Page 1 of Silenced

“THE DARKER THE NIGHT, THE BRIGHTER THE STARS. THE DEEPER THE GRIEF, THE CLOSER IS GOD.”

FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

1

WHERE IT BEGINS…

*Nikolai isa speaker of sign language. Please, unless otherwise specified, whenever you read his dialogue, assume that he is signing, not verbally speaking the words. This will make for a much more enjoyable reading experience. As for any other language, sign language uses the same dialogue tags as any verbal variety.*

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Daylight - David Kushner

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“Do you think she’s dead?”

It’s a good question.

Through the dusty glass panes of a window that saw better days a decade ago, I can barely make out the still form lying on the shady motel room’s vomit-yellow, flower-splotched carpet.

Cassiopeia Rundelcouldbe dead.

From this distance, and with the terrible visibility, I can’t answer for certain.

Dmitri Turgenev, my second-in-command, nudges me at my lack of response. “Well?”

I grunt.

He scrubs his floppy blond hair out of his eyes, muttering, “The men are in the car. You can talk.”

My brow furrows as I shoot him an impatient look and sign, “You need a haircut.”

He smirks. “I might head to the barbers if youtoldme to.”

“When do I ever talk?” I dismiss.

He mumbles something beneath his breath then switches to Russian: “You’d think I’d get used to you being a mute after eighteen years of knowing you, wouldn’t you?”

With a pointed stare, I nod.

“Why is it you can talk to Misha? I mean, five words are five words. Why do I get zero?”

This time, his petulance has me rolling my eyes even as I wipe at the glass to try to clean it.

I need to know if the woman is dead or not because there’s no sense in wasting my time on rescuing a corpse.

“I don’t care that I sound like I’m pouting. I totally am,” Dmitri grumbles, switching back to English and breaking into my thoughts with the precision of an ice pick through the surface of a frozen lake.

Then, he huffs when I remain silent and don’t bother signing a reply.

Whyhe huffs when I’m always silent is between him and God.

“If I asked you to cross the country to go and rescue a stranger from her husband, would you?” he peppers.

Breaking off from my attempts to clean the filthy panes of glass, I heave an irritated sigh but, again, I nod.

Not that Louisville is across the country from Miami…

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