Page 10 of So Lethal (Faith Bold #22)

Sarah Martinez struggled to remember the sign for hope. She thought for a second, then smiled sheepishly and spelled the word out instead.

“That’s wonderful!” the support group host said.

She signed it as well, but Sarah understood because of the exaggerated movements of her mouth, not the sign. Like she was talking to a five-year-old and not a thirty-three-year-old MA who owned an advertising business.

“It’s important to never lose hope,” the host continued. “It’s also important to remember that being deaf is not a disability. You can still have a normal life!”

Oh yeah, Sarah thought bitterly. It’s perfectly normal to never be able to listen to music again.

It’s just fine to not understand my sister when she speaks to me.

And hey, it’s okay that literally no one knows what the fuck I’m saying because there are twelve people on Earth who understand sign language and I’m not one of them. Just peachy-keen.

A few other people “spoke.” Sarah picked up a word or two here and there but didn’t understand anything until the host flapped her lips like a cartoon character after every single share.

She made sure to smile and clap and give sympathetic nods when she saw others doing it, but inwardly, she was seething.

This wasn’t fair. Maybe it was fine for people who were born without hearing.

They didn’t know what they were missing.

But Sarah was born normal, and she couldn’t stand knowing that she’d never be normal again.

You weren’t supposed to say that deaf people weren’t normal, but you know what?

They weren’t. She was normal, and now she wasn’t normal, and it wasn’t goddamned fair.

She managed to control herself long enough to get through the meeting. She even managed to make small talk with a few of the others when it was over. Very small talk. No one here knew anything more complicated than, “Hi, How are you? I’m good. It’s a beautiful day. See you next time!”

But she pushed through it. It wasn’t anyone else’s fault that she got a strep infection in both ears that left masses of scar tissue where her eardrums should be. That was just a shitty thing that happened to her. There was no need to be rude.

This would be her last meeting, though. The support group wasn’t helping at all.

She was tired of hearing people tell her to be brave and have hope and realize that she could still live a normal life.

None of it was true. If other people could convince themselves of that lie, then good for them, but Sarah wasn’t one of those people.

She reached the parking lot and pulled her keys from her pocket. Her key fob had a function that started the engine before she entered the car. She liked it because it would run the air conditioning or heater for a few seconds before she stepped inside.

Before she pressed the button, though, she heard a low rumbling sound.

At first, she thought that she must have pressed the button accidentally when she pulled the keys out of her pocket, but when she looked at her car, the lights were still off.

She looked around but saw no other cars on the floor of the parking garage.

This must be one of those phantom sounds the doctors warned her about.

Even though her eardrums were useless now, she would still “hear” sounds from time to time, especially in the beginning.

The brain would sometimes pick up flashes of stimulation from the auditory nerve that it falsely interpreted as sound.

Just another reason her life was now a piece of shit.

She walked around her hood and saw the person crouched behind her car. She had just enough time to register the ski mask and the length of rubber in the figure’s hands before it rushed her and twisted her around.

The rubber was around her neck and pulled taut before she could start to fight. The figure pulled her to the ground behind the car, hiding her from the elevators so no one could see her.

In her last moments of life, Sarah Martinez realized that death was far worse than life without hearing. Her last thought was a silent, desperate plea that someone, anyone, would save her.

No one did.