Some Quiet Place

by Kelsey Sutton

  There are laundry buckets all around my feet. Bending over, I find and pull a pair of Tim’s jeans inside out, checking the pockets before dropping them into the wash. Next I find one of Charles’s T-shirts and put that in as well. When I pick up a pair of Sarah’s jeans, I check the pockets as usual, but pause as my hand collides with a folded-up piece of paper.

  Maybe I should hesitate to look, invade Sarah’s privacy, but I’m opening it before I think about it.

  It’s an airline ticket. One-way to New York City.

  As I scan the words on the small piece of paper, I remember Sarah mentioning, long ago, that her mother lived there. It was Christmas morning; she’d had such a pained look in her eyes.

  I glance at the date—three days from now—before shoving it back into the pants pocket.

  Eighteen

  “Psst!”

  Thunk.

  “Hey, Elizabeth, are you up there?”

  Thunk.

  My eyes flutter open and I gaze up at the ceiling. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. I sit up, and my notebook falls to the floor. I lean over and stare at the poem staring up at me. The scribbled words taunt. I hide, I protect, I pretend.

  Joshua calls my name again, his voice hushed and loud at the same time. He throws something at the window. He’s going to break it soon if I don’t get up.

  When I get to the pane, his arm is arched back, getting ready to throw something small in his hand. He sees my silhouette too late. I watch a tiny crack bloom across the glass. If Tim notices it, I’ll pay.

  Joshua cringes. “Sorry!”

  The window slides open with a slight hitch and I bend forward. “What are you doing?” It’s a cold night; the air numbs the tips of my ears and nose.

  The boy shrugs, grinning. “You said late. I wasn’t sure how late, so I took a wild guess. You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

  A glance at my alarm clock shows me that it’s 2:45 a.m. Joshua waits patiently. I hold up one finger to him, and he nods. I pull away, leaving the window open. I listen to the lonely sound of the wind as I pull a hoodie on over my tank top. I don’t bother changing out of my sweatpants and slip out my door.

  He’s in the driveway, hands shoved in his pockets, still smiling. He looks so much like the little boy I used to know in this moment, with his silly-shy grin and a tuft of hair sticking up at the back of his head. My stomach does a bizarre little jump.

  “I don’t know why I invited you here,” I tell him, my voice coming out icy. “Maybe this is a mistake.”

  He inclines his head, and I notice how his hair is out of his eyes—he’s brushed it aside so that it sweeps across his forehead. The strands of red glow white under the moon. “Maybe,” Joshua acknowledges. “But maybe that’s what makes it so great. You’re letting go.”

  For the first time in my life, I admit, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Fear’s words come back to me: For the first time in your life, you act without thinking. It seems Joshua Hayes brings out a lot of firsts in me. But the thought of Fear brings on a whole new train of thought, and I begin to wonder if I’ll see him again. After that conversation in the hallway—

  Joshua holds his hand out. Clamping down on my roiling thoughts, I take it. His palm is rough and scarred from working on the farm all his life … just like mine. He’s warm and I’m hot. Our skins collapse against each other, and I imagine I can hear a sizzling in the air.

  He senses my distraction and won’t let it go any further. “Hey.” He tugs on my hand, leading me away from the house. “Stop thinking for once. Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He’s leading me toward the road. We leave my house behind, and the fabric of my shoes rubs against my bare ankles—I forgot to put on socks. Joshua parked his car farther down the road. He probably didn’t want the engine to wake up Tim and Sarah. He stops by the car, nodding to himself, and turns to survey the cluster of trees by the road. His hold on my hand tightens, and he starts to walk toward the woods. I resist.

  “Joshua, what—”

  “Just be patient,” he sighs, tugging at me some more, and I allow him to lead me into the trees. But then I pull myself free from his grip. He lets me, acting as if it doesn’t affect him. Darkness and shadows press in all around. I should tell Joshua about the possible dangers of this place—I think of the shadow in my dreams, Rebecca’s obvious terror. But he’s walking again, leaving me behind without waiting to see if I’ll follow.

  He knows I will. I hurry to catch up.

  A delicate web above catches my eye, glistening between some leaves. A tiny black spider zips this way and that, its long legs weaving, weaving, always weaving.

  “ … and while I was walking to your house tonight, I found them,” Joshua is telling me. “It would’ve been hard to miss; there was a bright glow.” We duck under a low branch.

  Glow? What does he mean? Rethinking this, I stop right there, shifting from foot to foot. Joshua notices right away and turns to face me. We’re standing on a slanted ground, so for once I’m eye level with him. I notice the green flecks in his brown eyes. “We shouldn’t be out here,” I tell him.

  Joshua laughs quietly and turns to start walking again. “What, are there werewolves?”

  When I don’t bother to answer he turns to look at me again, eyebrows raised. “Are there werewolves?”

  My eye catches the faint gleam of a trap on the path, and I grab Joshua’s elbow to swerve him around it. “What—” His head whips around and I point to the trap wordlessly. Joshua frowns down it. “Thanks,” he mutters. “That’s twice you’ve saved me now, you know.” I hear the unspoken question in the statement but don’t address it.

  His elbow is warm in my grip, and I let go before he notices I’m still touching him. We walk for a few minutes more, and then he’s lifting his hand to point, turning his shaggy head toward me. There’s a faint light ahead, shining through the brush. Joshua is beaming with delight and a tiny bit of awe. He dares to take my hand a second time and pulls me forward against my better judgment.

  A tiny clearing bursts open in front of us. It’s alive and soundless, illuminated by hundreds of fireflies. This is impossible, of course; the coming winter should have killed them, or at least made them go into hibernation. Either something is going wrong with the Elements or this is some strange happenstance. And I don’t believe in happenstance.

  They dart every which way, stunning, bright. Flashing, fading, becoming, disappearing. Dizzying and riveting all at once. “It’s beautiful,” is all I say.

  Beside me, Joshua just continues to stare at them. “I wanted to show you,” he whispers, as if speaking too loud will frighten them all away. Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I don’t respond to him. A small creature vanishes from an upturned bucket and appears on my shoulder. Joshua doesn’t see her, which gives away the fact that she’s not part of this world. I recognize her scent, a slight tang of pinecones—I’ve encountered this one before. Her countenance is not familiar, though. Her hair is long and black, dragging at her feet. Her chin and ears are delicately pointed, and her wide eyes are such a dark brown they’re almost black.

  “Who are you?” I ask her, my voice just barely above a whisper. I don’t want Joshua to hear. I shift away from him to be safe. He doesn’t seem to notice. He walks deeper into the clearing, looking lost in thought.

  “Moss,” the creature answers. “It’s my specialty.”

  As soon as she speaks in her high, piping voice, I know where I’ve met her before. “Moss,” I repeat. She giggles. I smile to appeal to her. “You were at Sophia’s birthday party that night.”

  Her hands suddenly flutter; she’s uncomfortable. I re-member her words in my ear: He’s here, he’s here! Disappear, before he gets you, gets you!

  “You were warning me about something,” I add. I reach up and untangle the ends of her hair for her.

  Her little ha
nds flutter again, this time with pleasure. She nods hesitantly, her Cupid’s mouth pink and pursed. “I shouldn’t talk about it. It’s not safe.”

  A firefly flits past my nose and Moss straightens, as if she wants to chase after it. “Please tell me?” I say, and her dark gaze goes back to my face. She flinches. Joshua is still enraptured by the lights, and he hasn’t even noticed my quiet conversation. He’s admiring the intricate dance.

  The Element on my shoulder smiles at me, putting her hand on my cheek. She seems to like the texture of my skin. An instant later she squeaks and jerks her hand back, abruptly terrified, and she jumps off me, disappearing into the thick of the lights. The fireflies grow more frenzied, bright blurs of movement. I frown, sensing a disturbance. It isn’t until I feel a cool breath on my cheek and feel him pressed against my shoulder that I identify the reason for their anxiety. Oh. I should have known.

  I keep my eyes on Joshua. A boy that I’ve known all my life, a boy that has always watched over me from afar. He’s smiling at me, motioning to join him. He doesn’t see Fear, of course. I don’t move.

  “You almost look as if you feel something for him,” Fear whispers, folding his arms around my waist from behind. His chest is hard against my back, his skin like marble. He rests his chin on the top of my head. “But I know that can’t be right. After all, you don’t care about anything, right?”

  His hands are on me. The touch makes the wall of nothingness shudder, makes me think of those kisses and that brief minute in the hallway when I’d yearned to do it again. Despite this, I allow his touch. Maybe he’ll tell me about the party. “That’s correct.”

  He chuckles bitterly. “I never realized how stubborn you are. You hid it better when you were small.” When I don’t answer, Fear shifts so that Joshua is blocked from my view. I finally look up at him. “Well, at least I know that if you can’t feel anything for me, you can’t feel anything for him, either,” he says in a low voice, his eyes burning into mine. After a moment he turns away to watch the fireflies too, his brow furrowed. He tries to hide his feelings from me, but I sense the turmoil inside him, a swirling mass of dark and light that constantly war with each other. In the midst of all of it is me.

  Did … did part of me want him back, during that brief moment in the school hallway when the wall crumbled?

  No. That couldn’t be. “You’ve been avoiding me,” I say in an effort to direct my thoughts in a more practical direction. “At the party—”

  He sighs. “I won’t answer your questions about that night, Elizabeth. There are some things a human shouldn’t know. Even a human like you.”

  In the distance, an owl calls, a tenor that’s gentle and luring. A symphony. Fear smiles now. “May I have this dance?” He doesn’t try to hide his feelings as he gazes down at me. His hands are freezing on my arms. Our frozen hearts are so similar. Too similar.

  “Dance with me, Elizabeth?”

  Joshua has come back. Once again he holds his hand out for me to take. His warm, rough, real hand. Courage chooses this moment to appear, and without saying a word to me or looking at Fear, he grasps the back of Joshua’s neck.

  I look at Fear, then Joshua, then at those lights floating in swirling masses. I clench my fists. I hide, I protect, I pretend.

  I feel Joshua on my right, a balmy, solid presence, and Fear on my left, wintry and impossible. One human, what I should yearn for, and one from another world, part of the plane that has put me in this position. Just being near him makes my own world seem unreachable and surreal.

  Surreal is dangerous.

  I don’t look at Fear. My fingers are so light as they wrap around Joshua’s hand, and I try to say with my eyes what I can’t with my mouth. I choose you.

  Sophia has finally decided how to exact her revenge. I can tell by the way she keeps sneaking glances back at me, a catty smile curving her glossed lips. Her fingers caress the cast around her wrist, apparently from when I grabbed and sprained it. I keep my head down, debating on the best course of action to take: avoidance or endurance. Confrontation is probably not an option; I don’t want another repeat of what I did to her the night of her party.

  Joshua also looks back at me, but for another reason entirely. I’d guess he’s uncertain about how I’ll act today, in the aftermath of last night. Sleeping and dreams have strengthened my nothingness, yet there’s still something deep down inside of me that stirs. Something deep down inside of me that can’t stop thinking about Fear and the look in his eyes as I danced with Joshua. I’d done exactly what I’d set out to do: discourage him. Why, then, does the memory of his expression hound me?

  “ … read the chapters I’ve assigned you,” Mrs. Farmer is instructing the class. The bell rings as she speaks, and everyone gets to their feet, gathering their books and leaving the classroom as quickly as possible.

  Sophia darts out the doorway with the rest of the crowd, no doubt eager to find her friends and start the planning for my demise. Joshua lingers at his desk, waiting for me. I walk past him and approach Mrs. Farmer.

  “Here.” My palm slaps against the wood of the teacher’s desk as I set down two pieces of paper stapled together. “My part of the project you assigned.” At Mrs. Farmer’s blank stare, I add, “The portfolio?”

  “Oh!” Comprehension dawns in the teacher’s face. Compassion appears beside her—she’s a tall Emotion with a solemn light in her gray eyes. Mrs. Farmer reaches out to pat my hand but I move it out of the way. Hers flutters back to her lap awkwardly. “Joshua did well enough for the two of you,” she says, glancing at him. “You didn’t have to do this extra work. I understand the circumstances.”

  “That’s nice of you, but I don’t want special treatment,” I counter. “Please look this over and give me the grade you think the work deserves.”

  She knows my meaning: I don’t want to be graded on Maggie’s death. Efficiency. That should be the focus. After a moment I turn my back on Mrs. Farmer and Compassion, leaving the room.

  “When did you finish it?” Joshua asks me in the hall. His locker is in the opposite direction of mine but he walks with me anyway. We pass Susie Yank and she waves at me, timid. I don’t miss how her glance lingers on Joshua, and her expression is almost worshipful. I return her wave but don’t stop.

  “I finished it this morning,” I tell Joshua finally. “After we got back.”

  “Can I read it?”

  I walk faster.

  “Hey.” He touches my arm, stopping me. It seems like he’s always content to have our conversations in the middle of the hall. I pull my arm away, and he blushes. The sight of that twists something in my middle.

  I rake my wild hair back; there was no time to brush it this morning between the poem and my chores. “I’m sorry.” I stare up at him. “I’m not … good at this.”

  “Get out of the way!” One of Sophia’s friends shoulders past. She glances at me with a strange expression before hurrying on.

  Joshua ignores her. “Talk to me,” he orders.

  Now I give all my attention to the lockers to our right, studying the dents in the metal as if they hold some deep meaning for me. “I don’t think that this is smart,” I tell those dents. “You’re going to get hurt. The people in my life have always been disappointed in me sooner or later.”

  “Huh.” He takes my elbow to guide me out of the wave of kids rushing to their classes. I’m going to be late yet again. Joshua snaps his fingers in front of my face, forcing me to look at him. “I don’t think you’re really worried about me,” he says bluntly. I blink.

  “What do you—”

  “You’re scared.”

  That’s not true; Fear is nowhere around. My hair is falling into my face. Ironic, since Joshua’s is finally smoothed out of the way. “I don’t have time for this,” I say. I move past Joshua. He lets me go, his irritation obvious.

  “If we don’t take any risks, then we won’t find the things worth living for,” the boy calls after me.

  “Go to
class, Joshua,” I toss over my shoulder. I think of the poem I’ll never show him, never show anyone else but Mrs. Farmer.

  There are different kinds of hiding.

  I hide, I protect, I pretend.

  I give no promises or look to tomorrow.

  There is only this, only me.

  A shadow and a whisper.

  I hide, I protect, I pretend.

  Everyone else.

  No one else.

  Impossibility and useless efforts.

  Reasons?

  I don’t know.

  I just know this.

  During my lunch hour—among the aging stories and forgotten history of the library—I finally find the newspaper article I’ve been looking for. This time it doesn’t disappear, but all my efforts toward finding it have been in vain; there’s nothing more to know here than in what Sarah has already told me.

  Girl Survives Car Accident

  Yesterday, Elizabeth Caldwell, four years old, wandered out to the highway by herself. The driver of an oncoming car didn’t see the little girl until it was too late. When questioned, he had little recollection of what had happened. An ambulance was immediately called, and paramedics say Elizabeth was conscious and lucid on the scene. She escaped with nothing but a few scrapes and bruises. Doctors say it’s a miracle. She’s already been discharged.

  I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a point to finding the answers about my past. Maybe the truth really isn’t beneficial to my survival here in Edson, and this mystery is best left alone.

  End of the day. Final bell. Girls shrieking and boys shouting down the halls. Teachers lecturing about assignments, calling for quiet. Lockers slamming shut, doors closing, lights dying. I wait in a corner with my book bag until everyone has left and the air is still, waiting for tomorrow. The school is ghostly after hours, and I chase my shadow when I make my way to the front doors. White light spills through the glass, beckoning to me.