Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(23)

He doesn’t know me very well.

A hand touches my back as I stalk toward the trash cans, and resolution leaks through the dread. Still, I forget to breathe while I dare to peek around the corner … and catch sight of a tail. Relief is in the sound of my exhale. I step into the alley.

In another life, it must have been a lab. In this one, its fur is so matted and full of forest debris that it’s nearly unrecognizable. “Well, you’re not a raccoon,” I mutter. The dog freezes. It raises its eyes and spots me, a glob of drool falling out of the corner of its mouth. Ribs stick out beneath its once-brown fur. Before I can do anything, the dog bolts. I stand there and watch it vanish into some bushes. The quivering leaves are the only proof that it was real.

Just then, a breeze stirs my hair. A familiar scent of mint encircles me. I look around, searching for Forgiveness, until I realize that it’s coming from me. From my skin and clothes.

I need to wash his smell off. Need to wash off that brief moment of vulnerability on the swings. Glancing around—for once I’m alone, no Emotions, no mysterious strangers—I shoulder my bag and hurry around the back. The stairs shudder loudly under my weight, but Angus doesn’t appear in the window; it must be later than I thought.

Inside, there’s a note taped to the mirror that hangs above our shoes. Missed you. Dinner is in the fridge. I touch the scribbled words with my fingers, assuring myself that these are real, too. I haven’t ruined everything. Not yet. I can still turn back if I choose to.

Choices. Revenge. Forgiveness.

I find my way through the darkness and shut myself into the bathroom. Seconds later steam fills the air and I climb into the ancient tub. Soap runs down my body and I scrub so hard my skin might come off. The hot water pounds onto every part of me and it isn’t enough. Forgiveness haunts my thoughts, so much that there’s not enough room for Revenge or Nate Foster. I won’t let this happen. I can’t.

I’m doing this for you.

“No. I’m doing this for you,” I whisper, closing my eyes. There’s no answer, so I turn the water off, wrap myself in a towel, and tiptoe to my room. Uncle Saul snores so loud it’s a wonder the walls don’t tremble.

As soon as I open my bedroom door, I’m aware of a distinct scent of chocolate in the air. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust, and then I see him, lying on my bed in a slant of moonlight. Wearily I tighten my grip on the towel. “You missed one hell of a party,” I say.

“I wasn’t in the mood tonight.”

There’s something strange about his voice, something different. For that matter, he’s never been in my room before. Growing up, it was always one of his boundaries, another unspoken rule. Yet here he is, lying there as if it’s the only place he wants to be.

Instead of asking him about this, I ask instead, “Since when are you not in the mood for a party?” I open the folding closet door and step behind it. Revenge doesn’t answer. Once I’m wearing a big T-shirt and some underwear, I step out again. He hasn’t moved. He’s just staring up at the ceiling, hands folded beneath his head. His profile is sharp and luminescent, beautiful in all its strange solemnity. I frown. “What’s up with you?”

Again, no response. Sighing, I ease into the space beside him, careful not to brush his arm. The springs in the mattress squeak. For a few minutes we simply exist. There’s a stain in the upper right-hand corner of my room. I focus on it, wonder when it happened. It’s round, yellow. Water leaking through the roof, maybe? I’ve never noticed it before. I tap my finger against my thigh, counting the seconds. No, not the seconds. Though there’s a breath between us, I can feel it, steady as the town clock.

“If you’re not human, why do you have a heartbeat?” I whisper, turning on my side to face him.

Revenge turns, too. He frowns as if he’s never thought about it before. His eyes are still clouded with thought. “I don’t know.” He finally concentrates on me. “Did you go tonight?”

Did I go to Nate Foster’s, he means. I swallow, the sound audible. “No.”

“Did you … did you see him?”

There’s an unexpected shadow of uncertainty to his voice, and I know he means Forgiveness now. Maybe that’s why I lie. “No.”

My best friend closes his eyes. Yearning overtakes me. There’s so much unspoken, so much undone. I should be used to it, because that’s the way it’s always been with us. This time I want to tell Revenge that everything is about to change. But he already knows that. Change is inevitable. So all I say is, “Do you remember when I was thirteen and I broke my arm?”

“Yes.” He turns his head to look at me again.

I smile at him. “It was on the first anniversary of the accident. I climbed that tree because I wanted to escape everything. Maybe some irrational part of me wanted to just disappear into the sky. Missy and Saul kept telling me to stay on the ground, that it was dangerous. You didn’t. You just stood there and watched me go higher and higher. Maybe it was because you didn’t care, or because you can’t interfere with human affairs. But I don’t think so. I think you hoped I would reach the sky, too.”

Another silence gathers. “What made you think of that?” he asks eventually. He doesn’t confirm or deny it.

The truth? Being with Forgiveness. It has to be his essence getting to me, because when I’m around him, all I want to do is be. Be with the people I love, be better, be more than what I am or will be. I want to touch the sky again, after all these years.