Romans & histoires Touch The Sound Of Silence

"With cameras on every corner, Charles won't be able to hide for long. He's bound to be caught any minute now." Olivia had barely hung up when a loud knock rattled my door. I did not bother opening it. Instead, I peered through the digital peephole and saw the unmistakable silhouette. "Charles, I can see you out there. Don't mess up again. Turn yourself in, and maybe you can get a second chance," I called out. The knocking grew fiercer as Charles heard me. He was cursing up a storm, but I tuned him out, still pushing for him to give up.

She curled her hand into a fist and pressed it there like she could hold onto it, but the emptiness spread wider the longer she lay still. For a moment she kept her eyes shut, breathing through the silence. But the silence wasn’t clean; it pressed on her chest, heavy, layered with sounds that weren’t really there — echoes of raised voices, boots crunching gravel, the metallic click of guns being cocked. She’d heard it last night through the walls, and even though Rhett had come back, even though he had slid into bed behind her like he was staking a claim, the noise lived on inside her.

There's something fragile about how quiet the room is. My phone rings. Timothy. I watch the name blink on the screen, and my fingers tap the green button before I can stop myself. His voice comes through the speaker, too high and yet so soft, “I miss you alrea—” I press the red button so fast, my fingers trembling. My father coughs, a sharp sound that makes my blood run cold. Did he hear?

Then a second tremor, traveling the lid into my palms: a touch from the world, clumsy and alive. I went still. Starvation rose up like a thing that was listening. Something scraped outside. Something breathed. Then a voice—muffled by earth and age and whatever ward had been carved into the coffin to keep me—pushed thinly through the seam: “Shit. Okay. Don’t collapse on me, you gorgeous bastard. Come on, come on—” Words. Not even meant for me, and still they went through me like a blade. The first sound that wasn’t mine in longer than their bloodline had existed, and it scoured every tender place the silence had made.

Someone who wasn’t dreaming about her husband. Le Silencio was unlike any club back home. Subdued lighting, deep velvet banquettes, a pervasive sense of expensive, curated cool. The music wasn’t pounding; it was a deep, sensual throb, a bassline that vibrated in your chest. It felt sophisticated, dangerous. Perfect. I claimed a spot at the long, polished bar, ordering a French 75. The first sip was crisp, cold, bracing. I ordered another.

I stood still in the center of the abandoned village, its silence louder than any scream. "Is anyone here?!" I cried out, my voice sharp and panicked, echoing across the empty space. Nothing. Time had stopped. The rain had ceased, frozen mid-fall, and darkness crept in from all directions, heavy and unnatural. Then—footsteps. Soft, cautious, like someone trying not to wake a sleeping thought. "Devin?"

Images rushed at me, blurry, fast, sharp. He tried to scream. His mouth opened wide, throat straining as panic overtook him. Instantly, I whispered beneath my breath, low and firm: “Silencio.” And just like that, the sound cut out. His mouth still moved frantically, eyes wide with terror, but no sound came out. It was like watching someone trapped behind glass, screaming in a void. I walked behind him, and pressed my fingers at the side of his head. “Show me,” I whispered, letting the power pull me deeper.

Another knock. "Who is it?" Silence. Then Max's voice. "It's me." Nate closed his eyes. For several seconds, he didn't move. Then he walked to the door. His hand rested on the handle. He hesitated. Everything inside him screamed not to open it. But eventually, he turned the lock. The door opened. Max stood in the hallway. The party had left his face. He looked calm now. Serious. His eyes met Nate's. Neither spoke.

*Silence* . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"I paid for half this house. I'll come and go as I please. Ryan, cut me some slack. Oliver's asthma is really bad right now. He can't be left alone." She rushed out the words, then slammed the door behind her. I stood there frozen for a long time. That's when I realized Emma's quiet sniffles had stopped completely. I looked down. Her face was ghostly white. Blood was dripping from her nose.