Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(36)

“Someone.”

I frown and turn my head toward Forgiveness again. “What?”

“You said ‘something.’ The correct term is ‘someone.’” He meets my gaze, unflinching.

Suddenly my rage awakens again. It wasn’t gone, it was just waiting for an opportunity. “Well, to quote you, nothing from the other plane is human,” I counter, forgetting my own convictions that Revenge is different. Too late, I realize that I’m raising my voice, and glance over my shoulder to make sure no one has noticed. Billy is telling a story, and everyone is laughing. The only one who stands apart from them is Briana, and she’s looking up at the sky. Probably searching for constellations despite the approaching storm. She loves finding meaning in something as vast as space. Watching her, the anger within me dims again. The world can’t be entirely bad with someone like her in it.

Forgiveness’s voice brings my attention back to him: “ … is that dog you’ve been leaving food for,” he says. “But you don’t think she’s just an animal, or you wouldn’t be—”

“Have you been watching me?” I demand. No one knows about the stray, not even Revenge. Sometimes I wonder if she’s real or just something I conjured up so I don’t feel so alone.

The Choice doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. He sits there concentrating on the lethargic waves as though they’re speaking to him, telling him just how to get under my skin.

I don’t know what to say, so I let out a breath and hug my legs tighter. “Prove it. Prove that you have some kind of … individuality. Come on.”

For the first time, he hesitates. He doesn’t respond. The pause stretches and thins and I start to think he has no answer to give, but then he leans forward. His voice drops and he looks out at that house across the water. “Sometimes … I get tired of being what I am,” he whispers.

I’m so surprised that I forget to be annoyed, and our gazes collide. “Really?”

“Really. Sometimes I envy you humans. Your ability to choose, your chance to leave marks on the world, your opportunities to become more.” There’s a wistful note to the words, making it impossible to doubt him.

I want to say that it’s not as wonderful as he makes it sound. Instead I hear myself say, “You leave marks on the world, Forgiveness.”

At this, he smiles. There’s a pleased light in his eyes and something in my chest flutters, as though my heart has become a butterfly in a jar. Once more I check to make sure no one is observing our exchange. No; we’re alone, even with a crowd just a few yards away.

Feeling reckless, I turn my body toward Forgiveness. Somehow the mood between us has changed, and I don’t resent his presence so much. Forgiveness shifts closer, too, his palm sinking into the sand. Pictures touch my mind. Two old women clasping hands over a bingo table, a child kissing a baby on the forehead, some teenage boys roughing each other up on a basketball court. Sobering, I huddle into myself again. It’s getting colder, and now faint plumes of air leave my mouth. I polish off the last of the beer. Thunder rumbles.

Finished, I wipe my mouth off with the back of my sleeve and toss the empty can to the sand. It doesn’t make a sound. Time is running out; I can feel it. Soon the sky will open up and drench the mountain with its tears, and everyone will run for their cars. They’ll go home to their families, make hot chocolate, and remain blissfully unaware. I could go back to Saul and Missy, I really could … but I know I won’t. The call of Nate Foster is too strong.

“I feel like you’ve already given me the speech a million times,” I murmur to Forgiveness, a lump swelling in my throat. Maybe tonight will be the night. “Aren’t you getting sick of it?”

“Never.”

The word makes me remember, again, that moment in the attic with Revenge. My stomach flutters as I picture how close his mouth was to mine, how our bodies were a breath away from touching. It hardens me against Forgiveness.

“How long have you been around?” I ask, without turning my head. “A thousand years? A million? You’ve watched us, and changed us, but have you really learned anything about us?”

It seems like no matter what I say, I can’t ruffle him. “Yes,” he replies, so simply that I know he believes it. His dark eyes radiate sincerity.

I hate it. I want him to be as uncertain as I am. To be as lost as me, as lost as my father’s rocket. “What could you really know about losing your family?” I challenge. “You’ve never had one.”

Forgiveness sighs and looks away. The wind toys with his curls. “I know what it is to lose someone I love, Alex.”

“Really? You’re capable of love?” I ask, trying to sound mocking. The words come out as cautious things, though. Then Hope betrays me, squatting next to us and smoothing my hair back. She’s an Emotion I rarely let close, a plain creature who is somehow beautiful, even with the unexplained scars on her face. Her eyes are sympathetic. She knows how I think of Revenge, and how hopeless it is for us to have any kind of future. I wish I could shove her away.

“I’m capable of everything you are,” Forgiveness says, nodding politely to Hope. She smiles just before disappearing. “Pain, longing, anger. Even more so, because I exist on the same plane as all of them.”

The imprint of Hope’s hand lingers, a sensation like someone put a branding iron on my skin. I clench my fists, and if I had nails they would leave marks. I’ve been chewing them lately. “But you don’t know what it is to watch your father die,” I say through my teeth. “Your mother. Your brother.” There’s movement in the distance, something small and dark. Loons. They came back even when spring didn’t. I focus on the ripples they create in the frosty water. One of the loons suddenly releases a mournful cry into the night. “I can’t let myself remember that day. I think I’d lose what’s left of my sanity. I can remember everything else, though. The sound of Dad’s laugh. The smell of my mom’s perfume. My little brother … ” I swallow. “My little brother … ”