Some Quiet Place (15 page)

Morgan’s muscles spasm and her eyes go dull again. She looks in the direction of the window, soaking up the stars just as Fear had done moments ago. Seconds tick by. After a minute, it seems like she’s not going to talk … but then she focuses on me yet again.

“Run,” she says, clear as a bell.

Before I can move or react, Fear is hissing. He moves back into the hall, his coat snapping around his heels like a whip. I quickly follow, leaving Morgan there in that empty room with the box. “What is it?” I ask. The words echo.

When Fear starts for the stairs without answering, I stop and stand there in the dark. Realizing this, Fear snarls deep in his throat, but he stops, too, and faces me. There’s a moment of silence. Frowning, he mutters, “I thought I sensed … ”

He doesn’t finish, but he continues to glare at a spot on the wall as if it’s talking to him. “Are you going to fill me in?” I ask.

He lets out a frantic, frustrated breath, gesturing sharply to the room we just left. “Will you fill
me
in?”

Morgan holds no more interest for me. “Maybe,” I tell Fe
ar.

The word isn’t even out of my mouth completely when he jerks and lifts his head, sniffing the air. His eyes go wide again, and he whirls around. He rushes down the stairs at an inhuman speed. Any moment now I know he’ll disappear.

“This isn’t a place for my kind,” is all he says.

I try to stay close on his heels. “There are plenty of Emotions here,” I note, raising my voice so he’ll hear me. My grip is tight on the bannister. “Are you—”

“Just trust me on this,” he snaps, reaching the ground floor. I quicken my pace as he reaches for the knob.

Just then a boy stumbles from the bathroom. He reeks of vomit. Before I have a chance to evade him he embraces me, slobbering on my cheek. I shove him away—Fear is already outside. I start running. Cool air splashes me in the face as I sprint out the front door.

Fear isn’t anywhere to be seen. I’ve lost him. All the other Emotions are gone as well. The party is now just a writhing mass of kids, dancing, laughing, leering, drinking, shouting. Without any Emotions, they’ll feel the same sensations for hours. And even if the Emotions don’t return, they’ll still feel something. Fear told me a few years ago that if there isn’t the actual being around to instill an emotion, humans will draw from a memory of it as a last resort.

Sophia is standing with a group of her friends, obviously still incensed from our little dispute. Best to avoid her. I start in the opposite direction of the girls, toward the woods.

Why would all the Emotions abandon their summons?

Suddenly, the sound of sirens fills the air. Red and blue lights swirl around the house and lawn, reflecting off the water in the hot tub. Sheriff Owen’s voice bursts out, tired and hard, “All right, kids, stay where you are. Ah, Dorseths! Don’t you dare run!” Small-town party bust.

But Rebecca was so adamant about not coming to this party. I’m not finished. Distracted from the mayhem around me, I survey the whole scene with narrow eyes as I walk, trying to spot anything out of place.

“Get out of my way, you idiot!”

The unfamiliar voice comes from a distance, but it cat-ches my attention. Male. Frantic. In the trees, I see bright headlights burst on. A girl falls at my feet in a drunken stupor. I hardly notice as I step over her. My gut insists that something important is about to happen in those woods.

“She’s hurt,” a new voice says, the words bouncing through the night. This voice I recognize. “We need to get her to a hospital.”

Joshua. Again I begin to hurry, pushing aside branches. Morgan’s urgent whisper invades my head:
Run, run
. As I sprint toward the sound of Joshua’s voice, I spot an Emotion, no, an Element, cowering in some leaves. It’s a tiny being with a slight glow. As I pass it, the creature actually jumps on my shoulder and pulls at my hair, her squeaky voice a piercing warning in my ear.

“He’s here, he’s here!” she shrieks. “Disappear, before he gets you, gets you!” She vanishes.

The argument ahead continues to drift toward me, though I still can’t see the speakers through the trees and darkness.

“The cops are here, moron, and if you don’t move I swear to God I’ll run over both of you,” the first voice says.

“Real smart, Tyler, because once you murder two people the cops definitely won’t be after you
then
.”

I finally come into a clearing where some cars are parked, spotting Joshua right away in the beam of the bright headlights. He’s on the ground, cradling Susie Yank in his arms. There’s blood coming out of her ear. Tyler’s behind the wheel of a pickup, revving his engine, glaring with red-rimmed eyes at the two kids in the way of his escape.

Neither of the boys is aware of me yet, coming at them from the tree line. There’s the sound of footsteps behind me somewhere, but I barely comprehend this. All my focus is on the situation swiftly unraveling in the clearing. “Joshua?” I call out. “What happened?” A twig snaps under my foot as I get closer. Other people are rushing to their vehicles, not even noticing this show-down in their own desperate getaways.

Joshua keeps his eyes on Tyler. “Call 9-1-1,” he says. “Tyler shoved Susie in his big rush and she fell and hit her head on a rock or something. I don’t think I should move her.”

“Move her,” I say without hesitation. I see the frenzy in Tyler’s eyes and in the way he grips the steering wheel. I’m still yards away, but even running, I see that I won’t be fast enough. Tyler’s truck rears forward, the engine roaring, about to bear down on Joshua and Susie.

“No.”

There’s no analyzing, there’s no thought of consequences or benefits. All I can think is,
Not another one
. I surge, a blur in the clearing, scooping Joshua and Susie into my arms and wrenching them out of the way with a super-human strength and speed I shouldn’t have.

Whooping in triumph, Tyler drives away, not even looking back.

Joshua breathes heavily beneath me, and I grasp that I’m lying on top of him in a protective position, having disregarded Susie completely. She’s partially crushed beneath Joshua while the other half of her is flopped on the grass. There’s no way I should have been able to save them. What is happening to me?

My senses are coming back together now. “Good thing I reached you in time,” I say to Joshua, my voice even, casual. I stand up and brush my pants off. “Do you have a phone?” Silently he shakes his head, and he’s staring at me. Shock is making his pupils dilate; big, small, big, small. I continue, as if we’re discussing our English project. “I don’t have one either, so we’ll have to wait for the cops to come back here to get Susie help.” I scan the kids in the clearing who are still dashing past us. None of them seem to have witnessed what happened, or if they have, they’re too numbed by alcohol to realize anything. I walk away.

When I look back at Joshua, he’s still gaping at me with that frozen expression. My nothingness reaffirms itself. I sense it prodding and poking, digging and building, strengthening the weaknesses. Again I proceed like nothing is out of the ordinary. “I thought I might be too late.” I offer him a seemingly relieved smile.

Joshua has regained some of his senses, and he isn’t buying it—I can tell by the way his jaw clenches. But there’s no chance to confront me because we can both hear the deputies walking through the brush, shouting and swinging their flashlights. Joshua stands up and turns away. He lifts Susie and walks toward the cops, holding her against his chest. I stay where I am, looking after him.

He doesn’t glance back, but his shoulders are stiff and determined, and I know this isn’t over.

Seventeen

All the lights in the house are on when I get home.

The farm is very, very quiet. Even the cows in the barn are subdued. I hop down from my truck, listening to the familiar sound of gravel under my tennis shoes. The screen door groans on its hinges, a noise I’ve listened to all my life, every time I enter this house.

The brightness of the kitchen hits me. It’s not so friendly a place at one a.m. I stay in the entryway for just a moment, straining to hear anything, but it’s silent. Both of them heard my truck pull in; they heard the screen door. They know I’m in here. They’re waiting.

I step into their line of sight. Tim and Sarah look at me from where they stand behind the counter. Sarah is trying not to wring her hands nervously; she keeps pulling them apart and folding them again.

Tim, of course, is the first to speak. His forehead gleams. “Where have you been?” His voice is low and controlled, and the bruises Fear gave him have become simmering hues of blue and yellow. For the first time in a long time, he’s not drunk. Sobriety seems even worse.

I take off my shoes so I don’t dirty Sarah’s clean floor, moving slowly, as if he’s a predator and I’m prey. I look at that floor as I answer, “I went to Sophia Richardson’s birthday party.” I’d left after supper and made sure to do my chores, of course. Usually, after I shut myself up in my room, no one bothers me. But tonight, apparently …

“Your mother just told me the school called yesterday.”

Ah. I’d forgotten about skipping classes when Maggie died.

“They said you were absent all morning,” Tim adds tightly. When I don’t respond, he clenches his beefy fists. “Well?” When I still don’t respond, Tim steps away from the counter, closer to me.

Move
, sense whispers.

Following some strange instinct, I hold my ground, lifting my chin in what could be perceived as defiance.

The faint scent of sweat and soil drifts to my nose. I look up at Tim. He seems taller than normal. He hasn’t shaved in a while; scruff dots his chin and jaw. “You’re going to tell me where you went,” he orders. Again he waits for me to speak. Sarah’s hands tremble as she reaches up to push her hair away from her face. She looks like she’s focusing hard on thinking nothing, feeling nothing, being nothing. She’s trying to be me.

And failing miserably.

“H-honey, don’t you think—” she starts.

“Shut up.” He’s so cold, so empty. I should be seeing Anger, yet there are no Emotions present. Are they still avoiding whatever Fear sensed at Sophia’s party?

At my continued silence, Tim leaves Sarah’s side to tower over me. “Elizabeth.” It’s a warning. There’s a vein jutting out of his forehead that always precedes pain. But for some reason, I keep ignoring those insisting urges to
run, fight!
and just stand there, silent. I don’t answer his questions, and oddly enough, I don’t plan to. That day in the hospital … the time I’d spent at Maggie’s side … the words exchanged … it seems pure, somehow. That day is ours. Mine and Maggie’s. No one else should touch it.

Why do you care?
that little voice whispers.

I don’t see it coming. He slaps me. Hard. My head is tossed to the side, and my cheek feels as if tiny needles are being shoved into every pore of my skin. Tim gives me another chance to tell him what he wants to know. When I remain wordless for a third time, he tries to do it again, but I sidestep him. Tim bristles. Sarah doesn’t seem to know what to do, how to feel. She can’t watch, but she does.

“Answer me!”
Tim thunders.

I smile up at him. “No.”

Now Sarah looks truly frightened. Where is Fear? She opens her mouth to intervene, but before she can, Tim laughs. It’s so unexpected, she stares at him. I just keep smiling. Tim laughs and laughs.

“You’re a demon,” Tim tells me, shaking his head. “You’re no child of mine. I want you out of this house.” His face is redder than I’ve ever seen it, and now veins stick out everywhere. He’s not angry, exactly—Anger is nowhere to be seen—but this is who he is. Even without the Emotion. Tim lifts his hand again—

Even I don’t anticipate Sarah stepping forward, resting her fingers on his shoulder gently. Tim’s hand lowers, and he turns to look at her.

“You can’t kick her out,” she says timidly. He’s listening to her; he’s forgotten about me for the moment. Sarah swallows. “What would people say? We could get in trouble.”

Tim thinks. A minute goes by, and slowly, all those veins and redness fade until he’s normal again. The hand that was about to strike me inches up, twines with Sarah’s. She flinches, but Tim doesn’t see it. He’s pursing his lips at me, squinting.

Finally, he points at me rather than trying to hit me again. There’s earth under his fingernails. “You will do your chores every morning, you will go to school, and you will come right back here,” he says through his teeth, nostrils flaring. He shifts his glare to the place just over my head as he talks. He can’t even stand the sight of me. “You’ll do the afternoon chores, you’ll do your mother’s work, you’ll do your homework, and then you’ll go to bed.” Abruptly, Tim releases his hold on Sarah and storms out of the kitchen. Glancing at me with another anxious expression, she moves to follow.

I raise my voice to stop Tim. “Am I allowed to go to Maggie’s funeral tomorrow?” Copying him, I ask it without looking at his face, instead studying that wall like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. The right side of my face is on fire and the yellow flowers on the wallpaper consume me.

My father pauses. “It would look bad if we didn’t go,” he snaps as an answer.

As if that’s all that matters.

She lies there in the casket, her face small, white, still.

“Maggie spent her life always thinking about others,” Pastor Mike says. He’s the only pastor in Edson. He holds his Bible lightly, looking down at the body with a pasted-on expression of regret. This man didn’t know Maggie. His words are hollow, automatic. He’s probably thinking about what’s going to be on TV tonight. “She would go out of her way to reach those who were in need.”

Tim and Sarah stand behind me, as does a small portion of the town, including Joshua. He’s been ignoring me so far. At my side are Maggie’s parents, both drawn and gray.

The sun shines down as Pastor Mike continues his eulogy. We’re all dressed in black. Not sensible, really, since it’s sweltering out today—it seems even Fall isn’t around to do her job. The stench of sweat permeates my senses. I look down into the fresh grave, examine the girl in there.

The freckles that always marked her and made her Maggie now stand out, a stark feature that looks strange on such a vacant face. She’s wearing a neatly pressed dress. It’s pink. She hated pink. And they’ve actually done her nails. Maggie liked them chewed down to the nub and only used black nail polish. This isn’t Maggie. This isn’t my best friend. This is a person I don’t know. Where’s the life, the illumination? The sweetness, the contemplation, the wild abandon that made so many memories for us when we were young?

“Come on, Liz!” Maggie runs ahead of me to the ice cream truck, red pigtails bouncing all around her shoulders. I follow more slowly, feeling the heat of the day on my head. I can’t get any treats because Tim got angry when I asked him for money.

Just as I’m crossing the street, I pause. There’s an Emotion standing on the road, looking right at me. I recognize his white-blond hair.

“Why did you come back?” I ask him. Maggie is standing in line, getting her ice cream. She’s forgotten about me for the moment.

The Emotion smiles down at my upturned face. “You interest me. Not much can do that anymore.” There’s a hint of sadness in his eyes.

I don’t have a chance to answer; Maggie is running back up to me. Her cheeks are flushed and she breathes heavily. She holds two Dilly Bars in her hands.

“Here!” She thrusts the dripping thing at me, and I take it. “Happy birthday!”

I look at the bar and back at her. “It’s not my birthday.”

She grins, eyes sparkling. “It’s not? Oops. Oh, well. Come on!” She takes my hand in hers, dragging me away from the road and the Emotion who’s still staring at me, smiling.

The ice cream is melting in my hand, so I lick it quickly.

I stare down at the girl in that casket, feeling my nothingness dig a deeper hole inside of me. “She was often a counselor when her friends came to her in need,” Pastor Mike intones. Wrong, wrong. I was Maggie’s only friend. I never went to her for counsel. I never went to her at all.

Fear’s words come back to me:
You’re a coward.

Doesn’t he know that if I really could, I would mourn my best friend? It’s not a choice, no matter what anyone believes.

As if my thoughts have summoned him, suddenly Fear is here, walking through the crowd of black like he belongs. Maybe he does. Apparently the threat at Sophia’s party is no longer a concern. I sense him coming up behind me. The crows on the gravestones hush.

“Look at her,” Fear murmurs in my ear, his lips brushing my skin. I turn to face him, but he wraps his hands tightly around my arms, forcing me to stay where I am. “No. Look at her, Elizabeth.”

He shouldn’t be here. Not now. I focus on Maggie’s face again, not really seeing it.

“Listen to me,” Fear breathes, and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. “I want you to look at your best friend. She’s dead, Elizabeth. She’s gone, and she’s not coming back. You were with her when all the life left her body; you saw every single one of her memories fade. Everything you two ever went through, every experience you ever had.” Somehow he thinks of the exact day I’d been thinking of earlier and uses it against me. “Remember all the times she bought you ice cream because you had no money? Do you remember when Maggie dragged you to the homecoming game, and after everyone left you two sat in the middle of the field and looked at the stars? She told you everything. You told her nothing. She sensed that, but she didn’t care. She always thought you would open up to her one day—”

“Stop.”

I hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but my voice slices through the still air. Pastor Mike does stop, staring at me expectantly. Someone coughs in the crowd. I can feel Tim stiffening. John—Maggie’s dad—turns around to look at me, and as his gaze settles on my face, it softens. It’s that expression that makes me realize something. Something bizarre; it doesn’t make sense.

I’m crying.

Fear leans down, kissing my neck with his cool lips. He’s accomplished what he came to do. “You will feel. I’m going to make sure of it,” he promises. He leaves me there, sending a chilly breeze over the funeral. Some shiver.

“Did you have something to say?” Pastor Mike prompts, eyebrows raised. It’s strange—his eyebrows are gray and his hair is black. Obviously dyed.

There are so many things I could say at this moment. So many words, meanings, memories, opportunities to make up for areas I’ve disappointed.

I just shake my head, backing away from the casket. I wipe away the strange tears with the back of my dark sleeve. “No, nothing to say. Sorry,” I mumble.

The pastor eyes me, then seems to mentally shrug. “Everyone loved her and will truly miss her,” he finishes, snapping the Bible shut with a
thump
.

I sit in the barn loft with a pad of paper and a pen. The bale
of hay pokes at my bottom and legs, but I hardly notice. Mora is restless below; she snaps at another cow. I
tap, tap, tap
my way into nothing. No rhymes come to mind, not even free verse. Everything I think is numb and shallow … there’s just no inspiration to be found inside of me, and there lies the problem.

Something nesting in the ceiling beams flutters, and the faint tang of perspiration dots the air. Terror. A scream sounds through the loft a second later.

I lift my head from the palm of my hand, calling out, “Fear?”

He doesn’t answer, but I know he’s nearby. He’s avoiding me and my questions about the night of Sophia’s party, but at the same time he wants to be near. “You can’t have it both ways,” I say distractedly, pursing my lips in contemplation. Hiding. Pretending. Protecting oneself. I just have to start—that’s the first step.

There are different kinds of hiding.

My handwriting is neat on the page. Fear remains uncharacteristically hushed, and I know he doesn’t plan to come to me tonight. Which means not only is he avoiding me, but he knows something he desperately refuses to tell me. Something arrived at the party that night, something that sent all the Emotions and Elements running. What could it possibly be? It doesn’t matter—the truth will probably come out one way or another, and if not, I’m no worse for wear.

I bring my knees up to my chest, becoming a ball. The paper rustles and I smooth it out, my fingers tracing the edges.
There are different kinds of hiding. I hide, I protect, I pretend.
I will not go down in history for my poetry, but my promise to Joshua will be fulfilled; I will finish what I’ve started.

Will you?
my little voice taunts.

I remember Sarah’s pain as she asked me if I knew where her daughter was. Maggie letting her optimism crumble toward the end, lying there in that bed. Fear’s impossible infatuation. Joshua’s innocence.

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.

Thinking about his words makes me think about Joshua himself. He, too, has been avoiding me. He doesn’t look at me in class. He passes me in the hall without a greeting of any kind. He’s guarded after what he saw at Sophia’s party, after what I said to him on the steps. Just another person in Edson who knows what I am: something strange and unnatural. A freak.