Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(33)

I open my mouth to respond, but suddenly it clicks. My spine goes rigid. An Emotion puts a hand on my back and I don’t even care. “I better get back to the attic,” I say hurriedly, backing away. “Uh, thanks for the talk.”

Obviously puzzled, Saul watches me go. I’m too excited to make a better excuse for my abruptness. I run back upstairs, digging the flash drive out of my pocket.

I know what the password is.





THIRTEEN


A single word. Without Saul, I never would have guessed it. Some dreams are too unbearable to share when it becomes evident they’ll never come true. They become so much to us, just as important as family and friendship. Georgie might talk about getting out of Franklin, but Dad always said he’d die here. As if he knew. I remember how the light was fading from his eyes day by day. But some part of him must have kept hoping. We always hope, even when we know we shouldn’t. I sit down at my desk, ignoring Angus’s nightly knock once again, and boot up the laptop. Plug the flash drive in. Wait for it to load. The password box pops up and my hands tremble as I type it in.

AMAZON.

The computer thinks for a moment. My pulse hammers. My cell phone goes off yet again and for the hundredth time I let Andrew go to voicemail. I wait for that little box to jiggle and tell me I’m wrong. But then … it works.

A list of files lines up, a scroll bar to the right of them. There’s so much that I know it’ll take me days to get through everything. I let out a long breath and get to work, reading as fast as I can—which isn’t very fast. The titles are vague, things like SUBJECTS and TEST ELEVEN and COMPONENT ATTEMPT SIX. Some of the files are videos. When I double-click on the first one, the clip shows rubber-gloved hands putting drops of liquid into a petri dish. The substance reacts, expanding in different colors. An accented voice narrates in scientific terms I don’t understand. There’s nothing that links to Dad, so I keep going, frowning.

“Alex?” A knock on the door. “Are you all right?”

I jump but don’t take my eyes off the screen. Don’t open the door, please don’t open the door. “Fine, Missy! Just … working on an essay.” The laptop begins to cool itself down, humming into the stillness.

“Oh, okay. I’ll leave you to it, then.” She sounds pleased. Ignoring Guilt’s heavy hand and the prick she causes in my chest, I click on another folder. A few seconds later, I’m alone again.

There are what looks like dozens of documents, full of formulas. I go back to SUBJECTS and open it. There’s a list of people’s names. Some names have been marked with the strikethrough tool: Emily Knowles, Greg Lick, Cornelia Hass. The labels beside them read Found or Failed. Next to the untouched names—Travis Bardeen, Christine Masters—they become Found and Submitted. There are more, but I’m too eager to find information on my dad to scan all of them.

Then I find it. A mention of him. There are emails between Dad and someone named Dr. Felix Stern. Each one is short and to the point: My office today. Bring samples. Meet me at the lab. Pick Emily up at six o’clock. No research today. Doing the next test. The dates occur every single day for three years, and then they abruptly stop just before the accident.

How did Dad know this man? What were they doing? And why wouldn’t he tell his family about it? I rack my brain, trying to recall any conversations I overheard between him and Mom about this, but there’s nothing.

I put Dr. Felix Stern into a search engine.

Results fill the screen. He’s the only Felix Stern in the area … and he’s a chemistry professor at Green River Community College, where Andrew works. Coincidence? Probably not. His office number is on the website. It’s too late to call, so I rummage in my desk drawer for a pen, then scrawl his contact information down on my hand for tomorrow. Before I’ve even finished writing the last digit I’m back on the laptop, opening another one of the videos.

This one is different. It’s in the lab, but there are shots of other people standing around the table. They watch as those gloved hands drop something red into the petri dish. One girl is holding a bandage against her upper arm. She raises her gaze, obviously anxious. The camera moves on to the boy standing beside her. His attention is glued to the table. Whoever is recording moves on again … and my stomach drops. This person I recognize. This person I’ve already learned not to trust.

Andrew stares back.



Throughout my classes, I’m so distracted I may as well have skipped. The lectures are barely a sound in the background, my friends are dull blurs in my peripheral vision, and for once the Emotions don’t bother me. I keep going over it again and again: Andrew standing at that table. Andrew knowing about the flash drive and lunging for me. Every instinct I have urges me to drive to Green River and demand the truth, but all that gained me last time was bruises and betrayal. I could take one of his calls, but this isn’t a conversation I want to have over the phone, and the sound of his voice would make me nauseated. The only person who can help me is the mysterious Dr. Stern, but he doesn’t pick up any of the times I call.

After the last bell, Georgie finds me at my locker. Exasperation trails after her, a creature with rat’s nest hair and permanently pursed lips. “We’re meeting at the lake again,” Georgie says, leaning her hip against the locker next to mine. She watches my movements with narrowed eyes, probably sensing the instant denial that rises up inside of me.