“Why? Are the spacks coming back to kill us?”
“Don’t think about it!” Cillian snaps. “Cover it up, keep it deep and quiet, till yer so far outta town no one can hear you. Now, come on!”
And he takes off back towards the house, running, actually running.
“Come on, Todd,” Ben says.
“Not till someone explains something.”
“You’ll get an explanashun,” Ben says, taking me by the arm and pulling me along. “You’ll get more than you ever wanted.” And there’s so much sadness to him when he says it that I don’t say nothing more, just follow along running back to the house, Manchee barking his head off behind us.
By the time we make it back to the house, I’m expecting–
I don’t know what I’m expecting. An army of Spackle coming outta the woods. A line-up of Mayor Prentiss’s men with guns at the ready. The whole house burning down. I don’t know. Ben and Cillian’s Noise ain’t making much sense, my own thoughts are boiling over like a volcano, and Manchee won’t stop barking, so who can tell anything in all this racket?
But there’s no one there. The house, our house, is just as it was, quiet and farm-like. Cillian busts in the back door, goes into the prayer room which we never use, and starts pulling boards up from the floor. Ben goes to the pantry and starts throwing dried foods and fruit into a cloth sack, then he goes to the toilet and takes out a small medipak and throws that in, too.
I just stand there like a doofus wondering just what in the effing blazes is going on.
I know what yer thinking: how can I not know if all day, every day I’m hearing every thought of the two men who run my house? That’s the thing, tho. Noise is noise. It’s crash and clatter and it usually adds up to one big mash of sound and thought and picture and half the time it’s impossible to make any sense of it at all. Men’s minds are messy places and Noise is like the active, breathing face of that mess. It’s what’s true and what’s believed and what’s imagined and what’s fantasized and it says one thing and a completely opposite thing at the same time and even tho the truth is definitely in there, how can you tell what’s true and what’s not when yer getting everything?
The Noise is a man unfiltered, and without a filter, a man is just chaos walking.
“I ain’t leaving,” I say, as they keep doing their stuff. They don’t pay me no mind. “I ain’t leaving,” I say again, as Ben steps past me into the prayer room to help Cillian lift up boards. They find what they’re looking for and Cillian lifts out a rucksack, an old one I thought I’d lost. Ben opens the top and takes a quick peek thru and I can see some clothes of mine and something that looks like–
“Is that a book?” I say. “You were sposed to burn those ages ago.”
But they’re ignoring me and the air has just stopped right there as Ben takes it outta the rucksack and he and Cillian look at it and I see that it’s not quite a book, more a journal type thing with a nice leather cover and when Ben thumbs thru it, the pages are cream-coloured and filled with handwriting.
Ben closes it like it’s an important thing and he wraps it inside a plastic bag to protect it and puts it in the rucksack.
They both turn to me.
“I ain’t going nowhere,” I say.
And there’s a knock on the front door.
For a second, nobody says nothing, everyone just freezes. Manchee’s got so many things he wants to bark that nothing comes out for a minute till he finally barks “Door!” but Cillian grabs him by the collar with one hand and by the maul with the other, shutting him up. We all look up at each other, wondering what to do next.
There’s another knock and then a voice comes thru the walls, “I know yer in there.”
“Damn and blast,” Ben says.
“Davy bloody Prentiss,” Cillian says.
That’s Mr Prentiss Jr. The man of the law.
“Do you not think I can hear yer Noise?” Mr Prentiss Jr says thru the door. “Benison Moore. Cillian Boyd.” The voice makes a little pause. “Todd Hewitt.”
“Well, so much for hiding,” I say, crossing my arms, still a little annoyed at it all.
Cillian and Ben look at each other again, then Cillian lets go of Manchee, says “Stay here” to both of us and heads for the door. Ben shoves the sack of food into the rucksack and ties it shut. He hands it to me. “Put this on,” he whispers.
I don’t take it at first but he gestures with a serious look so I take it and put it on. It weighs a ton.
We hear Cillian open the front door. “What do you want, Davy?”
“That’s Sheriff Prentiss to you, Cillian.”
“We’re in the middle of lunch, Davy,” Cillian says. “Come back later.”
“I don’t think I will. I think I need to have a word with young Todd.”
Ben looks at me, worry in his Noise.
“Todd’s got farmwork,” Cillian says. “He’s just leaving out the back. I can hear him go.”
And these are instructions for me and Ben, ain’t they? But I ruddy well want to hear what’s going on and I ignore Ben’s hand on my shoulder trying to pull me towards the back door.
“You take me for a fool, Cillian?” Mr Prentiss Jr says.
“Do you really want an answer to that, Davy?”
“I can hear his Noise not twenty feet behind you. Ben’s, too.” We hear a shift in the mood. “I just want to talk to him. He ain’t in no trouble.”
“Why you got a rifle then, Davy?” Cillian asks and Ben squeezes my shoulder, probably without even thinking.
Mr Prentiss Jr’s voice and Noise both change again. “Bring him out, Cillian. You know why I’m here. Seems like a funny little word floated outta yer boy into town all innocent-like and we just want to see what it’s all about, that’s all.”
“‘We’?” Cillian says.
“His Honour the Mayor would like a word with young Todd.” Mr Prentiss Jr raises his voice. “Y’all come out now, you hear? Ain’t no trouble going on. Just a friendly chat.”
Ben nods his head at the back door all firm like and there ain’t no arguing with him this time. We start stepping towards it slowly, but Manchee’s kept his trap shut for just about as long as he can bear and barks, “Todd?”
“Y’all ain’t thinking about sneaking out the back way, are ya?” Mr Prentiss Jr calls. “Outta my way, Cillian.”