Page 18 of In Her Path

Dr. White smiled. “Then that’s what you should tell them.”

Taking a deep breath, Piper closed her eyes again and returned to her mental image of the old well. The sense of presence was still there, waiting patiently at the edges of her consciousness.

We need to talk, she thought, directing the words toward that presence. Really talk.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, tentatively:

We’re listening.

Piper gathered her courage. I’m sorry I’ve been afraid of you. I know you’ve been trying to help.

The response came quicker this time, a ripple of what felt like surprise passing through the connection.

You understand?

Not completely, Piper admitted. But I’m trying. I want to work with you, not against you. But I need to know you won’t harm anyone—not me, not my family, not anyone else.

Another pause, longer this time. When the answer came, it carried a sense of solemnity.

We have never wished to harm you, Piper Graves. But you need to know that you influence us. The voices you’ve feared —the ones who drove you from your home—they were not as we truly are.

Piper frowned, confused. I can hear different voices?

Many, came the reply. Some helpful, some harmful. Some merely lost. Your special ability to hear us should be a strength. We have always sought to guide you, to protect you. But we cannot always reach you when your confusion and fear blocks your better self.

The explanation sent a chill down Piper’s spine. All these years, she’d assumed the voices were a single entity and separate from her—chaotic, inconsistent, but ultimately the same. The idea that she had any control over their messages opened up new possibilities.

Can you help me with the messages? she asked. Tell the difference between the ones who can help and the ones who that might lead me the wrong way?

We will try, the voices promised. It is easier now that you are listening.

Piper absorbed this. Despite everything, she found herself grateful for the voices’ return—for the sense of completeness their presence brought. They were part of her, for better or worse.

Can you help me now? she asked. My sister is working on a case—a murder at City Hall. A city councilman named Curtis Paige. Is there anything you can tell me that might help her?

The connection wavered, as if the voices were conferring among themselves. Then, with a clarity that made Piper’s breath catch:

He was murdered by silence.

Piper’s eyes flew open. “What does that mean?” she asked aloud, though she wasn’t sure if she was addressing Dr. White or the voices. “He was murdered by silence?”

Dr. White watched her with careful attention. “What are you hearing?”

“He was murdered by silence,” Piper replied. “That’s all they said. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Perhaps you should ask for clarification,” Dr. White suggested.

Piper closed her eyes again, reaching for the connection. Wait, she called. I don’t understand. What do you mean, murdered by silence?

But the sense of presence was already fading, withdrawing like a tide. Wait, she called again, more urgently. Please, I need to know more.

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, as if from a great distance:

There are two kinds of silence. The kind that you choose—that can be lovely. But the kind that’s forced upon you—that kind of silence can kill … can kill … can kill …

And then they were gone, leaving Piper alone in the quiet of her own mind once more. She opened her eyes to find Dr. White watching her with gentle concern.

“They left,” Piper said, disappointment heavy in her voice. “Just when I was starting to get somewhere.”