Page 77 of White Noise

Her thighs tighten first.

Then her breathing changes.

Only after that does she look up.

That delay gets my full attention.

Her body answers before her mind does.

I stay quiet and let the screen go dark again while something cold and satisfied settles through me. This isn’t fear anymore. At least not only fear. It’s recognition.

By the third test, I stop caring about appearing at all.

The dead television clicks once from across the room. Saga’s head turns before the screen even lights, and I feel the change in her immediately. Her pulse jumps, stomach tightening as her breathing gets shallower.

I leave the screen black.

“You’re fucking annoying,” she says to the empty room.

I push a small burst of static through the speaker behind her.

The reaction is instant.

Her shoulders tense and her breath catches. It is subtle enough that another person might miss it, but I don’t miss anything anymore.

That is when the real possibility starts to take shape.

I have been thinking about manifestation like it is the point. Crossing through. Holding a body. Staying physical long enough to touch her, corner her, make her feel me directly.

That was too simple.

This is better.

I don’t need to be in front of her to make her react. I only need to remind her what I feel like.

By the time she figures out I’m deliberately testing her, she is pissed.

Good.

Anger sharpens her.

She storms upstairs, flips on every light in the streaming room and drops into the chair like she is about to interrogate the fucking computer.

“You having fun?”

I let the monitor crackle once.

Her mouth twists. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Another low pulse moves through the speakers.

Her knees press together.

The change is small, but she notices it too.

Her eyes narrow at the screen.

“Don’t.”