Hear the Crickets Read online

  “Who do you think they are?”

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have ended up on my back at the end of your street for the nine hundredth time.” I didn’t know why I said things like that. I wasn’t sure why I constantly barked at him as if he was an idiot.

  In fact, Sean was one of the smartest people I’d ever known. He owned and worked at a comic book store, but he once had the potential to be something so much greater. With his brains, he could have been a physicist or a bioengineer. Or even a college professor. Instead, he chose to live near a military town in a trailer park.

  But if he was hurt by my outburst, he didn’t show it. He just scraped the last bit of his dinner from the bottom of his bowl and shoved it into his mouth. He wiped off his chin with the back of his sleeve and made his way into the kitchen where I still stood, leaning back against his counter.

  He dropped his bowl in the sink and positioned himself silently, staring at me. His thinking stance was always the same. His feet were positioned a bit farther out than shoulder width, hips forward, and his arms crossed high against his chest, which ended up just resting on the top of his slightly protruding belly. His lips pursed and his eyes narrowed. It always gave the appearance that he was accessing the far depths of his brain’s databanks on anything that could shed light on my problem.

  “Joan of Arc heard voices, you know. She always maintained that God would speak to her,” he said, matter-of-factly.

  “You think God is trying to talk to me?”

  “I didn’t say that. But, you got a better idea?”

  “No. But I think God has better things to do than try and communicate with a freak-of-a-girl with large, gray wings.”

  “You’re not a freak.” Sean uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands into his jean pockets defiantly.

  “Not a freak?” I slid off my trench coat and allowed it to slip off to the floor. I stretched out my wings, careful not to knock anything over in his tiny dwelling. The wingspan reached approximately fifteen feet, tip to tip. “If I’m not a freak, then what do you call this?”

  “Me? I’d call that the coolest thing to ever happen to anyone,” Sean replied.

  He didn’t seem to understand what a burden my life had been.

  “The only good thing about these damn things is the freedom they give me,” I said.

  I tucked my wings behind me and pulled my coat on.

  “I don’t know why you hate them so much.” Sean threw his arms up in the air in exasperation and sat down on his sofa. He turned on his television and his Xbox and immediately began to bring up his newest video game.

  I stared at him in awe, unable to understand why he couldn’t seem to grasp the gravity of my situation.

  “Why? Because it isn’t normal! That’s why.”

  “Normal is overrated,” he said. His television was suddenly inundated with zombies as he began to kill a hoard of them on his screen.

  “You just don’t get it,” I said, rolling my eyes.

  Sean paused his game and dropped the controller next to him.

  “Look around, Skyy. Look at my house. My whole life revolves around comics and video games. I live vicariously through the superheroes or better-than-average human beings on these pages or on my television. I’m nothing. A nobody. No one special. I live in a trailer that leaks when it rains and shakes when it storms. And look at me. I’m no Chris Evans or any Hemsworth brother for that matter. But I can pretend, just for a little while, that I am who I’m reading about...or that I’m actually some kind of super soldier saving mankind from zombies or alien hordes. It makes me feel special, even if it’s only for a little while.

  “And then there’s you. You haven’t aged in three hundred years. You’re tall, you’re beautiful, and by the grace of God, you’re allowed to fly. Not to mention, you’re indestructible. I once watched you fall out of the sky at over a hundred miles an hour and land on a chain link fence—and you survived. You’re special. You’re reaching an epic kind of special that you can’t even begin to appreciate. So don’t tell me that I don’t understand, because I understand far better than you realize.” Sean calmly picked up his controller and continued killing zombies.

  This happened a lot in our relationship. I whined about my cursed life, and he shamed me into realizing how stupid I’d been. It was a common occurrence, happening almost weekly.

  I stood in his kitchen, quietly contemplating the tongue-lashing I’d just received.

  I felt the need to apologize, but instead I pretended the entire conversation never took place.

  “I need you to go into town for me this week and pick up some more paint. I’m running low,” I said, matter-of-factly.

  Sean briefly gave me a thumbs up without breaking his visual lock on his game.

  “I’ll stop by tomorrow to drop off the list.”

  He flashed me another thumbs up.

  “And I could use some more library books if you have time.”

  “Okay,” he said flatly.

  “All right then. Um, well, see ya.” I turned and made my way outside.

  I allowed his door to slam shut behind me.

  I took a quick scan of the area. Everyone appeared to be inside with their shades or curtains drawn. The coast was clear, so I pulled up my hood, shoved my hands in the pockets of my faded jeans, and walked toward the hills. My bare feet easily maneuvered the terrain until the trailer park was far from view.

  I again scoured my surroundings to make sure I was completely alone. I crouched down behind a large rock and located the bag I’d stashed there earlier that night. The wind blew my hair into my face as I slid off my jacket. I rolled the jacket up into a ball and slipped it into the bag, pulling the drawstring tight.

  Closing my eyes, I smelled the night air around me, breathing it in deeply. That time of night was always calming. The sounds of nature permeated the air: crickets chirped, cattle bellowed, and the breeze whistled through the grassy hills behind me.

  My hand reached up and touched the silver necklace draped around my neck. It had hung there for as long as I could remember, placed there by my mother. It resembled a key with three unrecognizable symbols etched into it. I’d been all over the world, and no one had ever been able to tell me what those symbols meant. It was one of the only things I had left from my past that could tell me who I was or where I came from. When I touched it, it reminded me that there was a possible reason for my existence.

  I just wished I knew what that was.

  That was the hardest part—not knowing why I was alive. What was my purpose? What was I supposed to do with my life? Clearly I was special, as Sean had mentioned. But why was I special? In over three hundred years, not once had I been given any indication as to why I was placed on Earth.

  Hence the reason I was always trying to die.

  Ready to head home, I stretched out my wings.

  I leapt high into the air, caught the current, and took flight.

  The breeze was cool. It was a cloudless night, the stars shining brightly as they lit my way. I drew in a long breath, taking in the unpolluted scent of the countryside, and grinned. The view was unparalleled.

  Maybe Sean was right.

  Maybe the flying thing was pretty cool.

  The wind below my wings tried to push me higher, but I flew as low as I could to keep from being detected by any humans that might be driving on the interstate or any of the backroads. It wouldn’t be good if they found out about me. I’d be hunted, imprisoned, or worse—studied. Very few people had ever been aware of my existence, and I planned to keep it that way.

  I traveled by air for about ten miles, and then gingerly landed at my front door. I paused for a moment to look up at the stars. Out there, away from the city lights, the sky above me was clear. I was able to make out Orion’s belt and the outline of Pegasus. Most nights, I laid on the ground for hours counting the stars until the sun rose.

  But tonight wouldn’t be one of those nights.

  I looked aroun
d at my property. It was nothing but trees, open space, and a large tin shed that I used as an art studio. It sat about twenty-five yards from my dilapidated trailer. I’d managed to accumulate enough money over the years to build a mansion with giant walls to keep everyone out if I so desired, but I knew that would have drawn attention to myself. And that was the last thing I needed. So instead, I stayed isolated from society, near the foot of the hills, and away from any prying eyes that could discover my secret.

  I reached for the door and climbed inside. My trailer’s interior was in stark contrast to Sean’s. It was clean without a speck of dirt anywhere. I didn’t own a table, plates, or even silverware. In fact, there was no food in my house whatsoever. There were no picture frames or photos of anyone since they would only serve to remind me of the people I had once grown close to and later lost. The only real sign of anyone actually living there, aside from an old wrought iron bed, was my books.

  I owned hundreds of them. They were stacked neatly up against every wall in my trailer. Everything from ancient texts and the classics to modern paranormal fare was piled as high as me, taking up every available space throughout my humble abode.

  My solitary life in the middle of nowhere left me with little to do. So, when I wasn’t working on my art or my sculptures, I read. I’d read nearly everything that had ever been written—twice. Considering how long I’d been alive, there had been a lot of time to read.

  But, there was one book that had been read more than the others. A very worn Bible lay on my mattress. It was old and tattered, given to me by Sister Mary Frances on her death bed.

  The faded parchment that my mother had pinned to my coat was used as a bookmark. The entire paper was blank with one exception—a reference to one specific chapter.

  Genesis 6, to be exact.

  I sat on the edge of my mattress and picked the Bible up off of my bed. My finger slid down my makeshift bookmark, and I opened it to the same page I always did, placing the parchment to the side. It spoke of giants existing on the earth and, as the generations continued, mighty men who flourished and became renowned. Because of the evil that had developed due to these men and their ways, God sent a flood to destroy everyone and everything—except for Noah, his family, and the animals of the earth.

  I had read other books on the topic. Some people were staunch believers that the passages only referred to powerful men and not actual giants. Others believed that a race of giants had once existed on Earth and had taken mortal wives. Either way, Sister Mary Frances used to read Genesis 6 to me every night.

  I chuckled to myself and shook my head at the memories.

  Normal kids got normal bedtime stories.

  I got biblical giants.

  I didn’t believe any of it. Then again, I guess a girl with wings ought not to judge.

  The parchment slid to the floor, and I leaned down to pick it up. I had looked at it a million times over the years, but I still couldn’t understand how a mother could give up her child that way. I tried to convince myself she was protecting me somehow—saving my soul. After all, I could only imagine how she must have reacted the first time she noticed my wings growing in. She must have thought I was something unnatural.

  But if that was the case, what really confused me was why she left the note at all. There was no mention as to who she was, who my father was, or why she left me at the convent’s doorstep.

  No mention of anything except Genesis 6.

  I tucked the note back between the pages and shut the Bible.

  The voices started. They were in my head, all talking at once. I covered my ears as if that would help keep them out. I dropped to my knees and leaned forward, rocking back and forth. The voices continued. They grew louder. The words made no sense, spoken in a language I didn’t understand.

  My head pounded and my eardrums rang. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  “Get out of my head!” I shouted.

  As if on cue, the voices stopped.

  Silence.

  But one last voice broke through. It was different and whispered in words I could understand.

  “We found her.”

  I thought it would be comforting once I heard something intelligible; instead, all I felt was dread.

  Chapter 2

  I’d completely lost track of time. The brush in my hand had kept me in my studio for, well, I’m not exactly sure how long I’d been standing in front of that painting. I tried to step back a few times to take a break, but I was unable to stop myself. The vision in my head needed to be released onto the enormous canvas in front of me. I had no control, so I just continued to paint.

  In three hundred years, my visions rarely changed. They were full of snapshots in time of my mother’s face, memories of her placing the necklace around my neck and pinning the parchment to my coat. Sometimes I even glimpsed the face of someone I thought could possibly be my father. But that particular vision was hazy and full of baffling imagery.

  The most recent vision, however, had been different. I’d felt myself soaring through the clouds. The land below me had been nothing but scorched earth and barren land. As I flew overhead, screams could be heard as people were being torn apart and tossed aside like kindling by large, unseen hands. Below me, there was a huge open pit that contained the skeletal remains of giant bones—skeletons that looked human—only they appeared to have wings. Just like mine.

  That was the image that haunted me and compelled me to paint.

  The skeleton of an angel.

  But one skeleton turned into two. Two turned into ten. And ten turned into a hundred. The six-foot by six-foot canvas was littered with what looked like a mass grave of winged creatures. The images were bleak and disturbing.

  I glanced around at all my other artwork that littered every wall and corner of my studio. I had painted and sculpted my fair share of dark pieces—angry Native American warriors, apocalyptic battles, and fiery landscapes—but nothing ever as dark as the painting in front of me.

  The sight of the skeletons side by side with the dismembered humans continued to bother me. No matter how fast I painted, I couldn’t get that memory out of my mind. It wasn’t just seeing their bodies being torn apart—it was the sound of their screams. While I didn’t hold much love for humans, I certainly didn’t wish them any ill will.

  But I’d never admit it—at least not out loud. I had a reputation to maintain with Sean, and I didn’t need him knowing that I cared.

  I was suddenly brought out of my trance-like state by a knock on my studio door.

  I turned to find Sean stepping through the doorway with bags in hand.

  “Hey. You’re alive,” he said, smiling at his inside joke.

  I shot him a dirty look and directed my attention, once again, to my painting.

  “What do you want?” I asked sharply, my eyes fixed on the canvas in front of me.

  “Wow. Good morning to you, too, sunshine.”

  “Morning?” I turned my head slightly.

  “Yeah. Morning. It comes right after evening. Just before the afternoon. It’s that time of day where the sun rises and the moon sets. You know—morning.”

  “Nobody likes a smartass.”

  “Not true. You like me just fine.” Sean winked in my direction. He walked over and dropped a couple of tote bags on my work desk. “You never stopped by to give me your list a few days ago. So I just bought everything you told me to pick up the last time. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Dammit. I totally forgot to drop that off, didn’t I,” I said, somewhat distracted. “It’s just that I’ve been somewhat obsessing over this latest project. There’s something about it that’s making me crazy.”

  “No big deal. I figured it was something like that.” Sean began unpacking the bags, putting all the supplies away for me. “You know, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. If you were normal, you’d at least have a cell phone where I could text you.”

  I waved my hand over my head. “Not norma
l,” I said flatly.

  I paused for a moment and allowed his previous words to sink in.

  “Wait. A few days ago?”

  “Yep. You said you were going to drop off the list of supplies—that was three days ago.”

  “Three days?” I asked. “Really? That long?” I grunted and scratched my head, completely confounded.

  I guess time flies when you’re having a psychotic break over a painting.

  “So what is it about this painting that has you going bonkers?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I got home from your place and started to hear those voices again. I couldn’t understand them at first, but before they stopped, I heard a single voice say they found me. Plain as day. It freaked me out, being the first time any of the voices made sense. So, I tried to compose myself by lying on my bed and reading about the giants again in Genesis 6. The next thing you know, I’m having a vision and find myself in here with a paintbrush in my hand.”

  “And you’ve been in here ever since,” said Sean.

  “Non-stop.”

  “Wait. Are those wings?” he asked, pointing at one of the skeletons.

  “Yeah. I think they’re angels.”

  “You think? You don’t know? It’s your painting. How do you not know what you’re painting?”

  “Because it’s like half of my artwork in here. The visions come to me, and I’m compelled to paint what I see inside my head. It’s like, if I don’t get it out in physical form, I’ll explode.”

  Sean finished putting everything away and walked over, staring at the painting from over my shoulder.

  “What do you think it is?” he asked.

  “No clue. I mean, they’re clearly the skeletons of giant angels. I mean, I think they are. Ah hell, I don’t know. And I don’t have any idea why I envisioned it this way or why I’m painting it.”

  Sean didn’t move. He stayed behind me, apparently studying the painting.

  “You know, it makes me really nervous when you look over my shoulder like that,” I said, staring straight ahead.

  “Sorry.”