Some Quiet Place

by Kelsey Sutton

  Joshua draws in a ragged breath, his fists clenching at his sides. “It was the weirdest thing,” he tells me. “I was at home with my dad, and suddenly I got this feeling that you needed me. I didn’t even think about it; I just left. And for some reason, I went right to the school. There was your truck, just sitting there. I heard you scream.” He closes his eyes, and I study the veins in his eyelids, such tiny things.

  Someone is speaking over the intercom and we both listen to the words for a moment. “Annie Harkin, please report to the third floor nurse’s station … ”

  Joshua rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, sighing some more.

  I straighten my blankets. “Joshua—”

  “You are really trying my patience.”

  Joshua doesn’t open his eyes or even move, but I glance away at the sound of the familiar voice. A hooded figure is standing in the open doorway, huddled, fists clenched.

  Rebecca.

  Twenty

  She stomps into the room like she owns it. She points at Joshua with a hand that’s covered by her too-long sleeve. “You, out.”

  Joshua blinks. Frowns. He glances from her to me uncertainly. “Do you … ?” he starts.

  Our intruder sighs impatiently. “You suddenly feel an urge to go home and do whatever it is you do there. Go.” Power leaks into the words.

  Joshua’s body jerks, and he resists for a moment—he’s strong, but not strong enough. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” he says to me, already walking out. “I need to go home.”

  I just watch him leave. Then I turn my gaze back to this creature who’s barged into my world yet again. She waits, utterly still, probably prepared for more questions about the past or the influence on me. After all, she’s my only link to any of it. But even I don’t expect the words that come out of my mouth, as unstoppable as a meteor hurtling to the earth: “Is Fear alive? Have you heard anything about him?”

  I picture it again, his expression, his cheek scraping over the ground, the blood between his fingers. For some reason my heart picks up speed; we both hear it from the monitor beside my bed. Beep, beep-beep, beep-beep-beep.

  She tilts her head a little. The hood falls against the side of her jaw. When it becomes apparent that she isn’t going to answer, it occurs to me that she probably has no idea what I’m talking about. “You’ve been gone for a while,” I say after a moment of stiff quiet.

  At this she moves to stand by the bed. Her jerky movements speak volumes. Irritation and maybe a little relief at seeing me alive. “I shouldn’t have come back,” she snaps. “No one else is stupid enough to be in this horrid little place while that monster is around.”

  “Ah, yes.” My eyes narrow. “Him. Are you trying to get me killed? Because I’m assuming he’s the reason you told me not to go Sophia’s party that night. You knew he would be here.”

  Rebecca breathes through her nose, a visible sign she’s striving for control. All I can see of her is the bottom of her chin. “The key words there are told you not to. You deliberately went against my warning. He’s been looking for you, and I knew he’d be drawn to that party like a moth to a flame.”

  “Why was he after me?” I ask bluntly.

  Now she sighs, walking to the window to peer out. “You’re so stubborn. If you would just … ” She stops, begins again. “One of the side effects of the illusion on you is that I can’t tell you a thing about why I placed it in the first p-place. If I’m around when you discover something from the past, I have no choice b-but to remove the evidence.” She grips the windowsill with white fingers. “My own essence makes sure I do, and that I don’t speak of it, or it causes me searing pain. Which is part of the reason I’ve been so vague with you.”

  An illusion? That’s when I put another piece of the puzzle together. She’s the one who made the newspaper disappear. How long has she been watching me?

  Putting aside thousands of questions—about this, about Nightmare, Landon’s murder, their mother and the stone house, my past, the power—I ask the question that’s been stalking me since all this began. “Do you know why Courage told me I would need Joshua?”

  “Because I told him I thought the boy could break through!” she explodes. She’s agitated; she speaks with her arms, waving them around her head and pacing the floor. “It would’ve been the quickest way. It seemed like you were feeling something for him. All the signs were there! You were smiling, letting him close. I saw the way you looked at him when he brought you to see those ridiculous bugs.” Then, abruptly, she stops, rubbing her temples. She forces her tone to be even. “I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that since … ” She trails off, shaking her head.

  Since when? Where do I fit into all this? For a moment I experience the faintest, faintest stirrings of frustration. So many questions she won’t answer. Even though it’s useless, I can’t help but ask, “Who am I?”

  She blatantly ignores the question, of course, preferring to finger the edge of my blanket and focus on the material. Her nose wrinkles with disgust. “Hate hospitals,” she mutters to herself.

  “This … illusion, as you call it, was put on me a long time ago, and you only recently sought me out. Why did you hide for so long?” I ask next. “Why all the games?”

  Restless again, Rebecca stalks over to the wall to examine a painting hanging there. Her hood slips a little, and she catches it with fast fingers, putting it back over her face. “I already told you,” she says. “I can’t do anything but watch. In the beginning, I did stay. After a while I realized how pointless that was, so I left. But when I caught wind that he was hanging around Edson, I couldn’t just do nothing, so I came back. I had to warn you. Little good it did. My only hope of the illusion breaking was the kid. That way, you would have your powers to defend yourself against that monster.”

  Powers? What am I? But of course I won’t get an answer if I ask. “You can’t remove it?” I ask her instead, following her with my eyes as she moves around the room.

  She shakes her head. I study the small scrap of her face that I can see; she has a full bottom lip. “No. It fades with time, and if it’s to be removed sooner than it’s meant to be, only you can do it—by feeling heightened emotion, like love or terror or grief. It’s happening, though; I bet you’ve noticed. Emotions are breaking through. Your own power really is too strong to be restrained for long.”

  “It’s been restrained for more than thirteen years,” I tell her, resisting the urge to ask about my abilities.

  “Because you are unbelievably adept at lying to yourself. Truly, I’m amazed.”

  Maintaining a firm hold on all of this information is a bit difficult. I’m silent, taking it all in.

  Rebecca isn’t going to give me much time. “But”—she whips back around—“you need to break my illusion now. I could take you away from here. Then again, there’s really no point. Now that he’s found you, he’ll hunt you down no matter where you go. Until you remember, you’ll be helpless.”

  “And how do you suggest I feel ‘heightened emotion’?” I ask her coolly.

  Air hisses through her teeth as she exhales. “That’s the point, stupid. You could remember right now if you wanted to. All of this is a choice on your part. If you really want to know the truth, it’s there at your fingertips. Take it so that we can all get on with our lives.”

  I purse my lips, nodding slowly. “So you expect me to sit and wait for Nightmare—”

  “Don’t say his name!” She whirls as if the Element will be standing in the doorway, staring at us. When she sees we’re still alone, she relaxes slightly, her alarm turning to fury. “Stupid,” she spits at me yet again. “You’re endangering us both. You don’t have to be asleep for him to reach you.”

  “What does he want?” I repeat, more sharply this time. “Why is he after me?”

  “Power,” is all Rebecca says. Then she relents and adds, “Blood from the other plane is like a drug to him. A rush. He no longer feels the need to answer his summons. Our
kind knows that he’s gone insane, but so far he’s managed to avoid getting killed.” She continues to pick at the blanket some more.

  “Are there others like him?” I ask.

  “Members of the other plane have no desire to start a civil war,” she answers in a dismissive tone. I turn my face to the window. Outside, it’s getting darker. The sun is almost gone as it sinks into the ocean of sky. There’s a small lamp on in the corner of my room, casting deceptive serenity over the room.

  Fear should be here, harassing me. The thought comes from nowhere, and a lump forms in my throat. Thinking of him continues to causes that odd, painful sensation on my chest. I recall that vivid dream, the way he’d run his fingers down Rebecca’s spine. Something curls in my stomach. Something like … envy.

  “ … even listening?” Rebecca snaps, springing. She flicks me on the temple with her nimble fingers. Hard. I swat at her like she’s a fly, but she’s already yards away.

  “How much you have to learn,” she mocks. “And unless you learn fast, little girl, that monster will find you, and he’ll take your power for his own.”

  The words hit me suddenly. Nightmare isn’t gone. Of course not. He’s out there somewhere, waiting for a second chance. And unless something changes soon—I regain all my memories and I break the illusion, or I leave Edson behind forever—he’ll seize the next opportunity and I’ll be dead. What happened to Fear will be merciful in comparison to what the Element will do to me.

  My stomach lurches at the thought, and again the memory of Fear’s anguished expression assails me. I sit up, debating whether or not to leave the bed and the room and go. Follow Sarah’s footsteps in venturing beyond this tiny town, leaving behind the conflict and the malicious, petty intents. What was once keeping me here doesn’t seem to exist anymore, or maybe it just doesn’t matter.

  Rebecca sighs yet again, suddenly losing her fire. Her shoulders slump. I appraise her thoughtfully. How strong do you have to be, to go on after an experience as horrific as hers? The bloody death of a brother, running for years and years. I try to picture what she looks like under that hood, an expression other than the one that she wears in my dreams over and over again. “Why—” I start.

  She shakes her head, scowling. “No more questions! Think! Haven’t you noticed that p-people are d-drawn to you?” She bends to hold her stomach but continues determinedly, “Why is that? Haven’t you ever stopped to wonder? Just break the damn illusion! And stay alive until you do. I might not be able to get the boy to you in time if this happens again.”

  Wait. Rebecca is the one who saved me? She’s the one who warned Joshua? I open my mouth to respond, but then the rest of her words sink in. Drawn to you. Morgan. Maggie. Fear. Joshua. There was no reason for any of them to pursue me. She’s right. But I can’t begin to puzzle out why. I lift my gaze again to implore, “Can’t you—”

  She cuts me off with a downward slash of her hand and walks away. Her footsteps are soundless. At the door she pauses, inclining her head thoughtfully. “One more thing.” She turns and flattens her palms against either side of the doorway. Her tone is hard. “Fear isn’t dead. He’s nearby, in fact, since he was too injured to move very far. While that monster was distracted with you, I pulled him into the woods. I’m doing my best to make sure that he lives. I’ll return once you’ve remembered everything.” She gives me her back again.

  I raise my voice to stop her. “Fear thought you were dead. All this time he was mourning you. Why didn’t you tell him? Did you think you were … protecting him?”

  She pauses but doesn’t turn this time. Finally she says, so softly, “I wasn’t the one he was looking for.” I frown. But before I can utter another word, she’s gone.

  Maybe not quite gone. A second later, her voice sounds from farther down the hall: “If you get killed, I swear I’ll bring you back from the dead just to kill you again myself!”

  The house is a mourning skeleton of a place. Without Sarah, it’s lost its soul, its purpose. I imagine it misses the tender hands that tended to every corner of its insides, misses Sarah’s gentle footsteps and her soothing voice. Even the shadows feel abandoned and empty.

  It’s been three days since she left. Three long, tension-filled days. Sheriff Owen tracks me down to ask me his questions, to which I give vague, useless answers. Tim drinks himself into oblivion for hours on end now, leaving the fields and the livestock untended. Charles avoids the house like a plague. And since Tim isn’t exactly around to notice, Joshua has been by every day, once in the morning to pick me up, once in the afternoon to drop me off. He’s not taking any chances now, and won’t take no for an answer. To anything.

  Now. Now. Now. It’s all I am. All I can focus on. To think of anything else would only bring me around in circles. The questions are too many, the solutions too few. Should I leave? Is Nightmare nearby? When will he pounce? Is Fear still alive? And then there’s Tim to think about—he’s a ticking time bomb, set to burst at any second. Will I survive the explosion this time, especially since Fear won’t be rescuing me again?

  I’m lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the smell of dry paint filling my nostrils. When a loud creak sounds through the walls, I instantly sit up. My first thought is that Nightmare has finally come back for me. But after a moment, I recognize my brother’s tread: slow, light. Somehow I know what he’s doing. Change is in the air. For a second I ponder if I should confront him or not. Then I slide out of bed and pad to the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  Charles twitches, dropping his bags right there in the hall. They hit the floor with two resounding thuds. He looks at me over his shoulder as if he’s been caught doing something wrong. For a moment it seems like he’s actually considering pretending that he’s not leaving, that nothing is different.

  Moving in a way that won’t startle him, I approach my brother in the dark, bend down, grab the handle of one of his bags, and press it into his sweaty hand. I smile up at him, this boy who will never grow up.

  He swallows. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. We both know there’s no pretending this time. And finally he does mutter, “I have to go.” As if the words have a bad taste, he clears his throat. I don’t have the reaction he’s probably expecting: hurt or maybe anger. My calm appears to bother him even more, and, unable to keep eye contact, Charles looks down at his feet. Now he looks like a child about to be scolded.

  I give him what he wants. “It’s okay. I would do the same if I could.”

  Charles laughs a little, shaking his head. “No, you wouldn’t. You’ve never wanted to be anywhere. You never seemed to care about any of it.”

  I pick up his other bag and hand it to him. “That’s not true. I think deep down, I always wanted to paint Venice.” The lie is sudden, effortless. I don’t know why I give it to him.

  He raises his head. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He looks even younger here, in the dim. I re-member Charles as a child, always leaving me behind to play with his friends, always running off when Tim was in one of his moods. “You’re going to live the life you want,” I tell him. “And you shouldn’t feel guilty about that.”

  The grandfather clock at the end of the hall dongs. We stand there, and the song plays. Charles sighs. “I’m staying at my buddy Garrett’s house for a while. If you … if you need me for anything, just give me a call, all right?”

  We both know I won’t. But it’s nice of him to make the offer anyway. “See you,” I say, reaching out to give him a one-armed hug since he’s carrying the bags. He doesn’t try to hug me back, but I do feel his chin rest on the top of my head, just for a moment.

  I watch him go down the stairs. Before he reaches the bottom step I turn away to go back to my cold, lonely bed.

  “Liz?”

  I poke my head out the door one more time. Charles has stopped. He’s looking up at me. When I don’t respond, he bites his bottom lip. “You asked me a while ago if I remember what you were like as a baby.” He
meets my gaze suddenly, determination in the lines of his face. “The truth is, I don’t really remember that girl. She was so different from who you are now. But I do remember one thing. I’ve never forgotten, really. It was right after you had your accident. I asked you once, ‘How are you feeling, Liz?’ It was … scary. You looked right at me and said, ‘Liz is dead.’”

  I force a smile. “Thank you for telling—”

  “I’m not done.” His hold on both bags tightens. “I asked you why you would say that. You didn’t answer me right away. In fact, it wasn’t until after supper. I was outside hitting some balls. You came up behind me and you said, ‘I took her place.’ I was just a kid, but even then I saw how real it was. You’ve never been my sister, but I still treated you like one, because I always thought you needed someone to show you some kindness.”

  I blink. Once. Twice. “What—”

  “I’m not as ignorant as I act. None of us are. We all saw the change in you. No accident could do that. I don’t care what the counselors or the doctors said. I’ve always believed that there are strange things in the world, even though we can’t see them. You’re just one of the mysteries, Elizabeth. I accepted that.”

  The words hit me like bullets to the chest. You’ve never been my sister. Some part of me did always believe that even though I’m different, apart, I’m blood to these people. This—the need to belong to a family I should have already belonged to—might have been the real thing that urged me to find the answers. Their pain drove me to try to become the girl they once knew.

  But I can’t think about this now. Later. Because it’s time for another goodbye.

  I study Charles. Maybe I’ve been too quick to judge him. It just goes to show that what’s on the surface is never all there is. “Charles.” I smile down at him. “Go. You were a good brother—the best you could be—and I’ll never forget you.”

  It’s as if a weight has lifted off of him; his shoulders slump and he sighs again. “See you in another lifetime, Liz,” he murmurs, grinning. That flop of hair shines beneath the entryway light. He nods at me and turns his back for the last time, leaving this life behind to seek out a new one. Just as Sarah did. A life that won’t hiss with secrets from every corner and where pretending is unnecessary.