Page 5 of The Sound of Him

This one is actually easy, really. A simple fact. I blink twice forno.

“Including when you've been alone?” I waver, not sure ifyesornois the right way to answer the strangely worded question. He seems to understand, re-wording it. “Sorry - have you spoken out loud while alone?”

I blink twice.

“Canyou speak?” he asks, his voice softer now.

I consider blinking, but I don’t want to look at him anymore. At either of them. I don't want them to see the hurt as I remember the times I've tried. I don't want to see whatever that makes them feel written all over their face. It's hard enough to cope with my own feelings.

I duck my head, switching to signs again. Two fingers because I’ve tried - oh god, how I’vetried- but the answer is always the same. I can’t speak.

I can’t speak at all.

“Okay. Good. You’re doing great, Matt. Can you make any sound that isn’t created by air alone? This would be anything that uses your vocal chords. Laughing or crying. Humming. Screaming. Can you make at least one sound with your vocal chords?”

I hesitate, considering. Then one finger.Yes.

I can whimper. Grunt. Sometimes I make soft sounds when I cry. No laughing, but that's probably linked to something other than the mute thing.Who would want to laugh in this kind of world?

“He screams in his sleep, sometimes,” Nolan whispers.

I startle at that, unable to help the way my gaze snaps over to him.

Do I?

“Does he scream words?” Dr. Deacon asks. “Or is it just sounds?”

“Just sounds. Like he - it's like that night. The screams, I mean. They're-” Nolan shudders. I feel it where we're pressed together, the tremor moving through me. It feels only fair. “They’re just like the screams from that night.”

I didn't know.

I didn't know those screams haunted him too.

The guilt of it is thick and vicious, filling my throat, swelling up in my mouth, until I swear that I’ll choke.

I want to apologize to him. I want to tell him how grateful I am for his friendship. To promise him that those screams still ring in my own ears every day too. I am so sorry he can’t escape them. I’d give anything for us to be able to escape them. But my tongue is thick like concrete and my hands are stuck.How can I tell him how sorry I am if nothing is working?

I'm so sorry, I think as strongly as I can. I don’t care that he won’t be able to sense it, especially when he’s still avoiding looking at me. I have to think it anyway, helpless not to.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

Lo siento tanto.

Perdóname.

A fist - the letter ‘A’ sign - in a circle against my chest.

None of it would be enough, even if I could get anything to work as it should. None of it would erase the sound of those screams. None of it will stop me from being the ghost that I am, cursed to haunt even my best of friends.

“Did you hit your head that night, Matt?” the doctor asks. I think, maybe, that I heard him ask the same thing a minute ago. He sounds a little worried now. Like I missed it and he had to repeat himself.

I don't know the answer. I don't know how totellhim that I don't know. There wasn't an option for that, in all the ways we discussed. There was only everyesorno. Even if my hands were working or my eyes weren’t so heavy with exhaustion, there wasn’t anoption.

There wasn't an option, there wasn't an option, there wasn’t a-

“He didn't. Not that I saw,” Nolan says for me. He sounds like he’s very far away, even as I feel him pressing harder against me. His hand is on my knee. It’s squeezing, not painful, but not comfortable either. Maybe he can tell that I’m drifting away. Maybe he’s trying to keep me from disappearing altogether.

“Do you remember if you hit your head, Matt?” Dr. Deacon asks. A yes or no question.