Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(32)
I put my hand over his chest, wishing I could let myself close the distance between us. It hovers just over his heart, trembling, and I remember how his heart beat that night in my room. “Why do you want to kiss me?” I clarify, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
Finally, the question is out. Yet I don’t feel relieved. All I feel is … dread. Maybe Fear himself does have some tact, because he doesn’t stay after answering his summons.
It seems I have good reason to be afraid, though, because Revenge isn’t answering. He takes a step back. I feel myself blanch, and another fracture splits between us. It’s never been this way. There are always words or debates or laughs. Not this. “Revenge?” I bite my lip so I don’t cry. I will not cry.
I’ve never seen him so … cold. He’s a stranger, with his tight mouth and darkened eyes. He takes one more step. “Stop,” I say through my teeth. He does. Remaining against the wall, I clench my jaw so hard that it aches, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of losing my best friend. I can’t look at him anymore, so I study the floorboards, all the ridges and stains. Revenge doesn’t speak, and after a few seconds my broken whisper echoes into the stillness. “Please … please don’t give up on me.”
Exactly three more seconds tick by, and I feel his shock. Then he’s back, his hands cradling the air around my face. “I will never give up on you,” he growls.
A sound escapes me, part-hiccup, part-laugh. I raise my hands to finally touch him.
Too late. He’s gone, off to another part of this spinning planet where I can’t demand answers to questions that never should be asked. I don’t move. Downstairs, I can hear Missy singing and frying something on the stove. The record player is stuck, making a faint clicking sound I hadn’t heard before. Just as I start to walk toward it, there’s movement out of the corner of my eye. I spin, and my heart sinks when I see it’s just the spider. The tiny creature has emerged from its hiding place, daring to scuttle across the floor toward another stack of boxes.
I step on it.
After dinner, I try to help Missy with the dishes. She waves me off, saying I need to rest. That’s the last thing I need; now, more than ever, I need to avoid the turmoil of my thoughts. So I drift downstairs, into the shop. Shadows fill every corner, but moonlight illuminates the area around the front door. It reveals the dusty, tiled floor. I never come down here; the pianos remind me too much of Dad.
One of them calls to me more strongly than the others. It waits in the corner, black and ancient. Probably untouched for years. Reluctantly, slowly, I approach. For a few seconds I just look down at it. Then, gently—despite how much I want to destroy it—I lift the lid. The black and white keys greet me. I run my fingers over them, steeling myself against the images it brings. The ring on my thumb glints. Concentrate, Alex. I know you can do this. Remind me, what’s this note again?
I slam the lid down.
Averting my gaze, I swiftly walk to the office door, which is behind the long counter with the old register. Saul is sitting
at his desk with a map laid out in front of him. A single lamp casts a glow over everything. First I look at the file cabinets, which hold all the customer and tax records for the shop, then I turn my attention to the piles of maps. Some old, some obviously new. Finally, I focus on the man who collects them all. The top of his balding head gleams.
“Saul?”
Once again, I bring Surprise to Franklin. The Emotion settles his hand on my uncle’s back. Saul recovers quickly and seems genuinely pleased to see me. “Hey, beautiful.” He smiles. His glasses are perched on the end of his nose. Looking at his maps always puts him in a good mood. “Couldn’t sleep?”
More like I never tried. Revenge, dreams, and voices make sleep impossible. Thinking of the voice must give it strength; I hear it in my head again, louder than ever. Alexandra. Wanting a distraction—any distraction—I leave the doorway and sit down across from Saul. It’s the first time I’ve been in this room since I was a little girl. Nothing has changed, not even the smell.
Saul must sense something isn’t right, because he actually sets his map aside. My eyes follow the movement. It’s a night of asking what’s never been asked before, because I blurt, “Why do you love maps so much?” Distract me. Please.
Saul tilts his head and appraises me. I wonder what he sees. After a moment he pulls the map back toward him. It rustles. He traces the lines with the tip of his finger. He and Dad had such different hands; my uncle makes a living tuning pianos, while my father spent his days beneath the ground.
Now he spends all his time there.
Stricken by the thought, I almost miss it when Saul says, “ … guess I like the organized chaos of the world.” He looks at me, smiling sadly. Somehow I know we’re both thinking of Dad now. “I like knowing how things begin and end.”
His pain is unbearable to witness, because it only reminds me of my own. Focusing on the map instead of his face, I walk forward and put my fingers next to Saul’s, touching an ocean. The light slants across our wrists.
“If only everything could be like that, huh?” I murmur, swallowing.
Maybe Saul wants to avoid the pain too, because he leans away. “If only.” He takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. “It started when I was a kid. Your dad and I used to have this dream. We talked about exploring the Amazon. So I studied maps, to figure out our route.”