Jericho's day had been exhausting and bizarre. While in the hospital, it felt like his senses were dialed up to an unbearable degree. Every sound seemed amplified—the rhythmic beeping of monitors, the muffled coughs of patients, and the overlapping chatter of doctors and nurses behind closed doors. It all melded into a chaotic symphony that made his head pound. He couldn't focus, not even on his mom's persistent ranting about Irene.
"Jericho, are you even listening to me?" his mom's sharp voice broke through the haze.
He blinked, shaking his head slightly. "I'm sorry... I didn't catch the last part," he admitted, his voice tinged with fatigue.
His mom sighed, her tone softening as worry etched across her face. "I said I need you to talk to Irene. It's like she won't listen to a word I say anymore."
Jericho frowned, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to summon enough energy to respond. He hated being caught in the middle of their arguments, but the frustration in his mom's eyes was hard to ignore.
"She's stubborn," his mom continued, almost to herself now. "I just... I don't know how to get through to her anymore." Her gaze lingered on Jericho, searching for some reassurance.
"You should get some rest," she said abruptly, her voice gentler now as she stepped toward the door. "You seem stressed."
"I'll try," Jericho muttered, dragging a hand down his face. The exhaustion was evident in his posture, his shoulders slumped as if he were carrying an invisible weight.
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"I'll come back to pick you both up later," his mom said, her tone more practical now, before leaving the room.
Jericho sank back into the nearest chair, exhaling a deep breath. The quiet that followed her departure was almost jarring, but the lingering tension in his chest refused to fade. Even in silence, his thoughts were too loud.
The car ride home was quieter, almost tranquil, though a faint tension lingered in the air. Jericho leaned his head against the window, the rhythmic hum of the car lulling him into a dazed state. The scent of the trees they passed seeped through the vents, earthy and fresh, providing a subtle comfort amidst the exhaustion weighing on him. He glanced sideways at Irene, who sat motionless, her gaze fixed on some distant point outside the window. Her expression was unreadable, her mind clearly miles away, consumed by whatever thoughts she wasn't ready to share.
For Jericho, the car's gentle swaying and the low murmur of tires on asphalt offered the only solace he'd had all day. It was the closest thing to sleep he'd been able to manage, even if it didn't feel entirely restful.
As Jericho settled into his room, a faint murmur pricked at his ears, tugging his focus away from his own thoughts. It wasn't unusual to hear muffled sounds in their home, but this was different—sharper, clearer, like a radio station tuned just enough to catch snatches of conversation. He closed his eyes, letting the sound sharpen in his mind.
It was Irene. Her voice, low and urgent, drifted through the walls, though the words were fragmented. "Madeline..." The name came through clearly, followed by what sounded like a quiet argument. Jericho strained to listen, catching bits and pieces, but not enough to piece together the full picture. Was she... whispering? That struck him as odd.
A flicker of curiosity sparked in him, a part of him tempted to go check on her and find out what was going on. But he hesitated, reasoning that she was probably on the phone. Even so, there was something strange about the way her tone wavered, almost like she was arguing with someone face-to-face. After a moment, Jericho shook his head, deciding to leave it alone—for now.