The Sound of Suffering: The Master of Perceptions Book 2

By Darin C Brown

Hunter Miller has a secret.

He can read and manipulate the auras that surround everyone.

Having used his talent to dethrone the reigning school bully, thirteen-year old Hunter finds himself thrust into a new quest after hearing screams in the aura of a teacher.  Unable to resist this powerful siren song, he investigates—de

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darin C Brown
• Release date: Feb 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9780999503126

Darin C Brown

DARIN C. BROWN spent the last twenty years saving lives as an emergency medicine physician in New Hampshire and Maine. His master's degree in biomedical engineering and PhD in biophysics helped him conceptualize Hunter's astounding capabilities. When he's not writing, he directs Murder Mystery Dinner Theater, including the biannual shows on the Conway Scenic Railroad. In addition to his varied academic interests, he competes at the national level in master's track. He currently resides in the White Mountains of New Hampshire with his wife, Dr. Sandra Brown, and their many pets.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

VICTORY

TOMMY LACHANCE’S naked body drew all eyes toward the center of my school’s playground. A beacon in a sea of humanity, students and adults alike gazed open-mouthed at the struggling boy attached to the flagpole.

What on earth… sputtered Mr. Lajoie, my teacher.

It’s Tommy! whispered several of the closer girls, who tittered with embarrassed laughter.

Serves you right! yelled a small boy from the third grade section.

Ha! Who’s the tough guy now?

Lose something?

Nice mole!

The shouts and jeers escalated as over two hundred souls craned their necks and jostled for position to witness the biggest bully of the school, now rendered helpless. The tone turned celebratory, with back-slapping, high-fives, and raucous laughter. No one came to Tommy’s defense, not even the teachers—at least for the moment.

My goodness, said the principal, Mrs. Frechette. How in heaven’s name did he get up there? She seemed more curious than upset by the situation.

Tommy wriggled in vain against the restraints. He tried to scream, but the gag I’d stuffed halfway down his throat muffled the sound. The other kids didn’t know—and probably didn’t care—how he got there, and that was fine by me. I wanted no credit, but I was proud of our work. After enduring months of physical and psychological abuse at the hands of Tommy and his minions, my friends and I were finally liberated from the rule of the 33rd Street Gang. So were the other students who couldn’t fight for themselves.

The gang’s power was gone, vanishing in an instant.

While reveling in the recollection of my success, another unbidden memory took its place—my battle with Trigger. I could still feel the burning in my throat where his giant hand had obstructed my breathing. Why hadn’t his body fallen limply to the ground? I’d pulled Trigger into the void, the place where consciousness wasn’t possible, by removing all sensation and color from his aura. I’d done this to myself hundreds of times in the past, and I’d practiced on kids from the bus. Why hadn’t it worked?

I knew the answer now—I’d inadvertently turned his aura totally black instead of removing it. Trigger’s aura was mostly black at baseline, a color I associated with menace or trouble. Without the other colors and sensations, I’d turned him into someone even more dangerous. I’d felt panic as the second fist, the mate of the one constricting my airway, reared back to strike.

The murderous intent in his eyes held me spellbound.

Hunter! It’s time to go! a voice said.

My life flashed before my eyes. Then suddenly, Trigger’s grip relaxed, and his other fist fell harmlessly away as ten thousand volts shocked us both.

Allan’s open palm struck my shoulder and wrenched my mind forward thirty minutes to the present.

Hunter! he repeated. The buses aren’t going to wait!

I shook my head to clear away the troubling vision. The mural on the side of Madrona Elementary, the school I’d attended since 3rd grade, came into focus. I’d progressed on so many levels at this wonderful new place. My gift had been a curse when I was younger, rendering me non-communicative. I’d spent a miserable few months at the University of Washington Autism Center, where I’d made no progress at all. Since the transfer over two years ago, I’d learned to speak fluently, demonstrated my remarkable talent for mathematics, and collected a small group of friends.

I still can’t believe we pulled it off! Allan said.

Yes. We’d certainly pulled it off. But how close to dying had I been? If not for the policeman’s Taser, I’d be in a body bag. Yeah, I muttered.

You have to tell me what you did! he said. How on earth did you knock Tommy out like that?

As my mental faculties fully returned, I realized I couldn’t tell him the truth. I needed to distract him. I checked my watch and waved it in his direction. Man, you’re right! It’s almost time for the buses to leave! Let’s go!

I ran toward the dwindling line of students boarding the buses, with Allan on my heels.

Wait, he said, catching me easily. Aren’t you coming over to my house? I have karate later, but Mom said it would be OK if you came over for dinner. You’ve got to tell me what you did!

I’d forgotten about my plans for dinner at Allan’s.

Right, yeah.

We sat down next to each other on the bus and talked all the way home about the biggest coup in school history, taking down the 33rd Street Gang. My scheme for dividing and conquering would never have worked without Allan and our other friends, Bob, Davis, Brady, Don and Mickey, all of whom executed their tasks perfectly.

What happened with Trigger? he asked.

That was pretty scary. You know how we planned to rile him up and then have Miss Tilton catch him punching me?

Yeah, and then he’d get suspended. But what really happened?

It started out OK. I called him Maurice, which set him on edge.

Ha! I know he hates that!

But instead of just punching me and Mrs. Tilton catching him, he bashed the picture window in her office into a million pieces. Then he went bat-crazy and grabbed me by the throat. I thought I was dead. Fortunately, the police guy was right there, and he used his Taser to knock Trigger out.

Wait, I thought you said he was grabbing you by the neck? Weren’t you Tasered too?

In fact, I was, but my gift allowed me to heal quickly enough to walk away. Good thing, too, or the rest of the plan would’ve failed.

I got away just in time, I lied. I felt the waves emanate from my aura and ignored them. My lie-detecting capability was extremely useful, but not right now.

Then Davis and Bob tricked Fat Louie into eating a dozen candy bars, and he passed out from too much sugar? Allan asked.

Exactly. My grandfather taught me about diabetes.

He would know. Nice to have a doctor in the family!

I really loved Grandpa. He’d helped me discover the basis of my talents, and I couldn’t wait to see him again this summer. I had so much more to learn! He was the only one who knew what I could do, and he’d cautioned me not to tell anyone else.

And then Simon. How’d you know he’d confess and take the blame for Tommy smashing the school spirit panthers?

I knew because of the orange aura—but I couldn’t say that to Allan. Instead I said, You know how he was always doing Tommy’s bidding? He’d get his food at lunch, or do whatever Tommy asked? I was sure he’d cover for Tommy, no matter what the cost. It’s just the way Simon is. Can’t be the leader, so he’s the best possible follower.

You nailed it. But Tommy himself, I gotta know. What did you do? How’d you knock him out so we could tie him to the flagpole like that?

Wait until we get to your house, I said, still having no idea what I was going to say.

CHAPTER 2

ALLAN

ALLAN SAT next to me all year in our 6th grade class. On day 1, he made a joke that kept me from being horribly embarrassed for not being able to speak in front of my classmates, and we became instant friends. It was his idea to display Tommy Lachance naked in front of the entire student body.

Who could blame him for wanting revenge? Tommy and his gang had picked on Allan for years. Allan’s father, a prominent member of the school board, pressured Tommy’s father into making Tommy apologize. However, the gang retaliated by beating Allan so badly that he ended up in the hospital. He required plastic surgery because of the damage. Without proof other than Allan’s word, the crime went unpunished.

As for me, the same group tricked me into climbing a tree and falling, breaking my leg in the process. My mother was so angry, she sent me to live with my grandfather. That turned out to be a blessing, because Grandpa taught me about my gift. Like many autism-spectrum children, I had abilities other people couldn’t imagine. Mine was seeing and manipulating auras.

Because I wanted revenge as much as Allan, I pulled Tommy into the void so that we could strip him and attach him to the pole for all to see. A small part of me felt guilty, but mostly I felt proud of exacting our payback in such a spectacular fashion.

When we arrived at his house, we went to his room, and he asked me again.

What gives? Allan’s eyes were searching mine for the story.

I thought briefly about telling the truth, but Grandpa’s words of warning stung me. Instead, I watched my blue aura pulse wildly with deceit as I made up a plausible story. `

You know how the guys in the jujitsu class do these strangle holds and knock people out? I said.

Yeah, but they’re expert fighters, and they practice those holds for weeks before they can make them work!

I learned how to do it.

No way.

Yes way, I assured.

No way, he said again.

I totally can!

No, you can’t, you’re BS-ing me.

Have I got to do it to you for you to believe me?

Yes. Knock me out. Right now. Otherwise I know you’re full of crap.

I paused. I didn’t want to do this, but it was either tell the truth or knock him out.

Remember, I said, I was already behind him, and he didn’t know I was there.

So you want me to turn around?

Yeah. And you have to pretend that you don’t know it’s coming.

Sure, fine. Whatever. You won’t be able to knock me out. He turned around.

If I do, will you just drop it?

If you knock me out right now, I’ll —

I put my arms around his neck for show and yanked him into the void. He thumped to the ground. I recalled the years I’d spent running from the demons, always to the safety of the void—that empty place where no aura could find me. Now that I understood their meaning, I no longer feared the auras. Instead of a defense mechanism, I learned to employ the abyss as a weapon against my greatest foe.

Everything all right up there, Allan? his mother yelled from downstairs. I didn’t answer. Panicking, I slapped Allan’s face to wake him up. That didn’t work, but I realized I knew a better way. I replaced his familiar blue, pink and white aura that I had mercilessly removed. Almost instantly, he woke up and looked up at me from the floor.

Holy cow! he said, his voice still a bit weak from being dragged into and out of the void.

Allan? his mother yelled again from below.

Yeah, Mom, Allan said, loudly enough for her to hear.

Don’t forget, you have karate tonight, so we need to eat dinner soon!

OK, we’ll be right down, he said, opening the door. He turned to me. Wow! That’s an awesome move. I can’t believe you learned all that just to take out that prick. Nice work!

He held up his hand, and I slapped him five. There was no malice in his aura—nothing red or black. If anything, there was some green which was either jealousy or surprise, I couldn’t tell which.

Hey, you should come to karate. I bet you’d like it. Plus, we’d get to hang out over the summer. You could show me how to do that.

That sounded like a good idea, but I wasn’t sure my mother would go for it. She still thought of me as a frail autistic child needing protection. Let me ask. I bet it’d be fun, I said. We went down for dinner. Even though it was still early, I was starving.

Allan’s mother intercepted us on the way to the table. Her clearwhite aura glowed with strong purple, just like my mother’s.

Hello, boys. Anything interesting happen in school on the last day of the year?

I stared helplessly as my aura vibrated tart green. Allan’s aura exploded—buzzing, vibrating, and emitting a green sweaty smell. As he answered, the sour pulsating waves created an impressive display.

Not much. Some kid in the 8th grade got into a fight with his buddy, who left him tied up to the flagpole by the playground. It was kind of funny. The other kid got caught and punched the guidance office window and broke it. They took him away. I didn’t see any of it because Hunter and I were at the assembly, he said, looking at me. Right?

I couldn’t move or speak. How’d he just lie like that to his mother? Couldn’t she see right through the deception? I’d never witnessed such a massive display of obvious dishonesty. His aura vibrated so furiously, I thought it was going to drag the skin off his bones. He tapped me on the top of the head.

Yo, earth to Hunter!

Oh, yeah, right, I said.

His mother looked at me funny while bitter green turbulence blazed from her direction.

Don’t mind him, he used to be autistic, Allan said, his aura calming. That was a low blow. I smacked him hard on the arm, adding pain to the blow with my mind. He winced and smacked me back, hard enough to elicit spicy redness. I turned and started to go after him, until I realized that his aura was yellow. He was playing with me.

BOYS, please!! said Allan’s mom.

Sorry, Mrs. Marks, and Sorry, Mom, we said, simultaneously.

Enough of that. Now let’s sit down. I made a roast.

Wow, great! I said, the thought of food eradicating everything else from my brain. I was famished.

Hey, Mom, do you think Hunter could go with me to karate? Allan asked. I’d already forgotten about that, too.

The subject change worked wonders. Mrs. Marks’ aura calmed, warmed, and the green turned yellowish. Well, wouldn’t that be great, she said. After a pause, she added, although, I don’t think you’ll be able to, Hunter. Allan couldn’t start until I filled out a lot of paperwork and paid in advance. But there’s no reason you can’t sign up for summer classes.

We both protested vigorously, but our objections didn’t change the facts, and I resigned to starting next week. They dropped me off at home, where I immediately asked Mom about it.

Hi, Mom, can I do karate with Allan this summer?

Well, hello, how was your day? she replied.

Um, good. I remembered the lie that we’d told Allan’s mother, and I hesitated to bring it up. Mom could sometimes read my mind, so I figured it was best not to think about it.

So, karate? Mrs. Marks said there was a bunch of paperwork that we had to fill out before I went.

OK, I’ll look into it. How is Allan? she persisted.

He’s good. He went tonight.

Did you get your grades?

Enough with irrelevant stuff. Yes, Mom, I said, exasperated. I did great. Top of the class in everything but French.

Wow! she said. She had a sweet yellow taste on top of the vibrant green that swirled around her usual purple color. Well, I think karate classes might be a good reward. What do I have to do to sign you up?

I asked her to call Mrs. Marks to get the details, and she did, promising to take care of it all before the next class on Monday.

Time dragged over the weekend, as I was looking forward to starting my new sport. Allan had family visiting, so I couldn’t go over to his house to have him show me the basics like we’d hoped. However, Grandpa called me on Sunday to catch up.

Hello, Hunter! he said.

Grandpa!

How does it feel to be done with seventh grade?

I did finish with a bang, I said. I’ll tell you all about it next time I see you.

Ah, I see! he said. Grandpa understood. It was he who suggested avoiding all reference to my talents, even on the phone. I didn’t comprehend precisely what he feared, but after years of being different in the autism center, I accepted his advice. I longed to tell him the story of Tommy, but at least I had other exciting news.

You know my friend Allan?

Well, no, but I’ve heard you mention him.

He’s the one who sat next to me all year. He invited me to join his karate class.

Well, that’s fantastic! I used to run track in high school, and I loved it. I think you’ll enjoy competing in a sport. Especially with your best friend.

Can I come out to visit? Other than karate, I don’t have anything going on during the summer.

It’s fine with me. I just don’t know what your Mom will think about the idea.

We talked for a bit longer about mundane stuff like the weather, but I still enjoyed it. Although Allan was my best friend, I loved talking with Grandpa the most. I really wished I could see him in person to look at his aura. I realized long ago that auras were a live only process—I couldn’t see them on TV, in recordings, on the phone, in the mirror, in pictures, or in videos. Grandpa suggested there might be a different wavelength to the energy I perceived, one not captured by recordings or transmitted across feeds. I supposed he was right, but I didn’t know how any of it worked, and I couldn’t ask anyone else. Grandpa’s aura fascinated me, partly because it looked so much like my own. I also loved how he knew the answer to almost every question.

He ended the call by reminding me to keep practicing my skills. I assured him I would, before giving the phone back to Mom. I hoped she’d make plans for me to visit during the upcoming months, but when I asked, all she said was, We’ll see.

* * *

DAD SURPRISED me by arriving home on Sunday evening. He’d been gone for weeks, a common occurrence. He taught sociology at the same University where Mom worked, but spent weeks or sometimes months abroad. The sabbaticals didn’t always correlate with school vacations, but this year, he spent much of the spring out of town.

How was school? he asked. I know I’ve been gone a while.

Good. I got top grades and I really like math.

Awesome! Mom says you’re interested in learning karate?

Um, yeah. My friend Allan invited me to his class.

That should be fun. Hey, listen, come to the garage with me. I want to show you something.

I took the opportunity to study his aura, which I hadn’t seen in months. It was a different shade of blue than mine, laced with grayish brown. Mostly cold with ominous strands of black, the occasional purple and silver flashes breathed a positive vibe amidst the other, more sinister components. I liked that it was very strong and dense, but I found the cold, gray-blackness unnerving. It was tempting to ask him about the auras, but when I thought about it, I felt my skin tingle.

This is my bicycle, he said, demonstrating a two-wheeler clearly too big for me. Come on, I’ll show you how to ride.

I had to be the only twelve year-old in Seattle who’d never been on a bike, but better late than never. I felt purple warmness in Dad’s aura as he walked beside me, steadying the bike, while I slowly pedaled. Despite my general awkwardness, I learned quickly, and after five or six trips up and down the street, I was cycling unaided. After the lesson, we returned to the kitchen, where Mom was making dinner. While we set the dining room table, I asked him if he recalled the stories he used to tell.

Oh, when you were little? Of course I remember. Your mother used to read to you, and I would tell you stories, mostly about other cultures. You know, from what I teach my sociology majors. That was before we started sending you to the Center. I mean, you couldn’t talk, you almost never responded, so I didn’t know how much you really absorbed.

As he spoke, his aura undulated. I felt mine cool and turn green, with a tart taste that clashed with his sourness. I studied auras enough to realize that at least part of what he said wasn’t the truth. It all made perfect sense, though, and I didn’t know what part was wrong. I took a stab.

Why did you send me to the Autism Center? I mean, I only started going there when I was in 3rd grade, and by the end of the year I switched over to the public school, I said.

This time it was his aura that vibrated green, but without any waves as he answered. Oh, no, Hunter, you were at the Center from the time you were three. Your mother brought you every weekday for six years. You were diagnosed with severe autism, and we took you there to keep you safe.

What? I said. I didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t lying. I don’t remember any of that. My first day was only three years ago.

Like I said, you were non-communicative for most of your life. That’s why I was so shocked to hear you speak when I got back from my last trip. And now getting straight A’s at the HCC program. You came a long way in a very short time! The yellow clarity from his aura soothed my skin.

Mom brought in the lasagna fresh out of the oven, and asked, What’re you boys talking about?

Dad just told me that I attended the Autism Center since I was three. I don’t remember anything about that, I said.

Oh, you were pretty sick. I still can’t believe how well you’re doing now. When we first took you to the Center, they told us that a small fraction of even deeply affected autistic children can end up highly functional. However, for years, you made no progress until they changed their structure to only six children per class. Since then, you’ve wildly exceeded our expectations!

I dove into my lasagna, which was delicious. I wanted to tell her the real reason I was doing well, but when I first told her about the demons, she had me locked up in the mental ward at Children’s Hospital. My skin tingled when I thought about giving away my secret, and I recognized the sensation. It came whenever I considered talking about auras with anyone but Grandpa, even Mom and Dad. It also warned me when I was in physical danger, like when I practiced healing last year with Grandpa. I felt something even stronger when Trigger was about to kill me—the feeling was so powerful it almost knocked me over. I decided to always trust in that warning sensation.

The conversation with my parents about the past left me confused. My mind was still blown by the discovery that I’d been at the Center for years and remembered nothing. Talk about losing time! How could I make sure that never happened again?

When I asked my parents about my history, their answers brought the waviness that I associated with untruth. About going to the Center, though, they weren’t lying, I couldn’t process this dichotomy. Something about my parents wasn’t what it seemed—I couldn’t quite trust them. After all, they never admitted that Dad wasn’t my biological father. I doubted they knew I’d figured that out. How could I confide in them when they weren’t honest with me? Between that and the tingling, I knew I’d never be able to tell them the truth about my abilities.

CHAPTER 3

MOM

THE TIME came for my first karate class, and my heart fluttered as Mom walked me to the facility from her car. Once we had the paperwork completed, the fee paid, and a new uniform ordered, I was told to take off my shoes and socks before entering the training hall. I spotted Allan on the opposite side, and he waved at me. As I waved back, I noticed that everyone wore identical attire except a small smattering of kids in my corner. We were the beginners. The white belts.

The sensei, a large Asian man with chiseled muscles and a stern visage, gave an introductory speech before the lessons began.

Hello, class, I’m Sensei Nam, he said. "Every time you enter or exit the dojo, you show your respect by bowing to your sensei. So we’ll start with that. Sensei ni rei." We all bowed, and he reciprocated.

"The only time you’re to use your karate is in the building here, our dojo, or at home when you practice. If you absolutely must defend yourself, then you may use it, but let us hope that never happens. Otherwise, keep your fists and feet to yourself.

"Karate is more than fighting. It’s an art. You’ll learn beautiful katas. You’ll improve your physical conditioning. You’ll learn to breathe properly. You’ll become more limber. You’ll learn respect. But most importantly, you’ll learn to focus your mind. The training you receive here will help to enable you to become more successful in all of your endeavors.

"The first task for the new recruits is kiai, a focusing yell. To demonstrate, I’d like the black belts to take front and center."

Allan and three other black belts hustled to the forefront, bowed again, and after a moment of silent instruction, performed a series of moves in complete unison. With each change of direction or strike, they cried out a guttural, staccato Hah!

The auras were very powerful, and I could not take them all in. I was too close, and there were too many. After a few moments, I sensed my control slipping, and I was forced to block them out. I really wanted to pay attention to the lessons and learn karate, not have a meltdown.

Sensei Nam made us all do several kiai yells, and then we went through a routine of calisthenics, stretching, and meditation. While everyone was quiet, I checked a few auras here and there, filtering a small portion through my stout defenses. The white belts had a lot of brown and green. The higher belts had more blue and gold. Only one in the whole room concerned me, a red-belted male on the far side of the room. His aura was black, like the bullies I’d encountered in the past. I wasn’t afraid of anyone else, but I planned on staying away from that guy for sure.

After the communal phase, we broke up into different levels, and Sensei Nam took over instruction of the white belts, starting with the proper ways to stand. First was Zenkutsu Dachi, a front facing stance. He showed us how to do it and checked our footing and weight distribution. Second was Kokutsu Dachi, a defensive posture. I didn’t have my knees bent, and he corrected me. As his hand made contact, I felt part of his aura—dense, clear, powerful gold.

Next he demonstrated the horse-riding stance, called Kiba Dachi. We then switched among the three of them, while he introduced strikes. We learned the straight punch, knife hand, back fist and palm strikes, then practiced each of them, taking single steps forward or backward after each swing. After explaining a few different blocks, we put all the moves together, employing the different stances.

Sensei Nam called over the yellow belts, who collectively demonstrated a kata that we were all to learn. After the demonstration, we worked on each of the individual components until the end of the session, at which point we all came back together for the final stretching and meditation. Practice ended with bows to the black belts and Sensei Nam.

I immediately knew I was going to like this. Between getting physically fit, meeting new people, and learning a useful skill, how could I not benefit? I didn’t get to talk to Allan until class was over, but I listened to the conversations of the other white belts. They seemed OK. They ranged from skinny girls to stocky boys, all of whom wanted the same as me—to get in shape and learn self-defense. We met three days a week, so I was hoping that by the end of summer I’d be as capable as the yellow belts.

After practice, my mother was waiting for me in the lobby of