Some Quiet Place (12 page)

There are no lights on. My brother is a dark shadow as he rubs the back of his neck in an agitated manner, but I see the Emotion standing beside him is Guilt. Something must have happened with Mom and Dad. Charles sighs, taking my attention away from them. “Listen, would you do me a favor?” Without waiting for me to answer he goes on, “I need you to cover for me tomorrow night. I know it’s my turn to do the chores, but me and some guys are going to do test runs on the track. I just finished some more tweaks on my car and I want to see how she does.”

“It’s fine,” I say. He’s not going to tell me what’s bothering him, and I won’t ask. Guilt stares at me with a half-smile, her hand tight on Charles, eyes luminous in the dim lighting.

He nods, hesitating. “Okay, then.”

Just as my brother turns to go, I say, “Charles?” He turns, and I notice how much he looks like our mother, too. I study his face. “Do you remember what I was like as a baby?”

If he’s surprised by the question, he doesn’t show it. The Emotion fades as Charles smiles at me, probably thinking about how odd I am. “Sure, Liz. You were annoying as hell.”

“What do you mean?”

Charles sighs and fidgets—he’s working the night shift at Fowler’s soon—but he indulges me. “You were a handful, Liz. You were always wandering off, exploring. And you never stopped talking. Ever.”

“Do you love me as much as you did then?” I don’t know why I ask; there’s no motive behind the question. No purpose to the knowing. What’s come over me?

Now Charles lets his impatience show. He doesn’t have time for dumb questions from his little sister. “Yeah, of course, Liz. I got to go, okay?” The words aren’t real, and he avoids my gaze as he swings around—the sounds of his footsteps bounce off the walls and echo in my head like a heartbeat.
Thump, thump, thump
. He leaves me there in the darkness.

“Elizabeth? Are you even listening?”

I raise my eyes to Joshua’s. “Hmmm? Oh. Yeah, I’m listening.” My voice carries through the stacks, and Mrs. Marble lifts her head, giving me a look. I wave at her in apology.

Joshua pushes a list into the side of my hand, where it’s laid flat on the table in front of me. “Since you and I never seem to get anything done, I did this at home by myself,” he tells me. “It’s the project, divvied up between us. All you have is a poem and a peer review. You can just give me what you’ve done on Thursday. Oh, and since Mrs. Farmer wants the poems and the story to have a sort of theme going to them, I just picked one out … ” His eyes meet mine. “Hiding.”

“Interesting theme,” I say dryly. “What was your inspiration?”

The boy shoves his hair out of the way, leaning forward. His eyes glow as he picks up the list and looks it over. “I was thinking about high school and how typical it is, you know? But then I started thinking about the small things, like … ” Joshua’s gaze lingers on where my bruises once were, then he hurries on. “I just realized that there are so many things I don’t know about the kids I see every day. How many of them have secrets they keep from the rest of the world? How many of them wear masks everywhere they go? We’re anything but typical,” he finishes, serious.

There’s a window beside our table with an odd metal grate over it, and the sunlight casts intricate shadows across Joshua’s face. I sit back, away from his body heat, mulling this over, absorbing his words.

Then other words drift back to me, demanding and subtle at the same time. Driven on by
secrets
and
masks
and
hiding
.

And you loved her.

Yes, I loved her.

Why those words? Why now? Attempting to ignore the memory, I force a smile at Joshua. “And you said you weren’t creative.”

He blushes—I realize he hasn’t blushed in front of me in a while. I remember when he once used to trip and stutter over his words when he talked to me, and now … I watch the way his long lashes flutter, gold flecks in his eyes that I never noticed before flashing in the weak light. Almost as brilliant as Fear’s.

Fear.

In my mind’s eye, I see his cocky grin, the way he looks at me and believes so blissfully in my potential to be more. It’s been a week.

My eyes go to the newspapers a few aisles away from us, drawing my own thoughts away from this unethical territory. From all of the unethical territory my brain seems inclined to travel to lately. The newspapers beckon, a sure distraction. There’s still a lot of 2000 to go through; I should do some more searching today.

Joshua sees where I’m looking. He sighs, waving the list through the air as if he thinks it’s a lost cause. “Just take it and do your part,” he orders, grasping my wrist to lift it, putting the list on the table, and setting my hand back down on top. But when he’s done, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand slides down. Hesitantly, afraid I’ll protest, Joshua interlaces his fingers in the spaces between mine.

I don’t move.

I look at him, and he looks at me. It’s so unusual, this sense of being the only two people in the world, when really, we’re never alone. It’s him—his innocence, his belief that everything really is just so simple. Joshua’s skin is so eager, alive, clashing with the detachment of my own. He has to notice the difference, but he doesn’t say anything. Joy appears behind Joshua’s chair, beaming at me. Her hair is even redder than Joshua’s, almost orange, and she’s one of the more heavyset Emotions. “You make him so happy!” she chirps, hugging him. The fat in her arms jiggles. “I’m so glad, because I haven’t seen too much of this one since, well, you know. It’s really interesting that you’re the one who brought me here, isn’t it?” She giggles.

Her chatter fades as my examination of this situation intensifies. I should pull away. I should tell Joshua how useless it all is. I should warn him, I should tell him the lies I tell everyone else, tell Fear. Should, should, should. The truth is, I don’t. He represents what I need to be, and my instincts are drawn to this.

“Well, well.”

It’s as if thinking of him has brought him, because it’s Fear’s voice slicing through the stillness. “I’m gone for a few days and what’s this? I come back to a little high school romance. Interesting pair, really. The girl who can feel nothing and the boy who feels too much.”

Joshua senses that something’s changed, even before I take my hand back and put it under the table, safe from his tenderness. “Elizabeth?” He stays where he is, and both he and his Emotion stare up at me when I stand. For once, Joy is jolted into silence. Because of Fear’s presence, of course. I lift my bag from where it’s dangling off the back of my chair, studiously keeping my eyes off of them all.

“See you in class,” I murmur, turning my back to Joshua. He looks like a lost little boy now, his hair tousled and his expression one of warring hurt and confusion as I abandon him and his joy. For once, he doesn’t follow me.

Fear does, though. He doesn’t speak again until we’re out in the hall. It’s empty at the moment; everyone is at lunch. I stop in front of a poster that says,
QUIT SMOKING. IT KILLS
. The picture is of a person lying on a metal table, covered by a sheet. I stare at it, waiting for the inevitable.

The silence drags on too long; now it’s my voice shattering the air, and it sprinkles over our heads like shards of glass. “I don’t belong to you.” I say it because it must be said. No matter what other components there are in the equation, this is the most prominent.

Fear stands behind me, and there’s a gust of wind where there shouldn’t be one. The lights flicker. He’s so close to my back that his coat flaps against me. I can hear screams, sobs, moans of people all over the world, trapped in Fear’s shadow.

“For the first time in your life, you act without thinking,” Fear finally says, his voice a growl. “Nothing good can come of this.”

I face him, arching my neck back. His beautiful eyes blaze and his mouth is set in a thin line. His long hair whips at his cheeks. He can’t ever know about how often he invades my thoughts; by just doing nothing, I’ve encouraged him, and for both our sakes, this has to end. “Do you care for my benefit, or for yours?” I ask.

My words displease him greatly. He’s tolerated my oddity and insolence up until now, but in his world, mortals obey and tremble when confronted by those from the other plane.

“This boy has disrupted everything,” Fear snaps, grasping me by the arms. His hold is so tight that I wince. “You’ve stopped looking for the truth. What do you think can happen from here? You grow up, marry him, live a normal life? No. Whatever you think, you can’t live a life like this. Eventually he will want to tear away your façade, and when he realizes there’s nothing behind it, everything you think you have will be destroyed. It’s all pretense, Elizabeth. You especially should know this.”

The feeling goes out of my arms, and instinct shrieks to succumb to Fear, but I don’t. I know what I need to do to pierce him, drive him away. Even Fear wouldn’t want to remain if it seems I’m drawn to another. “What if it’s not?” I whisper. The statement is quiet, helpless, a fragile thing, but Fear’s eyes widen as if I’ve sprouted seven heads and stuck out a forked tongue at him.

“Have you changed?” His voice is hoarse, and he’s even paler than normal. “Do you feel?” He leans closer, inhaling my scent. When that’s not enough, he presses his cold, cold lips to mine. I close my eyes, seeing terror in the darkness of my eyelids. Fear pulls back, breathing heavily. “No, you’re the same. But … ” He shakes his head. “This boy,” he repeats, fingers tightening even more like I’m about to float away and he’s all that anchors me to the earth. “Stay away from him. He’s a danger to you.” Fear is earnest in this; I see the desperation in the depths of his gaze. But again, it’s for his own purposes that he says it.

The bell is seconds away from ringing; I hear doors slamming open, a loud laugh breaking out. Sophia calls out to a girl about her birthday party this weekend. “There are people heading this way,” I tell him. “I need to go.”

He only jerks me closer. “You can’t love
him
,” he whispers. “I’ve waited so long. Why the boy? Why is it he that pounded a hole through the wall?”

Finally he lets me pull away, watching me go with wild eyes. And even though it causes an alien sensation in my wall to say it, I do, because this is not the way things should be. “Maybe it’s because he wasn’t trying to.”

Fourteen

This time, when I walk into Maggie’s dark hospital room, she’s really asleep. I falter. It would be smart to turn around and head straight back home before Tim notices I’m gone. But after a moment I find myself walking to the chair by her bed and sitting down, looking at her. Light slants across the floor from the hall.

She’s steadily getting worse. The evidence is there in the lines of her face—lines that shouldn’t be there—and it’s there in the way she frowns even as she dreams. Her eyelashes brush gently against her sallow cheeks. There’s no black eyeliner, no skull necklace, no black wig. Just a sad, dying little girl. She breathes evenly, and my gaze slides down to the IV in her wrist, the pulse-oximeter clamped down on her finger, up to the glowing machines with the green lines that prove her heart is still beating.

Maggie doesn’t have much time left.

I lean my head against my hand and lift my gaze to the dim outline of the window. Outside, day is dying. The curtains are drawn and there’s no way to see the sunset. Quietly, I stand and stride over to the glass. I pull the curtains open just a little. Sit down again. The chair creaks beneath me. Maggie sleeps on. Hues of pink and orange fall over her face. In that instant, it’s almost easy to pretend she’s like any other teenage girl, sleeping. Something inside of me twitches, like an electric shock.

Maggie’s fingers curl suddenly, as if she senses me, or maybe she’s finally traveled to a better place.
I was dreaming about the ocean.
I start to reach forward, reacting to an odd instinct to smooth those straggles of hair out of her face. But then I lean back, clenching my hand into a fist to stop myself. It would be cruel to wake her up.

Silence trembles around us. The darkness isn’t a menace now, but an understanding friend. There’s a clock somewhere in the hall, ticking a warning to me. I should go. I will go. Just as soon as the sun sets. For this moment—just this moment—I lay my head down on Maggie’s bed and close my eyes.

This time I have no place in the dream. I’m only an observer.

“Damn it, answer me!” The woman with the strong chin and crinkled eyes stands on the front step of the stone house, hands on her hips. She glares out at the trees as if they’ll shrink from her and reveal something. “I’m not joking!”

Suddenly there they are, two teenagers emerging from the green shadows. Their clothing—simple shorts and T-shirts—is dirty. The woman watches them approach, unmoving even when the boy wraps his arm around her shoulders. They’re both smiling as they greet her. She’s angry. “Where have you been?” she demands. For the first time, I notice that there are streaks of gray through her hair.

The question kills the boy’s mirth and he shrugs, averting his gaze. When it’s obvious he refuses to answer the woman turns to the girl. Unlike her sibling, her eyes sparkle. “We were just in the woods,” she informs their mother. Her smile is still secretive. “We were dancing.”

At this, the woman’s frown deepens. “Were you alone?” There is suddenly fear in her voice. “Tell me you were alone,” she orders when neither of them responds.

The girl looks out to the trees, as if even now she’s drawn to them. “We were alone, Mom,” she parrots. “I’m sorry.” She embraces her, trying to placate, but she doesn’t look away from those quivering shadows.

“We’re fine,” the boy says.

Glancing around warily, like something else might come out—something far less welcome—the woman ushers them into the house. “No more going to out there without asking me first,” she instructs. “And no more dancing. All right?”

The boy agrees, but the girl glances over her shoulder one more time as she follows her family inside. She pauses in the doorway, mouths something—a name—and an Emotion shimmers into view behind her. The Emotion is achingly lovely, and she grasps the girl’s shoulder hard. The girl doesn’t even flinch. Her expression is soft and dreamy. All her focus is on someone in those woods, someone who is watching her just as intently. His face is hidden in shadows, but he lifts a hand in a wave. The girl blows a kiss.

“Honey, what are you doing?”

Slowly, reluctantly, the girl turns her back on the woods and goes inside, closing the door behind her. The Emotion visiting her vanishes.

She is Love.

Mora looks at me with her big, brown, dewy eyes. “What do you think?” I ask the cow, her teats warm in my hands.
Swish, swish.
The sound of milk squirting into the pail is familiar, rhythmic, and my muscles relax. Mora shifts and huffs through her nose, taking no interest in my dream. She focuses on the hay in front of her.

The barn is still. The cows chew slowly, their jaws going around and around. Suddenly, though, the peace is disrupted. My senses sharpen and my nostrils flare, recognizing the scent. It’s the presence I encountered on the way to school, the one I followed out into the woods that night—the hooded woman.

A breeze rustles my hair. I’ve been expecting this visit, and this time, I’m ready.

“It’s almost time,” a low voice says behind me.

I turn, unsurprised. “Time for what?” Playing the game even though all my instincts go against it.

She’s hunched over, like being near me is causing her physical pain. Once again she’s hidden in layers of clothing—the same black sweat pants, black boots, and black hoodie as before—and all I can see of her face is the tip of her nose. “You’ll see, won’t you?” my visitor says through her teeth. There’s an underlying waver to the words; she sounds exasperated, worried, scared. But there are no Emotions. Proof that she’s not human, if I needed more than I already do.

I concentrate on the motions of my hands. “Why is it that you answer my questions without giving me any real answers?”

Of course the stranger doesn’t answer this, either. She stands there and watches while I finish. Eventually I get to my feet, the small stool scraping across the dirt. “You haven’t given me enough information,” I tell her, locking Mora in her stall with one hand and clutching a bucket of milk in the other. “If you really want me to … remember, or feel again, then I need more.”

Now she sighs. “Oh, you’ll get answers. Of that, we can be sure.” Her hood flutters and I get a whiff of forest. Her essence is so strong. Without giving me a chance to define it, she walks away. The doors to the barn are open—they weren’t before. She wants me to follow again. Quickly I go put the pail in the cooler.

I trail her outside, unwilling to give up just yet. “What’s your name?” We slosh through the mud—it’s raining.

“Later,” she dismisses me. I knew she wouldn’t tell me. But she’ll make a mistake eventually, and when she does, I won’t miss it.

She’s leading me into the fields, toward the trees, like last time. Mom and Tim are in the house for the night, both lost in their own existences; they won’t notice I’m gone. I know that if I let this woman slip away again, I may be losing my last and only chance to find the missing pieces to the puzzle.

She mutters as we walk. “The power hasn’t faded yet. You’re beginning to break through it, though. It’s almost t-time.” Why does she sound as if she’s in pain?

A moment later her words register.
Almost time
. This is more than she gave me the last time we spoke. I don’t press for more. The corn stalks brush my shoulders on either side as I follow. My visitor moves at a steady speed, but I stay on her heels. She isn’t trying to run from me. She must want to show me something.

We abandon the cover of the crops and plunge into the darkness of the woods. We hike in silence, save for the sound of the wind in my ears. We’ve left the farm behind, and she’s taking me east of Edson. The wall of nothingness hardens; Emotions are nearby. There are Elements, as well. I sense Greed and Hope and Rain and Curiosity weaving through the trees, answering their summons as they were made to do.

“You have a purpose,” I venture after a brief silence. “But I don’t know it. Have we ever met before?”

She sighs, an irritated sound. Then she starts to run, and I quicken my own pace to keep up. Our surroundings speed by in blurs of green and black. She swerves around a tree trunk. She’s careful to keep her back to me, keep her face concealed in that hood.

We’re slowing down. I move quickly to avoid a fallen tree hanging over our path; it’s caught in a V between two others. At first I continue, following my mysterious visitor, but then I process the trees, stop, jerk around, and study the V formation again. It’s getting dark out, and the trees’ outline stands out in the orange twilight.

“So you do recognize it.” Her voice sounds somewhere behind me. “I wondered if you would.”

I barely hear her; my attention is fastened on the V … the trees … the shadows …

Something inside of me clicks, and my nothingness cinches painfully tight when I realize the truth.
This is the place
. This is the clearing. Those are the same trees that surrounded them; those are the same dark shadows, the same grass, the same leaves. This is the place that haunts my dreams.

This is where he died.

I don’t have to close my eyes to see the image. I’ve painted it dozens of times, drawn it, seen it in my sleep, in my daydreams. It’s permanently embedded into my brain, an enigmatic tattoo. There is the beautiful girl, her face twisted in anguish, the blood spilling out onto the grass I see now, and the boy she holds in her arms …

The stranger steps into my peripheral vision, staring at
the scene with me. The air around her shimmers with power. “Understand that this is not the actual place where it happened,” she tells me. “I recreated it to test the p-power on you.” As she says this—her voice still holding that odd, tight note of discomfort—the V formation melts away and becomes nothing but erect, unfamiliar trees. I hardly notice this, though, because the stranger is doubled over. I take a step toward her, but her hand flies out to keep me away and her face is turned in the opposite direction. It’s obviously important I never see her or learn who she is.

This is the first time one of my theories has been confirmed as fact; this was done to me. It was not something of my doing. Is this being admitting that she’s the one who placed it? And not only that, but she seems to know the story that appears in my dreams and memories.
Remember for both our sakes.
My awareness and instincts sharpen, but all I say is, “Why did you bring me here?”

It’s darker now. She’s unable to reply for a moment, but then she chokes, “I told you. You need to break it, you need to face … ” It’s like there’s a lump in her throat that prevents her from saying anything more—she swallows and halts mid-sentence. But she goes against my expectations by managing to spit, “I came back because it’s not safe.”

It’s random. There’s nothing to bring on the sudden realization. But I stare at this powerful being and wonder how I didn’t see it before. “You’re the girl, aren’t you?” I ask softly. The girl in all my dreams. Who smiles and weeps and loves.

Yet again she doesn’t answer. Is it because she can’t … or she won’t?

It’s so obvious. They’re the same size. The voices may be a little different, but that’s easy to alter. The question comes from all sides, a relentless drum.
Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?
Here,
I tell the boy silently. Not dead after all. But secrecy surrounds her like a shroud, this girl who haunts me in both dreams and sleep now.

“What are you hiding from?” I press, thinking of the shadow in the dreams. “How do I fit into all this?” She only shakes her head and backs away, head bent toward the ground.

In the distance, I hear a stick snap. Yet another unknown presence teases my senses—are there
two
beings stalking me? This bizarre girl and … someone else?
Something
else? I whip around quickly, narrowing my eyes to better see into the brush. The girl is right about one thing; it isn’t safe out here. My instincts are singing. “We’ll continue this later,” I tell her, abandoning the clearing. My fingers brush the ribs of a tree trunk as I pass it, and I start to sprint.

Somehow the girl gets ahead of me. “One more thing before you go,” she rasps, her baggy pants billowing in the breeze. With all her shadows and facelessness, she almost looks like a ghost.

I dart around her. “Yes?” The wind rushes past, a roar in my ears.

She deliberately falls behind, but I don’t stop. Her tone is a mixture of determination and worry and real warning as it floats to my ears: “Do not, under any circumstances, go to Sophia Richardson’s birthday party.”

I don’t bother asking any questions.