Sweet Sound of Silence Read online

  Sweet Sound of Silence

  Copyright © 2015 Melanie Dawn

  Cover Design by Najla Qamber Designs

  Interior Design by Angela McLaurin, Fictional Formats

  Images used by permission from Eyes on Fire Photography

  Cover Model: Nicholas Arce

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, or incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to the actual events, locales, and persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: This book is intended for readers 17+ due to some explicit language and mature themes.

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  SWEET SOUND OF SILENCE PLAYLIST

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  To my husband,

  Thank you for always listening with your heart.

  MY LITTLE SISTER banged on my door. “Wyduh! Come play wif me!”

  Ignoring her, I slid my headphones onto my ears and turned my attention to my video game. I was seventeen; the last thing I wanted to do was play with baby dolls or some other girly nonsense. I’d much rather play this new badass video game that I’d finally gotten my hands on after waiting six months for its release. “Go away,” I barked, leaning against the wooden headboard of my bed.

  “But I wantchu to play wif me,” she begged through the crack between the door and the floor.

  Over the blaring music in my headset, I shouted, “I said go away, Chloe!”

  Just then, there was a knock on my door, higher and louder than any three-year-old could make. “Ryder,” my mother’s voice shrilled, “I need to run to the store for a minute. Would you mind watching Chloe for me?”

  I groaned, slipped the headset off, and stalked over to the door, swinging it open to reveal my mom standing there looking hopeful.

  Her eyes looked past me at the mess in my room, raising her eyebrows at my unmade bed and the pile of dirty laundry on the floor. Glancing back at me, she bargained, “If you do this for me, I won’t say anything about the stack of dirty cereal bowls on your nightstand.”

  I rolled my eyes. Maybe I shouldn’t mention the fact that I am the one responsible for doing the dishes anyway. “I guess,” I huffed.

  Sighing with relief, she smiled then gave me a quick peck on my cheek. “Thanks, hun.” She pulled the strap of her purse up on her shoulder and promised, “I shouldn’t be long. Chloe’s sippy cup is in the fridge, and her blankie is in the dryer if she asks for it.”

  I groaned under my breath. That’s the thing about being a teenager with a little sister. My parents no longer viewed me as their child. They only saw me as a free babysitting service. Why did my mom have to go and get pregnant with a change-of-life baby? Ugh.

  “Okay,” I grumbled as I tried to avoid Chloe’s gleeful smile. “No problem.”

  Mom spun on her heel and rushed down the stairs. I stood there, staring at Chloe as she looked up at me with that innocent sparkle in her bright blue eyes. Her favorite purple princess shirt boasted this morning’s breakfast of chocolate chip pancakes with a big brown stain on the front. The mismatched red and yellow bow in her hair—the one she’d refused to take off yesterday—sat lopsided on her head.

  “Play wif me?” That precious, sweet smile tugged at my heartstrings.

  As much as I whined about her, I couldn’t resist the cuteness. “Alright, Peanut,” I sighed. “Hide and seek?”

  “Yay!” She clapped excitedly, dropping her favorite stuffed animal as she did so. “You count. I hide. Okay?”

  Her curls bounced around her face as she giggled. Despite the nuisance that she could be sometimes, she was still adorable… and my sister. I loved her something fierce.

  “You got it. Okay, I’ll count to one hundred, and you go find the best hiding place on the whole planet.” Realizing how wrapped around my finger she truly was, I tousled her hair and found myself confessing, “I love you too much, stinker.”

  She folded her arms across her chest and cocked her tiny hip. “I am not a stinkuh,” she demanded.

  I laughed, “Fine. I still love you.”

  “I love you too… poopy-head,” she smirked then stuck her tongue out at me.

  “Hey, no fair,” I teased, poking at her ribs and tickling her.

  Squealing with laughter as she jerked away from my torturous fingers, she shrieked, “Hide and seek!”

  Giving in, I released her from my grasp. “Okay.”

  She continued to giggle and hop up and down on the balls of her feet with anticipation.

  To build her excitement, I dragged out the words, “On your mark. Get set. Go!”

  In a flash, she turned around and ran down the hall, bouncing her blonde curls and that ridiculous, floppy bow the whole way.

  “One. Two. Three…” I started to count, but quickly lost focus when my phone buzzed with a text.

  Dude. Where r u? Let’s blow some shit up.

  I plopped down on my bed and put my headset on again.

  Chloe’s voice called from around the corner. “Awe you still counting, Wyduh?”

  “Eight, nine, ten!” I shouted.

  Chloe giggled and stomped down the stairs in search of the perfect hiding spot.

  “Dude, the game’s about to start,” Justin’s voice rang in my ear. “Let’s roll.”

  I chuckled, “You’ll never believe it. My mom’s got me babysitting again.”

  “Again?” he groaned.

  “Yeah, man. I mean, damn, when I was a kid she didn’t have a babysitter like me readily available. She had to drag me along everywhere she went.”

  “Sorry, bro.” Justin knew how often I got stuck babysitting Chloe—four afternoons a week, at minimum. I loved her to pieces, but I think I spent more time with her than my parents actually did.

  Just then, a new game began, and I immediately got swept up in it. Several minutes went by, and I completely forgot about my hide and seek game with Chloe. I was so busy laughing and talking to Justin that Chloe never even crossed my mind. That is, until I saw Peanut, her stuffed gray elephant from which she got her nickname, lying at the threshold of my door. She’d dropped him excitedly the moment I agreed to play with her.

  “Shit!” I barked through the headset. “I gotta go, man.”

  “But the game’s just gettin’ good,” Justin whined.

  “Sorry, dude. We’ll have to finish this later.” I slipped the headset off my head again and tossed it on my bed. Grabbing my phone, I slid it into my back pocket and stepped out into the hallway. “Ready or not. Here I come!” I called, listening for the inevitable giggle that always gave her away. But I didn’t hear anything. Wow. She hid really well this time.
>
  I tiptoed through the hallway and down the stairs. “Peanut,” I teased. “Where are you?” I still didn’t hear a sound.

  Peeking into the living room, I listened for her. “Oh, Peanut, I’m coming for you,” I sang. My voice nearly echoed in the large, open room.

  Walking into the kitchen, I tiptoed around the granite countertops and threw open the pantry door. “Are you in here, Peanut?” But there was still no trace of her.

  I peered into the laundry room. The washer and dryer were both running, but there was no sign of Chloe.

  Concern sent waves of prickles over my skin. I rushed down the hall and swung open the door of the guest suite. “Chloe?” I said into the darkness. Nothing.

  I made my way toward the master bedroom. Eight thousand square feet in this house… she has to be somewhere, but where? “Okay, Chloe, I’m gonna find you now,” I insisted as I stepped closer to the room. Still nothing.

  An empty feeling settled in the pit of my stomach. Usually by now, I’d hear a giggle or a rustling of some sort. I burst into the door of my parent’s bedroom. “Chloe, where are you?” I pleaded. Not a peep. No sound of any kind. Fuck. Where could she be?

  I rubbed the back of my neck, sweeping my eyes around the room, unsure of where to look next. “Peanut?” Raking my fingers through my hair, I called, “Peanut, where are you?” My heart began racing in my chest. I’d checked each of the four bedrooms. I’d checked the kitchen and the living room. I’d checked every single one of her usual hiding spots. Where the hell could she be? The house was eerily quiet.

  “Peanut, I give up! Come on out!” I begged, hoping she could hear the panic in my voice.

  I rushed back toward the living room and peeled back the curtains, making sure she wasn’t hiding behind them. “Chloe! Answer me!”

  Still nothing. I tore through the house, running back up the stairs. “Chloe!” I called, over and over. By this point, my arms and legs were shaking from the adrenaline that was coursing through my body.

  Rushing into her bedroom, I shrieked, “Peanut, where are you?” I flung open the lid of her toy box, thinking maybe she could have fit inside. Nope.

  Swinging open her closet door, I ripped through the clothes. Maybe she’d fallen asleep while hiding from me. Nope.

  I ran toward the spare bedroom at the end of the hall. She’d never go in that room; she was too afraid of my great-grandmother’s marionette collection displayed in there. But that room was my last resort.

  “Chloe!” I screamed as I burst through the door, nearly tearing it off its hinges.

  And then my heart stopped.

  Through the window, I saw her. “Oh my god!” I cried, grabbing my head in my hands. In the swimming pool. “Oh, God, no!” Sheer panic ripped through my body like a bolt of lightning.

  I spun around and jumped down the steps, three at a time. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn’t get to her fast enough. I already had my phone out, dialing 911. As soon as the operator answered, I shouted, “I need an ambulance! My sister. She’s in the pool. 5875 Meadowlark Lane. Please hurry!”

  I sprinted to the back door. The sliding glass was cracked open just enough for her tiny body to fit through. Someone must’ve forgotten to set the alarm.

  “Fuck!” Grabbing the door with both hands, I slung it open, the glass reverberating from the force.

  I hopped over the railing of the back deck and landed on my hands and knees on the concrete a few feet below. Scrambling to my feet, I yelped, “Chloe!” as I ran toward her. Her body floated face down in the shallow end of the pool.

  My heart pounded, practically exploding in my chest as I jumped into the water. The weight of my wet clothes slowed me down. My leg muscles tightened, fighting against the heaviness. It felt as though I was moving in slow motion to get to her. “Dammit!” I screamed in frustration.

  When I finally reached her, I grabbed her up and her head flopped back like a rag doll in my arms. “Oh, Jesus! Chloe!”

  My breaths came hard and fast, bursting in an out as I carried her out of the water and laid her down on the ground. My heart slammed in my chest, and my hands shook uncontrollably as I brushed her damp hair away from her mouth. I barely remembered CPR. They’d covered it in health class, but I’d hardly paid attention, so I just did the first thing that came to mind. I blew a couple of quick breaths into her mouth then laid my head on her chest to listen for a heartbeat. Nothing.

  “Chloe! Please, baby, breathe!” I blew a couple more breaths into her mouth, and pumped her chest with my hands until I felt like I should check for a heartbeat again. Nothing.

  Rocking back and forth on my knees, my voice shrilled, “Oh, God! No!”

  Her pouty lips stayed blue while her eyes remained closed. Her wet hair was plastered on her head.

  “Chloe! Please!” Sheer panic gripped my heart like a vice. In a wild frenzy, I blew breaths and pumped her chest over and over, begging God to bring her back. Minutes passed in what felt like hours. With every passing moment, I blew harder and pumped faster, pleading for my efforts to work, to no avail. She just continued to lie there, perfectly still.

  Oh, God, this isn’t happening! I collapsed onto her frail little body, heaving sobs filling my chest. “I’m so sorry! Please, God, don’t take her from me.” Not like this! Not now! I’ll do anything. Please! “My sweet Peanut,” I pleaded, physically spent and mentally exhausted. “Don’t go. I love you.”

  They were the last words I spoke before adrenaline and shock overcame me.

  I’m not even sure what happened next, but the last thing I heard before I blacked out was the sound of the sirens as the ambulance pulled into my driveway.

  “YOU SHOULD EAT.” The nurse flitted around my bare, sterile room, doing whatever the hell it was that her job required—charting, checking vitals, making notes on the white board above my head. She’d barely even glanced at me, much less the tray on my bedside table. But this was her usual conversation. Today wasn’t any different.

  I turned my attention toward the window, ignoring her demand. I’d eat when I felt like it, which in all honesty, would be never. Lately, I’d barely eaten enough to sustain my life. The rest of my meals would get taken away and documented in my chart as she’d give me that condescending glare over her wire-rimmed glasses. I’d just roll my eyes and pull the blanket up higher around my neck.

  “Ryder, you want to get better, don’t you?” she’d ask, suddenly sounding as if she actually gave a shit.

  I’d just close my eyes and hope she’d go away. Which she would, but not before giving me a disapproving grunt. Then, I’d hear her nurse’s clog shoes clomp across the cool, tile floor, out the door.

  Honestly, I wouldn’t have cared if I died in that psych ward. I guess that’s why my meals were supplemented with a paper cup full of pills meant to help me change my attitude. My days consisted of inconclusive meetings with my therapist. No matter how many times I met with her, it didn’t bring Chloe back. No matter how long we sat in silence as she waited patiently for me to have a breakthrough, I still couldn’t speak. The words felt like a vice on my throat, daring me to utter a sound. What began as a simple case of shock from the tragedy quickly grew into something more—something tangible. My silence transformed into a monster of anxiety and fear and held me captive within myself. I’d succumbed to it, allowing it to fester inside of me and decay my sense of worth. I didn’t deserve to live. I didn’t even deserve to die. I had earned a life of emptiness and reticence, alienating me from anyone who might try to breach the walls I’d built around myself.

  I could see my mother’s sadness and my father’s disappointment with every visit. Mom would just sit by my bed and cry, which made me feel even worse. I did this to her. I caused this. Every silent tear Mom shed was another drop of searing acid on my soul, so I stuffed down the guilt the way I swallowed back my words.

  I heard my father in the hallway, speaking to the nurses. “So, you’re telling me that he still hasn’t spoken?” he asked
them in that same patronizing tone he always used with me.

  “No, sir,” one of them apologized, “but we’re working on it.”

  He just grunted at them with disapproval and strutted into my room like he owned it, which I guess technically he did, considering an entire wing of the hospital had the Hawkley name on it. My grandfather was a benefactor of Mercer Hospital, which included the nationally recognized psych ward in which I was currently residing.

  My dad had inherited Hawkley Investments after my grandfather died. Just seeing how sudden power as the CEO of the company had changed my father for the worst made me miss my grandfather more and more every day. No matter how much control my grandfather had over the company or how much money padded his wallet, he still remained down-to-earth, kind, and generous. I couldn’t say the same for my dad.

  “Son,” my father glared at me with his arms folded across his chest, “it’s time to end this little charade. I know you’re hurting. We’re all hurting.” He glanced at my mother who was sitting by my bed, quietly dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “Can’t you see?” he asked, loosening his crossed arms and walking over to her. He placed a calloused hand on her shoulder and grumbled, “This isn’t just about you. We lost her, too.”

  My father choked back his emotion, taking a deep breath to regain his stern composure. He continued, “You just can’t keep on like this. It’s time to man up and move forward. For Chloe’s sake.”

  He’d always patronize me with that “for Chloe’s sake” bullshit. I’d just cut my eyes away from him and stare out the window.

  “Dan,” my mother would reprimand him, “please…” She’d shake her head as if to stop him from pushing me away any further.

  But it was too late. I knew where I stood with him, and it certainly didn’t encourage me to break through the silence.

  I tried. God, did I try. But my anxiety threatened to choke the life out of me every time any words would reach the back of my throat, and I’d instantly swallow them back. I’d remember how my irresponsible blathering had killed Chloe, so I’d stuffed the words down deep where they’d never escape.