Page 70 of The Voice We Find

She’s halfway down the short hall when a sudden onslaught of rain beats against the window in the studio. She jumps, hand clutched to her heart.

“Looks like the storm is here.”

A loud crack and pop coming from the direction of the neighbor’s tree line causes her to twist back a second time. With winds this strong, I know there’ll be more branches to follow. I wouldn’t be surprised if they litter the entire driveway. We’re no strangers to wind damage in these parts. I’m thankful I parked in the garage.

Concern etches Sophie’s features. “Are we safe in here with it like this outside? It sounds terrible.”

“Yes, those branches snap easily,” I assure her. “You won’t hear any of it in the booth though. It’s too insulated.” I made sure to usepremium-grade material when I built the studio for this very reason. I also made sure to use the best storm surge protection on the market today for my soundboard. Even still, my fingers twitch to confirm that every cord and knob is in place as she settles herself on the opposite side of the glass.

As soon as I slip on my headphones, I hear her voice. “August?”

I press the two-way talk button. “Yeah?” I lift my eyes from the controls and see her pointing above the mic at the plastic shrub.

“Looks like the booth was visited by Gabby the Elf, too.”

Heat climbs my neck. “I noticed that.”

“It’s pretty clever, considering the title of the script,” she says, even though the title is the last thing I’m thinking about with Sophie perched beneath it.

“Also,” she continues, “the iPad charger isn’t here, and mine is almost dead.”

“Oh, right. I used it at the keyboard earlier. I’ll grab it.”

I pull off my headphones and stride to the far side of the studio where my keyboard sits, then drop to my knees to unplug the charger from the wall. With my arm outstretched and my fingers fumbling for the block, the power suddenly cuts off.

Blind and disoriented, I attempt to stand, forgetting that my two-hundred-pound studio keyboard hovers directly above me. At the hard bang, a choice word slips out, and I rub at the bump forming on the crown of my head. I crawl my way out and am struck by the utter darkness when there’s no daylight streaming through the window. The deafening soundtrack of pelting rain against glass is almost as disconcerting as the power outage. I feel for the phone in my pocket, then remember I left it next to the soundboard.

It’s not until I’m working to navigate around the shadows that I realize what I don’t hear in the mix of rain and wind.

Sophie.Why hasn’t she come out?

A cold sensation creeps up my spine as I stumble down the hall, thankful my sister didn’t line the floor with my mother’s nutcracker collection, and slide my hand down the textured wall until I reachthedoorjamb of the soundproof room. I grip the handle and push inside.

The tiny space is void of light; an entirely new level of darkness and disorientation.

“Sophie, you alright?”

When the only response I hear is the sound of rapid, erratic breaths, my pulse accelerates.

“Sophie?” Despite the unexplainable sense of urgency I feel, I soften my voice. “Where are you?”

“August.” The strained, choked sound of my name sends a flash of fear through my core.

Something’s very wrong.The revelation nearly swallows me whole as I struggle to move through the darkness until I reach the cool metal of the empty recording stool. Did she fall? Did she hit her head? “Talk to me, sweetheart. Where are you?”

“H-h-here,” she says through short, sharp pants.

Carefully, I lower to my knees to crawl along the floor. I don’t want to hurt her, but I can sense her panic even from a distance. The instant my fingers brush the hem of her long sweater, I’m reaching for her and pulling her limp body into mine.

I rub my palms along her shuddering back.

“You’re okay,” I whisper in her ear, willing myself to believe it as truth. “You’re okay, Sophie. I’m here now, and I’m not going to let you go. Breathe with me.” I take in a long slow inhale. She tries to follow, but her struggle for air is gut-wrenching. “You’re doing great,” I say calmly. “Let’s try it again. Good. Nice and slow.” Chest to chest, we breathe together. Again and again until I feel some of the rigidity in her body begin to relax.

It’s only then that her arms tighten around me. She holds on like I might disappear, and something inside me breaks at the thought. Her breaths are still too shallow to be okay, and I know with unshakable conviction that I need to get her out of this room. Out of this darkness.

I cradle the back of her head as my lips skim her temple. “Do you have your phone on you?”

Sheshakes her head no. “In . . . my . . . backpack.”

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