The Signs of Sound

By Atlas Ireland

TWELVE-YEAR-OLD JACY had tried and failed to find clues about his imprisoned father’s innocence and whereabouts.

Jacy’s alleged supernatural power is supposed to help him with his search — but it doesn’t even sound like a real power, let alone like a cool one.

Then he touches a poltergeist mid-teleportation, and his gripping new adventures start — full of mystery and puzzling turns.

When a detective offers him a deal, Jacy risks betraying those helping him. So he sets out to outsmart the detective's deal - hoping it wouldn't cost him his only chance of reuniting with his father.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Atlas Ireland
• Release date: Mar 10, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463216613

Atlas Ireland

Atlas Ireland is a writer based in London, but has ties to many places, which is why you'll find that the characters in the books travel all over the world.Working as a scientist of sorts, Atlas Ireland somehow still manages to spend time thinking up and writing stories, and torturing the family dog with excessive manifestations of love.A long, long time ago Atlas Ireland wanted to be a secret agent, so anticipate clue searching, mission planning, and lots of adventures in the books.

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The Signs of Sound

by

ATLAS IRELAND

atlasireland.com

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Copyright 2018 Atlas Ireland

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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All rights reserved.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For K and V

with all my love

and for R, because he’s such a good boy

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

Connect with Atlas Ireland

CHAPTER 1

The only treasure little Jacy Marwick had managed to keep a secret all his life was a picture he’d once found in the attic when he was very, very little. All he remembered of that first house was the intense smell of roses that had seeped through the windows whenever the breeze found its way in. And when they’d moved to London, the photo was the first thing he’d tucked into his socks — so that his mother wouldn’t find it.

The focal point of the image was the myriad of fireworks going off above the lake. They reflected in his father’s eyes and the sparkling water behind. It must have been a celebration, with a bunch of people in the background and two in focus on either side of his dad — a girl and a boy in their teens. All three of them were grinning at the camera. The pang of jealousy he’d felt in his early years had dulled a little, only to be replaced by sad wondering about who those people were and the bittersweet hope that maybe, one day, Jacy would spot their faces in a crowd and ask them about his dad.

So, standing in London’s Victoria & Albert museum, one of the largest in the world, looking at a photo covering half the wall of a cavernous hall, Jacy blinked.

There it was, the winning entry of the national photo competition, which his mother had helped organise — dragging him along after school in the process. The fact that he might have been grasping at straws didn’t even cross his mind, it looked that familiar.

The picture showed a misty lake, sitting below stormy clouds, shielding the setting sun from view. But it was the outline of the mountains on the edge of that lake that Jacy now traced with his eyes, as he has done so many times before — only on another, more worn photo, almost identical to the one on the wall.

Jacy stepped closer, careful not to draw attention to himself, reading the caption below it.

Japan. The photo is entitled Hunting Dreams, representing the idyllic …

This photo had exactly the same viewpoint, as if someone had been standing in the exact same spot taking both pictures. It was in Japan.

With a craving need to hold the picture, Jacy took his backpack off and fished his photo out with his fingertips. He smoothed it out with his palm. The years were becoming visible, especially in the corners, however much he tried to look after it. Carrying it around with him wherever he went didn’t help.

Through all the times he’d searched for a clue that would bring him closer to his father, he had analysed every little detail of the photo, from the little book pattern on the girl’s scarf, the mountain in the background, to the square shape of a man’s glasses in the crowd. At times he entertained himself by creating stories around it.

Maybe it was the birthday party of a relative? Maybe …

Well, he had thought of it all, but he so wished he could ask his father. Sometimes he was lucky — sometimes he managed to talk with him in his sleep. He was even luckier if he could remember the conversation the next morning — talking about school, mean classmates, bad grades and getting real advice from his dad, even if it was just a dream.

The high museum windows let the still moonlight shine through, only the shadow of the gentle wind rustling a few leaves danced on the walls. The half-term holiday was supposed to start soon and Jacy was set on enduring the remaining time with as little human interaction as possible.

But he couldn’t drown out the sound of Vincent, his step-father, fake laughing while rubbing elbows with the buyers in the adjacent hall, so Jacy pulled on his headphones and stared at the photo on the wall some more. He had clear instructions: don’t run around, don’t leave the building and don’t cause trouble. Simple enough.

A rustle sounded from behind him. He slipped off the headphones and turned around, but no one was there. Shrugging, he was about to turn back to survey the mountain range, when something caught his attention.

One the windowsill of the north-facing wall, there was a leaflet which Jacy hadn’t noticed before. Strange, he thought, that’s the only thing in the room apart from the art pieces exhibited. Shrugging, he went to it to pick it up and throw it in the bin — but his hand froze above it.

It was a small, one-page leaflet with a paragraph and a large phone number across it.

‘International Family Tracing — British Red Cross | How can we help find your missing family?’

It might have taken moments, Jacy wasn’t sure, but eventually, he forced his mind out of its stupor and slid the leaflet into his backpack, right next to his father’s photo. He didn’t dare hold it in his hands, openly.

He walked out of the room very slowly, meandering around the building just to do something. All his thoughts were on that little piece of paper on top of the mess in his backpack.

* * *

Somehow he found himself on the second floor, a bit lost, trying to collect his courage to call the number. It was better not to think. The phone he had borrowed from his mother was in one of his hands and the leaflet he had fished out from the backpack in the other.

What did he have to lose? Jacy started pressing the numbers one by one. He had to redial twice because his fingers were slippery and slightly trembling. A few tourists threw him concerned glances but then got sidetracked by large Ancient Greek columns, showcasing the three major decorative styles of their time.

Finally, there was a ring. And another one. Listening to the sound in the receiver, through the sounds of his beating heart, Jacy was ready to hang up and drop it at any second. But then there was a click and a smooth voice.

‘International Family Tracing, how may I help?’ the voice was so perfect that it had a robotic quality to it. Was Jacy talking to an automated machine? He was so confused that he forgot that a reply was expected of him.

‘Hello?’ the voice said again.

‘Hi … Um …’ A blush was creeping up Jacy’s cheeks, which was stupid because it was just a phone call.

‘Are you looking for a relative?’ the voice coaxed gently.

‘Oh, no. No, no. Not me. Maybe.’ He had to get his head in order. ‘I was wondering … what is it that you do?’

‘We find lost relatives around the world.’

‘Anywhere?’

The voice paused. ‘Anywhere.’

‘And if I don’t know where he is?’

Another pause, a longer one. Jacy shook his head and looked around to see if anyone could have heard him — his father was a touchy topic at home. He should really think before he said things out loud.

‘I think you might, and that I can help,’ the voice said.

Something in the tone of the voice made Jacy pause and repeat the sentence in his mind. ‘Pardon?’

‘Think, Jacy.’

Jacy? Dread crept up his spine — he’d never said his name. Without thinking, he hung up and stuffed the phone in his pocket, getting rid of it as quickly as possible. Someone was playing a trick on him.

Yet, now, with it motionless and silent in his pocket, Jacy began to regret the reaction. Who could it have been? He almost expected it to start ringing any second. Surely, whoever it was would want to continue the joke. But nothing happened.

‘There you are,’ Jacy’s mother appeared on the stairs. ‘Do you still need my phone? I need to call our caterer. We’re running out of wine.’

There were many questions whirling around his mind as she looked at him.

‘You know when I asked you about my real dad?’

She slowed her steps and looked at him, pursing her lips.

‘I didn’t like it then and it’s not going to be pleasant now, Jacy. Out of respect to Vincent, you shouldn’t really ask. Where is this even coming from?’

‘Vincent’s not here now, Mum,’ Jacy said.

‘That does not change the facts,’ she said. The facts were what Jacy heard many times before: that his father was in prison, that he was an awful person, that he deserved to be there, that he was never interested in Jacy, that he didn’t even visit him on his birthday before he got locked up, and that everyone was better off without him.

But to Jacy these facts blended with what he felt every time his father talked to him in his dreams. Where he told Jacy the real facts — that he was innocent, that he loved Jacy very much, and that once he came out of prison he’d be there for Jacy, no matter what.

In his dreams, Jacy was not a murderer’s son.

‘But —,’

‘Do not even think about mentioning anything to her.’ The whisper of the same voice that spoke to Jacy on the phone reached his eardrum.

He spun around. The hall was empty, he glanced behind the columns, but no one was there.

‘Jacy, act natural and stop arguing with your mother,’ the whisper came.

He looked back at his mother. She was regarding him in bewilderment. He angled his ears closer to the headphones — but the voice wasn’t coming from there, either.

‘She’ll get suspicious,’ the voice said.

Should he tell his mother there was a voice speaking to him?

‘If you tell her anything, I won’t be able to help you help your father.’

Yeah, he should probably say something to his mother … Or he could just pretend everything was fine. Jacy cleared his throat.

‘Sorry,’ he said, trying to calm his voice. ‘I won’t ask.’

Thankfully his mother’s expression softened. ‘Thank you, dear. Are you alright? Keep the phone, I’ll borrow Vincent’s.’

Jacy nodded and quickly excused himself and rushed back to the room with the photo of the mountains. To be sure, he peeked behind every door, around every little hollow-eyed bust where someone could have been hiding, but found nothing.

‘Are you there?’ he whispered.

There was no answer.

He sat on the windowsill, with the phone in his hands. Dialling again, Jacy sighed.

There was a click, then there was silence.

‘This is not the number for International Family Tracing, is it?’ Jacy tried.

‘No. But it is one that can help your father.’ It was the same voice, this time more cheery.

‘How do you know me?’

‘I don’t. And you don’t know me. But I have a message from your dad.’

Jacy frowned.

‘From prison?’ was all that came to his mind to say.

‘He’s worried about you,’ the voice said.

‘I don’t understand — he left.’

Somehow, the pause felt disapproving.

‘You did pick up the leaflet, Jacy. You did call. So, I’m quite confident you don’t actually believe that. What your mother choses to believe is her choice. ‘

Jacy did not remember his father. He had been about four years old when Ian Marwick had been sent to prison. And yet, what if this stranger was right — what if all those dreams were right?

‘So, he …’

‘He needs help. He’s in trouble. I will do what I can, but I need you to help me. And I can help you, but if you chose to do nothing, then you’re on your own.’

Now Jacy raised his eyebrows. He didn’t understand how those things followed logically. But, they did mean that there was a chance that he could see his father.

‘How do you know about me?’ he asked.

‘Same way I know about the photo in your bag.’

That was not an answer, but it didn’t sound like the voice was going to elaborate. His hands shook slightly as he looked around the room once again. The emptiness of it echoed around him. No one was coming in to look at the artwork, and somewhere in the back of his mind it registered that his mother would not be happy with the no-show.

As his fear settled, Jacy felt somewhere in between disbelief and confusion. A stranger was telling him what he had wanted to believe as long as he could remember. Jacy couldn’t stop himself from narrowing his eyes.

He lowered his voice and shifted his weight.

‘How do I know you’re telling the truth? You could be anyone. Why do you hide?’

There was a chuckle. ‘You mean, why don’t I just stroll up to your mother and ask her for a cup of tea and a helping hand in exonerating your father, maybe even breaking him out of prison? Besides the obvious, I’m not sure you’re ready to hear.’

‘I am,’ Jacy said straightening his back. ‘What do you mean?’

After a loud sigh, the voice spoke.

‘Vincent has put a perimeter radar on you. If any form of magic comes within three meters of you, it will trigger an alarm.’

Yeah, no. He wasn’t ready to hear that after all.

‘Magic?’ he glanced around himself. ‘Vincent has it? I’m sorry, but that’s not … it’s not really —’

‘It is. But that’s not the point.’

Jacy felt it was time to hang up right then. But he didn’t.

‘Um … okay. And how do you know my dad?’

‘I want to pay him back for helping me when I needed it. Plus, what happened to him was not right.’

This time Jacy didn’t speak for a while. He watched as the ancient museum dust eddied past him.

‘What I don’t understand is how I can help, when he’s in prison.’

‘I’ll be the one helping him, you will be helping me.’ There was a sound of a gentle slurp, then a gulp, and whoever was on the other end of the line waited for Jacy’s next question.

‘Do I have magic?’ he added, hoping his voice did not reverberate off the brown stones too loudly.

‘I don’t know,’ the voice chuckled slightly. ‘But you can train. If it turns out that you do, it will likely be linked to your father, making it easier to help him.’

‘Can you do magic?’ he asked.

‘I can.’

‘Right … So why don’t you just teleport my father here … or something?’

He hoped that wasn’t too stupid of a question, and he listened in case they hung up.

‘That’s not what my power can do. Maybe yours does. But we don’t want your mother and Vincent sending you to a psychiatric facility for trying, now do we?’

‘You just said Vincent used magic on me. So he should know about all this stuff already, right?’ Jacy wasn’t sure why he was trying so hard to poke holes in the voice’s argument. Maybe he was afraid to believe in something he’d been hoping for for so long.

‘Good luck making him admit it and your mother believe it.’ Then, as if a thought just came to the person’s mind, their voice sounded. ‘Has your father ever managed to contact you in any way?’

Surprised by the question, Jacy shook his head.

‘Okay, so why do you think he’s innocent?’

‘What do you mean?’ Jacy asked. ‘I don’t …’

Then Jacy realised that he’d just shaken his head and had not actually said anything.

‘Sure you do. Would you still be talking to me if you thought he murdered four people in cold blood? What I want to know is why you don’t believe Vincent and your mother.’

Jacy turned his head slowly and looked around the room in dread once more. Supposedly, if there was magic, and someone could communicate with him through his mind, could this someone also be invisible?

‘Don’t you want to ask me whether it’s true?’ the voice asked. ‘Whether he really did kill those people.’

Heavy silence echoed after those words. Jacy was still staring around the room.

‘If you’re wondering, I’m not there.’

Jacy stopped looking around. Then frowned, now looking out the window.

‘They told me,’ he said slowly. ‘About my dad.’

‘Who’s they?’

‘Everybody,’ he said quietly, not really daring to. He’d been teased about his father, no matter how much he had tried to keep it a secret. But some of his classmates were Vincent’s friends’ kids, so he supposed they would have heard about it from their parents anyway.

‘Jacy, I think you might have asked the wrong half of everybody.’

Strangely enough, Jacy’s stomach felt like it was being filled with butterflies.

‘So he didn’t do it?’ he asked.

An awkward silence settled for a bit.

‘I believe it was self-defense. Whatever he did, he did to protect his family.’

Not sure what to do with the information heap that had fallen on him, Jacy stared blankly in front of himself. He felt lost — he knew he shouldn’t have listened to a stranger in the first place. And yet …

‘So, you’re saying that your father never got to you? There were never any strange calls when you were alone in the house?’ the voice asked and Jacy was shaking his head to almost all of the questions with sadness. ‘No letters addressed to you? Any whispers? Never? Hmm …’

‘I don’t even know what he looks like, apart from this picture, and that’s where I get the image of his face from when he resurfaces in my dreams …’

‘So he does contact you.’

‘It’s a dream. Other people do it too. Don’t you dream? It’s just that in my dreams I talk to Dad.’

There was an exhale after that, but the voice did not say anything further. Jacy felt like someone was going to jump out shouting ‘Surprise!’ at any moment, but as the lightly gilded clock worked through the minutes, no one did.

‘I could try helping. But how?’

‘It’s not that simple, they will stop any of your attempts to communicate with your father or anyone else.’

This person, whoever they might be, could be his ticket to his father and he didn’t want to lose that. Even if it felt utterly crazy. He decided to try to persuasion.

‘But I’m talking to you now.’

‘Let me be clear about what we’re talking about, Jacy. Your dad won’t make it out of prison if someone doesn’t help him.’

Jacy stood in silence after that, looking out through a large, arched window onto the courtyard’s fountain. This meant a real chance to reunite with his father.

‘Okay,’ he finally said. ‘So, you’re telling me there is magic, right? I mean every magic I’ve heard of in books and stories is different. Werewolves, vampires, magic wands, spells —’

‘All those come from someone using their energy creatively. That’s all it really is,’ the voice said. ‘We have a more pressing issue here. Think about the fact that your dad needs your help. Think about it carefully. Your father would kill me if he found that I didn’t try to help you two reunite when I could.’

‘Does that mean you have powers to help him?’ Jacy asked, hope squeezing his lungs, just as a slight movement caught his eye. The window on the opposite side of the courtyard had a strange looking shadow. The longer he looked at it, the more it looked like an outline of a person in the darkness.

There was a brief pause before the voice said, ‘I’ll try my best.’

But it wasn’t coming from the phone at Jacy’s ear — it was coming from the window opposite, where a woman’s shape was moving with the words.

‘I don’t even know who you are!’

‘My name is Thessa.’

‘Can I at least meet you?’

After a slight delay, the voice sounded. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Okay,’ Jacy frowned. ‘But … but …’

‘Hold on.’

CHAPTER 2

Jacy had no idea how long to hold on.