Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(4)

For some reason, I choose this moment to imagine that empty bottle I left on the bridge. It rolls across the gritty surface, clinking over the rocks and dirt. Then it falls. It makes the smallest of sounds when it hits the water, and all its pain and toil is behind it. The water carries the bottle down the mountain, to new and different places. I could do that, couldn’t I? Float away and never look back? Just … move on?

Something flickers out of the corner of my eye.

No, not something. Someone. The newcomer stands in the shadow of a pine tree, too far away for me to make out the details of his face. All I see is a white T-shirt.

“Who is that?” I ask Revenge, not taking my eyes off the newcomer.

Oddly enough, Revenge’s jaw is clenched. “No one,” he growls. “Alex—”

“Don’t.” I’m still staring at the stranger. He stays where he is. Somehow, as always, I know he’s one of them. It’s the way they move, I think.

Eventually, I tear my gaze away from the stranger and focus on the gun. It’s so light, so small. Strange that something this insignificant could cause such damage. I glance at Nate Foster again. He’s listening to the woman speak. His wife.

I could do it. I could walk up to that window and shatter their lives the same way he shattered mine. I could.

Instead, I walk away.

“That’s it?” Revenge calls after me. He doesn’t follow this time, and I see that the stranger is gone. Feeling as if my soul is made of the heaviest iron, I head for the car. I’m not drunk anymore. No, I’m more sober than I’ve ever been in my entire life.

“For tonight, yeah.”

Just as I reach the driver’s side, I hear, “Hey, Alex.” I turn to face him, and Revenge musters one more smile. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he looks sad for me. “Happy birthday.”





TWO


Saul is waiting for me when I walk through the front door.

He sits at the tiny kitchen table. It’s round, placed right in the center of the room. One lone light bulb dangles from the ceiling and casts a soft glow over him. I pause in the doorway, flattening one palm against the wall to pull my boots off. They leave dirt on the floor.

Uncle Saul watches for a moment. “Are you drunk?” he asks calmly. He looks at me with my father’s eyes, rich and brown and knowing. They flick to my eyebrow ring, but he doesn’t comment on it.

I hesitate before going to stand behind the chair opposite his. My finger trails the wiry path of some blue river on the wall; every room in the apartment is decorated with the contours of a continent. “Not anymore.”

“There’s cake in the fridge.”

His tone is still even, but the implication is clear: they had plans for tonight. They wanted to celebrate the day that I dread most.

“Is Missy asleep?” I ask, trying to sound as controlled as him. We’re both frozen lakes, everything hidden beneath a layer of ice.

Saul finally cracks. He rubs his eye with the heel of his hand, revealing just how worried he was. Even if the Emotion has left, their essence always lingers. But all he says is, “I told her there wasn’t a point to both of us waiting up.”

“Look, I’m—”

“Give me your keys.” I toss them onto the table and open my mouth to try apologizing again. “Just go to bed, Alex. We’ll talk in the morning.” Saul heaves himself up, wincing. He must have been sitting there for hours. Guilt appears and puts her heavy hand on me. That’s how they come, almost every time; one moment there’s nothing, and the next they’re reaching for you with too-hot or too-cold hands and forcing you to feel everything.

Without another word, Saul lumbers down the hallway and disappears into their room. The door clicks shut. I stay there for a few seconds, wishing I’d done everything differently tonight. Regret joins Guilt and both of them torment me with their existences. I slip out of their grasps, giving them no time to enjoy it.

We live above Saul’s piano tuning shop, in one of the three apartments. The one to our left is empty; it’s where I used to live with my family. I haven’t been inside since the day of the accident. The one to our right is occupied by a little boy and his parents. Angus. The moment I enter my room and sit down on my bed, the springs squeal and Angus knocks on the wall our rooms share. It’s a language we invented a couple years ago, something to connect our uncertain worlds. I listen and decipher. You okay? he’s asking.

I smile and knock back: Fine. Sleep.

His reply takes a few minutes. Happy birthday.

The simple statement pierces me even more than when Revenge said it. Angus reminds me of my little brother. Or at least, what my little brother might have grown to be.

Exhausted, I don’t bother with pajamas or brushing my teeth or even the mascara caking my eyes. I just crawl beneath the covers and curl up. The sheets are cold. Light from the hallway spills toward me, reaching. I stay in the shadows. Still, it’s comforting. That light never stops trying, never fades.

Alexandra.

My name is so faint I wonder if I imagined it. Frowning, I sit up and listen. The fridge hums in the kitchen and the wind blows against the window next to my nightstand. I don’t hear the voice again. “Uncle Saul?” I shout-whisper.

No answer.

Glancing warily around the darkened room, I lie back down and close my eyes. Eventually I fall asleep and dream of the figure in the white T-shirt.