Awakening: Dystopian Romance (Absence of Song Book 1) Read online

  Noah finally looks back up at me, meeting my gaze, his own eyes now alight with what looks like curiosity. “Really? You’ve heard that sound before?”

  “I have,” I concur, and suddenly I remember where I’ve heard it. Eyes widening, I feel a frisson of unease. This time it’s my turn to make sure no one is listening. Stepping forward, I lean closer to the fence, closer to him. Lowering my voice, I whisper, “Though I probably imagined it. There’s no way I could have heard what I think I heard... right?”

  I straighten, and start to back away from the handsome stranger, that uneasy frisson now settling like a ball of lard in the pit of my stomach. Looking back toward my house, I feel a sudden urge to run. Suddenly, all I want to do is get back inside, away from this man named Noah, away from the mysterious noisy object he carries with him, and away from the peering eyes of my neighbors.

  My feelings escalate when Noah reaches across the fence and grabs my wrist, causing me to jerk backwards, my heart pounding in sudden fear. Despite knowing I’m probably overreacting, I yell, “Let me go, mister! My Mama is in the house right now, she’s a Ministerial officer. And if you hurt me, she will kill you on the spot.” Twisting my arm, I try to break his grip.

  Still, Noah doesn’t let me go. He loosens his grasp on me a bit, but still holds my arm firmly. “Jaelynn,” he says. “Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you. I just think we should talk. Alone.” He whispers the last part.

  His voice is gentle, soothing. Calm, even. I look up into his dark eyes, and instantly, all the fear in my body dries up like those poor withered tomatoes on our vines.

  I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to stop, look, and listen to him. When I do, somehow, I just know he isn’t going to harm me. The tension in my body flees as quickly as it erupted, making me feel weak and jiggly.

  “Where did you hear these sounds?” he asks, still gripping my wrist from across the fence.

  My eyes scan the area around us, and I’m relieved to see nobody seems to be watching us. For that at least, I’m thankful. I step close to the fence again, motioning for Noah to lean in.

  A bemused smile crosses his face as he obliges.

  When he’s close enough that I feel confident no one can overhear, I whisper into his ear, “In my dreams.”

  As soon as I say it, his body stiffens and he drops my arm like I’m on fire. He nods and gives me a crooked smile before pulling back, a strange, wild look in his eyes. He suddenly looks as though he wishes he was anywhere but standing here with me in this moment.

  “I see,” he states carefully. Then in an upbeat tone that sounds forced, he continues, “Well, I think I’ll be on my way. Need to get some work done for Mr. Stanton on up the road there, but if you find you need more help with your tomatoes, just let me know. I’m always happy to be of service.”

  Reaching across the fence again, he tucks a slip of paper into my hand and without another word, the mysterious stranger is off, casually tossing the odd item he claims he “found” over his shoulder as he walks.

  Stepping up against the fence, I grip the edge and lean over it, feeling a sharp prickle of anxiety. “Noah?” I yelp, making him turn back around.

  Understanding comes to me in a flash, and all at once, I know exactly what it is he’s been holding all this time. Squeezing the old wood of the fence tightly, I bite my lip and meet his gaze, concern making my voice thick. “Be careful. Please. Don’t let anyone see you with that— thing.” I point at it.

  He merely gives me an easy smile, not a bit of concern clouding his expression. “I’m not worried, Jaelynn. Not for me at least. But thank you for looking out for me.”

  And with that cryptic remark, he winks and takes off again. I stare down the road after him, watching his back become smaller and smaller. It takes me a few moments to remember the slip of paper crunched in my hand.

  Opening it up, I see the writing is barely legible. It looks as though it was written years and years ago, and is extremely faded. But it isn’t handwritten. It’s printed.

  Feeling thoroughly puzzled, I stare at the printed words. Except for the government, no one has printers anymore, so I instantly think it must be important, something “official”.

  Once I read the words though, a lump rises in my throat, and I know it’s not from the Ministry. The words are not their words, and the message is not something they’d send.

  ‘Only the chosen ones can hear.’

  In that second, I know Noah will be back. I know it isn’t a matter of if I will see the good looking young man again, but only a matter of when. I don’t know how I know this, I just do.

  And the next time I see him, I will be prepared, I vow to myself. I tighten my lips determinedly as I stare down the now empty road, lost in thought.

  And next time I will know to ask the right questions.

  II

  BACK inside, I sit down at the kitchen table and still lost in my thoughts, sip on my now cold tea. I keep looking down at the slip of paper Noah gave me, reading the words silently and racking my brain, wondering what they mean.

  My mother’s movements from the bedroom startle me. Looking down at the crumpled paper in my hand, I know instinctively it’s a bad idea to tell her about meeting the stranger named Noah.

  Frantically, I look around for somewhere to stash the paper before bending over and slipping it into my boot, pretending to itch my leg as I do so. I straighten up just as my mother enters the room, yawning tiredly and rubbing her eyes.

  “Sleep well?” I ask too brightly, more out of reflex than anything else. I already know the answer to the question but it’s out of my mouth before I can change my mind.

  Mama yawns again, her face looking pale and drawn. “Not really. And when I did sleep, I was plagued with dreams,” she replies. With the mention of her dreams, she looks directly at me. “I dreamt I lost you Jaelynn.” Her eyes when they meet mine are clouded with worry.

  “Oh Mama.” I move toward her to hug her tightly, wincing at how frail she feels in my arms. “I’m not going anywhere Mama, I’m right here,” I murmur soothingly against her hair, my hand stroking her back.

  “I dreamt the Ministry took you away from us,” she mumbles against my shoulder, hugging me tightly and allowing me to comfort her.

  We cling to each other like we haven’t seen each other in a very long time. The reality though, is that my poor mother had only gotten about forty-five minutes of sleep. I sigh, still stroking her back in an attempt to provide some comfort.

  “They’re not going to take me anywhere, I promise.” The words ring hollow even to my own ears, especially given the recent turn events and the mysterious stranger that’s wandered into my life.

  “You can’t promise me that, sweetheart,” my mother whispers, her voice heavy with fatigue and fear.

  “No, you’re right. I can’t promise I’ll live to see tomorrow either, and neither can you. But I can promise I’ll do everything in my power to keep myself safe, okay?” As I say the words, I remember the slip of paper tucked inside my boot, and feel a twinge of guilt.

  Knowing I’m lying to her tugs at my insides, making me feel uncomfortable. I’m unflinchingly honest by nature, so even telling a slight fib pricks at my conscience. And I’m fully aware that even having such a note in my possession puts my life in danger.

  I don’t even have to know what the note means to know that Leora Blackwood, Head Mistress of the Ministry, would have a very serious problem with it. If I were to be found with it on my person, I could be labeled a dissident or a traitor. Or even worse, a heretic.

  Mama inhales a deep breath, and her body shudders in a way that makes her feel even more frail than normal. While she’s busy worrying about me and my safety, I’m busy worrying about her and her fragile, diminished state.

  Every day, she gets thinner and thinner, as if her job is literally eating her alive. It probably is. I grimace slightly. The food rations simply aren’t enough to keep up with the physicality of the job and the
demands that are placed on her on a day-to-day basis.

  “Okay, sweetie. If you say so.” Mama sounds more defeated than reassured, but I try not to let it bother me. She pulls away from our embrace and looks at her watch, one of the few technologies officers in the Ministry are allowed. Mostly because being late to work is heavily frowned upon. Then she reaches out and cups my cheek affectionately. “I have to get back to work, sweetheart. Your father should be home later this evening. Try to stay out of trouble in the meantime.”

  Closing my eyes, I turn my face into her hand briefly, and just nod. I will no doubt be in bed well before my father gets home, but I’ll make sure to leave some food out for him.

  Remembering food, I gasp, throwing my hands up in the air and rushing over to the pot boiling cheerfully over the flame. “Wait Mama! It should be ready by now! Take some with you, please.” I grab a bowl and hurriedly spoon some food into it.

  My mother holds up her hands. “No honey, you eat it. They will feed me at work, I’ll be fine.”

  “Barely anything, Mama, you know it’s never enough. Please,” I beg. “Take it. This will put a little extra food in your belly, to carry you through the night.”

  “You need it more than I do,” she argues. Granted, I’m also thin, but nothing like my mother. And I don’t have to work nearly as hard at taking care of the house, or expend even half the energy that’s required of her.

  “Please Mama, I have plenty.” I shove the bowl into her hands, hoping the fib isn’t revealed in my face. I place a cover over the bowl. “Take it,” I insist.

  Our gazes meet, and she smiles, looking a little bemused. “You’re a stubborn little thing, aren’t you? When did that happen?”

  “I grew up, Mama. And I had a good role model to learn from.” My lips quirk in amusement.

  Mama’s smile falters. “Stubbornness isn’t a good thing, sweetheart. It’s not something one should be proud of.”

  Stiffening, I lift my chin before responding, “It is when what you’re standing up for is worth it.” I can feel my face warming, uncomfortable at arguing with my mother, but unable to agree with her point of view.

  “And that, my dear, is exactly why I fear for your life.” She glances at her watch once more and sighs. “I can’t debate this any longer, Jaelynn. I’ll be late if we stand around talking all day, and you know how Ms. Blackwood hates for us to be late.”

  Frowning, I feel resentment welling up again, forcing me to bite my lip to keep from crying. “Yeah, you still have scars from the last time,” I mutter.

  “Being reliable is valuable to society,” my mother intones, making me cringe at how mechanical she sounds as she quotes the Ministry.

  “But is it more valuable than the people living in said society?” The words erupt from my lips before I can stop them, and I wince. I honestly don’t mean to argue with my mother, but sometimes I can’t help myself.

  “Hush, Jaelynn.” Mama looks around as if someone might hear us inside our own home. “It is the way it is. We can’t change things. We can only do our best with what we’re given, and be thankful for everything we do have.”

  And with that, she turns on her heel and walks out the door, leaving me standing there staring after her, while the door closes gently behind her. Sighing, I find myself alone once more.

  Collapsing to the floor with a soft thud, I pull out the slip of paper hidden in my boot, half surprised to see it didn’t burn a hole right through it.

  Noah, please come back.

  The wayward thought winds through my head, and I hug myself, clenching my fingers tightly around the crumpled scrap of paper.

  I know my thoughts are dangerous, but I can’t seem to resist. I can feel pressure building inside of me. A restlessness, like something has to give. Just what that something is though, I have no idea.

  Picking myself up off the floor, I shake out my skirt with a small sigh. Making myself a bowl of food, I sit down at the family table, alone. Three empty seats surround the table around me.

  Two are obviously for my parents, and then there’s one that is always empty. Except for symmetry, there’s no real need to have four seats, not for us. It often makes it feel as though someone is missing from the table.

  Our furniture is old, handed down from my mother’s mother, my gran. Gran had a larger family than we have, and she’d needed the extra seating. It had also been easier to feed your kids back then, so more families had multiple children.

  Still, looking at the empty chair, I can never get past the feeling that a piece is missing from our family. That the chair belongs to someone.

  I savor my meal in silence, doing my best to enjoy each tiny bite, feeling sad as my bowl quickly empties.

  Scraping the bottom, my stomach growls in protest. A tiny sigh escapes as I wish for more, but I know I have to save some for Papa.

  With a grumble I get up and start washing the dishes, using as little water as possible in an attempt to conserve what we have.

  Glancing idly out the window as I work, I see a figure walking amongst our tomatoes. I gasp, almost dropping the dish, my heart stumbling over itself drunkenly.

  Quickly drying the now clean bowl and setting it on the counter for my father later, my thoughts race.

  Should I run outside and see who it is? Or should I hide inside pretending not to be home?

  Frozen in indecisiveness, I remain standing where I’m at, just watching. The figure is kneeling down, so I can’t make out what exactly they’re up to.

  Maybe he is trying to hide among our pitiful excuses for plants so he can spy on us. Or maybe he’s waiting for me to come out so he can grab me!

  My thoughts race as I run through a thousand different scenarios, each one more frightening than the last. My heart is thundering so hard in my chest I fear the man can hear it from all the way outside.

  “Get a grip Jaclyn,” I whisper to myself. “Breathe.”

  Reaching into a drawer, I feel around, looking for the old knife we use to cut our meat. Finding it, I grip it tightly as I realize the man is facing away from me.

  From where he is crouched and with his proximity to the door, I think I can probably sneak up on him. Catch him by surprise. Put the knife to his throat and ask him just what he is doing in our garden.

  Easy Jaelynn.

  I’m not sure I could take another person’s life, but there’s no way I can sleep knowing a stranger is lurking about on our property. My father won’t be home for hours yet, and the nearest neighbor is too far away to hear my screams were something bad to happen.

  Even if they did, most of the Valley people tend to keep to themselves and look the other way, choosing to look out for their own necks than get involved in someone else’s problems. Sad, but it is what it is.

  Gulping in a big breath of air in an effort to brace myself and screw up my courage, I know if I don’t act now, I’ll either be scared for my own safety all night, or worried that my father will be taken by surprise by our garden lurker.

  Papa, where are you when I need you?

  I grimace, wishing there was a way to reach my father and get his help. But there isn’t, and since there isn’t, I have no choice but to defend our home. Stiffening my spine, I stand up straighter and grip the knife tightly.

  Moving toward the door, I glance out the window once more. The stranger is still kneeling, still facing away from me. Holding my breath, I place my hand on the doorknob, and turn it as quietly as possible, hoping the door won’t creak as it opens.

  Stepping outside, I leave it open behind me, afraid of the noise closing it might make. The figure doesn’t turn my way, so I feel confident he doesn’t hear me exit the house. I grip the knife tighter in my hand, moving as stealthily as I can in his direction.

  But then I hear it, and stop dead in my tracks. My mouth forms a small ‘O’ of surprise, my eyes bugging wide. I almost don’t believe what I’m hearing. The stranger kneeling down in my garden is singing.

  Every spring the swe
et young flowers

  open bright and gay.

  I stand absolutely still, transfixed by the voice. I barely resist the urge to sing the next line.

  As I listen I let my arm fall slowly to my side, unaware of anything else around me but the beautiful sound of the stranger’s voice.

  The figure stands up and turns to face me. He flashes a lopsided smile and raises a brow, directing a pointed look to the ground at my feet.

  My eyes follow his and I see the knife lying in the dirt.

  Looking back up, I grimace and give a small, rather awkward shrug.

  “Hi Jaelynn,” the familiar voice greets me. “I hope I haven’t frightened you?”

  He smiles, and I notice the odd object he’d been carrying earlier today propped against an old stump nearby.

  III

  FEELING a surge of indignation, mixed with a healthy dose of relief that the stranger isn’t quite the stranger I first thought, I lift my chin.

  “What are you doing in my garden?” I demand, realizing belatedly that with the knife on the ground, I have very little chance of defending myself. Not that I truly think I will need to. At least I hope I won’t.

  Noah’s eyes twinkle a little, like he finds something amusing. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t sure if you were home,” he says, running his hand through his shaggy brown hair. “And I wanted to help with your garden. Mr. Stanton didn’t have any more work for me today, and I thought maybe you could use an extra hand.”

  Eyeing him a little suspiciously, I hesitate. Noah doesn’t look threatening in the least. Still, everyone is always warned to watch out for drifters. Drifters we’re told, bring chaos, discord, and danger.

  I wonder briefly if I should bend down and grab my knife. It was all fine when he was out on the road and I was in my garden with a fence between us. With that barrier separating us, he’d felt more benign, less threatening. But now he’s on our property without my permission, it feels different. Noah’s gaze drifts down to the knife lying in the dirt again, his brows colliding sharply as understanding suddenly dawns on his face.