Muted Trilogy: Mute Part 8

Enjoying the view?

Jemma resisted the childish impulse to stick her tongue out at him, settling instead for the more mature option of rolling her eyes.

I couldn't exactly clear my throat to get your attention, now could I? You seemed absorbed, so I didn't want to make any louder noises, she typed.

Sure, he typed. Ready to go? Thought after last night I might walk you out to your car when I'm here. I mean, not to imply you need protection, but there's safety in numbers, and it's kinda dark, and if you heard that noise more than once, then maybe... He closed his eyes and sighed, finis.h.i.+ng typing without opening them, impressive on the on-screen keyboard. Is it possible to ramble without speaking aloud?

Jemma smirked at him when he reopened his eyes. It would be fine if you walked me to my car. You look like you might fall asleep on the way out, though.

I'm not quite that tired, though I feel it. I'll probably turn in early tonight. He rubbed the back of his neck and typed with his free hand. It was a long night. Dad woke me around midnight, needed help. He put his hand back down on the counter, and she hesitated a moment before covering it in silent apology. He smiled at her, the hint of worry and sadness disappearing. He seemed better this morning, Jack typed, reclaiming his hand to do so.

I'm glad.

He c.o.c.ked his head toward the door questioningly, and she nodded, turning the tablet off.

They walked out to the parking lot, pausing for Jemma to re-lock the door. There was no sound, no hint that another person or animal was nearby, and they made it to their cars without complication, Jack waving before he pulled away.

She set her purse in its normal resting place and locked the door behind her, putting down her keys and heading into the kitchen, where she stared at the refrigerator. She wasn't sure whether she was hungry enough for a meal; she'd polished off the bag of trail mix that should have lasted her the whole week.

She grabbed a bowl and the makings for a new batch of trail mix, throwing it together before she grew too tired, knowing she'd regret it if she didn't have a snack for tomorrow's workday. She finally decided on dinner, another one of her frozen meals. She heated it, then bypa.s.sed her computer to sit at her couch, reading until she was finished eating. Her current book was a romance, not something she sought out terribly often, but this one was by an author she knew many of her patrons read. It was about a marine trying to build a new life in a small town in some mountain range on the other side of the country.

After she finished eating and read a few more chapters, she glanced at the clock and saw it was still a while before bedtime. She wondered whether she'd have a discussion in bed tonight, too, still not convinced it was more than a figment of her imagination. She bit her lip for a moment before focusing on the voice she remembered, trying it before she was tired enough to doubt herself more.

"h.e.l.lo?" Her voice echoed in her mind, but then there was silence. Shrugging, she moved to her computer. Almost immediately, a message popped up from her mother.

You awake?

Yeah. What's up? Jemma asked.

I was just making sure you're still coming for supper Friday.

Of course. Jemma clicked on the clock at the bottom of her screen, verifying that it was only Tuesday. Something special going on?

Nope. Just doing my groceries tomorrow and wanted to purchase appropriately. How was work?

Work was fine, typed Jemma. Whatever gene you and Dad have that make you enjoy working with kids, I don't think I got it.

Ha! her mother sent. You certainly didn't. Remember that time your younger cousin came over? Katie? You were SO upset that she kept following you around.

Give me SOME credit, Mom. I was only ten.

I think Jilly likes kids, though. We might have grandchildren yet. Not YET, of course.

Jemma sighed. Of course not yet. She's seventeen.

What if... Her mother sent the abbreviated message and then stopped typing for a minute.

Mom?

What if by the time I have grandkids, we still don't have our voices back? How will we sing them to sleep?

Jemma pulled out her phone and texted her sister: I think Mom could use a hug.

She switched back to her computer, responding to her mother. If that's the case, well, I'm sure mother and child will have telepathy, right? What's to say you won't, too? And if you can't talk to it immediately, you know you'll spend so much time with the baby that its first word's gonna be your name.

I suppose. There was another pause before her mother typed again. You sent Jilly to give me a hug? Thank you.

Didn't take much. We love you. Now stop worrying about hypothetical future children or grandchildren. It's about bed time. Get some sleep.

Fine. I'll see you Friday night, Carolyn wrote.

I'll see you then. Tell everyone good night for me.

Okay. I will. Sleep well, Sweetheart.

I will. You, too, Jemma typed.

Jemma shook her head at the screen and then took her time getting ready for bed. Once comfortable, she was unsure of whether to try speaking to the mystery man again or not. She was tired again, and she hadn't thought of as many things she could ask as she'd wanted. She decided to read instead, picking the book back up where she'd left off before talking to her mom. She'd made it through a few more chapters before she was interrupted.

"h.e.l.lo?" The voice rumbled in her mind.

"Hi," she said, pausing a moment and then putting her book away.

"Sorry I didn't answer earlier. I know there's a way to speak telepathically to one person and not another, but I haven't actually gotten to practice and didn't want my family to think I was loony."

"That's fine. I suppose this is rather intrusive as far as communication goes. Can we block it out, do you think?" she asked.

"That's a good question. Should we try? How do we even go about that?" he returned.

"Maybe we'd better save that for when I'm less tired. Is it night where you are, too?"

"Yep. About my bed time."

She thought for a moment. "We keep talking when we're tired, and so I am having trouble telling myself this isn't all in my mind, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," he answered.

"Okay, so I was thinking maybe there was some way we could confirm it's real, without giving away too much personal information. Maybe you could tell me something, and then I can look it up and see whether it's real? It has to be something I don't already know, though."

"Hmm," he said. "So something you don't know without first knowing much about each other. I'm not really big on science, so I probably can't give you anything there."

"And I spend a lot of time with books, so most literature is out," clarified Jemma.

"What about math? I could give you an equation and the answer, and you can check to make sure it's right."

Jemma thought for a moment, then grabbed her cell phone and opened up the notepad app. "Okay. That'll work. What's the problem?"

"Give me a sec," he said, sounding amused rather than impatient as his words might suggest. Jemma had to admit she had missed some of the nuances tone allowed in communication. "Okay, got one. Ready?"

"Yeah," said Jemma, scribbling down the letters and numbers he gave her, clarifying twice in places she wasn't sure how to write. "Okay, got it."

"What about me? I need verification, too. I mean, I seem to be more sure than you are, but still, it'd be nice, right? Knowing I'm not crazy?"

Jemma looked around for inspiration and then grabbed her e-reader. "How about the author and t.i.tle of a novel? That's easy enough to verify."

"Okay, just nothing popular that I might have seen on display recently. I don't read a lot, but I do glance at the books at least."

She thumbed through a couple pages of her library until she reached books that had come out a few months ago, giving him the t.i.tle and author of one that hadn't been much of a hit. "Want the ISBN, too? You're less likely to have that accidentally imprinted on your subconscious."

"Sure."

She relayed that to him, letting him know he'd be able to confirm it on Amazon. She put down phone and e-reader and got comfortable again. "So... What now?"

"I'm not quite ready to sleep yet. I think I stayed up too late, and now I'm wired. Do you mind if we keep talking? We can avoid the personal stuff." His voice was low, almost soothing, and Jemma yawned as she sought a topic.

"Do you think time travel is possible?" she asked, not entirely sure how she'd settled on that topic.

"Umm... I suppose? I mean, I like watching shows with time travel, reading books, as long as their explanations make sense. Stable paradoxes are fine, but not one that is impossible because it undoes itself."

"So you don't believe in multiple timelines, then?" she asked, trying to let her smile show in her mental voice.

"You think that's funny?" He sounded amused. "I don't really know. I can see the argument either way. Sometimes I like imagining infinite possibilities, infinite dimensions, infinite versions of ourselves. Other times, though, I like thinking that there's just us, that what we do matters in more than just this one little version of our life."

"Mmmm." She was quiet a moment. "You mentioned time travel shows. What are your favorites?"

The conversation continued, the two discussing television, books, entertainment, and various other topics that skirted ident.i.ty, while still sharing thoughts and opinions. Finally, Jemma was unable to keep her eyes open.

"Okay," she said, "I need to sleep."

"Fair enough. It's later than I realized. Good night, stranger."

"Good night," she said, smiling again and slipping quickly and quietly into sleep, her dreams much less turbulent than they had been, filled with time travel and romance in alternate dimensions, connections spanning time and s.p.a.ce.

CHAPTER TWELVE:.

Striking "Good morning," Jemma typed to Cecily after she finished getting her things situated in the staff room. Cecily, reviewing something on the computer, nodded in acknowledgment. Jemma moved around to the employee side of the desk, quickly using the backup computer to check in the books waiting in the drop box. After a moment, she felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Cecily smiling.

Cecily nodded at the last of the books Jemma had scanned in and mouthed, Thank you. Jemma nodded, then walked to the tablet.

"Busy day?" she asked, Delilah's vocal translation turned low.

Cecily nodded again. "Quite," she typed. "It's slowed down now though."

Jemma looked around, counting a handful of patrons still present, and smiled. "It's good seeing people here."

"Yes, it is. It would be even better if we had a third employee."

Jemma moved her hands to type, then stopped. She'd been ready to ask Cecily if she was planning to hire someone, but that was Jemma's job now. She considered for a long minute before typing. "I want to make sure this morning wasn't a fluke. I can be on-call - on-text? - for a few mornings in case you need backup. If traffic stays high, we'll get someone else in here."

A smile crept across Cecily's lips. "That was a perfect response," she wrote. "It looks as if you have everything under control. May I leave now?"

"Of course!" Jemma waved at the older woman, who made her way to the staff room.

Jemma stifled a yawn as she listened for the employee exit to open and close. Jemma had let Cecily know about the unidentified noises, but since she came and went when it was light out, she didn't seem concerned. After she heard the door, Jemma made sure n.o.body looked as if they needed help or seemed ready to check out. Then, she pulled up an internet browser.

She'd slept through her alarm, exhausted, waking with just enough time to get ready for work, so she hadn't had a chance to verify the math she'd been given before falling asleep. She now entered the equation into Google, knowing that the built-in math functions were hit and miss, but the search engine provided an answer immediately, one that matched the answer she'd been given the night before.

She wasn't sure why her brain still fought to accept that she might be able to speak to a stranger using communication that most of the world didn't seem to have access to. Maybe it was the lingering possibility that this talent could put her in danger, or maybe it was the fact that interpersonal communication had never been her strong suit. Either way, her mind immediately flew to different ways she could have come up with the equation herself. She did like putting random numbers into Google when she was bored, something that occurred a couple times a year. She couldn't remember the last time she'd done that, though, and the chances of her remembering that long of an equation were slim.

Maybe she'd started sleepwalking and hadn't realized it? She checked again to make sure the patrons looked okay, and then she pulled out her phone, searching the browsing history that synced across her phone and her computer. There were no math problems in her recent history, and no results in the less-limited search function when she started typing in the numbers. She put her phone back in her pocket and rubbed her hands over her face.

The most likely scenario seemed to be that she really was communicating with this person. She wasn't dreaming him or imagining him, but actually interacting with another human being.

In her bed.

At night.

Wouldn't her mother be pleased?

Jemma sighed silently. Okay, so she was Talking to someone. She needed to decide what to do about that. She tried to breathe deeply, to slow her body's reaction to the situation. At the scuffling of feet, she looked up, first blinking and then smiling at the person who was approaching her with a stack of books. The woman, around Jemma's age, looked unsure until Jemma typed on the tablet.

"How can I help you?"

The woman's face lit up, and she set down the books to type.

"I need to sign up for a library card."

Jemma helped the patron sign up, explaining forms and recording the identification cards and bills that confirmed eligibility. When she finished, she handed the woman her books, new library card on top. The woman left with a smile, and Jemma took a breath, feeling much more settled than she had before the interruption. Her heart rate had lowered, her breathing had slowed, and her mind was working more clearly. She chose to focus on work for the next couple of hours, working through everything she could find, from reports to shelving and straightening. Mid-afternoon, she found herself blinking at Jack, who was sitting at the upstairs table she'd been ready to dust. He turned and noticed her, then waved her over with a smile, opening a blank Word doc.u.ment on his laptop.

You were busy putting books away when I got here, so I didn't say hi. How are you? he typed.

She leaned forward, her arm brus.h.i.+ng against his as she reached for the keyboard. I'm fine. Tired, distracted, but good.

Jack nodded. I know the feeling. He hesitated. I don't want to hold you up. I'll see you at closing?

See you then, she agreed.

She went back to work, but she quickly ran out of things to do. When she looked around, everything was clean and neat, and almost all the patrons had left; late afternoons and evenings seemed to still be at-home family times. Distractions gone, her mind wandered back to the person with whom she'd been speaking at night. She felt her mouth pull down as she considered her next action. She took a deep breath.

"Does this work during the day?" she sent, the question echoing in her mind as she awaited a response. She released the breath she'd held, and it hitched as she heard a reply.