house? Grabbing my backpack, I searched for the slip where I wrote her address. The slender ink glistened beneath my bedroom light. Could I go to her house? It was only a few blocks from here. Could I get there and back before Joe got home?

I looked over at the clock. No, he would be back shortly.

More importantly, No! What was I thinking? Braking into her house? How would I do that? Smash a window and climb in?

The scene played in my mind. I crept past pictures of family long since dead and grandchildren that she had not seen in years. The same stench that clung to my grandmother stung my nostrils. A foul mixture of excessive perfume and pour hygiene. Overly large furniture that went out of date before I was born was crammed into the room. I could hardly move about without bumping into a coffee table and sending the pictures clattering to the ground like dominos. Their glass frames shattering on impact.

Pressing on, I guided myself by the touch of my fingers on walls and furniture for I dare not turn on the lights for fear of discovery. I lead myself to the stairs in darkness. My fingers tightened around the banister as I thrusted myself upwards through the shadows. By light that seeped from the windows, I examined each room. The first I would come to would be a long-abandoned guest room. Not a single soul had slept in the bed for years. Turning away, I moved onto the next room.

Her bed filled much of the room. It was sagging from decades of use. More pictures dotted the area. My heart beat harder with each step I took. I was so close. Finding another door, I moved into the bathroom. Orange medication bottles covered the entire counter, leaving room for nothing else. I pulled drawers open so my fingers could fondle everything inside… Everything from old makeup to her toothbrush. I was repulsed by what I felt until I caught hold of the stiff bristles of a comb. Snatching it up in celebration, I would pull a few long gray strands away.

Euphoria would sweep over me and I would race to the kitchen. Stupidly, I would throw the kitchen light on while I sough salt. I would spin around until a full circle formed. Gingerly, I would add the hairs. Snatching three decorative candles, I would set them in their place. One by one, they would catch fire from a lighter I found in a drawer. I would lay Miranda’s book at the center and take my place.

My lips parted to speak… and nothing came forth. I could not speak. I was mute. I was silent. My voice was unheard….

I stared at Miranda’s book with a horrible realization. I could not free her. I could do nothing for her. She needed something that I could not give…

The only solution would be to get someone else to speak. That was the only way. But who? My parents? No way. They would never believe this. They learn of Miranda and they will go ballistic. Joe? He would be the same at worst… At best, he would think it a joke. Could I trick him into doing it? Maybe, but he was not the type to play the fool. Who else did I know? Only one other name came to mind… Roger. He said he would hold his judgement until I showed him the books, but would that be enough? Could I get him to help? Would the books be enough? I promised him that I would show him the books.

That I could do, but then what? That still left the outstanding problem of getting the witch’s hair. How was I going to do that?  Go to Harriet’s house and steal some? No, what was I thinking? Surely,  she would have some sort of alarm and I would never hear it. I would never know until the cops arrived and I would be beyond explanations.

I had no clue what to do?

 

 

 

Chapter 10

I thought over the issue all night. By morning, I had made my decision. So, I slipped off to school with two extra books tucked into my bag. They seemed abnormally heavy as they slid back and forth. I rubbed my shoulder to prevent the straps from cutting into me. It was almost as if I was carrying Miranda’s weight over my shoulder.

As soon as I crossed the school’s threshold, I headed straight for the library. I had seen Roger in there before and hoped he would be there again. My eyes darted between the table. A few were filled with people desperately trying to finish their forgotten homework. More sat at the computers with other tasks. The only place that people were absent was among the bookshelves. The bound pages were ignored for the advanced technology available. If I did not understand it, it would have panged me. Most of the books that lined these shelves were information books… Ones suited to study and not pleasure.

I feigned interest in some of the books while I waited for Roger. I kept looking at my watch and counted the minutes. Anxiously, I paced about. Seconds and minutes passed and Roger never appeared. Throwing my hands down, I swept out of the school’s library.

Begrudgingly, I settled into my desk. I looked around, waiting on Mrs. Farris to arrive. Other students filed into the rows and Mrs. Salem arrived. She began to speak as usual, her hands waving about uncontained. Her exuberant gestures emphasizing the story she was telling, but it was all wasted on me. Her motions were pointless and meaningless. Her words swept by my ears unknown. I watched her intently, but I could not help but to look at Mrs. Farris’s absence.

I only had to wait about ten minutes before I got my answer. Our class was interrupted by a phone call. Mrs. Salem excused herself for a moment. My classmates exchanged quick glances as they awaited an explanation. Rather than address the class, she came directly to me. I could feel my brow furrow in confusion. Mrs. Salem placed a small post-it note.

It read, “Mrs. Farris called in sick. They have not been able to arrange a substituted. They said that they were going to call your mother.”

I hastily scribbled down, “I can manage for the day.” Silently, I hoped my mother would not come. She had her own affairs to attend to and to have her eyeing me all day… I did not think I could tolerate it. It was bad enough on road trips or family gatherings. I hated having to speak through my parents or brother when visiting grandparents or cousins. To endure that same torture here…

I could imagine it now: My mother snapping at me for every exasperated look. Every little day dream would reward me with a scolding. She would grind me and aggravate me. I would ground my teeth to avoid striking her.  It would be torture. No one wanted their mother present for at school.

Regardless, I accepted my plight. I watched as Mrs. Salem continued her lecture, but it was empty. I read ahead, uninterrupted. There was nothing else to do. I might as well have been sitting in a class in Japan or Germany for all the good it did me. It was the same for the rest of my classes as the day eked towards lunch.

As soon as we were let out, I set a course back for my table near the back of the room, but I stopped halfway there. Mrs. Farris was not here… No one would notice if I sat elsewhere. My eyes swept the room. I went face by face through the crowd. I picked out a few classmates, but there was one in particular I sought. Smiling, I found Roger. He was crowded at a table with several others. One was a girl I had a class with. None of the others I recognized. But Roger noticed me as I worked towards him. He pulled out an empty seat to his side and waved me towards it.

Nervously, I settled into the cold steel chair. I could feel the others’ eyes on my skin as they judged the newcomer… me. I raised my hand only slightly, my fingers trembling in the air. The girl smiled and spoke to me. Left with only assumptions, I guessed she meant “Hello.”

I felt a rush of wind onto my arm as Roger slammed a notebook onto the table. Hastily, he scribbled, “What’s up? Decided to join us?”

Stealing his pen, I replied, “Yes.” Roger mouthed something to the others. The girl reached for the pen in my hand and the notebook and wrote one word, before passing it to the others. Each in turn wrote one word before returning the notebook to me. They had to maneuver the notebook around their trays.

One by one, I read what they each wrote. “Kathy. Brandon. Jane. Mark.” It was their names.

“I’m Sue,” I returned.

Kathy snatched up the pen immediately and wrote again, “I don’t want to sound rude, but how did you become deaf?” She passed the note book to me.

“Born deaf. My mother had a rubella while pregnant.”

“Sorry,” she scribbled instantly. Whether she was sincere or not was hard to do.

“It just is,” I admitted as I tried not to frown. I knew this question would come the instant I sat down. The notebook was passed back and forth feverishly as they tried to engage me in conversation. Several times, I caught Mark taking the notebook, but upon receiving it reconsidered whatever he was going to add. While I awaited the return of the notebook, the others would speak to each other verbally. Sometimes laugh at a joke I missed. Clenching my jaw, I tried to hold my frustration back.

This was why I hated groups. Writing everything was slow. My signs and their words could not connect. Only what was written held any meaning, but that was slow. Part of me felt as if I was pushed to a side conversation. I was a piece of the background like a painting on the wall or a flashing television in the corner. It was frustrating, but as the others interest in my waned, Roger passed a scrap of paper into my hand.

Under the table, I read it, “Did you bring the books?”

Using a second pen, I added, “Yes. They are in my bag.”

“Bring them to the gym after school. I am helping with the decorating for Homecoming. You could help if you want.”

“Still grounded. I won’t get more than fifteen minutes,” I slathered over the paper.

“It will do.”

For a moment, I thought of offering him the two books to peruse at his leisure until we met later. My fingers slowly slid into my bag, but the instant their bindings touched me, I seized up. I found myself unwilling to part with Miranda. Having her at my side reassured me. Somehow having the added weight eased my soul. I did not get a chance to reconsider passing the books to Roger as they broke apart for class.

I meandered between other students on my way to Geometry. As I settled into my stiff seat, I pulled out Miranda. I think I found help, I thought as I opened the page.

Help?

Yes, someone to help with the incantation. I just need the hair still.

Do you know how you are going to get the hairs?

No, I have not figured that out.

I was about to turn the page when a shadow loomed into view. I expected another student or the teacher… but not my mother.

“Hi,” I signed stupidly while snapping Miranda’s book shut. Her eyes flashed to the worn leather binding before I hide the book into my bag. “What are you doing here?”

“The school called. They said Mrs. Farris had to call in sick. It took a bit, but I was able to make it,” she recited.

“You missed half the day.”

“Mrs. Harriet went to the hospital. Passed out at the library.”

“What?” I fumbled for an explanation.

“She asked if I would help with a children’s program this morning. While we were they, she collapsed down and did not respond. The ambulance came and took her. I was there with her for a bit and just got back. Sorry. I hope you didn’t lose much in classes.”

“No, I managed. Is she okay?”

“She was still being checked out. But she was awake. I think she’ll be okay. She said she would give me a call when she got out of the hospital.” We could not continue our conversation as the teacher, Mr. Mendel, came over to us. He was a tall gangly man with graying hair. His face was warped in confusion as he questioned my mother’s presence. She quickly signed and spoke with him, explaining my plight. His pointed chin nodded all the while.

I could feel the stares of the entire class on me. A burning sensation told me of my blushing face. Having my mother here… it was aggravating at best. Within the first few minutes of class she caught my doodling idly at the corner of my page. Slapping, me she gestured to Mr. Mendel. “Pay attention.” Her motions were anything but small and she drew the attention of those who sat around us. My wondering eyes caught a few boys chuckling at me, but my mother pulled my gaze back her.

Luck did not improve as we started with the actual course work. Mr. Mendel proposed a question. Thoughtlessly, I wrote the answer down. When he asked for volunteers to solve it, my mother prodded me. “No,” I protested.

“Why not? You’re a smart girl. Why hide it? See, you’ve got the right answer. Just go up there and write it on the board,” she goaded me.

“No,” I defended, smacking my hand against the desk. “I don’t want to.” More eyes drifted to us. I could feel them burning into the back of my head.

My mother’s face turned red in response to my defiance. “What is going on? Back home you volunteered for stuff like this according to your teachers. Why not here?”

“Because I am the new girl. I am the deaf girl. I am the different one. I don’t need more titles. I don’t want to be the smart girl… I… I just need to be me!” my hands flew wide in protest. On my last word, I struck my chest hard. The skin beneath stung in protest.

“Well, I am sorry we dragged you out of your comfort zone, and forced you across country, but that is life,” she argued. Our debate drew the concentration of everyone. The whole class stared at us, mouth agape, as our hands swung madly. No one else could understand even the slightest gesture, but they all could feel the emotion.

“I am the one who has to deal with this. Struggling through a hearing school, dependent on you and Mrs. Farris to interrupt for me… It’s hard enough being the new kid here, but when I can’t even speak. When the only way I can communicate with anyone else is to scribble notes… You don’t know how frustrating it is. How lonely it gets… You understand nothing. You… You aren’t deaf. You’re hearing.” I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

“You’re wrong! Do you know how hard it was to struggle with you as a toddler? Before your dad and I could sign… she would gesture and throw tantrums because we could not understand what you wanted. I can’t tell you how many times I crawled into bed at night, crying. I felt like a failure of a mother. And now with your acting up? Running into that burned down school? I have no clue what to do.”

“No. You don’t!” I threw my hands up and stormed from the room, leaving my bag under my desk. I breathed heavily as I stomped down the hall. Each foot fall sent shockwaves up my legs. I could feel snot clogging my nostrils. Specks would spray out with every fiery breath. Tears stung at my reddening eyes. My hair whipped about my head as I shook my head furiously.  I felt terrible.

Turning the corner, I slipped into one of the bathrooms. Ignoring another girl, I went straight for the last stall. I sealed myself inside and dropped onto the toilet. Tears fell into my lap. Frustration, shame, remorse… they poured from me, unfiltered… and unseen. So much had gone unseen as of late.

Ever since leaving home, my parents had barely had time for me. My dad was locked into his new role at managing the mine. My mother had been struggling with all the paperwork tied to such a move.  Joe had easily settled in, but not me.

I had been pulled from everything I had known. Pulled from everyone I could speak with… If not for Miranda… If not for her, I would have not had a single conversation. No, Roger and I had been able to write back and forth. It was slow and difficult, but it was something. Those conversations were empty and far from fulfilling.

I wanted to be back in New York with my friends. With people who spoke my own language. I wanted people who could understand what I said, what I thought, what I needed. I remember the hell I endured when I stayed with my grandparents. They never learned American Sign Language. They learned a few basic signs, but they used them so sparingly that they could hardly string together a complete thought. I had avoiding staying with them ever since I was eight years old. One that one occasion I spent fifteen minutes trying to ask for a snack… for a cookie. I mimicked holding a cookie and my grandmother did not understand. I drew a circle in the air, and still she failed to comprehend. When I brought my fingers to my mouth, she finally understood that I wanted to eat, and instead roamed the kitchen picking up various objects: bananas, dinner rolls, a jar of peanut butter, and still she did not realize. I think she held up every item in her kitchen before finally pulling out a box of cookies. My grandmother wiped sweat from her reddened face as she handed me the box.

That’s how it was now. I was back to being a child who could not talk with others. It made me want to punch something, to lash out and share my pain. I wanted to, but that would be pointless. It would do nothing for my problem. My dad scolded me for complaining. “If you are going to plan, instead find a solution.” That’s what he liked to say. It was the thinking of an engineer like him. And it was a good practice.

Slowly, I took three deep breathes. My heart slowed slightly before I took my feet and unlatched the door to my stale. Lounging against the counter was my mother. Her eyes were cast over the ground, but she lifted them as I walked towards here. My bag hung over her shoulder.

Her eyebrow lifted as she asked, “Are you okay?” I could feel her blowing air from her lips as she signed.

“So-so,” I wavered. We stared at each other. Neither of us sure what was to come next. After such an argument, what did we say next? I pressed my hands firmly into my thighs as I struggle to think. Finally, I decided on a stupid question, “How did you find me?”

“When I was in school and had trouble, I fled to the bathroom. Since you are my daughter I thought you might do the same.”

“We are the same,” I smiled.

“You ready to go back to class?” She turned her wrist while signing to look at her watch. “Probably, should head to your next class.”

“Okay.”

We did not speak except for what we must for the rest of school. Neither of us could bring an apology to our hands. We avoided each other’s eyes as best as we could… which was hard to do when signing. She did not press me to participating with class and discussions. She allowed me to sit and brood.

But this offered me a chance to solve another problem… the spell. Even if I showed Roger the books, would he believe me? No. I knew that. A quick glance would not offer that… it would not be enough to convince him.

How I was going to get to him now? I was grounded and I had my mother looming over my shoulder right now. She would never allow me to escape to request his help, let alone explain everything. That was the thought that occupied my mind while I should have been focusing on the lectures.

I shouldered my bag as class ended. Without hesitation, my mother escorted me towards the door. I snuck quick looks at the gym door as we neared them. Inside Roger would be working now. How would I get to him? With each foot step, my opportunity faded. Tomorrow, I submitted myself as we came even with the gym’s doors.

Abruptly, my mother stopped. Her hand instantly dove into her purse. She fished as she sought her cell phone. She pressed her phone to her ear and spoke. She planted her feet and shifted her weight side to side. With her attention devoted to the phone, it was my chance.

I broke off and snuck into the gym. My mind buzzed as I surveyed the room. The phone call had given me the last. I did not need Roger’s help… I just needed his voice. All I needed was him to recite the spell in the language that I could never imitate.

Finding Roger working on the sound system, I sprinted down to him. In my mind, I counted each second that passed. One. Two. Three. How long would my mother be on the phone? Four. Five. Six. Hopefully, a minute or two. Seven. Eight. Nine. Pulling out the spellbook, I circled the incantation and added an arrow saying, “Please. I need to record this for me.” Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.

Grabbing the book and my pen, he added, “What?” Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

“Please. I don’t have time. I need you to make a video of this and send it to me in a text. Hurry.” Twenty. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

He gave me a strange and confused look. Twenty-six. Twenty-seven. He scrutinized me with unblinking eyes. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Was he going to refuse? Thirty. Thirty-one. My heart was completely still while he considered it. Thirty-three. Thirty-four. Thirty-five. Thirty-six. I visibly leapt when he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine. I watched as he mouthed something. Hopefully, it was the needed words. Forty. Forty-one. Forty-two.

“There. Done,” he jotted down once his lips went stiff. Forty-three. Forty-four. Forty-five.

As soon as the book returned to my possession, I pressed my fingers to my lip and extended my hand in thank you. Forty-six. Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine. Roger reached for the book to write again, but I shoved it into my bag and sprinted from his side. Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty-two. Fifty-three. Fifty-four. How much time had passed? Fifty-five. Fifty-six. Too long. Fifty-seven. Fifty-eight.

I pressed my hand against the door. Fifty-nine. It was heavy, but I shoved it open just enough to sneak through. Sixty.

My mother was just hanging up as I arrived. She had been so enticed in her conversation that she had not noticed my departure. I sighed deeply as I strode up to her side.

“We need to make a detour before going home.”

“Where?”

“We need to pick up, Mrs. Harris from the hospital.

 

Author's Note

Opinion of plot, character development, story points and progression, etc.