Page 1 of The Sound of Him

Chapter One

Matt

There are so many words involved in freedom.

There’s, “Oh my God,” and “What the fuck?”, and “Run!” as slaves panic and bodies start to drop.

There’s, “You’re safe,” and “You’re free now,” and “Are you hurt anywhere?” from men dressed in black body armor, or men dressed in black tuxes. From men with guns. Men saying they're here to rescue us, despite some of them being the same men we need rescuing from.

There’s, “What?” and “Why?”, and “How?” from our newest slave, Gabe, from our protector, Bryce, from our makeshift medic, Alexi.

There’s, “It’s alright, make yourselves as comfortable as you can, it’ll be a long ride. We’re taking you to a safehouse. There will be a doctor there, and food and beds for you to rest. For now, you can clean up with these wipes and change into some of these fresh clothes. Help yourself to the snacks here. To the water. If you need anything at all, just tell me, okay? He’ll be driving, so I’ll sit back here,” from the man in black who looks far too awakeand healthy and heroic standing among the broken bodies and spirits of us slaves.

There’s, “I spoke to him, Matt. I spoke to Master Roarke. He said - he said he was undercover the whole time. He said that guy, Maison - you know, Carter’s brother? Master Roarke said Maison was working with him all along. That Master Benny was, too. That it was all - that they - buthow- and Matt, he - he took my collar off. He said his name is really Travis. He said that I’mfree,” in the trembling voice of my best friend, Nolan.

There’s, “I know it’s been a long night, but this is the last stretch. We’re going to pack you guys in pretty tight now so there are less vehicles driving in the area of the safehouse. Do you three want to come out and join that crew? Yeah, you three there. And you two, hop in with them?” from a different agent, standing outside the open door of our current vehicle.

There’s, “What the fuck do you mean, those sick fucks will be at the safehouse too?” and “Stop the vehicle. Fucking stop. Stop driving. Let us out. Let us the fuck out. We’ll take care of ourselves. I’ll take care of them. Let us out!,” and “Yeah, you gonna sedate me? You gonna tie me up? Let’s fucking see it, you piece of shit. Be just like them. Prove me right. We aren’t free at all, are we? What - we get sold? This some sick mind game? Some test,” and “Don’t fucking touch me! Don’t fucking touch any of us. I swear to God, I’ll kill you,” from our fierce protector, Bryce, after learning that our masters - who were apparently working undercover to save us in some sick and twisted sort of way - will be at the safehouse too.

There’s sobbing and shouting and whispering. Bryce’s hands are bloody from slamming them against the window, trying to find us a way out. The agent sitting among us looks just as exhausted as we are. The safehouse glows in the dark, the agent promising us again and again that it’ll be safe, Bryce mutteringunder his breath for us not to trust a fucking word any of them say.

There’s, “Take a welcome bag, they’ve got names on them,” and, “Actually, it’s Jake, please call me Jake, I was undercover with Travis - the man you knew as Master Roarke,” and, “All of the slaves from the Roarke compound will be here, but usually after something like this, at least half leave within the first few days, so you won’t be doubled up for long,” from the man who used to be Master Benny, as he welcomes us to the safehouse that may not be safe at all.

There are a lot of questions. So many questions. Jake and the man beside him, their operation’s ‘tech guy’ according to Jake, answer as many as they can. They’re patient and kind, never cutting someone off or hurrying them along.

There are so many words involved in freedom.

And then there’s my silence.

There’s my tongue that feels heavy and thick in my mouth. There's my throat that aches with all the words I haven’t been able to say. There’s the panicky pain in my chest at just the idea of trying to string together a sentence, or even just trying to voice a single word. There’s me trying anyway. There’s me trying so hard.

There’s me failing - again.

Even escaping to my assigned room with Nolan, his hand clasped in mine, doesn’t help things go quiet. There’s so much he wants to say to me, so many words despite my brain being at capacity. I try to at leastlisten, to absorb it all, but that floaty feeling I always get when everything becomes too much starts creeping in. It’s like watching a movie after that. One with a foreign language and no subtitles to make up the difference. It’s all just noise.

Everything is so loud.

My head hurts.

There’s a newfound hopelessness building inside me as the realization sinks in that even in freedom, my body will fight against me.

I blink and I’m on Nolan’s bed with him, his arm around me.

I blink and he’s handing me a sleeve of crackers. There’s other food on the bed beside him. One meal bar haspeanut butter and chocolatewritten on the front. I wonder if the other things have nuts too. If that’s why Nolan put them to the side.

I blink and he’s nudging my hand, eyes pleading.

I eat the crackers.

When he hands me a bottle of water, I drink for him too.

He hands me something else, something in a bag that crinkles, but the thought of trying to eat anything more makes me nauseous. I try to focus on swallowing the overflow of spit suddenly in my mouth, but it’s hard with my eyes burning like they are. I guess I had hoped that things would be easier now. I hoped that freedom would make things better.

My stomach turns over and over as the worst of my memories try to creep out from the darkest corners of my mind.

I tell myself not to cry. Crying is pointless.

I cry anyway.