He grips his knife tightly in a black leather gloved hand as he looks around the room. Although he has done this hundreds of times before, something a...out this is different and he can feel his heart pound loudly in his chest. It could be the silence, that odd absence of sound that is almost a sound of its own, the mind hunting and straining to fill the void.He ventures out of the living room through the dark twisting hallway, wondering just what else there was besides the obvious stereo and TV. There was a mountain stream coming down from the slope spilling into the shallow low spot and forming a sort of seasonal lake from the melting snow. Desmond didn't think it would be there in the summer when the hot air would evaporate the moisture from the land.The sound of voices cut though the silent atmosphere like beacons of light on a rocky shore.Desmond picked up the sound of a girl's voice laughing in mock protest and shouting,"You are getting me wet, Jason. Stop it now or I will tell. More

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