Some Quiet Place

by Kelsey Sutton

  The door shuts with just a gentle click and Charles Cald-

  well is gone. Somehow, I know I won’t see him again.

  I go back to bed, settling into the sheets as if I’d never left. The filmy curtains around my window flutter, and I focus on them as sleep claims me. The dream waits in the recesses of my mind, waits patiently to take me down into the depths.

  He stands with his back to me, in that pose I’m beginning to identify as his: arms behind his back, hands clasped. We’re on a clear platform of some kind, surrounded by nothing but white, open air. The wind tugs at my hair. It hangs loose, long—I never wear it like this. I look down and see that once again I’m wearing the yellow sundress. It seems out of place now that all the illusions are gone. He isn’t using Landon this time, isn’t hiding behind meadows or stone houses.

  “What are you waiting for?” I ask his back dully. “Go ahead. Finish it.”

  He doesn’t turn. After a moment he says, “I find that I like my opponents to be invested in the game.” His tone is light, casual, as if he’s commenting on the weather. His clothing presses against his body; he’s facing the wind. I glance around and wonder for a brief moment where we are. Then I remember that it doesn’t matter. None of it is real. He’s in my head.

  When he doesn’t get a response, Nightmare finally faces me, and it’s difficult to look him in the eyes. They’re round black jewels. Snake eyes. “It’s time for a short intermission,” he informs me. His hair reminds me of Fear’s in the way it rests against his skin like silk.

  His words register. “Is this a game or a play?” I ask, taunting him for some reason. Foolish. I can’t take it back, though.

  His gaze narrows. “Perhaps you’d rather continue now, then.”

  Again I don’t answer, but my heart stumbles. He sighs, waving a hand. “Go, little one. You’ll see me soon. I do hope you regain some of that charming emotion I saw so briefly.”

  I open my mouth to speak, maybe ask the questions I’m unable to ask Rebecca, but an invisible hand pushes me right in the center of my chest. My arms flail, but it’s too late. I fall into the white oblivion. Down, down, the air rushing from my lungs.

  I land in my bed.

  As soon as the sun rises in the sky I know the house has turned into the fiery, cackling depths of hell. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Tim has woken with a vengeance, still drunk from the night before; I can hear him muttering through the walls. He needs someone to blame for Sarah leaving him.

  Too bad I’m the only one left.

  I consider running for just a moment. But I can’t seem to bring myself to move. Thoughts of Fear, memories, dreams fill my head and I lie there, listening to the heavy thump of Tim’s feet against the floor. He’s still muttering to himself. I think of Landon. So much death in this story. How did he end? Was Rebecca with him during his last breath? I think of Fear, of Fear and Rebecca clasped in a passionate embrace. She had been the girl he’d spoken of in the loft, the one he’d loved. The one who I’d once thought was dead. And now they’re together, after all this time. Is she explaining why she stayed away so long? Is he telling her how much he missed her?

  “Elizabeth!” Tim slurs, banging on my door. He can’t seem to figure out how to work the doorknob. It keeps slipping in his grip.

  Please, please come back.

  How painful it must have been, to hold someone she cared about so much in her arms and watch his blood run into the ground. How strange. Other than Maggie’s misplaced dedication to me, I’ve never witnessed any kind of real love.

  “Open this door, you little bitch!”

  Which is worse, Tim or Nightmare? They seem the same in my mind. What’s the point? Even if I leave here, I’ll walk into a trap just like this one the moment I fall asleep. There’s nothing to fight for, now; not survival, not love of my own. And this is no longer my home—I have to face that; nothing will ever be the way it once was. But I find myself clinging to it just the same. Pesky emotions. Even when weak, they’re a hindrance to the logic I’m accustomed to.

  After Nightmare’s attack, after speaking to Rebecca in the hospital, I’ve been remembering more and more. Their past—Rebecca’s and Landon’s and their mother’s—comes fast at me now. I don’t know if it’s an unconscious decision on my part or if it’s just time, but the illusion is growing thin and my nothingness is a weak, feeble thing deep inside of me.

  “Elizabeth!”

  That’s not who I am. Now I’ll face the truth. As the threat of pain and darkness drools on my door, I close my eyes and say the words that I’ve been avoiding for so long.

  “I’m not Elizabeth.”

  Nothing happens, not that I expected anything to. There’s no explosion of realization or power or memories. No Emotions come to touch me, the untouchable girl. All I know is who I’m not, and not who I am. I open my eyes again, staring at the mural. It’s still unfinished, but I’m almost done. There’s just one more wall to do. I concentrate on that stone house, Landon’s still face, Rebecca’s pain, the death and the agony, the feelings I can’t reach.

  “I’m not human,” I say next.

  Still no earth-shattering epiphany. The pieces that are me remain scattered, incomplete, and there are no patterns to follow.

  Tim has been pounding at the door, and now it gives way. With a crack, his fist bursts through, and he’s cut his knuckle. He roars, shouldering the door now. More of the wood drops to the floor in jagged chunks. Tim keeps at this until there’s a hole big enough for him to fit through. He ducks inside, eyes wild and red-rimmed. They scan the room frantically until they come to rest on me.

  “You,” he breathes. “You did this.”

  I did. Without my encouragement, Sarah never would have started thinking, and she never would have left. But still I don’t move, even when Tim advances in a snarling rage. He seems so out of place in my small room—he’s never been in here before, actually.

  “What makes you tick, Tim?” I ask, looking up at him, causing him to pause for an instant. Death at this man’s hands will surely be better than the slaughtering at Nightmare’s.

  This human who is not my father growls, reaching down to haul me to my feet. I’m limp in his hands, my thoughts a gnarled haze. We stare at each other for what feels like eons until Tim grunts once, then throws me at the wall as hard as he can. My back slams into the depiction of Landon. The plaster cracks. Ignoring the blaze of pain ripping up my spine, I reach up to touch one of the tears on Rebecca’s cheek.

  Tim advances, stumbling. He reeks, the sting of his scent filling my senses. Anger is absent—this is born purely from Tim and that amber liquid he loves so much. Just as he reaches down to pull me up yet again, I tell him, “What happened to me isn’t your fault, you know.”

  It’s the wrong thing to say. A dark reminder. I know it, of course. Tim’s an animal now, wounded and furious. He throws me down and jams his knee into my stomach, clenching his fists around my throat. I cry out in pain, half-laughing, and dry-heave a second later; I haven’t eaten for a while. I forgot.

  “You’re a demon,” Tim mumbles thickly. He tightens his hold. As he leans his weight on me, his knee buries itself in my stomach until I can feel my organs crumpling. I don’t fight him. My instincts are a dull, throbbing mess. All I keep thinking is, I’m not Elizabeth. I’m not human. Who am I, then? Where do I belong? Again I envision Fear and Rebecca. He’s lying in a bed, slowly healing, and she’s sitting at his side, smiling into his eyes. The image hurts; just more pain to add to the onslaught.

  Dots dance in front of me, green and blue and red, and they’re so close that I reach up with one slender finger, trying to touch one. Tim’s talking again, but his words don’t register. Exactly six seconds tick by and I give up on the dots, eyes drifting shut.

  “Wake up,” someone—Landon?—orders. “Open your eyes. Now.”

  I smile sleepily. His voice is familiar, comforting. “No point. No point.”

  “Tap, tap,” Land
on says. Now I frown. It doesn’t seem like something he would say. I don’t know how I know this; I just do. “Tap, tap,” Landon says again, and now I do open my eyes, looking past Tim’s red, bulbous face to the window. A little figure stands on the sill, her pretty face pressed to the glass. It’s sprinkling outside, and her hair sparkles with lingering droplets. As if she doesn’t even notice the rain, the creature clenches her tiny fist and knocks on the window. Tap, tap. She looks worried. Why is she worried?

  Darkness is clouding in again. I lose awareness of anything besides Tim’s grip on my air supply, the consuming dizziness, something humming in my ear. No, wait, there’s a fly in the room. It buzzes past my nose.

  And then, like a star illuminating the black night, a new voice explodes through the shrinking space. “Get out. Get out now and never come back, or I swear to God I’ll call the cops and have you put away for the rest of your miserable life.”

  Without warning, the crushing weight is gone. Coughing and gasping simultaneously, I gulp in gallons of air, my lungs greedy. Suddenly time is utterly still, and it’s over. I lie there, my back to Landon, gazing around my room until my vision clears up completely. I’m alone except for my bed, the dresser, the rickety desk, a mirror, and the mural. I try to figure out what was real and what was illusion when Tim was choking me. For a wild second, I thought I’d actually heard Landon … And had Moss really been standing at my window? One quick glance shows the empty sill, the lonely glass. No. I’d been half-delirious.

  Which brings me to wonder where Tim went. The house is so still—he must really be gone. How … ? I lift my nose and sniff the stale air, wondering if an otherworldly being saved me … maybe Fear … there’s nothing but the scent of alcohol. Tim.

  He might come back.

  I try to stand and find I can’t. Pain grips me and draws me completely beneath its murky waters. I struggle against it, but then darkness cackles and whooshes in with its inescapable embrace. This time there are no dreams, just a face. Pale hair, crinkled azure eyes, conceited grin. Fear …

  Quiet.

  A gentle touch.

  I must have fallen asleep. When I wake, I blink rapidly. The blurred world comes into focus, as does the face of my champion. And of all the people who could have rescued me this time, it’s the boy who’s not my brother. He’s squatting in front of me, his eyes clouded with concern. His mouth moves as he speaks, and I crane my neck to see past him.

  I struggle to my feet, Charles supporting me and all the while still talking in my ear. Tim wouldn’t actually leave just because he was told to, would he? I whisper with a pang of hope, “Fear?” No answer. No tang of terror. Just then the clock chimes in the hall. I’m late for school. A simple thought, reflex.

  “Elizabeth, answer me, damn it!” My not-brother’s face looms close, demanding and concerned.

  “Charles?” I squint, as if he’s an apparition that’ll disappear any second. When I realize that he’s real, he’s not going to fade, I ask with slight disbelief, “What are you doing here?” I see that Courage is gazing at me, his hand on Charles’s shoulder.

  “Only for you would I risk coming back here,” Courage tells me solemnly.

  My not-brother is still holding my arm, and when he sees that I’m finally lucid, he lets out a breath of relief and lets go.

  “Are you all right?” he says rather than answering. “When I first came in, it seemed like you were in pretty bad shape. I had to take care of Tim, so I left you for just a second, and when I came back, you were passed out. But now it doesn’t look that bad.”

  He and Courage watch as I study my arms, legs. Nothing. No bruises, no cuts. No pain. My throat is fine. I must have healed as I slept. I look at Charles again, at his achingly familiar mop of hair, ruddy skin, fidgeting hands. Of all the people I would have expected to save me, he was the unlikeliest possibility. “What are you doing here?” I repeat. I already know, of course, but for some reason I need to hear the words out loud.

  Charles just shrugs. “I had a bad feeling. I came back to make sure you’re doing okay, and I heard … should I take you to the hospital?”

  “I’m fine. I think I’ll even go to school today.” I rest my hand on his arm, right next to Courage’s dark-skinned fingers. The Emotion’s heat enfolds me, and my quailing insides calm a little. “Charles,” I say. Just the one word, just his name. He has to hear the question in it. We’re standing in the middle of my room, surrounded by the mural, by the pieces of the past, the truth that I’m not his sister. We both know it—but still, Charles came back. I didn’t expect this. Very few times in my life have I been wrong about a person.

  Experiencing Courage’s influence for the first time, Charles makes a choice. He reaches for me and jerks me to him for a quick, awkward hug. I hug him back. When he pulls away, my brother clears his throat. He does it again. Finally he blurts, “I’m going to be here from now on, all right?” He means to sound gruff, but his tone is laced with relief and a faint tinge of pride. Right before Courage disappears, I catch sight of a tiny smile curving the Emotion’s normally serious lips.

  I smile, too. “I believe you.”

  Charles spoke the truth; Tim is nowhere around. His truck is gone. Seeing this, I hurry to get dressed, grab my bag, and get into my own truck. There’s something oddly comforting in the routine, and I drive to school like it’s any other day. As if Sarah is at home in the kitchen, Tim is out in the fields, and Charles is sleeping in before his shift at Fowler’s Grocery. Everything is different now, of course.

  The parking lot is full by the time I pull in, and my normal spot is taken. I don’t want to park at the outer edges where anyone, or a certain someone, can attack me, so I park in one of the open spots beside Sophia’s red convertible toward the front. Bought with her father’s money, of course. I’ve heard Sophia’s friends say that he buys her off to make up for never visiting. Sophia always demands that the spaces on either side of the car to be empty so no one scratches the flawless paint job. How thrilled she’ll be to see my tank by her precious car.

  I’m through the front doors, just a few feet away from my locker and moments away from class, when I’m spotted through the office window.

  “Elizabeth?” Sally Morrison shoves the door open and stands there in her perfect clothes, with all her good intentions, staring at me. I slowly turn. Her eyes are so sad as she keeps looking at me, waiting for me to say something. She really does want to help. I clutch my bag tightly.

  The counselor sighs after another moment. “Do you want to come into my office?” she asks, motioning for me to walk before her. I do, remaining silent.

  Together, we enter the room we’re both so familiar with. Sally shuts the door quietly and takes her normal seat, smoothing her skirt. Again, the woman gives me an opportunity to talk first, but I don’t take it.

  “Is there something you want to tell me?” Sally sits back, sighing. She doesn’t expect the truth. She’s waiting for another lie, like I’ve given her every other time I’ve been in here. Her crossed legs and her shiny shoes hold all my attention as I think.

  Sally waits. She doesn’t speak or even glance at the clock. Finally, finally, after we’ve been silent for ten minutes in this tiny room of hope and pain and lies, I give Sally Morrison my first truth. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because I have nothing left but this.

  “Remember that day in your office? The bruises?” I ask. She just continues to wait. So I finally tell her, “A cow didn’t kick me in the face.”

  Twenty-One

  The only unchanged variable in my new life is Joshua. He calls every night, walks me to my classes. As time goes on, though, he stops insisting on giving me rides. He begins to believe that I’m safe again. Tim is still mysteriously missing, and I haven’t seen or heard from Nightmare. But I know it’s a lie, this delusion of peace.

  He’s coming.

  Fear still hasn’t made an appearance. When I think of him, I experience a twinge in my gut. Worry, trying to cla
w free of the illusion.

  On Wednesday morning, a week after Sally Morrison called me into her office, I pull into the school parking lot. The sky is gray, the wind dismal. Winter, a striking Element with white eyelashes and blue lips, is on her way. I remove the key from the ignition and drop it in my jacket pocket. Through the windshield, I watch the kids walking by, chatting. All of them are secure in who they are and where they stand. If it weren’t for the illusion that still holds on, I think I’d be jealous.

  Joshua is waiting on the front steps of the school. I see him before he sees me, and I hop out of my truck, watching him. His bright eyes scan the crowd climbing up the steps, and when he can’t find me, his gaze expands out to the lot to pick out everyone in the clusters by their cars. He’s so kind, so good, and I know that the best thing to do—the right thing to do—would be to free him. Even if the illusion does fully break, even if I do come out of this alive … he’s only a beautiful idea.

  Just like Fear. Who must be enjoying Rebecca’s ministrations. Since I haven’t heard from either of them, they must have reached the happily ever after they’ve been denied all these years.

  Thinking this, my stomach tight, I shoulder my bag and start toward Joshua.

  “So it’s Elizabeth now, correct?” a voice breathes in my ear. A beat later it adds, “It’s time.”

  My spine stiffens and I stop in my tracks. Tyler Bentley gives me an annoyed glance as he passes. He doesn’t see the urgent message in my eyes. I open my mouth—

  “I wouldn’t do that, Elizabeth. Ah, don’t turn around, please. What are you going to do, call the sheriff? Tell one of your teachers? None of them can see me, and you’d look like a hysterical schoolgirl. And then you’d have the boy’s blood on your hands. Wouldn’t want that now, would you? Start walking.”