Echo

ECHO

By Sol Crafter

ECHO

Copyright 2011
©
Sol Crafter. All Rights Reserved

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A Rider-Bailey Production

CHAPTER ONE

It was a beautiful sunny day, the air rich with the scent of new growth and pollen. It was the kind of day that outdoors people loved, and anyone with an iota of allergies loathed with a fiery vengeance.

Cole was neither. He wasn't an outdoorsman and he didn't have any known allergies. But the perfect weather didn't mean anything to him anyway, since he was currently at work parked behind his desk trying to finish up close to fifteen files so he could finally go home.

His co-workers didn't mean to be a bunch of jerks, they just kind of took advantage of him without even realizing what they were doing. It wasn't their fault that he was substandard goods.

That's how he had always seen himself as. Substandard.

It hadn't been so bad when he was a kid. His mother had nearly gotten him to believe that he would grow out of his little quirk. But after years of speech therapy--nearly as many years as he'd dealt with teasing--he'd pretty much given up all hope. There was no fixing him and he just had to deal with being substandard.

Echolalia. That's what he had, echolalia. The automatic repetition of vocalizations made by another person.

Basically, he couldn't help the way he repeated whatever someone else said to him. It was like their words just forced their way past his lips and he couldn't stop it. He had to repeat their words before he was able to say his own.

When he was younger he would cry at night. He would beg God to fix him so he didn't have to be a complete freak. But there was never any change. In fact, he kind of thought that maybe his tic had taken on a life of its own, gotten worse than it had once been.

Because of his tic, he had grown up to be a painfully shy man. He was always afraid to say anything, because the first thing out of his mouth was always the last thing the other person said. It made him self-conscious.

The worst was having someone else explain his problem to a stranger. It made him feel as though he was somehow mentally deficient or something. It was like he wasn't a person. So when he finally got a chance to speak for himself... because of embarrassment and nerves, his condition was worse and his embarrassment grew.

"Hey, Heath, you done with those reports yet?" a brash voice demanded.

"
Hey, Heath, you done with those reports yet?
" Cole said, then nodded and pointed at his OUT box. "Yes, they're right there."

"Thanks." Mark Etty was pretty much everything Cole wished he could be. He was tall and strong looking and he always oozed so much confidence that it seemed like no one could touch him. When he picked up the large stack of reports, muscles flexed in his arms even under his shirtsleeves and Cole couldn't help licking his lips as desire spiked in his lower belly.

He'd had a crush on Mark for a long time, though the other man barely even knew he existed. "
Thanks
. I'm almost done with the rest."

Mark nodded. "Great. I'm gonna take these back to my office."

Cole sat there watching him leave, his ass flexing in his trousers. He couldn't help sighing regretfully.

Other than a few mildly embarrassingly fumbling experiences a few years ago, he was still technically a virgin. It wasn't something he bragged about or anything, but it did leave him pretty desperate.

Sometimes he thought that if someone so much as looked at him, he would come in his pants. It was like he was a perpetual teenager.

Cole forced himself to go back to work. He tried to leave all of his personal trauma at home where it belonged. It was just really hard sometimes.

Absently adjusting himself in his pants, he began highlighting pertinent data in the Hernandez report. If he put a little effort into it, he should be able to ignore his body's demands.

After work he went home to his lonely apartment where he changed into jeans, a tee shirt, and comfortable sneakers. Then he heated himself up a bowl of canned chili in the microwave and settled in front of the TV.

Later he might go on the Internet and indulge in the only kind of human interaction that didn't leave him sounding like an idiot.

There had been a low-level murmur of noise coming from the apartment next door, but it suddenly started getting very loud. They were playing music, but all he was getting was the pounding bass.

He sighed and turned up the volume on the TV, figuring he would ignore the noise. Except it was getting louder too, and louder, and louder.

When it reached the point that photos were vibrating on the walls, he figured enough was enough.

Mary Paterson was his neighbor's name and she was a very understanding lady. She was always incredibly patient with his speech problems.

The man that answered the door to Cole's knock was no one he knew. He could feel his courage curdling away. Especially when he realized just how good-looking the guy was--tall and lean with fair skin and even features. He could have been a model or something.

The opening of the door released a cacophony of sound and the sight of dozens of people dancing and milling around. It seemed Mary was having a party.

"Can I help you?" the brown haired guy asked, cocking his head.

"
Can I help you?
" Cole echoed. He really hated talking to new people. "Yeah, can you maybe turn down the bass? It's vibrating through my wall."

The man blinked. He was holding a sweating beer bottle in one hand and looked as though he'd just run his fingers through his hair. "Oh, yeah, okay. I'll have it turned down."

"
I'll have it turned down
," Cole echoed. "Thank you. I'd really appreciate that."

"Dude, what's up with repeating what I say?" the man asked.

Cole sighed, but felt like he had to answer. "
Dude, what's up with repeating what I say?
Sorry about that, I have a speech condition called echolalia. I can't help repeating the last thing a person says before I speak."

"So it's a kind of OCD?" the guy looked interested in the idea. "It's like Echo from Greek mythology."

"
It's like Echo from Greek mythology,
" Cole said, nodding. "That's actually where the name came from. Anyways, if you'll just turn down the bass--I can't really hear the music, so that's not a problem--that would be much appreciated."

"Okay."

Cole nodded once at the guy, then turned to go back to his own place. He had to wipe sweaty palms on the sides of his jeans.

* * *

Watching the cute guy go, Anderson kind of wanted to call him back. But he had looked so uncomfortable standing there. It was obvious he suffered from major shyness.

But he'd really been very cute.

Anderson closed the door, then walked over to the stereo himself and lowered the bass. Then he went to find Mary.

She was in the kitchen pouring liquor into a punch bowl with some ruby red grapefruit juice, pineapple juice, and about a dozen freshly mashed strawberries.

"Why didn't you tell me your neighbor was so cute?" he demanded. The strawberries were taunting him, so he snagged one from the punch with his fingers.

Mary slapped at his hand, but didn't really try to stop him. "Are you talking about Cole?"

"If that's his name, then yes," Anderson agreed, sucking his fingers clean. "He's the one that repeats what you say."

"Yeah, Cole. He's a real doll, but completely shy." Mary crossed to the freezer for half a bag of crushed ice. "I would have invited him if I didn't think he would totally freak out. He doesn't do well around large groups of people."

Anderson couldn't help a feeling of regret. "He was incredibly cute. Too bad he's so young."

Mary snorted. "Please, he's like twenty-seven."

"Really? I thought he was like eighteen or nineteen." Anderson really was shocked. The guy looked like a teenager, but was actually a year older than him. "He looked like a kid."

Mary laughed. "Yeah, he fooled me too the first time I saw him. I nearly asked him if his parents were home."

"Wow, twenty-seven," Anderson mused. He'd mentally put the guy on the "Do Not Touch" list because he thought he was a kid. Now he wished he'd invited him to stay for Mary's party. It would have given him a chance to flirt.

"Oh God, you've got that look on your face," Mary groaned.

"I have no idea what you mean," Anderson said virtuously.

"Yeah right. And I'm suddenly getting the feeling that you're going to be hanging around my house a whole lot more. And you eat like a pig, by the way." Mary shook her head and went to break out another set of plastic cups.

Anderson couldn't help smiling as he watched her bustle around her small kitchen.

Mary had been unfortunately cursed with orangey-red hair and a fat ass from her mother. She had a sprinkling of freckles over her entire face, but had extremely lovely green eyes. She was the stereotypical buxom Scottish lass. She looked like she could whip up a mean haggis.

Her accent was pure California.

The first time he met her, Anderson was expecting a heavy burr. He got Buffy the Vampire Slayer instead. It had been one of the funniest moments of his life and pretty much sealed her fate as his best friend forever.

Whether she liked it or not.

"Stop looking at me like that," she ordered. "It's creepy. Here," she pointed to the punch bowl, "take that out to the masses."

He gave her a snappy salute before hurrying to obey. He could hear the natives getting restless as they realized the only thing left was light beer. He didn't want to be murdered for not appeasing the gods of alcohol fast enough.

He knew practically everyone here, since he and Mary shared the same group of friends. Despite her rather boho off hours appearance, Mary Paterson was an up-and-coming corporate lawyer. Which is how they met.

Anderson had been repping Bester International and Mary had been assigned to handle the legal end of things. They'd just kind of clicked on first meeting and that was that.

BFFs.