Microsoft Word - Talkers_Redemption_Lane.docx

shrieking… Jeremy spoke in…class today….

    “YEAH, kid? How are we supposed to believe that? What can you
    possibly say to convince us…?”

    “WHAT did you say, Tate?”
    “C’mon, Doctor Sutherland!”
    “The guy was hurting you, wasn’t he? He was hurting you, and
    you asked to leave, and you were fighting him, right?”
    “He had me pinned! He’s really strong, almost as strong as
    Brian, but Brian tries not to hurt anybody, and I couldn’t move my
    neck or my shoulders and it hurt….”
    …spoke in, spoke in… Jeremy spoke in….

    “HE WANTED to fuck me, but I didn’t want him....” Could he make
    this reasonable? Could he even make sense at all?
    “Yeah? Fucking convince us!”

    “SO WHAT did you say?”
    Jeremy spoke in… class today….

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    47

    DETECTIVE MELVILLE was trying to stop his dark-haired partner
    from getting in Tate’s face, and Tate was trying to claw his way
    through the back of the wall and get to Brian.
    “You don’t like our version of it, Talker, you’ve got to give us
    another version, okay?” Melville’s voice was gentle, but nothing in
    Talker was gentle right now, nothing in Talker was gentle that night
    with Trev, nothing in Talker was gentle talking about it, nothing was
    gentle, nothing was peaceful, nothing was—

    “STOP IT! I SAID NO!”

    HIS throat was raw, because he’d screamed it, and the
    stucco/Plexiglas was sliding past his head like a child’s playground
    ride, and he thumped to his ass as a queasy miasma soaked
    through his vitals, inescapable and horrible. “I said no,” he repeated
    weakly. “I told Trevor ‘No!’”
    And then he leaned over and puked all over Detective Henries’
    shoes.
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    Chaos Echoes

    THE confusion was exquisite.
    Henries was trying to claw his way out of his shoes and
    screaming obscenities at Talker, Melville was yelling at him for
    clarification, the nurses had all scattered for some towels and a mop
    bucket, and Lyndie….
    Lyndie was crouched right next to him and leaning her
    forehead against his temple and humming. Talker was humming too.
    “‘Try to forget this’,” he muttered and heard Lyndie hum in
    counterpoint. “‘Try to erase this… from the blackboard….’”
    “That’s a sad song,” Lyndie murmured, and he nodded.
    “You know that one?” he asked, a little surprised. The chaos
    jumbled around them, but he and Aunt Lyndie, they were good.
    “I do,” she said softly. “How ’bout you listen to mine, okay?”
    After a minute, Talker managed to tune out everything but her
    soft humming. Jeremy’s screams for attention were drowned out by
    something he’d heard a long time ago but couldn’t place.
    “Pretty song, Aunt Lyndie,” he murmured, and she rubbed her
    temple with him again.
    “Used to sing it to Brian, right after his parents died,” she
    murmured. She kept her voice low, and her mouth right near his
    ear, so it was like a bubble, just the two of them, Talker, and this
    nice woman who had defended him like a mama bear. “I’m not
    religious, you know, but the tune is pretty, and the idea that God
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    49

    dances, that’s pretty too. It used to make Brian feel better when he
    was sad.”
    There was a sudden quiet, and Tate wondered if the chattering
    of his teeth could echo down the corridor. “It’s w-w-working, for me
    ttt…ttoo,” he said after a tight, strung-out moment. He relaxed his
    jaw just a smidge. “Do you think they’d let me get up and shower?”
    Lyndie glared up at the two surprised policemen who had
    stopped shouting and were just looking at the two of them, like they
    were trying to get in their bubble. “Yeah, baby—I think puking is a
    pretty good way of getting them to back the fuck off. But the nurse
    asked me if you wanted a sedative first, what do you say?”
    Talker blinked. His shakes were easing up, and the black spots
    in front of his eyes were starting to clear. “I don’t want to be a victim,”
    he said quietly. There was a doctor coming down a corridor with a
    vial and a syringe, and Tate had to say it louder.
    “I don’t want to be a victim!” The silence became listening, and
    he looked at the doctor. “Please don’t dope me up. Brian’s still
    waiting for surgery… I’ll… I’ll clean up. I’ll get changed. I’ll…
    Jesus… oh Jesus, I’ll calm the fuck down. Just… don’t stick that in
    my arm.”