by Priya Sridhar
Often Susan heard the sound that pierced her eardrums. She tried to use plugs and headphones, but the sound always came from a distant room.
“Where is the baby?” she’d ask, searching and searching. There would be no one in the next room, or if anything, several perplexed grown-ups.
A doctor called it schizophrenia and “hearing voices”. Susan swallowed various pills, but the crying wouldn’t stop. She asked the doctor to make her deaf; he recommended her for an MRI. She didn’t have insurance for that stuff, and couldn’t listen to anything but those shrieks.
So she listened. And followed.