Unheard Voice Chapter 13 and conclusion.

Sue finally meets Miranda face to face.

Chapter 13

 

The brilliant windows of the Library eyed me with suspicion as I moved up the snow-covered pathway. Memories of my prior trips told me of where the tiles were without me being able to see them. My fingers trembled on the icy handle as I pressed against the heavy doors of the building. Fear froze my heart more than the winter storm. I knew she was inside. I knew Harriet was there. I knew the witch was inside.

I took several deep chilling breathes before I pushed the door open to compose myself. A blast of warmer swept over me as I stepped in. Instantly, the snowflakes that clung to my shoulders melted and mixed with the soot on my dress. Off a whim, I chanced to glance at the door frame. A small silver bell swung silently overhead announcing my presence. Gritting my teeth, I darted to the left. A large room sat darkened and unused. The shadows gladly accepted me into them. I pressed myself into the wall as hard as I could. Anxiety swept over me as the seconds creeped by. Would someone come to check the door? Surely. Gingerly, I peered around the door frame at the main entrance.

Harriet was storming across the lobby to the door. Her eyes darted to and fro in search of the culprit behind the door. Her lips were twisted a vile sneer of disgust. She stopped at the door, scrutinizing and judging it with a spiteful eye. She rattled it violently and the door swung, relenting to her will. Freeing the handle from her long-withered fingers, she turned her course to the room… to me. I etched myself along the wall, my fingers feeling the rough texture behind me. As my fingers touched something hard jutting out of the wall, I nearly jumped. Blindly, I pawed at the object. A chair, a small armless chair set in a row with its like. I swung myself under it only moments before the lights flicked on. Everything was a screaming white. Only vague shades surrounded me as I craned my neck to look out from under the chair. The slender metal legs of numerous others stood upon the floor.

But one shadow swept about as if on a purpose. It moved between the other objects as if searching for something. Harriet’s darkened blot grew larger as she moved towards me. In my mind, I forced my breathing to stop, to quiet. I could not let her hear me. No.

She was ten feet away and I was as tense as stone. As if any movement would sound a chorus of noise to the old women telling her of me. I could feel her every step as an avalanche that rattled my bones and my nerves. The almost seemed as cold in her presence as it was outside. As my eyes came into focus, I saw her muttering to herself in a language that I could never guess. Without warning, she turned from the room in such a huff that she left the lights on. Filled with trepidations I crept from beneath the chair and followed her.

The door to the library was being forced open and then slammed shut by an unseen hand. By the light that poured back outside, I could see the snow being whirled about fiercely by the wind. Harriet visible cursed to herself and reached up for the silver bell. It broke away as she jerked her hand to her side. A glint of silver shown back as the old woman stormed back to her desk and out of view.

I shook like a leaf as the fear emptied me. I was exhausted as if all the strength had been sucked from me by the witch as if by magic. Regardless, I found strength in my purpose. The first thing I did was find a power outlet. Dropping to the ground, I fumbled around inside my bag before pulling out my phone and its charger. Life seeped back into it slowly as the shattered screen lit up. Placing it on the ground, I continued my work. I pulled a canister of salt and formed the circle at the head of the room. Every chair in the room watched me like an audience of fabric and aluminum. Then I placed out the candles. Clumsily, I fumbled with a lighter. My thumb rubbed against the rough switch that ignited the flame. Pain nipped at my thumb as the flame licked it. The lighter clattered to the ground as I pressed my thumb to my lips to quell the burning sensation. After several moments, I scooped up the lighter and tried again, this time careful to keep the flame angled away from me. Soon each candle was burning in its place in the circle. Finally, I pulled Miranda from my bag and placed the book in the center.

It’s time, I thought to her and opened the page. A single word was scrawled across it.

Thank you.

Let’s begin.

I pulled my phone close to me and tapped away. Dozens of unattended notifications dotted the screen. Emails, phone calls, and messages that had all gone ignored for the past week alerted me. But only one of them was important. I thumbed through the mess in search of a video message. Finally, I found Roger’s number. I had burned it into my memory from the notebook where he had written it down. I smiled as I pressed the small arrow icon on his message and the bulb began to slide across the screen. A distorted picture of him flashed to life as his mouth fumbled with the words to the spell. Eagerly, I watched the book. I watched for Miranda.

Nothing.

Nothing happened.

Frantically, I jammed the screen. Desperate to try again, desperate for the video to play once more. And still nothing.

I stared at the screen fallen. What was wrong? Why did it not work? What had I done wrong? Desperately, I looked to Miranda for advice.

Try again. Say it louder, she pleaded through the page.

For a moment, I thought of how to make it louder. Never before had I needed to adjust the volume on my phone. Idiot, I called myself. I had silenced my phone when I first got it. I had never needed it to make noise before and forgotten. I slide my fingers on the side until I found the two buttons and pressed the top one. A small bar popped up and grew longer and wider as I pressed down. When it would not go any further, I played the video again.

Once more Roger’s face mouthed words and I waited on bated breath. Despair and fear gripped my mind. Would a video not work for a spell? But then a wind blew in and ruffled the pages of Miranda’s book and then fell still. No smoke or flash of light followed. Nothing to give presence to a change. A rumble swept through the floor an up my legs. I sprang to my feet has Harriet stepped into the room. A smile covered her face as she clapped at me. Her mouth played with sounds. I backed away until I found myself against the wall and still the woman continued to approach me. As she reached the circle, she knelt down carefully for Miranda’s book.

I must have made some noise, some cry, for the woman looked up at me in alarm. Fury filled my eyes as she clutched Miranda’s book in her decrepit fingers. How dare she touch her? In a whirlwind of cloth and soot, I sprang towards her. The woman backpedaled, losing her balance into the chairs. She threw her hands back to catch herself, leaving Miranda’s book in the air. It fell slowly as I snatched it up.

Without a backwards glance, I ran. I did not run for the door as I should, instead I headed the other way, to the left again as I saw a small hallway leading into an unexplored back hall. My fingers hit a light switch as I pressed my hand into the wall to keep from slamming into it. A row of lights sprang to life. The pungent smell of musk filled the air as hallway turned to stairs. I leapt down them two at a time until I found myself on a concrete floor. Piles of boxes filed the area. Dozens of unused bookshelves covered the areas left open. Books had been laid out and forgotten here. Remnants of a forgotten time.

I crept forward pressing Miranda to my chest. Now what? What could I do? How could I escape Harriet? That and a thousand-other questioned pressed into my mind like needles. And there were no answers. My mind would not think. It would think, loose tractions and slip and return to the start. Again and again. Nothing came to mind. A shadow swept passed me and I turned to see Harriet strolling towards me. She was shaking her head and muttering to herself. A spell or a curse I could not tell and only add to my fright at seeing her. I ducked away and slipped into a small room off to the side.

Waves of hot humid air assaulted me as I found myself in the boiler room. An ancient furnace vibrated in the corner as it struggled to ward the winter storm off from the library. It was the only place in the basement that was not filled with books or outdated furniture. In the warm air, I could calm myself. Sweat dripped from my bangs and streaked the soot on my face. I turned and squared myself to the door as the aged witched stepped forward and stared at me from across the room.

We stared at each. My face set in the sternest and grimmest look I could muster, while she almost seemed to be mocking me with her eyes. The look she gave me tormented me, antagonized me. As cold as ice, the old woman offered me her hand, silently asking for the book. I glared at it and stepped back and the woman was forced to step forward again. Her cold fingers snapped around my wrist and tugged me forward. Digging my heels in, I twisted around and she lost her hold before tumbling towards the wall. For a moment, my path was clear and I launched myself through the door.

As I rushed through, my fingers wrapped about the heavy door to the furnace room and slammed it shot. Shockwaves crept up my arms. I reared back from the door until I found the bindings of old books poking me in the back. Swinging to the side, I dropped Miranda’s book on the floor and shoved my fingers behind the shelving and pushed with all my might. The aged shelving gave way and slammed forward into the furnace room door, blocking it. The books inside scattered on the flooring.

My heart beat so hard that my chest ached from it. But for a moment, I was free. My thoughts began to coalesce as I took it what had happened. My plan had failed. I had trapped Harriet. I had to try again. I turned to the ground to rescue Miranda from where I dropped her, but instead, I found books surrounding me feet. Everything that had been on the shelf was now on the floor, obscuring and concealing Miranda from me. My knees pressed into the concrete as I searched about. Pushing books around in my search.

Finally, I found Miranda’s book. Pulling it close, I pushed myself up, but the gold lettering of a single tome caught my eye. It was one of the school’s old year books… from 1956. Excitedly, I snatched it up. The pages were yellowed by age, but still legible. I turned through the pages, one by one. I eyed each name and photo. Some people had written on the pages, personal messages. This was not the library’s copy, but someone’s personal copy. It was not long before I found the name I was looking for, Miranda Warren. Miranda… I found the picture of her staring at the camera, but this was not who I had thought. My mind flashed back to the picture in Harriet’s living room of the two girls and the guy. This picture showed the girl who was standing beside the man, not the other. Someone had drawn a circle around her picture and then connected it to another circle around a boy.

His name was Mark Harriet…

My mind jumped back to my first time in the old school where I read the names. I remember reading the name Harriet, but all I could make out of the first name was an M. My mind split between the two images and my mouth fell open.

Timidly, I pulled the bookcase back and opened the door at Harriet. I was filled with shame as I pulled the notepad from my top and scribble a short message. “I’m sorry, Miranda.” I handed her the notepad and Miranda’s book. Slowly, she opened the book to a page near the end. Two pages had been pressed together and the ink had sealed the two together. Harriet peeled them apart and handed the book back to me.

Inside was only a few lines of the same flowing handwriting that had filled the book. “To my loving wife, Miranda Harriet. Thank you for tolerating my horrible jokes and sick humor for all these years. I hope you enjoyed the game I plotted for you.”

The old woman roared with laughter as I escorted her back upstairs to the theater room. We sat down in two of the chairs across from each other. I could barely stomach to look her in the eye for shame.

“Yes, I am Miranda. My husband wrote that book as a joke years ago. I never thought someone would find it. You believed it?” I read the narrow script that she wrote.

“Yes. I thought you were the witch? Harriet.”

She glanced at the name tag she had pinned to her blouse, M Harriet. She gave me a weak smile.

“A game?”

“My husband worked for the police force and wash injured in an accident. While he was laid up in bed, he wrote the book and had friends help set up the whole thing as a joke to cheer me up. I was scared that he would be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, that he would be destroyed by the accident. Thankfully, all he lost was some use of his mouth, difficulty smiling.”

“That’s why he never smiled in any of the portraits.”

“No, he could not smile, but he never lost his humor. I can’t believe someone else fell for the books.”

“You did too?”

“Yep,” she jotted down on the notepad. “I’m not surprised you fell for it. New girl in the area. Can’t talk to anyone. You must have been lonely. And this book was someone you could reach out to.”

All I could do in response was shrug.

“Why are you all dressed up? Is it the Homecoming dance?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Why aren’t you there?”

“Miranda,” I wrote down.

“You wanted to help her. I see. Don’t worry, I won’t tell your mother. On one condition. You go back to the dance where you should be.”

“Okay,” I accepted.

“You go and try and wash some of that filth off you, then I will drive you.”

“What about the storm? Shouldn’t you have someone here?”

“Sweetheart. This is nothing new here. If I didn’t drive in this kind of weather, I would never go out in the winter. And for the library. Look around. No one is here. Most evenings, I get to sit and read. It will be fine.”

Slowly, I accepted Miranda’s offer. She drove calmly through the wind and the snow. The streets were mostly empty and easy to navigate. Soon, she pulled up to the school and gave me a smile as I clamored out, shame on my face. I gave her a quick sign of, “Thank you,” before I headed back inside.

A chorus of lights hung over the dancing crowd. I worked my way along the fringes. I caught Kathy and Clark dancing with each other. Sitting in a chair on the wall, Roger lounged about watching the others.

                Taking an empty seat beside him, I passed him a note and the pen, “Hi.”

                “Hey, where were you? Kathy said she came with you, but we never saw you. Why are you covered in soot?”

                “I know. I had some place to go.”

                He wrote only one word, one name, “Miranda?”

                “Yes. She’s free. I’ll tell you later.” He nodded his acceptance. Before he could write, I snatched the paper back. “Care to dance?”

                “Can’t,” he signed and then pointed to his leg.

                “You can lean on me,” I offered. We stood there rocking back and forth beside our chairs late into the night. He neither tried to prod for answer or for more. He was content to just rock side to side with me.

A few weeks later.

                The salt air sprayed on my face once more. Gone was my ship, my crew, but I had something. I had taken a small boat from the natives and loaded it down with salted meats and fruits to tide me for a voyage over the sea. The first thing I did after pushing off from the shore was to shove all the gold overboard. While I had come here for the treasure, it was not worth it. It glistened back at me from the briny depths of the ocean as the winds caught my sails. I turned my gaze to the east, to home.

                I was startled back into the present as Mrs. Farris knocked on my desk. Class was starting. Quietly, I folded my book up and straightened the papers on my desk. The past few weeks had been chaotic as I found myself in a new circle of friends. I had also started working part-time at the library as an assistant. Miranda Harriet had been good to her word and not told my mother about any of my adventures, though it was still a mess trying to explain the state of my dress after the dance.

Now, as the first semester drew to a close, it was time to share our myths for my Mythology class. Mrs. Salem took her place at the front and asked for volunteers to start. No one’s hand went up except for mine. Mrs. Farris looked at me in surprise as I took my place at the front of class and laid my notes out. There were a mixture of ALS gloss and pictograms, but made sense to me. Slowly, my hands turned and wound about into a tale of my adventure, without mentioning myself; while Mrs. Farris turned my signs into words for the class.

As I finished, the class went from clapping to waving their hands in the air. A simple gesture which warmed my heart. A smile split over my face as I took my seat again. The boy in camo, Carson, passed me a note, “Nice job.”

“Thank you,” I signed back as he rose to take his place at the front of the class.

Author's Note

Opinion of plot, conclusion, etc...