Part 1 (2/2)

Voices of the Soul.

”The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart.”

Helen Keller.

Chapter One.

Throughout my entire life, I've heard voices. Voices inside my head. I've never given much thought as to why I have this gift... or this curse, depending on which way you look at it. At least, not until a few days before my fourteenth birthday.

My mom and I were out shopping. She always made sure she handled every detail of my birthday herself with loving care. She enjoyed planning and, most of all, making me happy. She always used to say, ”A happy Ella makes a happy mama!”

Corny, I know. But the words always tugged at my heart.

On our way home, we were listening to music and singing when they say a large truck hit us. I don't remember anything about the accident. I just remember I broke both of my legs and wasn't allowed to see my mom afterward, the latter being the most painful.

Then one day they wheeled me into my mom's hospital room. I don't remember how many days had pa.s.sed since the accident, but it felt like forever since I had seen her. All the machines made it seem like it wasn't really her. My dad couldn't talk to me through the tears that stained his face.

I didn't cry. Not right away anyway. Actually, I was a bit confused at first. Maybe in denial. I didn't know why I needed to cry until my aunt explained, in a rather roundabout way, that my mom was no longer living. Machines had been keeping her alive because her body couldn't any longer.

I could hear the voices... the sad voice of my dad murmuring I love you and don't leave me through incoherent sobs. My aunt's voice saying how much I need my mother. Another man's voice, I'm a.s.suming the doctor's since he was the only other person in the room, saying we should end the inevitable. Several other inaudible words and voices, confusing my brain and making me dizzy.

Curse. It was definitely a curse.

Grabbing my head and ma.s.saging my temples with my thumbs, I squeezed my eyes shut and wished for all the voices to stop. I pretended these voices were just my screwed up brain imagining what people were thinking. I knew I was cracked. As much as I suffered, I never wanted to be labeled as the crazy girl who heard voices. So, I kept my madness to myself.

Suddenly, through all the banter whirling inside my head, I heard the most angelic voice. The voice seemed to cut through all of the muddle, speaking to me with such love it made my heart melt.

Orella, darling. I need you to know how special you are. You have a gift. You have my gift. I've known all along just how unique you are.

A gift? Pfft.

I looked around at my dad and my aunt. I knew they couldn't hear her, but I still needed to see if they had any reaction to her voice echoing inside my befuddled brain.

Come closer, Ella.

I've never known the voices to speak directly to me. But she was. She was speaking to me. She was saying my name and beckoning me to come to her. Was this really happening? Or was this some sort of brain damage caused by the accident?

I could feel the excitement bubbling up in my heart at the possibility my mom was actually speaking to me. Oh G.o.d. I hoped she really was speaking to me. Because if this was just a new development of my dementia-I was sure as the sky is blue that I would not survive the heartache.

To avoid odd stares from my other family members, I tried my darndest to keep my emotions in check. Face like steel, Ella.

Slowly, I used my bruised hands against the cold bars of my wheelchair to make my way over to my mom's hospital bed and battered body. My aunt tried to help me, but I dismissed her with a wave and a small smile. Gently, I placed my fingers on top of my mom's limp hand. Her hand was cold. Ice cold.

Yes, I am cold. My body is no longer a part of me, so I cannot feel the chill that courses through my skin.

My hand reacted and jerked back-completely startled she just answered my thoughts. I opened my mouth and hesitated. I didn't know what to say.

Don't speak aloud, Ella. All you have to do is speak to me in your mind.

I closed my eyes and bowed my head. I'm confused. I don't understand. How can I hear you?

You've always been able to hear me. You can hear anyone's thoughts. But thoughts have the most strength when directed at the recipient. Which is why, at the moment, my thoughts are the loudest voice in your mind.

Looking up at my mom's face, a face covered in tubes and pads to monitor her brain activity, I saw no reaction. No light. No life. Not even the monitors showed activity.

No, darling. My body will not respond. This is why I'm speaking directly to you now for the first time. They need to let me go. Your dad knows I do not want to be kept like this. I've instructed him in the past to let me go if I were ever in this state.

A tear trickled down my face as I thought, But, you can't leave me. I may have been acting selfishly, but I couldn't bear to lose my mother. I needed her. Especially now that she's telling me I'm not a total nutcase.

I don't want to leave you. I know how much this will hurt. But, I'm not here. Not really. My lungs won't inflate. My heart won't beat. My mind is barely a whisper. You... you are the only one who I am even able to say goodbye to. I needed you to know of your gift and how much I truly love you. Remember, the best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even heard. They must be felt with the heart.

My mom always used that variation of Helen Keller's quote, but it didn't occur to me why she changed the words until now. Now I knew her variation was deliberate. She wasn't just a mother who couldn't remember the famous words. She was insightful-and I knew deep down that losing her would break me.

A thought came to me as she said her goodbyes. Does Daddy or Aunt Sybil know? Do they know I can hear you? Do they know I can hear them?

Daddy knows nothing of our gifts. I worry it will make him nervous or he may not understand. I have told Aunt Sybil, but she does not share the same gift and is skeptical of my sincerity. She does not know you possess the same soul-seeing abilities as I do.

Soul-seeing abilities? I asked, unsure of what she was actually telling me.

You are a soul seer, Orella Hugh. Your clairvoyance makes you exceptional. There are not many like us, who can read thoughts, read the souls of others...

”Miss Hugh, are you with us today?” the booming voice of my art teacher interrupted my memories, bringing me back to the present.

I looked up and nodded quietly, unable to keep the sorrow from my face. My mother's death may have been nearly six years ago, but the pain-the searing hole in my heart-made it feel like I was losing her over and over again. Instinctively, I wrapped my arms around my waist in a desperate attempt to hold myself together-sure as s.h.i.+t I would fall apart at any moment.

I'll teach her to daydream in my cla.s.s, Mr. Burns thought as he asked out loud, ”Well, Ella? Can you give your opinion on Degas' painting of the Absinthe Drinker?”

G.o.d. Really? Why would he think it's helpful to call me out like that? I mentally rolled my eyes in an attempt to express my irritation without him noticing.

Looking up at the projected image, I spoke confidently, explaining the image I already studied in high school and hearing my mother's voice echo the answer in my head. ”Some say the L'Absinthe painting is a representation of the increase in social segregation during the fast-growing stages of Paris. The woman in the painting is an actress and the man is a bohemian painter, although I do not remember their names. The cafe...”

As I droned on, the cla.s.sroom door opened, saving me from continuing.

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