Whatever the Impulse Read online

  Whatever The Impulse

  By: Tina Amiri

  Whatever the Impulse

  By: Tina Amiri

  Cover Art

  By Dawné Dominique

  1st Edition Jan 2015

  2nd Edition May 2017

  3rd Edition Dec 2019

  Digital ISBN: B081NBRFCL

  Print ISBN: 9781709222818

  All rights reserved, Tina Amiri 2019

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any form, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Part One

  Oregon

  Prologue

  1969

  “No, Night, it’s already blacker than your name outside and even I’m getting tired of this.” The polished man lolled back in his armchair, crossed his long legs, and waited.

  The student sat in an adjacent wooden chair with a composure that belied his four years. He made another sign, placing his left hand to the bent elbow of his right arm.

  “No. That is the sign for ‘morning’. Show me the sign for ‘early’.”

  The boy dropped his gaze; his voice barely pierced the somber air. “It’s just easier talking.”

  “Night…” The man leaned forward and lifted his student’s chin until their eyes met. “Why can’t you trust your father? We would both prefer to have it easy, but you’re special…our lives are special. That means we have to do some things that other people do not.” He paused to smile before sitting back. “All those bad dreams… Do you want them to get worse?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “Of course not. And we don’t want them to become real, do we?”

  “No.”

  “No,” echoed the teacher, after he signed the word. “But believe me, they will if you’re not careful. Yes, of course you can talk,” he finally acknowledged, “but it’s important that no one but me ever hears you do it and this will make it easier. You’re learning a language that we alone can share. It’s the only way for us to stay safe, and that’s all I want, Night…for you to be safe. Do you understand?”

  The child blinked his pale eyes and dared to shake his head.

  “You will understand—you must!” The boy’s teacher and sole guardian rose and snatched the open instruction book from the table, snapping it shut inside his grip. “From now on you will use these signs whenever you have something to say to me. I don’t want to hear your voice at all until I am satisfied with your progress—until I can read every sign you make, and you understand every thought that I show you in return. Let that be some motivation to learn because, until then, you speak to no one!”

  Chapter One

  1984

  “C’mon, you said he’s better than anyone on the Oregon coast, but what the hell kind of bartender can he be if he’s deaf? Blind I’d believe. I mean, look at his eyes, but deaf…! I can’t even tell him my problems.”

  An Emerald Shore regular sat crumpled on his stool in front of the bar. “For God’s sake, Ted. He can understand you.”

  “Good, then maybe I’ll get to problems a bit later.” The stranger named Ted laughed. “So, what do we call our deaf friend?”

  The bartender turned both men’s heads with a word.

  “Night?” the obnoxious guest repeated, squinting through his chunky glasses at the bartender’s naked, nearly colorless eyes, then at the lips that had barely moved.

  The man’s friend pointed toward the lobby. “See that fellow over there? That’s Andrew Shannien. He owns this place, and Night, here, is his son.”

  “Of course!” Ted boomed, shuffling forward. “You’re workin’ for Daddy. Or do you just…help out?”

  The bartender returned an ambiguous nod.

  “Maybe that answer will make sense if I have a drink,” the man digressed. “C’mon… Let’s all drink to Night. Get me…get me a Nightmare, Night…Nightmare.” Ted cackled and smacked the countertop.

  A mild grin cracked Night’s stoic expression before he turned away to gather three bottles and some orange juice. The wood fire surged behind the mahogany counter and heightened the red in his auburn hair. He could feel the man’s stare burning on his face as he shook up the mixture and strained it through ice.

  Night served the newcomer his Nightmare then handed the regular guest his usual beer, which prompted another disclosure.

  “I swear, he’s like a drink encyclopedia. You can order anything and he never gets it wrong. And if that weren’t enough…you should hear him play the piano.”

  Ted lurched forward and showered the alleged pianist with cocktail spittle. “All right, Nightmare…I have to see it. Why don’t you play something for the crowd?”

  Night glanced at the baby-grand piano in the corner of the room and turned down the challenge with a quick shudder.

  “Oh, go ahead, kid… Show us!” The man spun to face the people dining in the restaurant. “Our deaf friend here says he can play the piano, and wouldn’t we all like to hear a tune?”

  A few people clapped; there was even a whistle.

  “Go on, Nightmare…” Ted expelled the words directly in Night’s face. “They all want to hear you play.”

  Night’s stare shifted to the massive lobby doors where his father ran one hand over his silver head and then crossed his arms over a well-tailored suit jacket before tossing back a reluctant nod.

  Crouched on the bench, without looking up, Night sensed every set of eyes in the room on him, everyone anticipating what this deaf prodigy would sound like on a piano. The slow tune he chose to play matched his resistance in getting started, but he quickly loosened up. His awareness flitted from one table to the next—until one guest snared it. Different from every other set in the room, her eyes wouldn’t let go of his, teasing and challenging him to look just a little bit longer.

  His performance suffered as he fought to look down at the keys, but it became next to impossible when the girl dropped her chin and began playing with the rim of her water glass. He could no longer hear his own music as she swept the surface of her drink, lifted her finger to her mouth, and brushed the water across her relaxed bottom lip. Night tipped his face down and clamped his front teeth over his own lower lip before fully surrendering his gaze to her.

  She declared her win by rising and striking a victory pose with one hand on a hip and the opposite leg bent and thrust forward. The attention in the room split as she made her way to the piano, but it refocused as she crowded herself next to him on the piano bench.

  Night peered at her with caution, but he did not stop playing…not until she placed her hands on the keyboard, at which point he withdrew as though she’d just set the keys on fire. The music vanished into the din of hands clapping.

  “I play too,” she told him. “You shouldn’t have stopped.”

  The audience now forgotten, he absorbed every detail, following her tiers of yellow hair down past her chest. She appeared to be studying him as well so he took his time. Faint freckles dressed a face without makeup, and while her loose cotton dress kept a few secrets, his heart rate exploded.

  He glanced up briefly to see the sharp blue lasers from the restaurant owner's eyes now peevishly directed at the ceiling.

  “Finish the song with me,” she enticed.

  Night, too, recognized their newfound responsibility to the audience. His fingers slid into position and the impromptu A Time For Us rendition took form once again.

  “How do you do that?” she whispered when he tilted
his face to hers. “I mean…if you can’t hear.”

  It took him a moment to churn out an answer.

  “I can feel it with my hands.”

  “Really?” She picked up his right hand and placed the backs of his fingers over her heart. “Can you feel this?”

  Without blinking, he nodded.

  “I just wanted to say hello,” she stated with stark simplicity before releasing his hand and marching back to her table.

  Beyond the bustle of applause, Night witnessed how the Emerald Shore’s distinguished owner lifted his hands only to show him a curt gesture. Just steps from his father, the girl hustled her friends out of their seats as though she knew it would be anticlimactic to stay around another second. Then, the door closed behind her, leaving him to contend with a less desirable admirer, Ted, for the rest of the evening.

  Chapter Two

  Andrew Shannien didn’t say a word on the trip home down the US 101. Night glanced his way many times, but the car just sped through the darkness in combustible silence. He sensed that things were about to change as his father turned onto their private, dirt road.

  A gust of briny air from the bay tried to follow them through the front door, but Andrew slammed the door in the face of it, and only now, in the stillness of the house, did he decide to let rip.

  “What the hell was that, Night? Did we forget something this evening? You’re supposed to be deaf!” He ticked his own ear in a sloppy effort to sign the word. “Don’t you think people might start to wonder after your little exhibition, complete with dialogue, playing like a damned concert pianist!” Andrew walked away, but then he spun and came back. “Night, you have to be modest or people will demand more and more from you, and then we will both regret it.”

  “I didn’t say a lot…”

  “Oh! Can you feel this?” Andrew mimicked in a false nasal voice. “Feel this. Feel this. I can feel it with my hands,” he persisted deliriously. “Well, feel this!” In a flash, Andrew’s hand was across Night’s face.

  Night crossed his arms tightly, leaving it up to the draft in the room to tell him if the ring on Andrew’s left hand had drawn blood. Not this time. “People make it hard sometimes. It’s hard sometimes…pretending.”

  “I know that, but I’ve told you how it is. They can’t know too much.”

  Night recoiled from the hand that now tried to offer affection and Andrew’s manner turned tetchy again.

  “But they will if you’re careless. They cannot ask too many questions, and it’s our responsibility not to let them. We don’t have a choice.”

  “It would be easier…if I just knew why.”

  “Trust me, Night. How can you not trust me?”

  Night stumbled in and out of a whirlwind embrace, but a grip on his right arm prevented him from leaving just yet.

  “A word here and there is fine. Dazzle them with your extraordinary gift to play music, but don’t let it go too far. They love you, Night…just the way you are. They admire you—and I need you at the restaurant. It would never be as successful without you. I owe you so much, and after protecting you for nineteen years, I will not let my guard down to this world that is just waiting for one of us to make a mistake.”

  Night turned away, refusing to look up at his father.

  “Why can you not trust me, Night? Do you see how you want to know more? People are all the same and they’ll want to know more too. You’ll understand everything at the right time.”

  Night pushed past Andrew. The floorboards yelped under his quick and heavy steps all the way to the top of the staircase and down the hallway. He bashed the side of one fist against the door to his room, last on the left, which opened to the best ocean view in the house—a meager consolation for being denied virtually all human contact, aside from their guests at the Emerald Shore.

  Like tonight, they often reminded him that even his name was a secret. That is his mother’s tale to tell, his father would say to anyone who asked about it, but since she died before he ever knew her, he didn’t expect to get an answer about his name, his mother’s name, his life, or her death—ever.

  The annoying man at the restaurant that evening had probably named him best by dubbing him Nightmare, after the blood-red drink. Even before sleep could set in, something would join him on most nights. It would linger above him, or beside him, and he usually had to fall asleep listening to it breathing.

  Only in the dream realm could he see it…his aberrant doppelganger. While it flashed around its familiar, pale eyes, it declared its autonomy with pearly white hair and thoughts that came from outside his limited life experiences. It would often beckon him to follow, and then throw a tantrum when he couldn’t. It had the ability to impart emotion and impose its distinct brand of excruciating pain, but through all its efforts, it couldn’t extort what it wanted from Night. That’s when it would distort in some horrific way, then slice through his body on its way to oblivion.

  ****

  In this week of intrigues, the final one came with his father’s announcement that the mystery woman, whom he’d been meeting in town for several months, was finally going to visit their home. Other than the occasional repairman and cleaning crew, no one had ever been granted this privilege. In any case, Lila Hughes would be joining them this morning and Andrew flippantly insisted that Night behave as required in the company of other people.

  Night studied her from the far end of the corridor and noted that she rivaled his father in height but fell short of his fifty-five years by more than a decade. She had a kind and pretty face and he also noticed that she had almost the same shade of blond hair as the young girl in his daydreams.

  She stood smiling in the doorway. “That road is quite a test for someone just coming off a night shift.”

  “I’ve often thought that too. Come in, Lila.” Andrew took her by the hand and escorted her a few steps into the house.

  “Lila, this is Night…my son. Night, may I introduce Lillian Hughes. She’s a nurse,” he added when Night’s focus landed on her gold name pin.

  She leaned forward and spoke slowly and precisely. “Hello. It’s nice to finally meet this mysterious Night.” She spoke with an accent that his father called ‘English.' He’d often come across it at the restaurant, but he still had no idea what that meant. He stared back, oblivious to her extended hand until she lowered it. “What an interesting name. How did it come to be?”

  “You would have to ask his mother,” replied Andrew, without missing a beat. “Let’s not stand here. I have coffee waiting for us in the kitchen.” He focused on Night before turning the other way. “Why don’t you treat us, Night? Play something for Lila.”

  The woman’s right eyebrow perked up, as did Night’s.

  ****

  Lila led Andrew into the kitchen. “He obviously reads lips very well.”

  “When he remembers to pay attention.” Andrew seated himself at the breakfast table as if for an interview.

  Lila continued standing, craning her neck to admire the shoreline from the window. “This is a lovely place—and you must have spectacular trails right in your backyard?”

  “Not quite, but there are more than enough not even fifteen minutes from here.”

  Lila sat down. “Oh, I’m familiar with those. Running them has helped me lose my troubles for nearly ten years…although my troubles seem to have a much easier time keeping up with me these days.”

  “Perhaps I can change that.”

  The music in the next room caused her to abandon her answer and look up sharply. “Is that really Night?”

  “Of course.”

  “But how…?”

  “Others like him, without hearing, have learned to play the piano. I taught him myself.”

  “Yes, you mentioned he was homeschooled. I can see he’s a good student.”

  “He did have an excellent teacher.” Andrew’s face tensed, in spite of his bright eyes and grin.

  Lila giggled shortly. “You’re just so far away from e
verything. Didn’t you ever worry about him not being around other kids when he was growing up?”

  Andrew’s coffee cup clanked on its saucer. “No, Lila. He didn’t want to go away to any special school and mainstreaming wasn’t even an option until he was ten—at which point they would have stuck him into one of those special classrooms with idiots and morons. No, as you can see, Night’s IQ is not a problem, and I was going to make sure he got what he needed, here at home. Listen to him… Should anyone be worried?”

  Every part of Andrew’s explanation made perfect sense to Lila and she nodded. “I just wonder…what about friends?”

  “I’m sure you can appreciate the challenges Night faces. Some things can’t be helped. But he does have the restaurant to contend with almost every day. There’s a reason why we both enjoy living here. You have no idea what a relief it is to come home some mornings and finally have some peace.”

  “Yes, Andrew, I do. But some mornings, after a hectic shift, I still get into my car and drive miles out of my way just so I can spend time with somebody else.”

  Andrew leaned back and chuckled.

  The spellbinding music trailed off and Lila excused herself from the table. She stepped into the living room and Night dropped the keyboard cover as their eyes met.

  “That was so brilliant.” She crossed the room and stopped in front of him. “Perfect.”

  Andrew sidled up to her as she noticed a heavily framed seascape painting over the staircase banister.

  “The artist is among us,” he revealed.

  “You…? No… Night? He’s amazing. I can almost feel the mist in the air.”

  “I told you,” Andrew persisted, “he isn’t missing anything.”

  Lila concurred, but she still couldn’t help but wonder how much further Night might have gone with some outside recognition of his gifts.