Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(16)

Something brushes against my leg, distracting me, and I glance down at their tabby cat. Einstein cries for attention so I bend to scratch his chin. “They’re—”

“Hey,” Briana says from behind. I start. Standing in the shadows, my friend inclines her head in the direction of the kitchen. “I’m set up in here.”

Before I can say anything, she walks down the hallway. “Maybe try giving it less water,” I suggest to Francis. She purses her lips and looks at the pot again, contemplating this. Quickly I grab my bag and follow Briana. The sounds of the television fade away.

I wait until we’re alone to ask, “So, did you talk to Rachel Porter today?” The smell of something spicy fills the kitchen.

Briana goes to the oven and opens the little door to peek inside. She shrugs, but the light that heats the pizza rolls illuminates her tight expression. “I didn’t have a chance” is all she says.

That’s not what’s bothering her, though; I saw how she was looking at Francis. I don’t know what to say. Their relationship has always confused me. All I know is that sometimes, when Briana looks at Francis, Fear materializes. And I wonder if she’s terrified that she’ll end up like her mother.

I used to think that inheriting traits from our parents wasn’t real. Now, though?

I’m doing this for you.

To occupy my hands, I take out everything I need for the essay. But I can’t wait; the flash drive rests in the center of my palm, dry and warm. The last key to Dad that I have. I pull Briana’s laptop toward me from where it’s been humming on the counter, and I uncurl my fist.

There’s a clatter—Briana pulling the pan of pizza rolls out—and then she notices what I’m doing. “What is that?” She takes a spatula out of a drawer and begins transferring the rolls onto a plate. Crumbs scatter across the surface of it.

The laptop was asleep. I tap the touchpad and impatiently wait for the screen to come up. “A flash drive,” I mutter, distracted. My knee bounces. Impatience, short-haired and stocky, gives me a hard shove. Briana doesn’t seem to see the way I jerk forward, scowling. No point in whipping around and punching him in the face, though; he’s already vanished.

“ … on it?” Briana is asking.

“I don’t know.” The computer is still waking up, and I watch the screen intently, but then I realize Briana is waiting for me to go on. “I found it. I think it was my dad’s.”

The laptop finally finishes. Without waiting to see what my friend’s reaction will be to this, I plug the flash drive into the jack. It takes another minute to load, and then a message pops up on the screen. My heart sinks. “There’s a password,” I say, perplexed. Why would Dad put a password on anything?

“Oh, well, that’s easy.” Briana circles the counter to lean over me and types ALEX.

The computer thinks for a moment, then the box quivers and erases the dots. Wrong. I try my mother’s name: TRACEY. Next, my brother’s: HUNTER. My dad’s birthday.

Our first and only dog’s name. Wrong, wrong, wrong. “Maybe ask your aunt and uncle?” Briana suggests.

It comes over me without warning—a fierce ache to be in motion. Acting on impulse, I unplug the flash drive. “Look, sorry to make this so short, but I better go. I haven’t been home yet, and Saul and Missy have been on edge lately.” The pizza rolls are still on the plate, untouched.

“Oh, okay.” Briana watches me pack up my things. “What about the essay?”

I shove the flash drive in my pocket and shrug. “I can work on it later. Thanks for offering to help.”

“Of course. See you tomorrow?” Her anxious eyes follow me to the door and I mumble a vague response. It feels like I’m always leaving someone. Funny, since I was the only one who stayed six years ago.

Outside, the rain has stopped. I plunge into the cold, forgetting my jacket. “Alex—” Briana calls. She wants to ask questions, demand answers that I can’t give. Almost as expertly as the Emotions, I disappear.

There are two missed calls on my phone. Both Missy.

The drive home is less eventful. No voices, no Taurus, no Fear. By the time I get to the apartment, it’s dark. The woods around the building are full of swaying shadows, and the only lights on are coming from Angus’s window and the one over the shop door. Fear stalks me up the stairs, all the way to the narrow deck and around the corner. His hand tangles in my hair, brushes the tender skin of my neck. I yank free and reach the door, slamming it in his face.

Just like at Briana’s house, noise blares from the living room and a blue glow covers everything. I set my bag and keys on the floor next to my boots. Missy sits on the couch, her knees covered by a blanket. One hand clutches the remote and the other rests limply in her lap. She’s not wearing makeup and her hair is in a ponytail. She looks … weary. And alone. I try not to make comparisons to Francis.

“Where’s Saul?” I hover in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.

“On a job. Someone’s piano needed tuning in Othello.”

I hesitate. Once, I might have gone and sat beside her. Watched Who Wants to Be a Millionaire with her. She always managed to kick my ass. Now, though? “Well … good night.” I turn my back on her and head for the relief of my bed. Maybe Dream will be kind tonight.