Silent Tears

By T. S. Landry

The Connor family is starting over again, this time in rural Pennsylvania. It's the latest in a long series of moves to keep them and their secrets safe. The mysterious abilities 15-year-old Mary has struggled to control and conceal are changing, and she may not be able to keep them a secret much longer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. S. Landry
• Release date: Jun 20, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458137074

T. S. Landry

My name is Teresa. I am a full-time writer and mother, as well as a part-time aerobics instructor and figure skating coach. My background includes everything from business owner to sales rep to entertainer to church secretary, with a lot of in-betweens. After having crossed one of life's many speed bumps (there have been many), I decided to concentrate my energy on a lifelong love of writing. Before turning to full length fiction, I published articles in newspapers and magazines.My first novel, Silent Tears, is the story of a teenage girl born with extraordinary powers. Unfortunately, the powers are changing and her lifelong struggle to appear normal becomes more difficult...and dangerous.My second novel, 7am Sauna, follows the struggles of six women who have little in common except that they belong to the same health club. Through conversations in the sauna following their morning workouts, they discover new aspects of themselves, as well as the impact they can have on each other's lives.

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Silent Tears

by

T.S. Landry

Copyright 2011 by Teresa S. Landry

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without written permission of the author.

SMASHWORDS EDITION: June 2011

For the Endless Mountain Writers.

Without all of you, this wouldn’t have been possible.

Contents

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

Eight Years Ago

Mary let the screen door slam behind her, muffling her mother’s command, Don’t leave the yard.

Okay! Mary shouted back.

She watched a boy ride by on a mud-splattered bike and wondered why he didn’t have to stay in his yard. A sour note tingled through her body, so she pushed the thought and the boy out of her mind. Instead, she skipped across the lawn with its thick summer grass and plopped down in front of a vibrant flower bed. She cocked her head and stared at a lone, drooping daisy.

What’s wrong with you today? She gently brushed a spiky leaf and listened. She rubbed her fingers down the slender stalk, eyes unmoving. Don’t let the other flowers bully you, just push their roots out of the way. I’ll help.

Mary began to hum with the daisy, all her concentration focused in front of her. She didn’t hear the tall, thin man from four houses down shouting, Stop! Come back here!

As she hummed, she willed the plant into harmony. The daisy responded almost immediately, lifting and tilting slightly in her direction. Mary smiled and continued to hum, oblivious to the man who ran in her direction, yelling with frustration.

Mary closed her eyes and stopped humming so she could listen to all the flowers. My world, she thought. The light fragrance of the blossoms. The rich scent of earth. And the music.

She breathed deeply and almost sighed before the ground rushed up to meet her.

Instinctively, she flailed at whatever knocked her down. Her eyes flew open and a black blur raced across her vision. Dog registered in her mind, but she didn’t understand what was happening.

She stared unblinking as a rottweiler lunged toward her.

At the last moment, she squirmed and blocked her neck, leaving her shoulder exposed. The dog clamped down.

Mary screamed the shrill, terrified scream of a child.

She thrashed out and teeth bit farther into her flesh. Her strength was no match for the dog.

She heard a thumping baritone inside her head. It could only be the dog. Its sound, not the growling and snarling, but its inner sound, was loud and harsh and deep. And in perfect harmony.

Her brief seven years had not prepared her to defend herself physically. Without thinking, she projected her screams and pain into the dog and willed it out of tune.

The rottweiler ripped into her skin. Spittle splashed across her face and guttural snarls echoed in her ears. She struggled and pushed, but her eyelids sagged as pain threatened to overcome her.

The sickly sweet scent of her own blood reached her nostrils and, with great effort, she met the dog’s eyes. Saliva and blood mixed with the pungence of the dog’s warm breath. She tried to ignore it. The connection was all that mattered. Once again, she sent her screams and fear and pain into the dog.

Mary saw a flicker of confusion in the dog’s eyes and felt a slackening of pressure on her shoulder. Then the dog huffed and growled even louder as it readjusted its hold. Her vision blurred. All she saw were white teeth, slick black hair and splatters of red.

Blood.

Hers.

Mary’s screams died down and were replaced by those of her mother.

Her mother’s voice penetrated her thoughts and Mary fought to keep her eyes open. She had to keep fighting. For herself. For her mother.

Ignoring the pain, she grabbed the dog’s legs and held on. She needed contact. Desperation and panic focused her mind like never before. She concentrated only on the dog and the vital noises it made — the ones she knew were most important for living and breathing — and she willed them silent.

The dog’s noise wavered, skipped a beat.

Mary squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated. Again, she heard her mother, closer this time.

Silence.

The dog faltered, shook its head and tried to reposition itself. Saliva splattered onto Mary’s face. The dog adjusted its footing and loosened its grip.

Silence. Nothing.

Almost falling, the dog let go of Mary and struggled to keep its balance. An eerie howl erupted and challenged Mary’s thoughts. She kept her focus, but opened her eyes.

Time stood still as she watched the dog’s drool mix with foam. Its eyes darted from side to side, looking for the source of its pain. Convulsions, small at first, jerked the dog’s hind quarters. The spasms worked their way forward along the dog’s body, growing in intensity.

Its neck muscles strained taut and its jaw tightened. Its teeth bit into and through its own tongue. The howl stopped and was replaced by a brief whimper before its back legs buckled.

The dog’s rear end pinned one of Mary’s legs to the ground.

She no longer heard the dog, but she saw the glazed and empty eyes as its head lolled to the side. Its front legs collapsed. First one. Then the other. The dog tilted and fell, its full weight splayed across Mary.

Dead.

Silent.

Mary had one incredibly short moment of relief before pain burst into her head. Slowly, her own eyes rolled back and she drifted toward unconsciousness. Her only thought was that she was killing herself. The power she sent out to harm the dog was coming back to her and she knew it. There was no way to stop it.

Her own body sounded viciously wrong. It was all wrong… everything…

CHAPTER TWO

Present Day

The black and white markings on the ball tumbled over and over, blurring together in Mary’s vision. She tried to anticipate exactly when the ball would reach her. No one else was close enough to intercept it. She took a deep breath and glanced around the field for orange vests that matched the one she wore. She didn’t know any of their names.

All she had to do was kick the ball to one of them and let them worry about scoring. Her position - she didn’t remember what it was called - was defensive and stayed close to the goal. She braced herself as the ball careened closer. She stepped forward on her left foot and lifted her right foot back to prepare for the kick.

Before she was able to swing her leg forward, she lost her footing on the dew-drenched grass and began to slide. Legs stretched in opposite directions, and she landed in a painful half split - just in time to feel a slight breeze on her cheek as the ball whooshed by.

Breathing heavily, she took her time standing up. By the time she righted herself and brushed the grass off her butt, the goalie had blocked the ball and sent it back to the other end of the field. Mary flexed and stretched and waited. Talent or no talent, she took the game seriously.

She didn’t have long to wait. In soccer, the ball never stayed in one place for long. She focused on the black and white ball skittering across the field in her direction. It wasn’t airborne this time, but it was headed straight for her. It’s not even going fast, she thought, it’s gliding. All she had to do was stop the ball and kick it toward someone in an orange vest. She wondered briefly who she would kick the ball to.

She prepared to kick.

So did Kayla.

Kayla wasn’t wearing an orange vest. She also wasn’t concerned about the new girl going after the ball at the same time.

Mary saw the ball, not Kayla. I’m not going to miss this time, she thought as she side-stepped into Kayla.

Kayla’s momentum pushed Mary down onto her knees. Kayla was propelled in the opposite direction. She twisted and put her arm out to brace her fall. Her arm and butt connected with the ground at the same time. There was a muffled crack and Kayla bit back a scream. The ball passed between them.

A sharp screech erupted in Mary’s head. She was on her feet and gently touching Kayla’s arm before anyone else could get close.

I think I heard a crack, Kayla gasped.

It was probably just my knee. It pops a lot, Mary lied. She ran her hand up and down the arm. Kayla winced.

Maybe you shouldn’t do that. It could be broken.

Mary ignored her and continued to rub the arm lightly. She didn’t let herself exhale until she was sure the bone was still in alignment. Mary couldn’t set a bone, but she could mend one if the pieces were still in place. She looked around and noticed the gym teacher’s bulk moving toward them at a surprisingly fast trot.

Can you stand up? Mary asked.

The girl nodded, trying to be tough. When she was almost upright, a light-headed, nauseous feeling overtook her. Mary expected it and braced her. The feeling passed as quickly as it began. She and Mary regarded each other for a moment before either realized the rest of the gym class was ringed around them.

The teacher, Mrs. Dunmore, stepped forward. That was a pretty hard fall. Are you okay?

The question was addressed to both of them, but all eyes were on Kayla.

I think I’m fine. She flexed and stretched her fingers a few times before she looked up. Yeah. I thought I heard a crack, but everything’s working fine.

Don’t move your hand and arm around any more than you have to. If you heard a crack, you’ll get x-rays. I’ll have the nurse call your parents. She turned and took in the rip in Mary’s sweat pants. It was rimmed in fresh grass and dirt, with a distinct sheen of red.

Mary followed her gaze and brushed off the dirt. The skin underneath was unbroken. Oops. Guess I need new sweats.

The teacher squinted at Mary’s knee and opened her mouth to speak. The ten minute bell cut her off. The girls automatically headed for the locker room with Mary bringing up the rear. She moved just fast enough to stay ahead of the Mrs. Dunmore, but slow enough to stay behind her classmates. She could hear the friendly teasing that was already being directed at Kayla.

Just cut it out! Kayla’s voice held laughter. I can get to the nurse’s office on my own.

If you can’t play in this week’s game, Coach is going to be furious, one girl added.

Tell her not to worry. My arm feels fine. Kayla looked around, twisted back and stopped to let Mary catch up. How do you feel? You must have gone down pretty hard, too.

Mary kicked her leg forward and glanced at her knee. Ripped my sweats. That’s all. She shrugged and her eyes went to the girl’s arm. I didn’t see you coming. Sorry.

Nothing to be sorry about. I’m Kayla, by the way. You’re new here. It was a statement.

Mary. My family just moved up from Virginia.

They all crowded into the locker room and began getting ready for their next class. Mary faded into the background as much as possible. She stowed her torn and dirty gym clothes in her locker and walked to a mirror to brush her hair. She stared at the mirror without really seeing herself. Less than one week, she thought, and I’m already screwing up. She closed her eyes. We can’t move. We just got here.

Mary berated herself all the way to her next class. So much so that she took a wrong turn and had to ask a hall monitor for directions. Again.

Channing High School was a sprawling, single-story menagerie. Conservation of space was not an issue thanks to Alfred Davis, a farmer who lost his only two children to World War I and shortly after left his 1,082 acre farm to the Channing school district. As the population grew, so did the school. Hallways meandered and split with a confusing lack of symmetry. Narrow corridors opened into entire wings. Grass filled courtyards appeared where classrooms could have been.

On her first day of school, Mary got lost three times and arrived late for two classes. Not only the building boggled her mind, but all the things that were missing. There were no metal detectors, no security guards, no discernible gangs. She met two hallway monitors who politely gave her directions to the correct classroom. In the first three days of school, that was the closest she had come to a conversation. Teachers and students renewed friendships that had lapsed over the summer, not taking any particular notice of the new student.

Now, on day four, she found a reason to have a conversation. Unfortunately, it was the same reason that always caused problems for her and her family.

When she finally arrived in Biology class, she chose a seat off to the side, opened her text book and pretended to read. A girl behind her chattered conspiratorially about Kayla going to the hospital for x-rays because the new girl ran into her in gym class.

Mary closed her eyes and took deep, steadying breaths. I’m the new girl, she thought, and I’m right here. She felt more than heard shrill tremors race through her body. Her breathing became more exaggerated as she focused on her own sound. Her head still bent over the book as if she were reading. Her eyes squeezed shut. Silently, she imagined her melody, her healthy melody, replacing the sour notes inside her. All other noises ceased to exist.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. A shadow crossed over her desk and continued on. Mary raised her head to see Mr. Lindeman walking to the front of the room. His wrinkled blazer flapped open and, when he turned to face the class, three brown smudges from his morning coffee stained an otherwise white shirt. Mary smiled.

In a few short days, Mr. Lindeman’s unkempt appearance and enthusiasm for his job had made Biology her favorite class. She was quickly caught up in the lecture and, for the moment, forgot about the earlier accident.

Mr. Lindeman stopped writing on the blackboard and scanned the faces in his classroom. To his relief, most of the students seemed to be paying attention.

Are there any questions? His lip twitched as he watched eyes shoot downward and pencils scribble on paper. Only two brave students still looked at him: Billy Weakes and the new girl. He quickly scanned the list of names on his desk to find the one he wanted.

Mary. Can you tell me any differences between plant and animal cells?

Mary opened her mouth and only a croak came out. Several students snickered as she cleared her throat. Um. Photosynthesis and a cell wall.

Excellent answer. Did you study plant anatomy at your last school?

Sort of, Mary slouched in her chair and fiddled with her pencil.

Mr. Lindeman cleared his throat. Tonight, I want everyone to write at least two paragraphs telling me how photosynthesis and cell walls help plants survive. He glanced at the clock and continued, As you all know, this is a lab course. Our first lab is tomorrow and we will begin by diagramming individual cells.

Students sought eye contact with their best friends; some whispered and pointed. Mr. Lindeman waited until the majority quieted down and looked back at him. You will work in groups of three and I will be assigning lab partners.

Several muttered oaths were drowned by the bell ending class. Mr. Lindeman’s amusement was obvious as the students filed out of the room.

Mary kept to herself the rest of the day. It was easy to do.

When lunch arrived, she took her cafeteria tray, walked past the groups of happy, chatting people and sat alone on a metallic bench at a cold white table. Cafeterias always looked the same to her: big, open rooms with long institutional tables and attached seats, huge garbage cans overflowing with wasted food, a bulletin board or two and dingy conveyors leading into the black hole of the kitchen. Decorations, except for a multitude of pep rally signs, were non-existent. A long wall of windows showed a clear view of all passers-by in the hallway.

Mary poked at her food without enthusiasm and absently reached into her book bag for a novel. It was a murder mystery, but that hardly mattered. It was another reality to slide into for a little while. Books were as much of a haven for Mary as plants, but with one important difference: books had no melody. Nothing. They were silent.

The intensity of Mary’s focus allowed her to exclude all else when she read a book. Even her own sounds faded into nothingness. The words on the page took on their own life, within their own world. And, for Mary, their world was blissfully quiet.

She placed the book in front of her tray and opened it before she even realized what she had done. Reality shifted to a small mid-west town where a prominent missing person and an unidentified corpse were turning neighbors against each other and almost everyone was wary of the new, city-slicker chief of police.

* * * * *

Across the room, five boys hunched over a table talking about the new football coach. Jayden asked Tyler his opinion. When he got no response, Jayden looked up and followed Tyler’s gaze across the room to the new girl sitting by herself. A wicked smirk crossed his face.

Tyler had seen Mary in a couple of his classes and hadn’t given her much thought. Now, he watched her absently brush bangs out of her face without taking her eyes off her book. One of the teachers had asked her about where she used to live. He tried to remember what she said, but his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp elbow in his side.

What was that for? Tyler glared at Jayden and rubbed his side.

I wanted to bring you back to reality. By the way, Jayden’s glance slid toward Mary, who’s the new girl?

I was just trying to remember that myself. I haven’t talked to her yet.

Name’s Mary. Mike grunted between bites of food. She lives near Franklin Park. Just moved up from some city in Virginia.

All four boys stared open-mouthed at Mike. Tyler started to say something, but didn’t know what, so he shut