Three weeks had passed since that awakening that was, to say the least... particular.
Marcus, or rather Aiden now, not finding a name in his basket, the old lady had named him Aiden Mortensen, it was quite stylish and Aiden certainly wasn't against it.
He was just beginning to get used to this new existence as a human vegetable who could only eat, sleep and shit himself.
Glamorous, he thought bitterly as he felt his diaper warming unpleasantly once again.
But the most troubling thing and Aiden still couldn't get used to it, were still those damn whispers.
At first, he had tried to ignore them, to relegate them to the rank of post-traumatic hallucinations. After all, dying crushed by a truck then waking up in a baby's body, that was enough to disturb any brain, even that of a neurosurgeon.
Except that the voices were becoming more and more distinct.
He felt the old lady, who was called Mrs. Pemberton it seemed, had heard. He saw her approach his crib and notice his loaded package down below.
- "I need to change his diaper," Mrs. Pemberton was thinking as she approached his crib. "And after that, there's little Tommy who's still running a fever. I hope it's not measles."
Aiden froze completely.
Wait... what?
Mrs. Pemberton hadn't opened her mouth, he was sure of that, her old lips had in no way sketched the slightest movement and her vocal cords hadn't emitted a single vibration either, her throat had remained completely still.
Yet he had clearly and distinctly heard her voice and her words, as if she had spoken, but without speaking.
He observed attentively the middle-aged woman who lifted him with mechanical gestures with an attention that somewhat distorted his infant facial expression. The old lady's face remained impassive, very focused on her task, but yet he still heard her voice distinctly.
- "This kid really has a weird look for a baby. I hope he doesn't have a mental problem, the orphanage doesn't have the means to take care of a retard."
This time he was sure !!!!!!! It was undeniable, he was hearing her thoughts, her real thoughts, no sound, no noise just her damn inner voice!!!
Holy shit, thought Aiden, which in his newborn mouth gave a disturbing gurgle. Hey! But wait how do you mean retarded???? You nincompoop Mrs. Pemberton, wait until I grow up we'll see who's the retard.
Over the following days, he carefully experimented with this new ability. Mrs. Pemberton was his main guinea pig, but he also tested with the other staff members.
Mr. Henderson, the pot-bellied director who sometimes passed through the nursery: "More bills piling up. How are we going to pay for the roof repairs? And this smell of mold that's getting worse..."
Sarah, the young aide with rosy cheeks: "He's cute, this little Aiden. His big orange eyes... Too bad he's an orphan. I hope a nice family will adopt him soon."
Each thought was crystal clear, clear as rock water. It was fascinating and terrifying at the same time.
I'm telepathic, he realized one morning while looking at the stained ceiling. Damn, I've become telepathic.
This discovery should have excited him more, after all, what neurosurgeon had never dreamed of being able to read directly into thoughts? But there was something else that concerned him.
Those whispers he sometimes heard didn't come from human minds.
They were... different.
Less comprehensible, less distinct and much more distant, like a distant rumble but much more impressive.
No one is in the room yet I still hear this "rumble" it's unbearable, I'll have to learn to control this power and very quickly.
One rainy March afternoon, as London disappeared under a deluge worthy of Noah's ark, Aiden was installed near the window and Mrs. Pemberton had gotten into the habit of putting him there so he could "enjoy the light," even when this light looked more like the lighting of a horror movie.
He was watching the raindrops run down the windowpanes when suddenly, which made him think back to the night of his accident, the weather at that moment was similar.
A slight sadness came over him and as the emotion took hold of him, he then suddenly heard it.
It wasn't with his ears no, it was the same part of his mind that captured the inner voices of Mrs. Pemberton and the others.
Sadness... so heavy... so deep...
The voice was different from all those he had heard until then. Soft, melancholic, like a sigh that would extend infinitely.
Where the hell is that coming from?
Aiden swept the nursery with his gaze. Three other babies were sleeping in their cribs, Mrs. Pemberton had gone out to get clean laundry. He was alone.
Tears from the sky... infinite tears...
This time, there was no possible doubt. The voice, or voices, they came from... outside. From the rain itself!!
I'm going completely nuts, he thought forcing himself to laugh internally. Now I'm hearing the weather talk.
But deep down, he knew it wasn't madness. These past weeks, he had noticed troubling correlations between his mood and the weather. On sunny days, he felt more energetic, more optimistic. When clouds gathered, a dull melancholy settled in him.
Yet his madness seemed very real, what he saw and what he heard corresponded perfectly to the weather outside, the raindrops were the resonance of sadness, the witnesses of this feeling.
And those who cry these drops... he thought. The clouds!!!!!
He was literally hearing the emotions of the sky.
Okay, what do we do now? Do we get committed or do we assume we've become some sort of... weather-telepath?
The answer came faster than he would have thought.
Mrs. Pemberton returned to the nursery, her arms loaded with clean laundry. She approached his crib with her usual smile, that professional smile she had worn for fifteen years in this job.
- "So, my little Aiden, watching the rain?"
Their gazes then met.
Orange eyes that met the tired and old eyes of Mrs. Pemberton.
One second then two then three...
And suddenly, it was no longer just Mrs. Pemberton's superficial thoughts that Aiden perceived. He was plunged into a completely new world, his consciousness drawn into a vortex of colors and sounds, a tunnel covered with memory fragments, he was at the center, levitating in a body that was no longer his infant body but a mixture between the old him and the new, and before he could study his environment further, a fragment detached from the wall and shot at full speed before hitting Aiden.
William... my little William with blue eyes... dead before even breathing... the cord around his little neck... I wanted to die that day...
The images surged into Aiden's mind like an emotional tsunami. He saw the stillborn baby, felt the atrocious pain of this mother who had never been able to cradle her child.
Other fragments detached from the tunnel and shot toward Aiden like the first. Aiden raised his hands in front of him...
- "NO NO NO" he screamed, he couldn't take it anymore, he felt his brain pulling slightly, and a neurosurgeon was not unfamiliar with such signs.
Richard who abandoned me... the marriage promises... and then nothing... alone with my grief...
The suffering was so intense that Aiden was breathless. Forty years of mourning, loneliness, regrets poured all at once into his infant mind.
Too much, he thought weakly. It's too much...
His vision blurred. A searing pain exploded in his skull, as if his brain was trying to process more information than it was capable of.
He felt something warm flow from his nose. Blood.
Mrs. Pemberton blinked, coming out of her reverie. She looked down at Aiden and let out a cry of horror.
- "My God! He's bleeding from the nose!"
The world tilted. Colors mixed, sounds became muffled. Aiden felt consciousness escape him, sucked into a whirlwind of black and silence.