Silence Read online

  Table of Contents

  Silence

  Silence

  SILENCE

  Silence Chapter 1

  Silence Chapter 2

  Silence Chapter 3

  Silence Chapter 4

  Silence Chapter 5

  Silence Chapter 6

  Silence Chapter 7

  Silence Chapter 8

  Silence Chapter 9

  Silence Chapter 10

  Silence Chapter 11

  Silence Chapter 12

  Silence Chapter 13

  Silence Chapter 14

  Silence Chapter 15

  Silence Chapter 16

  Silence Chapter 17

  Silence Chapter 18

  Silence Chapter 19

  Silence Chapter 20

  Silence Chapter 21

  Silence Chapter 22

  Silence Chapter 23

  Silence Chapter 24

  Silence Chapter 25

  Silence Chapter 26

  Silence Chapter 27

  Silence Chapter 28

  Silence Chapter 29

  Silence Chapter 30

  Silence Chapter 31

  About J.E. Taylor

  Silence © December 2014 J.E. Taylor

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For additional information contact:

  www.JETaylor75.com

  Cover Art by J.E. Taylor

  Edited by: Dragonfly Editing

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Silence

  by

  J.E. Taylor

  SILENCE

  On an early September day in 1979, Jamie Wilson hobbles down the sidewalk on crutches, her broken leg aching. As the school buses rumble past, some jerk yells “Faker!” out the window.

  Jamie flips the bird in response.

  Big mistake.

  She pissed off the wrong egomaniac, and this bully rules the school.

  High school becomes a daily nightmare when her tormentors wage psychological warfare, starting with a physical attack in the hallway meant to terrorize. With only a three-day suspension as punishment and the threat of expulsion for any further physical attacks, the bitch squad change tactics, relentlessly lobbing verbal hand grenades at every opportunity.

  Words are powerful weapons, especially when the school offers no protection against verbal assault. Suffering in silence is Jamie’s only choice if she doesn't want to end up in ICU.

  But silence can become an equally dangerous agent of self-destruction.

  Silence Chapter 1

  The first day of school... September 1979

  The weather in Connecticut, in early September, was a crapshoot, and today of all days the humidity-laden heat rained down. By the time I trekked the mile from my house to the crest of the hill, my shirt had become a second skin, sticking to my slick back. My scalp tingled from the beads of perspiration drizzling through my hair and all I really wanted was a cool shower. The large brick building loomed in front of me. My stomach fluttered with both excitement and fear. I swallowed the dryness in my mouth, pausing, hesitating at the mammoth unknown before me.

  High School.

  And here I was, covered in sweat and slightly out of breath from the steep incline of Loveland Hill leading to the school. I glanced around at the pedestrian crowds filtering inside and followed the crowd right to the nearest bathroom. I wasn’t the only one suffering from the heat, and the number of girls wiping away sweat with the grainy paper towels punctuated that.

  A line formed in front of the mirror as the girls made their make-up adjustments. I waited my turn and squinted critically at my disheveled reflection. I only had time for a quick touch up and an equally frantic run of the brush through my hair before the bell rang. I had less than a minute to hunt down my homeroom class.

  I burst into the room just as the late bell sounded, my lungs suffering from the panic. All eyes swung in my direction and the heat rushed into my cheeks. I sent a smile of apology in the direction of the teacher and maneuvered to one of the few free seats in the room, the one with my name announced on the folded paper.

  The door cracked open after I settled in and a couple of more lost souls shuffled in, turning as red as I imagined I did. One of them took the empty seat next to me, her nametag announced her as Donna and I had never seen her before. I gave her a nod and turned my attention to the teacher droning on about expectations for all of us sequestered at Rockville High for the next four years.

  Rules, regulations, all the boring drivel and I zoned Ms. Kemp’s monotone voice out, turning toward Donna and offering an eye roll.

  She covered the laugh with her hand, nodding. She scribbled a note and passed it to me.

  Boring! I couldn’t help the smirk that surfaced. Yeah, this was boring all right. I scribbled Where do you live? I waited until Ms. Kemp turned toward the blackboard, the chalk scraping the slate in a way that made me grit my teeth. Not quite like nails on the surface, but close enough to produce that tinny taste in my mouth. I slid the paper to Donna.

  She scribbled and passed the paper back. The name of her road meant nothing to me and I answered her reciprocal question with the name of my street. Her eyebrows rose when she opened the folded paper, and then she intently scribed a response, her eyes flitting between the paper and the teacher.

  I was curious to see what the flurry was about, so, when the note was passed, I flipped it open without glancing in the teacher’s direction.

  “Miss Wilson, do you have something you’d like to share with the class?”

  Heat rushed into my face and I stammered, stowing the sheet into the side of my notebook. “Um, no.” I folded my hands primly on the surface in front of me and raised my eyebrows in a look I hope conveyed sincerity. But apparently, it wasn’t sincere enough. Ms. Kemp marched down the aisle and reached her hand out. I dropped my eyes to the desk considering my alternatives. The corner of the note still hung out of my notebook and what was written there wasn’t incriminating. Time slowed and I sighed, pulling it out and handing it to the teacher, my eyes traveling up to her bespectacled grey eyes. Eyes that said I’m disappointed in you. To my embarrassment, she flipped it open and glanced at Donna, then back at me.

  The note neatly disappeared into the folds of her skirt. “Make your plans between classes.” And with a whirl she headed to the front of the class, continuing where she left off.

  Her note informed me that her back yard bordered the road directly across from mine and she wondered if I wanted to walk to school with her. The walk had seemed endless this morning and it would be nice to share it with someone. I sent a nod in Donna’s direction answering her written question and got a smile in return.

  When the bell rang, Donna leaned toward me as she got up. “Want to walk home together?”

  “Sure.” And just as easy as that, I made my first new friend in high school.

  Silence Chapter 2

  Late September, freshman year...

  “Shit!” I yelled and crumpled to the ground. Pain shot up my leg, hot and sharp, and I grasped my ankle, tryi
ng to keep skin and bone from shattering into a million pieces. I knew I wasn’t an athlete by any means, but hell; I should be able to do a stinking cartwheel or round-off like a normal kid.

  Not.

  Just like this summer, another bad landing followed by pain.

  I stood and hobbled inside, the telltale scrape of bone on bone that I recognized from this past June played in my ear. Of course, I was the only one who could hear it, but I thought I knew what it meant.

  As my mother and I sat waiting in the doctor’s office the following morning, I had no more doubts. My leg was broken. Again.

  Dr. Abbott breezed into the room like he walked on air, a feat that always amazed me, given his gigantic stature. He reminded me of the Jolly Green Giant, without the emerald tint, and he snapped my x-ray onto the viewer. Studying the skeletal snapshot for a brief moment, he sighed and turned, tapping his index finger on the center of the film. “Right here, see this small line?”

  I shook my head and he pointed at the x-ray again.

  “This, this right here. It looks like a strand of hair in the middle of your fibula.”

  Both my mother and I squinted and then my eyes widened. I saw. A small line. A partial crack. “Yeah, I see it.”

  He tapped the x-ray again. “That’s similar to the stress fracture you had this summer, but the good news is it doesn’t go all the way through the bone.” He smiled and flipped the x-ray light off. Swiveling his chair in my direction, he continued. “Because this is in your fibula and the fracture is located midway down the bone, I’m not going to put you in a cast.” He reached into the drawer and rifled through the contents, bringing a silk sock out and handed it to me. “This is a stress stocking and I want you to wear it every day.” He handed my mother a couple of extra pairs. “We’ll get you set up with crutches, and for the first week I don’t want you to put any pressure on your leg. After a week, I’ll want you to walk with the crutches until you see me again. Got it?”

  Fantastic. Crutches. Did I mention how much I hate crutches? My armpits still had calluses from my prior bout with the torture sticks. Why did I have to be such a colossal klutz?

  I nodded my understanding, pressing my lips together in disgust.

  “Bring her back in four weeks,” he directed toward my mother and was up and out of the room like lightning.

  Mom was sweet. She offered to give me a ride to school, but I had to meet Donna at the end of the street. I liked walking with her, especially now that the weather had cooled. So, crutches and all, I trekked the quarter mile to the end of my road. Donna’s jaw dropped when she saw me making my way down the street. She scurried to my side.

  “What happened to you?”

  She didn’t know I was a natural born disaster. “I did a cartwheel and landed wrong.” With a shrug, I continued my slow progression forward.

  “At least let me grab your bag.”

  I may be stubborn and all, but I’m not an idiot, and I let her feel helpful by carrying my book bag. By the time we got to school, I was wishing I’d taken my mother up on the ride. Those calluses under my armpits were raw and singing Dixie, burning with each step I took. I was glad to tumble into my homeroom seat.

  They let me leave class a full five minutes early with a “book buddy” to haul my assortment of shit from class to class. Donna volunteered for the job before I could nominate her. So, for the rest of the day, she came to whatever class I was in and carried my books to the courtyard, where we’d have a cigarette before schlepping to the next class. It was a fun day despite the fatigue, but I dreaded the walk home.

  Loveland Hill, alone, was treacherous for my weary muscles, never mind the almost mile beyond, but at least it wasn’t uphill this time around. So, with Donna carrying my book bag, I crutched slowly down the steep grade.

  Halfway down some idiot on one of the busses shouted, “Faker!”

  No one else on the hill was sporting crutches, so I knew they aimed the comment at me, and anger flared as raw as the patches under my arms. I glared at the reflective windows and flipped the bird.

  “What an asshole,” Donna said and we kept walking, thinking nothing more about the cat-call owner or the fact that I’d defiantly flipped them off.

  “HONEY, DO YOU WANT a ride today?”

  God love my mother. “Yeah. Do you mind if we pick up Donna at the end of the road?”

  “Sure,” Mom said with a smile.

  She had heard me talk about Donna enough to be curious; besides, it wasn’t like we were picking her up across town. Mom pulled into the parking lot of the professional building and I stuck my head out the window, calling out to Donna as she waited on the corner for me to come crutching down the road.

  Relief flooded her face and she smiled as she jogged over and slipped into the back seat.

  “Donna, this is my mom, Mom this is Donna.”

  Cordial as ever, they both said “nice to meet you” at the same time. Awkward silence filled the car and my mom pulled out on the road.

  “So, Jamie tells me you roller-skate.”

  “Yes,” Donna answered the quota one-word answers teenagers are bound to respond when questioned by an adult.

  “She skates every Friday, Saturday and Sunday.” I offered, hoping to throw my mom off the trail.

  “Really.” Mom shot a look in my direction, a raised eyebrow that said don’t think you’re going to be following that crazy schedule.

  Little did she know, that’s exactly what I planned, just as soon as I was cleared for activity. I loved roller-skating, besides, the skate park was at the intersection where I met Donna and I could walk there when it wasn’t dark.

  The rest of the ride was quiet and Mom dropped us off in the turn-about on the side of the school. We trekked inside and the usual morning ensued with those extra five minutes between classes to get our nicotine fix.

  The day went to hell in a hand basket when I stepped out of the cafeteria with Donna in tow. I rounded the corner and hands grabbed me, picking me right up out of the crutches, which clanked on the ground a second after I slammed into the cinderblock wall. Shock delayed my reaction, but that didn’t last long, not with the hand clamped around my throat and the angry face inches from mine. Fear bit at me, freezing my already oxygen starved lungs and I could feel my eyes widen.

  My assailant seemed pleased by the fear so clearly written in my features.

  “You don’t ever flip me off!”

  My eyes switched from the angry girl holding me to the wall to the sharp voice behind her. The leader of this small band of terrorists glared at me and it took a second for recognition to set in. The gang that ruled the school with fear and the promise of pain had me pinned to a wall because I flipped them off the prior afternoon.

  The third girl slid closer and the hand around my throat released. Cold liquid poured over my head, the contents of the newly opened chocolate milk covered me.

  The bell rang and they disappeared just as quickly as they had accosted me. Donna picked up my crutches, visibly shaken, but that was nothing compared to the emotions swirling in me as people swarmed out of the cafeteria and laughed at the poor pale girl covered in chocolate milk in the hallway. Any remaining fear evaporated, replaced by mortification.

  “Are you okay?” Donna’s voice shook.

  I didn’t trust my voice not to crack, and with it my demeanor. I didn’t want to cry in front of the lunch crowd, instead I started in the direction of the school nurse as fast as I could muster.

  The nurse immediately shot to her feet and crossed to me. I kept my composure, not breaking down, not here, not yet. I just wanted out, out of these wet clothes. “Can my brother take me home?” My brother was a senior.

  “Who did this to you?” The nurse demanded.

  I shook my head. “I just want to go home. Can you please find my brother for me?”

  “Please tell me who did this to you!”

  I shrugged. I didn’t know their names, but their reputation was enough to keep me q
uiet. I didn’t want more trouble. I just wanted to go home and hide under my bed sheets for the next week. I wanted to forget what happened.

  “Linda Nader, Ellen Howard, and Heather Long,” Donna said. “Linda and Ellen attacked her and dumped milk on her in the hall outside the cafeteria.”

  Oh, great. A snitch. Just the label I wanted, in addition to faker. I shot Donna a look that should have frosted the room, but she ignored it, hell bent on protecting the poor cripple.

  “I want my brother,” I said to the nurse.

  With the names of the culprits scribbled on a notepad, the nurse called for my brother.

  Within a few clicks of the clock, the door opened and my brother, Dave, skidded into the room. Concern vanished from his expression and it altered, lips tightening and eyes narrowing in the very familiar posture of anger. Instead of asking me who did this, his gaze shot to the nurse. “What happened?”

  “A couple of girls roughed her up a little. I’d appreciate it if you would take her home.”

  He nodded and held the door for me.

  We walked through the silent halls, making it to his car without further embarrassment, but the moment the car door closed, I crumbled. Sobs tore out of my chest, and I covered my face to shield the noise in the close confines of the car.

  My brother’s hand awkwardly patting my shoulder was no help either, it just seemed to make the tears and the shakes that had overridden my small form worse.

  The ride was quick, but long enough for me to wipe the tears away, and get myself together to face Mom. She was already standing at the door waiting for us, her eyes holding depths of worry I hadn’t before had cause to see. Her warm arms wrapped around me and the faucet started again. I cried like a scared two-year-old. When the tears dried up, I pulled away, wiping my face on the inside of my sleeve.

  “Go clean up, and then we’ll talk,” she said.

  I didn’t argue, instead I hobbled up the stairs, and into the bathroom, stripped the tacky chocolate-laden clothes off my back, and stepped into the shower. Replaying the scene over, and over in my mind, my stomach writhed: knotting, tensing, and clenching, seeded with a lining of fear.