Dennis Raveley - chapter 3

Dennis rights himself before falling on his bum just in time. In front of the doorway he had just exited from, there sits a girl of about eleven or twelve years of age, with black, curly hair tied in a bundle, a face to rival the color of a whitewashed wall, wearing what appears to be baggy pajamas, and sitting in a wheelchair.
'I know what you are thinking, but please refrain from saying it.' The voice speaks from the talkie. Dennis looks at it and them at the girl, and then back at the talkie. He continues to do so between these two subjects, not knowing which to focus on.
'Are you - how - is this you speaking?' Dennis finally manages to coax out, incoherently. The strangeness of this situation is much too odd for someone who has confined to the capacity of his own mind for the duration of his existence.
'Yes, but I am not speaking, I am typing, see this laptop?' Dennis notices the laptop in the girl's lap, into which she is typing at breakneck speed. 'It's all technicalities, what I type into this laptop transcribes into audio sound, and it's sent to the talkie you are holding.'
'You don't speak?'
The girl does not respond verbally, she raises her left hand and in rapid succession performed several gestures that spells I. A.M. D.E.A.F. S.O. I. C.A.N. N.O.T. T.A.L.K. This is of course all lost on Dennis, who does not understand sigh language. The girl repeats her sentence in the laptop, and Dennis hears it through the talkie. He nods to show his understanding, vaguely.
'Then how do you hear me?'
'Technicalities once again. The laptop transcribes your audio voice into word phrases, it's a bit more difficult with accented people, but it's a fortune that you are not one of them.' The voice says.
'I've never heard of such technologies.'
'And I've never heard of anyone who does, anyone outside my family.'
'And who is that family?' Dennis feels his suspicion retreating. The effect of a conversation in an empty setting - one that Dennis is thrust into so very abruptly - has a certain calming effect on Dennis, one such feeling he is familiar with.
'There are few names, and most don't know them.'
'What is your name? You know mine...and my credit card number, I should hope to know yours.'
'My name is Adelaide, Adelaide A.J. Wyatt, though I prefer Addy. Adelaide is a name I'll accept once I'm old and aged, and that won't be for a long time. You should call me just Addy.' The voice says.
'Um, you're still using a man's voice...'
'Very well, I shall change it.' A rapid click on the laptop, and a new voice spoke. 'Now does the voice sound any more adaptable to for you?' The voice is now high pitched, lyrical even, and in Dennis' unspoken opinion most fitting for Addy. Dennis lets out a spontaneous bit of smile
'Kenny designed this voice, to what he imagined my voice would be if I have a voice. I'll never hear it, but I trust him it's adequate.'
'And who's Kenny?'
'My repressed, fearful, and very miserable brother.'
'These are strong adjectives.'
'Not strong enough here.'
'Where is here? Though I won't hear a truthful answer I suspect.' Dennis says, confronting his gut instinct and half joking too.
'Your suspicion confirmed.' A deep voice speaks. Dennis turns around, and is startled to the point of falling, for the second time in a single morning.