As soon as the creature felt the concrete under its feet, it sprang up and out of the water. On the ground, it bolted away, liquid motion, along the wall to the open end of the homearium and was gone.

Junior pulled his head out of the water to watch, intent, as the rat escaped. Even after it was gone, he continued to stare out the open end of the homearium for a long time.

Then he swam straight to the bottom of the deep end of the pool. He spent the morning there alone, like Bernie used to, rising to the surface to breathe only when he had to. He wouldn’t interact with Cora at all.

* * *

Junior disliked it when any of the men entered the homearium. He would bark and blat and squeal, and spit and slap water around with his tail. The man, unable to communicate with her and getting soaked, would soon leave.

The men said he was a jealous baby wanting his mama’s attention.

One day she noticed that after Blum left, fleeing all the noise and splashing, Junior swam a lap around the pool, flashy and proud. The instant shift from temper tantrum to pride made her suspicious.

So the next day, she watched closely when Tibbet came into the homearium to inspect the microphones. While Tibbet climbed the ladder to the microphones, Junior blew raspberries and shrieked and splashed him with water. He was performing the dolphin version of pounding his fists on the ground and screaming. However, the moment Tibbet stepped out of the homearium, Junior’s fit just stopped, as though a director had called out Cut.

She watched Junior, curious. Could he have noticed that when he was loud and out of control like a baby, the men joked and relaxed and left?

Either way, she began to play her supporting role. Each time the men were in the homearium and Junior began shrieking, she told him to stop in a voice filled with dismay, while waving her hands at him.

After the man left, Junior and she exchanged a look and returned to normal.

Each day, the bond between them grew.

* * *

In the homearium, she hardly ever wore the hearing glasses. Mostly, the only voice she heard was her own, echoing inside her skull. Her brain began to crave words again.

One night, Eh was washing the dinner plates in the kitchen. She could see him through the open window, scrubbing and putting the plates on the sideboard to dry. The sound she should have heard was the clatter of dishes. Instead she heard a woman’s voice.

The voice was young and very angry. It spoke in her ear—Slit Slit Slit.

She could hear the woman’s tongue tap the wet roof of the mouth, blocking sound, then releasing it in a burst of air, making the T. The clarity of the sound was always what betrayed her auditory hallucinations, the quality so much better than her actual ears could discern.