Archer's Voice by Mia Sheridan

  CHAPTER 9

  Archer – Fourteen Years Old

  I walked through the woods, stepping over the spots I knew by heart would twist my ankle, around the branches I knew would seemingly reach out and grab me if I got too close. I knew this land by heart. I hadn't left it in seven years now.

  Irina meandered to the right of me, keeping my pace, but exploring the things that a dog's nose found interesting. I snapped my fingers or clapped my hands together if I needed to call her to catch up to me. She was an old dog, though, and only responded to me half the time–whether it was because she was hard of hearing, or just stubborn, I wasn’t sure.

  I found the net trap uncle Nate had had me help him install a couple days before and began working to take it down. I could appreciate that this kind of thing helped quiet whatever voices Uncle Nate seemed to hear in his head, and I could even appreciate the fact that these types of projects kept me busy, but what I couldn't stand was hearing small animals get caught in them in the middle of the night. And so I went around the property disassembling what we had assembled only days before, and looking for the ones Nate had done on his own.

  Just as I was finishing up, I heard voices, laughter, and water splashing coming from the lake. I set down the things that I had gathered up in my arms and tentatively walked toward the sounds of the people I heard playing on the shore.

  As soon as I came to the edge of the trees, I spotted her. Amber Dalton. It felt like I groaned, but of course, no sound came out. She was in a black bikini, and she was coming out of the lake, soaking wet. I felt myself stiffen in my pants. Great. That seemed to happen all the damn time now, but somehow, it happening in response to Amber made me feel weird, ashamed.

  Despite being mortified about the whole issue, I had tried to ask Uncle Nate about it last year when I turned thirteen, but he had just thrown some magazines at me that had naked women in them and gone off into the woods to set up more traps. The magazines didn't exactly explain a whole lot, but I liked looking at them. I probably spent too much time looking at them. And then I'd slide my hand into my pants and stroke myself until I sighed out in release. I didn't know if it was right or wrong, but it felt too good to stop.

  I was staring so hard at Amber, watching her laugh and wring out her wet hair, that I didn't see him arrive. Suddenly, a loud, male voice said, "Look at that! There's some kind of freaky peeping Tom in the woods! Why don't you say something, Peeping Tom? Have anything to say?" And then he muttered under his breath, but just loud enough for me to hear, "Fucking freak."

  Travis. My cousin. The last time I'd seen him had been right after I'd lost my voice. I had still been bedridden at Uncle Nate's when Travis and his mom, Aunt Tori, came to visit me. I knew she was there to see if I would say anything about what I'd found out that day. I wouldn't. It didn't matter anyway.

  Travis had cheated at a Go Fish game and then whined to his mom that I was the one who had cheated. I was too tired and was hurting too much, in every way, to care. I had turned my head to the wall and pretended to sleep until they left.

  And now, there he was on the beach with Amber Dalton. Hot shame filled my face at his mocking words. All eyes turned to me as I stood there, exposed and humiliated. I brought my hand up to my scar, covering it. I wasn't sure why, I just did. I didn't want them to see it–the proof that I was guilty and damaged–ugly.

  Amber looked down at the ground, looking embarrassed herself, but then looked up a second later at Travis and said, "Come on, Trav, don't be mean. He's disabled. He can't even talk." The last sentence was practically whispered, as if what she was saying was some kind of secret. A few eyes looked at me with pity, skittering away when my own met theirs, and others glittered with excitement, watching to see what was going to happen next.

  My entire face throbbed with humiliation as everyone continued to stare at me. I felt frozen to the spot. Blood was making a whooshing sound in my ears and I felt lightheaded.

  Finally, Travis moved over to Amber and wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her into him and kissing her wetly on the mouth. She seemed stiff, uncomfortable as he ground his face into hers, his eyes open, trained on me, standing behind her.

  That was the catalyst that finally got my feet moving. I spun around, tripping over a small rock right behind me and sprawling on the ground. Pebbles under the pine needles dug into my hands and a branch scraped my cheek as I went down. Loud laughter exploded behind me and I scurried up, practically running back to the safety of my house. I was shaking with shame and anger and something that felt like grief. Although what I was grieving for in that moment, I wasn't exactly sure.

  I was a freak. I was out here alone and isolated for a reason–I was to blame for so much tragedy, so much pain.

  I was worthless.

  I stomped through the woods and when tears sprung to my eyes, I let out a silent yell and picked up a rock and threw it at Irena who had never left my side since the people on the beach started making fun of me.

  Irena yelped and hopped to the side as the small rock struck her hind flank and then immediately moved back next to me.

  For some reason, that dumb dog returning to my side after I'd been cruel to her was the thing that made the tears start flowing relentlessly down my cheeks. My chest heaved and I swiped at the wetness falling from my eyes.

  I fell to the ground and brought Irena into my arms, hugging her to me, petting her fur and saying, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, over and over in my mind, hoping dogs had mind reading power. It was all I had to offer her. I buried my head in her fur and hoped that she'd forgive me.

  After a few minutes, my breathing started slowing, and my tears dried up. Irena continued to nuzzle my face, letting out small whines when I hesitated between pets.

  I heard pine needles crunching behind me under the weight of someone's feet and knew it was Uncle Nate. I kept looking straight ahead as he sat down next to me, bringing his knees up, like mine.

  For several long minutes, we both sat like that, not saying anything, just staring ahead, Irena's panting and occasional soft whines the only sounds amongst us.

  After a few minutes, Uncle Nate reached over and took my hand in his, squeezing it. His hand felt rough, dry, but it was warm and I needed the contact.

  "They don't know who you are, Archer. They have no idea. And they don't deserve to know. Don't let their judgment hurt you."

  I took in his words, turning them over in my mind. I had to guess that he'd seen that exchange somehow. His words didn't make complete sense to me, Uncle Nate's words usually didn't, but somehow they comforted me anyway. He always seemed to be right on the border of something profound, but just falling short of anyone else but him understanding the depth of his own thought. I nodded to him without turning my head.

  We sat there for a while longer, and then we got up and went inside for dinner and to bandage up my cut cheek.

  The laughter and splashing in the distance grew fainter and fainter until it finally faded completely away.

  CHAPTER 10

  Bree

  A few days after Archer Hale waved to me in the grocery store parking lot, I worked the early shift at the diner and when I got home that afternoon, I saw that Anne was sitting on her front porch. I walked over and greeted her and she smiled saying, "Iced tea, dear?"

  I unlatched her gate and walked through it and up her steps. "That sounds great. If you can stand the smell of me– eue de griddle and bacon fat."

  She laughed. "I think I can manage. How was your shift?"

  I collapsed on her porch swing, leaning back and shifting my body toward the small fan she had running next to her. I sighed with comfort.

  "Good," I answered. "I like the job."

  "Oh, that's good," she said, handing me the glass of tea she had just poured. I took a grateful sip and then leaned back again.

  "I saw you being picked up by the Scholl girls the other night and I was so happy to see you've met some friends. I hope you don't mind having such a
nosy neighbor." She smiled kindly and I smiled back at her.

  "No, not at all. Yes, I went over to the other side of the lake with them. We ran into Travis Hale and hung out with him at The Bitter End."

  "Oh, you've been meeting all the Hale boys."

  I laughed. "Yes, are there more?"

  She smiled. "No, just Archer and Travis among the younger generation. Suppose Travis is really the only chance of another Hale generation now."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Well, I don't see Archer Hale coming off his property to date much, much less marry someone, but again, I don't know too much about him other than that he doesn't speak."

  "He does speak," I said. "I've talked to him."

  Anne looked surprised and tilted her head slightly. "Well, I had no idea. I've never heard him say a word."

  I shook my head. "He signs," I said. "And so do I. My dad was deaf."

  "Oh, I see. Well, I never even thought of that. I guess he presents himself as someone who doesn't want much to do with anyone else, at least the few times I've seen him in town." She frowned slightly.

  "I don't think anyone has ever really tried," I said, shrugging. "There's nothing wrong with him, though, except maybe his people skills, and that he can't speak," I said, looking over her shoulder, picturing Archer. "And a few fashion issues." I grinned.

  She smiled back. "Yes, he does have an interesting look to him, doesn't he? Of course, I imagine if you cleaned him up, he'd look more than presentable. He comes from a long line of lookers. Actually, all the Hale boys were so good looking, they were practically in-human." She laughed girlishly and I grinned at her.

  I took a long drink of tea and tilted my head to the side. "You don't remember exactly what happened with the other two brothers the day of Archer's accident?"

  She shook her head. "No, only what I heard in town. I don't know what happened between them to cause all that tragedy. I try to remember them as they were–how every girl in a hundred mile radius swooned over them. Course those boys took advantage of that, even Connor who was the less rowdy of the three. But as far as I remember, the only girl any of them ever took a real interest in was Alyssa McRae."

  "All three of them?" I asked, my eyes widening. This sounded like a story.

  "Hmm," she said, looking off into the distance. "It was a right soap opera around here with them, mostly between Connor and Marcus Hale. Those two boys were always competing over something. If it wasn't sports, it was girls, and when Alyssa came to town, there was only one girl they competed over. Nathan Hale didn't make any bones about the fact that he was interested, too, but the other two didn't pay too much mind to him, I suppose. Like I said before, he was always a little different."

  "Who finally won her?" I whispered.

  Anne blinked and looked at me, smiling. "Marcus Hale. She married him–shotgun wedding we called it back then. She was in the family way. But she lost that baby and it wasn't until years later that she got pregnant again, with Archer." She shook her head. "After she married Marcus, that girl always looked sad, and so did Connor Hale. I always thought they both felt that she made the wrong choice. Of course, with all the drinking and womanizing Marcus Hale still did, even after he and Alyssa got married, the whole town pretty much knew she made the wrong choice."

  "And then Connor Hale became the Chief of Police?"

  "Yes, yes he did. Got married too, trying to move on as well I suppose. And he had Travis."

  "Wow. And then it all ended in so much tragedy."

  "Yes, yes… very sad." She looked at me. "But, dear, you being able to speak to Archer, well, I think that's wonderful." She shook her head slightly. "Makes me realize how little we all did for that boy." She looked sad and lost in thought.

  We both sat quietly for a couple minutes, sipping our tea before I said, "I better go shower and change. I'm going to bike down to the lake again today."

  "Oh good. I'm so glad the bike is working out for you. Get as much lake time in as you can. The weather will be turning soon."

  I smiled, standing. "I will. Thank you, Anne. And thank you for the chat."

  "Thank you, dear. You bring a smile to an old woman's face."

  I grinned at her and waved as I walked down her steps and through her gate.

  **********

  An hour later, I was biking down Briar Road, my basket holding a water bottle, my towel, and my sweet, naughty little dog.

  As I rode past Archer's house, I stopped my bike, dragging my feet in the dust. His gate was open slightly. I stared at it, stopping completely. I hadn't seen a mail truck driving back down the road. Had Archer left it open himself? I tilted my head, considering the situation. I brought one finger up and tapped my lips, thinking. Would it be totally uncool to go onto his property uninvited again? Or had he left the gate open slightly as an invitation? Was that completely ludicrous for me to even think? Probably.

  I wheeled my bike forward and leaned it against the high fence, picking Phoebe up and peeking my head inside the open gate, just intending on having a quick look. Archer was walking away, toward his house, but when he heard the squeak of his gate, he turned, his eyes on me, no surprise in them.

  I stepped inside. Hi, I said, putting Phoebe down and signing. I'm really hoping that your open gate meant that you were okay with me coming in, and that I didn't just trespass again. That would be embarrassing. I grimaced, bringing my hands to my cheeks and holding my breath for his answer.

  His deep, amber eyes watched me for a few seconds as color moved up my face, and something gentled in his expression.

  He was wearing a pair of jeans that looked like they were about to disintegrate, they had so many holes in them, a fitted white t-shirt–too fitted–and bare feet.

  I wanted to show you something, he said.

  I let out my breath and I couldn't help the smile that spread over my face. But then I cocked my head to the side, confused. You knew I was coming?

  He shook his head slowly. I thought you might. I see the bike tracks.

  My face flushed again. "Oh," I breathed out, not signing. "Um…"

  Do you want to see, or not?

  I just looked at him for a second and then nodded. Okay. Wait, where's your axe?

  He raised one eyebrow, studying me for a couple beats. Is that you being funny?

  I laughed, feeling delight in the fact that he had brought up our last conversation. Touché. I grinned. What do you want to show me?

  They're right over here.

  They? I asked, walking forward with him, down the driveway, through the trees.

  He nodded, but didn't expound.

  Phoebe saw a bird take flight across the lawn and went running after it as fast as her short legs could carry her.

  We reached his little house and took a few steps down the small porch, only big enough for the white rocker and small storage box it held.

  He moved the rocker aside and I gasped.

  Oh my God! I said, sucking in a breath and moving forward.

  That sound you said you heard a few days ago? That was Kitty here giving birth.

  I grinned as I looked down at the sleeping mama dog, three tiny, brown puppies, rooting lazily at her belly, clearly having just eaten and falling into a milk coma. But then my brows furrowed when I processed what he had just said and I looked over at him. Your dog is named Kitty?

  He moved his hair out of his face slightly, looking at me. Long story. My uncle confided in me that the animals on our property are spies who worked for him, and he named them accordingly. Her full name is Kitty Storms. She was trained by the Russian Foreign Intelligence Agency. She works for me now.

  Uh oh, this wasn't good. I see, I said. And you believe this? I eyed him warily.

  Well, her operations are mostly kept to squirrel tracking and apparently, he gestured to where she slept with the puppies, covert meetings with fertile male subjects. Something that looked like it might be amusement danced in his eyes.

  I breathed out a laugh an
d then shook my head. So, your uncle was a little…

  Paranoid, he said. But harmless. He was a good guy. I thought I saw a brief flash of pain wash over his features before he turned his head to the puppies again.

  I touched Archer's arm and he jolted and turned to me. I heard your uncle passed away a few years ago. I'm sorry.

  He looked down at me, his eyes sweeping over my face. He nodded, barely perceptible and turned back to the puppies once again.

  I studied his profile for a few seconds, noting how nice it was, at least what of it I could see. Then I bent down to get a closer look at the puppies.

  I grinned back up at Archer who squatted down next to me. Can I hold one? I asked.

  He nodded.

  Are they boys or girls?

  Two boys, one girl.

  I scooped up one little warm, soft body and brought it to my chest, cradling its sleeping weight and nuzzling my nose into the soft fur. The puppy mewled and started rooting at my cheek, its wet nose making me giggle.

  I looked at Archer who was watching me closely, a small smile on his lips. It was the first one I had gotten and it startled me slightly. I stared at him, our eyes meeting and tangling just like the first time we had met. I felt confused as everything inside me sped up. I stared at him, rubbing my cheek absently against the velvety softness of the puppy's fat belly.

  After a minute, I put the puppy down so I could sign, Thank you for showing them to–

  He reached out and stopped my hands, looking into my eyes. I looked at him questioningly and then moved my eyes down to his large hand resting on mine. He had beautiful hands, powerful, but elegant at the same time. I looked back up at him.

  He brought both hands up and said, You can speak the old-fashioned way. I can hear you, remember?

  I blinked at him and after a few seconds brought my hands up. If it's okay with you, I'd like to speak your language. I smiled a small smile.