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He’s come back for you.
I’m waiting.
This is Anton, and that’s not how he’d mean it.
I entreat him to speak to me, but there’s no response.
“Where did you hear his voice coming from?” I ask Jin.
“I think—” Jin stops. “No, we should approach it scientifically. Close your eyes. I’m going to mark the directions I thought the voice came from. Then you’ll tell me where you heard it.”
I give him a look.
“Do you have a better idea?” he says.
I shake my head and shut my eyes.
A moment later, Jin tells me to open them and says, “So where did you hear the voice from?”
“Two directions.” I point. “There, near the door, and there.” Another gesture. “From that bookcase.”
He walks to the love seat near the door and takes a piece of paper he’d placed behind it. Then he takes another from the bookcase I indicated.
“What exactly did you hear?” he says. “I only clearly caught the last lines, which I wrote here.” He lifts the paper from the shelf. “For the other one, I wrote what I thought I heard.”
His second note exactly matches my recollection—“I love you. I’m waiting.” For the first, Jin thought he heard “It’s okay” instead of “Everything’s okay.”
“Can we agree that’s close enough?” he asks.
“It is.”
“So now we search for speakers.”
We take everything off the bookshelf and examine each item. Look behind the bookcase. Look under the bookshelves. Look behind and under the love seat. Take out the cushions of the love seat. We even check for holes in the fabric where a speaker could have been stuffed inside.
“Nothing?” he says.
“Nothing,” I say.
A slow grin spreads across his face. “So we heard him, right? We really heard him.”
I nod, not daring to speak. Jin catches me up in a hug and then says, “Let’s go tell Dr. Cirillo.”
NINETEEN
Cirillo insists on conducting his own search. He refrains from stating the obvious—that he needs to be surewedidn’t plant equipment. I don’t care. I want as many eyes on this as I can get.
After he searches, Cirillo wants to use his equipment to conduct some experiments in the space. I beg off in favor of a nap. I’ve had two rough nights. My CF means I’m susceptible to infections, so I try to keep well rested. Or that’s a fine excuse. The truth is that I want to get away from everyone else in hopes Anton will reach out.
Before, I’d wanted him to make contact in front of others, for independent confirmation. Now that he’s done that, I want him all to myself, in hopes he’ll do more than whisper reassurances.
I head up to my room, pull the blinds, turn off the lights, and crawl into bed.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “If you want to talk to me, I’m listening.”
There’s no answer.
“I’m getting a little tired of these one-sided chats, Anton. How about you stop whispering in my ear and have an actual conversation?”
