Far From the Sound: Book 1

Far From the

Sound

Book 1

R. Markle

This book is a work of fiction

Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. While this book may feature the names of real celebrities and their work, they are used in a fictional context, and the characters and storylines are entirely imagined.

This book contains sensitive subjects that may be triggering to some readers. Topics include suicide, death, emotional abuse, bullying, and substance abuse.

Copyright © 2025 Rebekah Markle

All rights reserved.

First Edition 2025

ISBN: 979-8-3493-7937-6

DEDICATION

For anyone who has ever felt alone in a room crowded with people. I see you. I feel you. I know you.

This is not where your story ends. It’s just the start.

Trust me.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I could write a novel in itself about all of the wonderful people who have supported me through writing this.

My very first book.

But I’ll keep it simple.

Thank you to my loving husband, Ben, who carries me, pushes me, and helps me in a million different ways. Even though words may not say it, every book I will ever write will be for you.

My son, my Baby Bear, who inspired me to pursue something I always dreamt about but never had the guts to actually do.

And Ben (again), Katye, and Alyssa for reading my manuscript before anyone else.

Chapter One

The last few months had felt like a dream. I felt like I had been washed up on a shore, my ears and lungs full of water, unable to catch a full breath or hear anything anyone had said. The gurgled I’m sorry for your loss, repeated by every person I passed, seemed to speak through the bubbling water within my body. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. I couldn’t feel anymore.

After the first week of hysteria, I had gone into some kind of hibernation. I was a shell of the person I had been. And the hollowness only grew deeper as I woke up at 3 a.m. on my seventeenth birthday.

The alarm clock chimed, and I rolled over to silence the blaring noise. I rolled back to stare at the dark shadows haunting the ceiling, contrasting with the moonlight shining through the window. It was abnormally bright, like a streetlight left on or a headlight beaming through the glass. I sighed, exhausted from another sleepless night. The cycle I had been trapped in continued since the day my mother had died: three or four days with very little sleep, then I’d crash for a full twenty-four hours. I figured medication might help, but the fear of addiction always outweighed my desire for a full night’s rest.

After a few moments, I rolled out of bed and turned on the bedside light. The room was empty. I hadn’t bothered to put anything up on the walls. The Warrens had offered to decorate the room however I wanted, but I preferred the blanket of nothingness to remind me not to get comfortable. I liked the Warrens. But my godparents would be my legal guardians until I turned eighteen, and this place was only temporary until the legalities got settled.

My godparents… what a joke. Mary Morison had been my mother’s best friend back in primary school. When my brother was born, instead of allowing my grandparents any kind of parental rights in the event of an untimely death, my parents scraped together enough money to officially pronounce Mary the godmother to any children they might have.

Shortly after graduation, Mary moved to the Midwest for college and ended up marrying a farmer. In short, I had never actually met any of the Morisons. And as I dressed for my final day in this beautiful seashore city for the foreseeable future, I cursed my mother and her adolescent desperation to defy her parents.

I could tell that Britney Warren was less than thrilled to be awake at 3 a.m. on a Monday morning–or maybe it was the fact that I was leaving. Leaving wasn’t the right word, though. If I had my way, I would have stayed. I could have gone to the same school I had attended for the last two years. Britney and Shaun had fought to keep me, offering to drive the hour to school every day to maintain my stability and relationships with my friends. They even wanted me to begin developing a relationship with my grandparents, who lived in the next county over. I hadn’t even known they were alive until I met them that day in front of a judge.

Well, Shaun said as he descended the stairs. He paused and looked at me for a moment, as if trying to remember every detail.

I nodded, took a breath, and headed for the front door with the Warrens behind me. I went to reach for the two suitcases, but Shaun beat me to one of them. I gave him a quiet look of appreciation before opening the door and stepping into the next chapter of my life.

It was a mostly quiet drive. The warrens got me checked into the airport and waited with me for my court-mandate escort.

Um, Britney began, pulling out two small, wrapped boxes from her bag. I know you didn’t want anything for your birthday, but we got you something anyway.

I gave a forced half-smile and took one box. I then pulled the paper off to reveal the picture of a mobile phone. I had never had my own cellphone before.

It’s a Galaxy Mini Smartphone, Britney said, beaming. They just released it this year. It’s supposed to be along the same lines as the Apple phones. You can access the internet from it. And it’s all programmed and paid for, so you can call us anytime. Her voice broke as she fought back tears. Happy birthday, Alex.

I felt bad for her. I didn’t really want a mobile phone. It meant an obligation to actually talk to people. But I knew that, as their first foster kid, I meant a lot to them.

Thank you, Britney.

She handed me the second box. You’re welcome. And this is just a little something for your flight. Nothing big.

I unwrapped the second box and actually felt some genuine gratitude. It was a homemade turkey sandwich. Britney had made a turkey about a month prior, and thus, many turkey sandwiches thereafter. She made the best turkey sandwich I had ever tasted. She had even made turkey twice since then, because it was one of the few things I’d eat. I looked up at her and attempted a real smile.

Thank you, I said before Britney and Shaun pulled me into a hug. They embraced me for a long moment. I inhaled deeply, trying to savor the scent of security with them.

Alexander McCree? a voice interrupted. I turned to see an airport employee smiling at us. It’s time to go through security and get to your flight.

I nodded and turned back to the Warrens. Well, thanks again. I’ll keep in touch, I said, though I barely believed myself.

Be safe, Britney said as Shaun pulled her under his arm.

Have a good flight. And call us when you land, Shaun added.

I turned away and walked with the employee toward the long line of people. We bypassed the line, and I went through a special security checkpoint for unaccompanied minors before walking to the gate. The employee sat me down next to the gate desk and spoke with the attendant before turning back to me.

Okay, she said. You’re all set. Tracy here will board you in about an hour. Good luck, Mr. McCree. Enjoy your flight. And she was gone.

I opened the new mobile phone and immediately saw the music application front and center. Thank God, the Warrens knew me well enough to upload my favorite rock and rap artists. I pulled out my earphones, plugged them in, and got lost in the beat. I sat back with my eyes closed, focused on the words and music, until Tracy gently touched my shoulder and ushered me onto the plane.

I sat in the first row of the main cabin, next to another unaccompanied minor. She was younger than me, maybe ten or eleven. We both kept to ourselves, quietly accepted the pretzels and soda the flight attendant handed us, and solemnly sat through the four-hour flight. I offered her half of my sandwich, and she smiled and politely accepted.

I thought about what awaited me on the other end of the flight. A sick stab of panic knifed through my gut as we began the descent. It was the same pain I had felt when moving from the foster center to the Warrens’ house. Only this time, instead of being a broken shell of a human sitting in the backseat of a social worker’s car, uncontrollably sobbing, I was an empty shell flying nearly across the country.

I didn’t know much about the Morisons. I knew they owned a big farm. I knew they had kids around my age. I knew that moving from the coastal city to the Midwestern farmlands was going to be a huge change. And I knew that I didn’t want to go. But I also knew I didn’t have a choice.

The air was thick as we got off the plane and the flight attendant walked with me and the little girl to a counter in the airport, where we were passed off to a security guard. The gruff man walked us all the way to baggage claim. We turned the corner and headed toward another desk with chairs next to it, where two men sat.

The first man was young, maybe in his late twenties. He was well-kept, clean-shaven, wearing a button-up shirt and a baseball cap. As he saw us approach, he stood. The little girl took off running for him and jumped into his arms.

Oh, my goodness, Daisy, I missed you so much, I heard him say into her shoulder as I passed their embrace.

That meant the second man, who also stood from his chair and began walking toward me, was here for me. He was clearly older, and his button-up shirt had some dirt on the sleeves. His jeans were worn, but didn’t have holes, and his boots were scuffed so that the tiniest bit of steal was showing through at the toes. His dark face was round, his hair cut short, and his mustache covered his upper lip. He didn’t show much emotion. I hoped I was as hard to read as he was.

Alexander? he said in a deep voice as the security guard and I approached.

Yeah, I responded.

The guard walked over to the desk and spoke to the employee, leaving me alone with who I assumed was Mr. Morison.

He hesitated before correcting my speech. ‘Yes,’ not ‘Yeah.’ That is disrespectful. His dark eyes bore down on me. He was well over a head taller than I was.

A pit fell in my gut. My very first interaction with the person who was now my legal guardian, and I was already the disrespectful city kid… and he was the crass country man.

Yes, I corrected myself through gritted teeth. I am Alex McCree.

He looked me up and down. I am David Morison. Come on, let’s get home before traffic gets too bad on the freeway.

Home. What was home, anyway? Certainly not the place we were going.

Home is a place where you can breathe easy. Home is a place where you are safe, surrounded by love and laughter.

I hadn’t been home in many years.

Chapter Two

By the time we’d checked out at the airport, grabbed my bags, and reached the car, it was almost 1 p.m. David didn’t say a word as he drove. We were in the car for over an hour, listening to crummy country music on the radio. I wanted to put in my headphones, but I didn’t want him thinking I was being disrespectful again.

Are you hungry? he finally asked.

I looked over at him, away from the increasingly frequent fields outside my window. No, not really. But I could use a restroom.

Alright. We’ve still got about forty-five minutes until we’re home. We’ll stop up ahead for a few minutes. And that was all he said for the rest of the ride.

The stop at the gas station was brief. I noticed how cheap the gas was compared to back west. I walked in and headed straight to the restroom. After relieving myself and washing up, I grabbed a bottle of water on my way out. I paid the cashier, who was way too cheerful for his own good, and got back into the car with David.

It was just after 3:30 p.m. when we pulled onto a dirt road. To the right was the biggest orchard I’d ever seen. The trees were full of bright, red apples. To the left was a small house with a little grey Chevy parked out front. We passed the small dwelling and continued for a few minutes. I watched as the apple orchard turned into pastel peaches. The air was thick and sweet, like a mixture of decaying grass and