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  I weaved through the long roads around our neighborhood for almost forty-five minutes. The sun that had shined all day began to fade as gray storm clouds covered its glare. I held my breath and reached for the radio, and just as I turned it up the station lost its signal. Panic came over me as I stared forward at the shadowed road. I heard the hiss of whispers over the radio that was tuning itself in and out. The shadows across the road began to change form, then before I knew it they looked like large dark figures reaching for me. In my panic, I drove faster. The shadows took over the entire road, and I lost sight of where I was going – knowing the road had sharp curves, I slammed on the brakes, afraid I was racing toward a tree. As the car started to spin, I squeezed my eyes closed - and once the car had stopped, I sat frozen. I could hear the angry hisses and feel my car gently rocking. I started to hum; at first it was just noise, but then I managed to mock one of my father’s tunes. A few seconds later, it was silent. In that instant, I heard someone honk.

  I slowly opened my eyes, trying to catch my breath as my heart raced in my chest. I saw a minivan in my rearview mirror. I was at a four-way stop, and I had no idea how I got there. The van honked again, urging me to go. My trembling hands gripped the steering wheel as I pulled to the side of the road to let the van pass. All at once, the station found its signal. The loud, abrupt sound made me jump, but I didn’t bother to turn it down – I wasn’t taking any chances when it came to hearing this darkness.

  I was petrified - even though I’ve heard these shadows my entire life, they’d never touched me – and today I’d been assaulted twice. What was causing this? I started to fear not only for my sanity, but for my life… but then I realized something: I made them go away…all – by – myself. A sly grin came across my face as my breath slowly came back to me. I looked up and tried to guess which way I should go. I fumbled with the GPS and pressed ‘Home’; nothing happened. I then pressed every single button I could manage to hit, but a warning box flashed on the screen, saying ‘No signal.’ Frustrated, I threw it in the seat, then looked up. Two of the paths were dark, covered by the shadows of the hills – one had the aging sun brightly showing its path – I chose that one.

  As I drove down the road, I passed countless streets; none of them looked familiar, and I was starting to realize that I was completely lost. I took deep breaths, trying to calm myself down. Right when I was about to lose control, I heard the GPS beep, then say “Enter address.” I decided to turn into the next driveway I saw and figure out where I was. I slowed down, and all at once the whispers erupted into a violent hiss above the blaring radio. It sounded like millions of swarming insects trying to say my name – to say other names, too – I couldn’t make it out, and I didn’t care to – I needed it to stop; it felt like my head was going to burst in two - the sound was unbearable.

  I turned into the next driveway, determined to make them leave on my own again. Twenty feet into the driveway, I slammed the car in park; at that instant, I realized they were gone. I slowly reached to turn down the radio, knowing that at any moment I should hear them again. My heart pounded as I chased the darkness for the first time.

  The radio was completely off, and I still couldn’t hear them. I held my breath, thinking that I was somehow covering the sound – but it wasn’t there; it was completely silent. It felt like a weight was slowly falling off my shoulders. I’d never once heard…silence. The sound of a chirping bird made me jump. Once I realized what it was, I let out a slow breath, and a smile spread across my face. I looked behind me, wondering how the sound could go from being so violent to absent. For a second, I let myself believe that I’d somehow killed it – that what I heard was its last cry. I moved my head slowly from side to side, understanding that it couldn’t be that easy.

  I pulled slowly forward in the driveway, trying to find a place to turn around. I had to follow it uphill to where I thought it opened in the distance. Once the trees passed, I saw the brown brick castle-looking house I’d seen over the tree tops earlier. My ears started to burn, and adrenaline rushed through every part of me. I couldn’t believe that, of all the houses, I picked this one. I tried to think of what I’d do if that Hummer was here, if Draven or his dad happened to be outside. Nothing I could come up with made any sense; I was humiliated – this day couldn’t get any worse.

  Even though I could see the house, it was still far enough away that I could sneak out of here. I didn’t see the Hummer, but I could see the top of a silver car. I decided just to carefully turn around in the straight driveway, telling myself it couldn’t be harder than maneuvering into a parking spot in the city. I had to turn and back up three times before I managed to turn completely around.

  I looked in my rear view mirror to see if anyone had seen me or was outside - and I froze when I saw my mom and Evan. He was putting something in the trunk of her silver car. They weren’t looking at me, and I was sure they hadn’t seen me; they were acting too casual toward each other. Evan hugged my mom and opened her car door for her to get in.

  I panicked and took off. I looked back to see if they’d heard me, but they gave me no signs that they did. Not thinking, I turned right out of the driveway - which meant I was going in the same direction as before. I reached for the GPS to hit ‘Home’, knowing I’d lose my signal any minute. The whispers slowly started to come back. I hummed to myself as I read the directions: I was supposed to drive twenty miles, then turn around and drive 32 I threw the GPS down in the seat and turned the radio up; the whispers vanished behind the song. Inside, I was falling apart – I knew they’d never go away – but on the outside, I looked calm and unbothered by their attacks.

  Once I turned around at the stop sign to head back in the direction of the castle, I tried to figure out if my mom was seeing Evan - if I’d somehow missed a clue that she had a life outside of me and work.

  I knew I was getting close to the castle again. I sat up in my seat as the adrenaline began to rush through me yet again. I had this fear that my mom would pull out as I passed and that I’d be in the awkward position of asking her what she was doing there. I glanced up the driveway as I passed by, but I didn’t see anyone coming down it. A slow breath escaped my lips as I relaxed into the seat. A mile later, though, my heart found another reason to race: I was sure I saw the dark gray Hummer coming from the other way. I held my relaxed composure, even though every muscle tensed in my body.

  At that moment, the whispers began to grow louder. They sounded like a violent roar, and I couldn’t understand the words they were saying across each other; all I knew was that my name was laced within their cries. I started to hum casually to myself as I watched the gray Hummer come closer. Now, I could see that Draven was driving and in the passenger seat was his twin. They had the windows down and the sun roof open, and I could hear the sound of screaming guitars long before I reached them. I stopped humming and focused on the sound of the guitars - at that instant, the whispers vanished. As I passed them, Draven happened to look down at my car, and I saw him smile. When I looked in my side mirror, I caught his eyes looking back at me through his mirror. I literally stopped breathing for a second. I then looked forward and gripped the steering wheel; I hated that he had that effect on me.

  I kept replaying the sound of those guitars in my mind over and over as I drove the last few miles home, and I never heard the whispers break the silence. When I reached my house, I saw that my mom’s car was back. As I pulled my car in the garage, I breathed out and tried to look calm and unbothered as I got out of the car.

  I couldn’t get the image of my mother and Evan out of my mind. The idea of her being with anyone seemed so foreign to me…like I knew it was impossible for her to be with anyone – especially Evan. I always thought she was too heartbroken to love again…heartbroken…that word made me think of Bianca’s birthmark, the one that mocked a broken heart – two question marks that were crossed at the base of her neck. An anger – a pure hatred of her surfaced in me, and I had no idea why.

&n
bsp; Chapter 4

  When I walked into the backdoor, I hesitated just before closing the door…it was quiet…not a single whisper. Kara was at the kitchen table on her computer; she looked up as I closed the door and continued to focus on the nothing I could hear.

  “Are you OK?” she asked.

  I didn’t answer. Her concerned eyes danced all over me.

  “Where’s mom?” I asked.

  “Your room…,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

  I nodded and started to walk away.

  “Hey,” Kara said, standing to stretch. “Madison came by - she wants to take you to a party – band thing tonight. I told her you’d be back in a little bit – she said she’d come back - that could be any minute now; I don’t remember how long ago that was.”

  “A party...um...that’s why I’m here, remember,” I said, looking for an excuse not to go anywhere. It would be dark soon, and I’d already had a bad enough day. I wasn’t going to give the whispers behind the shadows another opportunity to torture me.

  “You’re in trouble for having a party, not going to one…mom said you could go.”

  “You’re joking,” I said as I watched my excuse wash away.

  “Nope,” she said, smiling slightly. “She likes the idea of you being around your old friends.”

  “’Friends’ – that’s plural – I don’t like any of the people Madison runs around with – I’m tired.”

  Kara shook her head and sighed as she sat back down at the table. “Here…take this; she told me to have you look through it,” she said, handing me one of Madison’s tattered sketch pads.

  My eyes widened as I reached for it. I could only hope she was trying to help my memory in her own weird way. Madison was an amazing artist - she could sketch almost anything, but what she was a master at capturing was emotions…I’ve always told her that she could move emotions as powerfully as music with her talent – she knew that was the highest compliment I could give her. Music was life, as far as I was concerned.

  Kara turned back to her keyboard, and I gripped the pad and slowly turned to go to my room. I crossed the living room to the stairs and began to climb my way to my room. My room wasn’t really a room; it was the center of the second large level. When I was little, I moved my room from one of the side rooms to this one. I never felt alone or scared on that level because from that room you could hear the entire house – it was also the brightest – if a single light was on, it illuminated the room. It made me feel like I had independence, but I was still connected to everyone. My mom had walls built around the space that was supposed to be a living room area to give me more privacy, but one wall was still short and looked over the floor below and above. Kara hadn’t made any changes to the house at all. Even when her husband was in town, they barely left the bottom floor.

  My mom wasn’t in my room, but I could tell that she had been, though. A new bedspread was on the bed, and my clothes were hanging in my open closet.

  “Mom,” I said loud enough that my voice would carry through the open house.

  “Are you back already?” I heard her say.

  I tossed Madison’s sketch pad on the bed and walked to the short wall of my room and looked down, trying to judge where she was.

  “Yeah, where are you?” I yelled down.

  “Up here,” she said.

  I looked up from where I was standing to see her leaning over the banister of the top level. I hesitated before I moved back into my room. My heart started to pound. I knew she was in my father’s studio. I had to think of a way to make her forget about me playing for her – the idea was terrifying. I’d rather fight a million shadows than have that moment come.

  The only way to get there was a short staircase inside of my room. I waited for a few minutes for her to come down, but she never did – she wanted me to come to her.

  I balled my hands into a fist and tensely walked to the short staircase. At the top of the stairs, I found the banister she was looking over empty, and the door that leads to the studio was open.

  When I reached the doorway, I saw her adding a guitar to a stand in the middle of the room. There were five lined up there. In the center of the room, there was a black leather couch with a guitar case lying across it. Besides a large amp, that was all that was in this room. I’d forgotten how the simplicity of this space made it so beautiful. The floors were a light hard wood. The top half of the back wall was windows. It looked out at the distant treetops… it was a great place to watch the sunset.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, trying to make it seem like I’d forgotten her simple request.

  She looked at me, then all around me. “Are you OK?” she asked in a concerned tone.

  I nodded. “Just tired,” I answered, gazing at the guitars behind her. As I stared at them, memories that couldn’t belong to me – ones that allowed me to feel the power of each string as cords - came to life and immersed me. I felt my whole body tense…I didn’t know what was wrong with me…all I knew was that I felt like I was losing my mind.

  My mother’s eyes followed mine, then an awkward silence took over. I almost missed my shadows – without them distracting me, I had no choice but to see that I really didn’t know my mom – that she didn’t know me. I wanted to tell her everything I was fighting…what my fears were, but I couldn’t find the words or the courage.

  “I was just setting out some of your dad’s stuff for you to use,” she answered quietly as she ran her fingers across the strings of the closest one to her. I could tell she wasn’t here; she was lost somewhere in time.

  “I don’t want to mess up his stuff. I have no idea what I’m doing,” I mumbled.

  As I said those words, her body tensed, and she looked down and cleared her throat. “I saw Evan earlier… do you remember him?” she asked.

  I shook my head no as I watched what could only be fear fill her eyes. She looked away from me and quickly tried to gain some kind of calm expression. “Well... I told…I told him I wanted you to play…that you needed to...,” she paused and let her fingertips run across the strings again. I knew she wasn’t making any attempt to make a clear sound, but what I heard was almost angelic. “…he said it was a good idea.”

  She tensely crossed her arms across her chest, then walked to the couch and opened the case that was lying across it. “He gave you this…,” she said as if she were trying to see some kind of recognition in me.

  I stepped closer to the case to see a small black electric guitar. I swear, I could feel energy coming from it. I could tell you exactly how it felt to play it. I remembered mastering it…but that was impossible.

  My trembling hand slowly reached for the small guitar. Once my fingertips touched it, I felt this overwhelming feeling of relief; it was inside of me, it was all around me. It almost felt like me and mom weren’t alone in that room. I looked back at her to see if she felt it, too, and I found her staring at me with small tears in the corners of her eyes. It was hard for me to tell if they were happy or sad tears.

  I gently placed the guitar down and walked over and hugged her. She squeezed me so tight, I almost lost my breath.

  “Mom, I can’t stand watching you be sad.”

  She moved her hands to cradle my face. ”I know right now…you think I’ve always grieved for your father…but you’re wrong.” She tilted her head as she looked intently into my eyes. “I was grieving for you,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.

  “Mom, I’m right here – I have been,” I said, looking down.

  She pulled me to her and hugged me once more, then slowly let go of me. ”I need to go,” she said, kissing my forehead and turning to leave. Once she reached the doorway, she looked back across the room and smiled, then nodded slightly.

  I slowly sat down on the couch that was behind me and let a deep breath out. I looked at the black guitar beside me, then to the rack holding my dad’s. I stood and walked slowly to them. I let my fingers dance over the stocks to the first three before
deciding to pick up the fourth one. As I grasped the neck, I thought I felt someone standing quietly behind me. I turned, expecting to see my mom or even Kara, but the room was empty. I smiled at myself, growing used to the idea of being insane. I took the guitar back to the couch, and as I sat with it in my lap, my thoughts entertained me with images of my young father writing his music.

  My fingers were so small, I could barely wrap them around the neck. I let my hand slide down the neck, pressing each space between the frets while fighting with the flashes of memories that couldn’t be mine. I cleared my mind and just focused on this beautiful instrument.

  I loved watching the guitarist’s call sound out from these simple five strings. I let my right hand slide slightly over the strings of the body. I swear, I heard the sound echo into something I couldn’t have possibly created. I tried to remember the way I’d touched each string to create what I’d played before, but I couldn’t call it out again. Frustrated, I let my fingers loosen. I closed my eyes, trying to remember the sound again; then I felt the strings beneath my fingers move. My eyes flew open, and I watched as the strings were pushed down and the vibration of the sound echoed around me.

  I couldn’t breathe. I’m sure most people would have run screaming from the room, but I was calm, way too calm. I let the breath I was holding out and looked around me. I don’t know what I was hoping to see, but I found it empty, though it still felt like I wasn’t alone. I almost remember feeling like this before; I mean, I remember the feeling of being watched over – learning to play in this room.

  I looked down at the strings I’d seen pressed, and I reached my finger in-between one of the middle frets as my other hand strummed the base. The sound was better than what I played last time, but nowhere near what I’d heard before. I spread my fingers out and leaned in closer, trying to decide how I could find that sound again. All of a sudden, I felt a warm sensation surround my left hand, then my right. My fingers pushed against the strings, but not by my will; the sound I heard was a perfect match to the notes I heard before, but I didn’t stop there. I played ten more notes before the warm sensation left my hands.