Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)
Kelsey Sutton
Acknowledgments
It turns out that writing a second book isn’t any easier than writing the first. First thanks must once again go to my agent, Beth Miller, although I’m fairly certain she’s a superhero in disguise. Her patience and dedication are definitely not human.
To the entire team at Flux: Brian Farrey-Latz, for his guidance and continuing faith in me. Mallory Hayes, for being just as enthusiastic the second time around about getting the word out. Sandy Sullivan, for her sharp eyes and determination to get the story absolutely perfect. Ellen Lawson, for yet another gorgeous cover. And everyone else who worked on this that I never got the chance to meet. I’m eternally grateful to you all.
To my critique partners and cheerleaders: Stefanie Gaither, Gabrielle Carolina, Amber Hart, Tanya Loiselle, Tessa Edevold, and Bailey Hammond. These women urged me on and listened to every question or problem I brought to them. What would I do without you?
To all my fellow students, who went to so many of my events and encouraged me during the deadline crunch: Jordan Shearer, Joe Stusynski, Devan Bierbrauer, Mark Duret, Andrea Nadeau, Zach Hanson, Meagan Brault, Sarah Barott, Dezaray Thoen, Matt Lavrenz, Morgan Bartlett, and Tia Massar. Even when the time comes to part ways, I know this group will come back together again.
To my professors themselves, for being yet another support system: Larry Swain, Carol Ann Russell, Lauren Cobb, Maureen Gibbon, Jeanette Lukowski, and Rose Weaver. I can’t thank you enough for letting me barge into your offices every other day.
To my Caribou crew, for reminding me to laugh in the midst of writing such a solemn book and having such enthusiasm for this world I’ve created: Grace Slaubaugh, Randi Georges, Liz Burnard, Becca Johnson, Katie Ogden, Liscia Oines, Tiffany Pierce, Mikaela Boyd, and Hana Kim. Someday I’ll put your names in a book, like we’re always discussing!
To all of my friends and readers online: Your passion for these characters is what pushed me to finish their stories.
And last but not least, to my incredible family, for being there every step of the way. Thank you.
For my grandparents, Lyle and Corby,
who have shown me by example how to
face down the difficult choices.
ONE
Revenge finds me on the bridge.
He sits down just as I finish my uncle’s bottle of rum. His legs dangle off the edge. I don’t look at him, and for a few minutes neither of us says a word. Plumes of air leave my mouth with every breath. It’s still too cold for crickets, so the night is utterly silent. If I listen hard enough, I can almost hear the stars whispering to each other. Cruel, biting whispers.
“Saul’s not going to be happy with me,” I finally slur, watching moonlight quiver over the creek. “He didn’t even try to hide this, because he trusts me. But you know, if he had hidden it, I can find anything! Anything, I tell you!” I lift my finger in the air and almost topple over. Revenge doesn’t reach to steady me. That’s one of his rules, after all: no touching. I giggle, reaching for the bottle again. Oh, right. Empty.
There’s a pause, and then Revenge turns his head to look at me. “I like the eyebrow ring.”
I touch the silver loop, almost surprised. I’d completely forgotten about it. Now I notice the pain. “Georgie did it for me earlier.”
My friend studies it for a moment, then faces the water again. “There are better ways to deal with this, you know,” he tells me. His usual grin is missing, which means that something is wrong. Swaying, I give him a questioning look. He shrugs. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”
“Screw that. Tell me.”
A few more seconds pass, and I start to think he’s ignoring me. He doesn’t take his attention off the water. Then, suddenly, his gaze meets mine. Revenge’s eyes always manage to make me feel things, no matter how much I try to pretend otherwise. Some days they’re hazel, some days they’re green. Once in a while, like now, they’re a mesmeric emerald. Tonight, though, it’s his words that are the most powerful.
“They let him out today, Alex,” Revenge says.
Instantly I open my mouth to ask who he means. Then comprehension slams into me with all the force of a hangover and my spine goes rigid. “No. No. He’s not supposed to be out for another—”
“He was released on good behavior. He’s already home.”
I lurch to my feet without hesitation, scraping my palms in the process. My car is parked just a few feet away. Revenge doesn’t protest, doesn’t help, doesn’t encourage me. He just follows.
“That’s where you were today, wasn’t it?” I mutter, struggling to open the door. “I bet you’re loving this.”
There it is, the thorn that’s always made our friendship bleed. Once again Revenge doesn’t answer, so I get in. After a moment he follows, tucking his body inside and somehow managing to make it look graceful. His hair glints, the color of spilled blood.
The keys are in the ignition. Revenge knows better than to offer to drive, so as I struggle with the gear—forgetting that I haven’t started the car yet—he just settles into the passenger seat and waits. Usually I can’t get him to shut up. His voice is a constant sound in my ears, at school, at home, with my friends. Everything is different now; the dynamic has shifted.