Those that are silent... - Naomi M-B (i want to read a book TXT) 📗

Books in the Destiny's Joke series

1. Those That Are Silent

2. Human Testing

3. Persona

4. Changeling

5. Drifters

6. Destiny's Joke

Author's Note

A quick word on this story’s universe

After much deliberation, I have decided that my story is not set in our fair universe but in one that is quite similar. This gives me a lot more freedom as I don’t need to stick to our universe’s timelines.

There’ll be a few smaller differences, certain people haven’t become famous, The Second World War was two years later etcetera, etcetera.

For this story, I suppose the biggest difference is the Conference Parties. Businessmen in this world really do mix business with pleasure.

I hope this also clears up any confusion.

Those that are mad...

A psychiatric unit is usually the last place on earth any rationally thinking seventeen year-old would want to be during the summer holidays. So that was why there were more than a few glances at the two teenage boys who stood at the entrance, staring up at the daunting building.

“Do I even wanna know what he's got us into again?” Ren grumbled blowing his fringe out of his eyes. Several studs gleamed on his left eyebrow as he raised it at his companion. More gleamed on his left ear.

Satra shrugged, staring up at the place with a frown. “It depends whether or not you want to be forewarned.”

 “I think I'll pass. Wait…” Ren looked around. “Wasn't Pretty boy coming?”

“Oh yes. I bet he's on another date, though,” Satra laughed before he pulled out his phone and started texting. After a couple of seconds, there was a Bing as a new message arrived. “Ah ha!” Satra crowed, “Yup. ‘I’ve got a superhot date, go away.’ Just like I said.”

Eyebrow raised, Ren read it over his shoulder. “He ain’t telling us who the latest victim is, huh?”

“Yeah,” Satra sighed, mock pouting, “He stopped after I hacked one of his previous dates’ phones and played their conversations through the school speaker system.” Giving Satra a sidelong look, Ren slowly edged away from him.

“You’re bloody dangerous,” he muttered. Satra just laughed, coffee eyes shining with delight. “Tch.” Ren looked at his watch. “Oi, dumbass, it was one o’clock, right?”

Unconcerned by the nickname, Satra blinked and tapped his chin. “Yeah, but we’re a little early, thanks to someone.”

“Is it bad for not wanting to be late for once?” Ren demanded. When Satra just shrugged and looked at his shoes, Ren frowned and glanced up at the hospital. Thinking logically may not have been Ren’s greatest feat but he knew his friends well enough to understand certain basics. “You know, whatever Kami’s got planned, if you don’t like being here, he’ll under-”

“You came!” an excited voice yelled, accompanied by the sound of running footsteps. Hair dancing about with the movement and babyish eyes gleaming with excitement, Kami, their youngest friend, raced up to join them. “You're here!” He smiled delightedly up at them, much like a pleased toddler.

Ruffling the younger boy’s hair, Satra perked up and grinned. “You asked didn't you? When you ask we rarely have a choice. Now, what have we gotten ourselves into this time?”

Apparently ignoring him, Kami looked around and his face fell. “Where's Terone?”

“On a date,” Ren told him.

“But,” Kami whined, “I wanted all of us here.”

Eyes rolling, Ren sighed. “Pretty boy can come next time.”

“Yeah,” Satra agreed. “You made it sound like a regular thing. Now what is ‘it’?”

Brightening up, he smiled again. “My Auntie works here and she's going to let us help her! We get to help the mad people!” Open mouthed, they stared at him. Ren's eye twitched slightly.

“That- uh-” Ren mouthed wordlessly for a second. “What the hell?!”

“That sounds like…work! Like actual, physical labour,” Satra whined, looking aghast. “We're not... feeding them or anything, are we?”

Apparently oblivious, Kami shook his head. “No, we're just talking to them and socialising.”

With a sigh of relief, Satra grinned. “Thank god. I can do socialising.”

On the other hand, Ren seemed to have frozen to the spot. “Wait! I’m not good with the whole… talking thing.” His concerns were completely ignored as the other two took an arm each and made their way into the hospital.

Half an hour later, however, Kami seemed to be the only one unenthusiastic. When they had first entered, they had been met by several nurses in the reception room. After signing in, they had been led through one of the many doors to the games room.

It was a large area full of bean bags and comfy chairs, several plastic tables held board games like chess or Scrabble with many more types stacked up neatly on shelves. Several nurses were scattered around, socialising, interviewing and generally keeping an eye on things.

It didn't have all the straitjackets and padded rooms like they'd expected. Indeed some of the patients seemed normal. Actually, their normality was more surprising than anything they could really expect. They were all different, some bright and excitable to the point of hyperactivity. Others were laid back, sullen or anti-social. One girl shot Satra a glare so strong from over her shoulder that he squeaked and attempted to jump into Ren’s arms (predictably, Ren stepped back and smacked him).

Almost immediately, Ren got into an extremely competitive game of table football with a boy being treated for severe pyromania. They had been assured that the room had been checked for even the smallest trace of explosives and that they were deemed safe. Both boys had looks of intense concentration as they twisted and pulled at the handles.

Watching them, Satra chatted idly with a short haired, petite girl. She didn’t say much, just listened avidly and scratched at her bandaged wrists.

Meanwhile, Kami was bored. Lounging in a seat by the window, he pouted. Everyone in here was interesting, granted, but their stories were easy to guess from a few well practised looks. Unnaturally observant eyes took in the details and a photographic memory analysed the rest. Here, abusive parents and depression, there, anxiety and a life of isolation. Kami had always been good at reading, and reading into, people.

While one part of him wanted to go and talk to the patients, ascertain the details and discover the things he’d missed; the rest of him wanted something fascinating and unique. Why hadn't there been at least one padded room and one extremely mad patient that needed a straitjacket? Yawning, he rolled onto his back. Boring.

A door opened on the wall opposite him and a nurse hurried out. Behind the door there was a wide corridor with doors on both sides. Maybe he'd be able to find some real mad people! Grinning, he got to his feet and looked around quickly before going through the door.

An almost deathly quiet hung over the white walls and floor, seeming to muffle any noise that was made. Chewing his bottom lip, Kami made his way down the corridor slowly, eyeing each door suspiciously.

After a while, his ears pricked up to the sound of music echoing faintly down the passage. It was quiet, barely audible. Eyes gleaming with excitement, Kami set off at a quicker pace, eager to find the source. Gradually, it began to define and increase in volume. Though the words of the song were still indecipherable, a beat and a melody were easy to pick out.

Ahead, he could see what looked like a partially open door. Excitement and curiosity burned inside of him as he approached, a smile spreading across his face. Who was inside? He steadied himself as he reached the door. It wasn't open by very much but the music could be heard billowing from the gap. Now that he was close, he could hear that the singing wasn't in English: it sounded more like Japanese or some other Asian language. Inflating his lungs with one last deep breath, he placed a hand against the door and pushed...

There were no padded walls. That fact alone immediately disappointed him. The room was whitewashed, clean and neat. There was a white sofa along one wall, a white desk and chair, a white chest of drawers and a white bed against the other wall. An iPod dock shaped like a panda was sitting on the desk, music erupting from its eye-shaped speakers. Beside it, a sharpened pencil cast a shadow across the empty page of the sketchbook it lay upon.

On the bed, with her legs loosely crossed and her back against the wall, was a girl with long dark hair, dressed all in white. Her head was resting on her shoulder and her face was turned away from him. The only movement from her was the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Frowning, Kami stood staring unashamedly. Eyes narrowing slightly, he looked for the tiny details that would give him some clue as to who she was.

She was a patient, that much was obvious, but apart from that… nothing. There was nothing. Not in her listless gaze at the wall or her lifeless limbs. It was like staring into an empty room.

“Um,” he blurted out, suddenly uncomfortable, “are you awake?”

Ever so slightly, she turned her head and he could just about see her eyes glittering behind her mane of dark hair. So there was life in there somewhere.

“Hi.” He smiled brightly. “I’m Kamitra.”

No reaction.

“Kami!” A voice startled him and he jumped around. It was his Aunt Beatrice; her nurse’s uniform was slightly creased in places suggesting a late night shift. “Ah.” She smiled. “I was going to bring you here. Looks like you beat me to it.” She tapped him on the nose then beckoned him into the room.

“This is Uta.” Beatrice directed Kami to the sofa and pressed pause on the iPod. “She’s one of our newest patients. She’s been here about a month now.”

Wide eyed, Kami watched Uta. Fascination and childish wonder morphed into the same expression. She looked so much like a porcelain doll with her blank expression and large staring eyes. “What’s wrong with her?” he whispered, not wanting to disturb the silence that had fallen on the room.

Eyes on her nephew, Beatrice replied, “We don’t really know. She received some kind of psychological trauma and she’s been unresponsive to nearly everything ever since. She can eat and wash herself but she doesn’t speak or show reactions to anything. With the exception of Japanese rock music,” she amended as an afterthought.

“So what