Chapter 15

Shannon began to assess what she'd like to do that day riding back from the country lanes outside Scottsbluff's city limits. It was 6:45 a.m. The days had gotten routine and down right boring, lately, wishing she'd had a challenging goal, and then it came to her as she hummed some obscure song to herself; Music! Singing. Learning a skilled craft she'd always enjoyed but never indulged in due, in part, to her poverty growing up.

Before seeking out a voice trainer, though, thinking she'd certainly need one, and preferably a woman, Shannon wondered about her primitive singing voice, as she considered this idea. She knew it wasn't wonderful, but hadn't thought a great deal on it either. Her verbal singing was done mostly when she was alone, in a shower, riding her bike, or puttering around the house while cooking bread and meals. Often, she was not conscious of the fact of her voice's pitch or the actual bit of sound that came out of her throat. Now she wanted to really hear herself, from an actual recording, before trying to do much more of anything with other people, like a voice trainer.

This might be a dumb idea, she thought, I want to be sure, not just enthusiastic or thinking wishfully. I want to see if singing is possible for me. Rolling the thought around she had another. I guess I have to buy some things.

That evening, Shannon began with something she now knew, an Italian song listened to from some 'newly' purchased discs. She'd always been mildly interested in opera arias and had bought an elaborate cabinet and stereo system earlier in the day, never having actually owned so much as a portable radio before in her life, and had relied completely on that salesman telling him she wanted the best that money could buy. Money was no object, being the master thief she was, and the system was amazing, but now playing a particular disc on her shiny new silver and black sound system, over and over sounded even better.

She had first listened to it over the inter-store speakers, as she shopped, and fell in love with the music and that gorgeous voice. It was sung by some child prodigy who had a voice like an angel and the kid actually sung like she had been trained for thirty years, though she, at the time of the recording, was a mere twelve years old.

Shannon turned on the new reel to reel tape recorder she spent all afternoon figuring out, along with all the other wires, boosters, cables, speakers, this and that's, and a mass of instructions, along with everything the guy at the stereo shop said she needed for a first class system. How to use it in conjunction with all the other attachments and combining the reel to real with the main stereo system, so together, making for a pretty elaborate and amazing package. She didn't find it too terribly difficult, with her Eidetic memory and all, but it was complex. Finally, Shannon began singing into the microphone, without music, of course, though hesitantly, just to hear her voice clearly.

Shannon's voice was hers, she recognized, it sounding all too familiar, but it sounded dull, too, to her. Shannon didn't think it was beautiful or worthy of repeating with another effort. She was more than a little disappointed.

She turned off the tape recorder and sat, staring at a beige living room wall for some minutes. But finally, she turned the machine on again, and thinking it through, thinking hard on what she wanted her voice to sound like. Something that would bring tears to peoples eyes when they heard it. That's what she wanted. Something that moved people at a heart felt emotional level that was irresistible to feel in the depths of everyone's lost childhood innocence.

Her lovely throat grew warm and her hands rose to touch it, and knowing what was going on. Her hesitation disappeared and once again Shannon began to sing. She noticed her voice sounded quite different, now, sweeter, perfectly modulated, higher, and more poignant, exactly like an imagined angel might sound like, exactly as she thought she wanted it to be. Shannon's heart, too, was touched by its tones. Their were technical things, she knew, that needed improvement like, the delivery, how she should stand, and move, and breathe, but she'd work on that...

The blue lighting had changed her voice, somewhat, refined it, obeying her will. That, she was certain of ... It helped with whatever her desires were through thoughts, or speaking, in movements, and now singing, but she also had to practice at it, like any thing one got good at, working out points till a true embellishment and tasteful refinement surfaced.

She was pleased with this first session and that night sang that same song, and others, over and over, getting all the little undulations with peaks and lows in her new voice controlled and worked out. She enjoyed the process as things smoothed over and were addressed with some real trying on her part.

And now, out of the blue, her heart longed for someone, or some place where she could sing and share her talent, feeling no precious gift like this should be hidden away. Tears escaped her eyes, at times, appreciating the songs to their fullest. They brought beauty and peace to her heart, made her want to feel and be better, kinder, that they made the world a better place. Yes, this talent should definitely be shared.

The sound of her voice increased in volume, too, she noticed, as her confidence grew with the power of it, practicing long into the night, and in time, every small variation was perfected so that she knew it would touch anyone within range of her charmed, angelic voice. Shannon now realized, she'd fallen in love with the craft and art of singing. It beautified her world and perhaps, she felt, I can do the same for others.

She recorded her voice one last time, standing in the living room in her underwear, before slipping beneath the silk of her pastel sheets. It was beautiful beyond words, on playback, to her, that Italian song of a mothers love for her child. The refined tonality made her cry, even then, appreciating the beauty of the art.

Tomorrow I'm getting more music and finding a teacher, she concluded. I can do better.

The only voice trainer/teacher she could find in Scottsbluff was a crotchety old guy, an ex-high school music teacher. He was a bastard, as far as she was concerned, uncouth and grouchy, smoking his cigarettes like a chimney.

"What makes you think you can sing?" he almost scolded. "I don't waste my time on beginners. How old are you?"

"Eighteen," she told him.

"You're too old to learn." Those and other piercing questions/statements were just some of the scathing's she went through in just the first few minutes of the interview.

"I can hire anyone in the world," Shannon finally spoke up, fed up with his tone and more than a little upset, not concerned for his feelings in the least, anymore. "Money is no object. I can hire the best coaches anywhere. And I don't care if you think I'm worthy of your precious guidance or not, this is something I know I can do, and if you can't hear one song, at least, and be civil, then I'll leave, and to hell with you, unless you want to put a gun in your mouth right now and end your own suffering, you miserable old bastard."

The guys eyes opened wide for a moment, and then squinted at her menacingly. Nobody had ever spoken to him like that before. But this girl had fight in her. So maybe ... just maybe.

"All right, one song. Do you have the music?" Shannon handed him the sheet music, with some reluctance, almost leaving. She'd newly purchased the music that morning for the one Italian song she'd learned yesterday, and a few others. He grunted at the song, he obviously knew it, sounding like he doubted she could do it justice. He opened the sheet music and placed it on the piano and began playing and then stopped.

"If I hate your voice and stop, you may take your music and leave, no question asked. Agreed?"

"Yes. Agreed," Shannon said. I'll show you what music and singing sounds like, she thought.

She brought the hard as marble teacher to his emotional knees, wanting to do exactly that. He wept, finding it hard to finish the piece, then groveling for her to stay, apologizing profusely, too, but Shannon had been put off by him too much to forgive his harshness. There was no excuse for it.

She left on her own accord, not listening to his pleading for her to return, rolling her music up and sticking it in her back pocket.

"I'll sing for myself, now" she mumbled loud enough to hear herself. "I can figure things out alone. I'm not paying or doing anything for anyone like him, ever again. Its a wonder I lasted as long as I did in school, with teachers like him around."

She remembered all too well her disgust with faculty and students in high school, recalling her last class, its teacher, the small minded students, how advanced calculous had been so easy for her, but being friends with jerks was monumental. Music was ten times easier.

"I have the ability and knowledge to work things out for myself and I can practice on my own. I can get better."

Shannon found a concealed position along the sidewalk, on leaving, and using the blue lightning power within her, transported her body with mere thought to just behind Terry's video games shop. The air crackled like a cotton sheet being snapped smooth with the dusty black of the cobweb that formed with each teleport. She sometimes thought of these movements through space and sometimes time, as a 'jump'. The cobweb scar, or web, dissipated quickly as she went in through the back door.

The place was busy, as it always was in the afternoon, and Shannon pushed the mental suggestion to the patrons inside to buy one more item, which everyone did, searching the shelves and machines for something new, then rushing to the counter.

She was ruthless sometimes, she knew, especially when angry, forcing her will and ability to influence minds to her liking. Whenever she was near or in a crowd, like when grocery shopping, she pushed and made people go to his place and indulge in the purchase of video games and or buying the playing machines and games, both. It kept Terry busy and selling things and he was making a very lucrative living, which she was happy about.

Shannon went to the glass counter and got some free cold milk from the glass fronted cooler and a couple of plain-cake donuts over all the frosted and jelly filled ones set out on the glass shelving. She sat down in the lounge area and half watched the screen as others played free demo' games, seeing if it was something they wanted to buy. Free food and free testing kept a lot of people, kids and adults, male and female, coming back on their own. It was a fun pleasant atmosphere, if not sometimes hectic, in Terry's store, and she had no guilt in pushing people into his store and making them buy his goods. It aided his business, unknown of course, to anyone but her. Like so many things in her life, it was her secret alone.

"Hey, Shannon," Terry called, noticing her from the cash register.

She turned and smiled at her friend then waved her hand, her mouth full of donuts and milk.

She finished her food and sat there, staring at the couch across the colorful throw rug until tired and bored, Shannon rose and waved good-by to Terry, and walked out the back once again. She stood there for a while and remembered how fun it had been for them both, before Terry had been forced to get a job or go to college, by his overbearing father, that, or be kicked out of the house, neither of which or any of those choices was what he wanted to have happen. Simple, sweet, gay Terry just wanted to play video games and gammers games, but Shannon had saved him from any kind of menial labor Terry would have had to settle for in this town.

She'd set up the shop for him, or at least helped, buying the building, and paying for the face lift as his hands free, rent free land lord, as well as the complete remodeling of the interior. He seemed happy now, as she was for him, though he was very busy, being on his own and working hard, but still her buddy. They seldom saw each other enough to suit Shannon, anymore. Terry was her only true friend, the only one she'd ever known, and she missed him.

She decided to get a change of scenery. That might cheer her up. And decided on a spot, checking to see if anyone was outside the building watching her in the parking lot. No one was, as far as she knew.

Shannon jumped to a beach in California, near San Diego, and took off her running shoes and socks, not caring now, being away from home, if someone saw her suddenly appear out of nowhere. Who would believe them if they spoke about it or confronted her? She'd simply deni knowing what they were talking about, that or make them forget. But no one said anything and only one little girl noticed her as she played in the sand building her sand castle. Her face looked surprised, but Shannon smiled and waved at the little redheaded girl, who smiled back and returned to her soggy castle. Shannon began walking across the wet sand near the gurgling, shy waves flowing up and back along the beach. The weather was beautiful.

She strolled, looking at the greenish gray water, picking up and discarding shells, but eventually keeping only one pretty little thing, a whole half shell, as she angled her steps to a tall hotel resort near the sand. She'd stayed there before.

"Do you have a reservation?" ask the girl at the desk, her eyes wide and bright to serve Shannon.

Shannon told her she didn't.

"We're full up with conventions people this weekend, and especially tonight, except for a suite on the top floor, but its $3,000 a night," she told Shannon.

"That will be fine," she told the girl, handing her the one credit card she now owned, and her license, taking them from her front jeans pocket. Platinum.

"Do you have luggage?" the girl asked.

"No. I'll buy anything I need in the shops, here, thank you."

Shannon turned and was about to be escorted to her room when the girl said, "Excuse me, Miss Cutler."

She turned.

"Yes?"

"You are so beautiful. Umm ... Are you one of the guest singing stars, tonight?" Shannon must have looked blank. "There's a talent show this evening," the girl informed her.

Shannon smiled. The young woman was taken by her beauty. That happened a lot these days. She smiled understandingly.

"No. I live in the mid west, in farm country," she told her. "I do like music though," Shannon winked, and left.

She gave the older African American gentleman three twenty-dollar bills for showing her the suite and opening the sliding glass doors. He silently left Shannon in peace with a smile and a gentle, shallow bow.

Shannon went to one of the spacious balcony's and leaned on her hands and railing watching the undulations of the ocean from high up, then below as people moved about in the patio and at poolside. They were laughing, drinking and talking, eating dinners outside. It was late afternoon. But the pool was empty.