Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(42)
“That’s right, he grew up around here,” I say. “Dad told me he moved away when he was a teenager, but I keep forgetting. What did Andrew do to you?”
Strangely enough, blabbermouth Erskine has clammed up. “Never mind, it was a long time ago,” he mutters, his tools clattering and the lid slamming down. He’s already finished. Usually it takes Erskine forever to do a job because the talking distracts him. “Just … be careful. And come by the shop to get the rest of your car looked at.” He stands and strides back to his truck, boots crunching on the gravel.
I start to stand too, still confused. “Okay, well, how much do I owe you for—”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you around, all right?” Without another word, Erskine tosses his toolbox into the passenger seat, revs the engine to life, and roars down the road.
Strange, I think again. Maybe Erskine borrowed some of Ethan Brinkman’s stash. He always gets edgy when he’s on something.
Silence and boredom return. I could go look for Dad’s rocket, or plug in the flash drive, or finish cleaning the attic. Instead I stay where I am, tapping my foot and squinting. Part of me knows that I’m waiting for him. For Revenge. Hoping and hating. Friendship is a habit that’s not easily broken. But the other part of me doesn’t want to admit it, so this—sitting here, allowing my world to crumble around me—is nothing more than enjoying the warmth of the sun on my skin.
An ant makes its way up my leg, and I let it get as far as my knee before flicking it off. The conversation with Forgiveness goes around and around in my head like the record player Revenge found in the attic:
The thing about choices is that they only exist as long as there’s one to make.
What are you saying? That you’ll vanish the instant I choose one of you?
Essentially, yes. Unlike Emotions, we are only allowed near a human before and during the summons. Afterwards, we’re gone. It’s just the way things are.
If there was any phrase I could obliterate from existence, it’s that one. Just the way things are.
The stillness is disrupted again by a bush across the road rustling. At first I think it’s the wind growing fiercer, but it happens again and something darts behind a tree. Apprehension appears in the empty space beside me, staring into the forest with wild eyes and holding my wrist so tightly it hurts. My throat is suddenly dry, and I tell myself it’s nothing but a squirrel or a deer; there may be shady characters in Franklin, but they act under the cover of night. Day should be safe. The sun should keep bad things away.
Another shadow moves. I begin to stand; whether to confront it or run, I don’t know.
The stray dog steps into the open.
The Emotion dissipates and I release a long breath, silently instructing my heart to calm. The stray hesitates at the edge of the road, her ears flattened in fear. The food I’ve been leaving out hasn’t seemed to make a difference; if anything, she looks worse than before. Now Compassion materializes, her dark hair tickling my nose as she presses her temple against mine. For a moment we breathe together, and I find myself yet again unable to summon hatred for a creature from the other plane.
In the distance, a bird sings. Even this intimidates my visitor, obvious by the way she tenses. Slowly, praying she won’t bolt, I lower myself back to the step. The dog watches me with wide eyes that remind me of Apprehension. I try to go completely still, but the need to move, to twitch, to tap is constant, so I pretend to be interested in a rock by my shoe. I reach down to touch its smooth surface. For eleven seconds, we stay like this. Her staring and evaluating, me aching to show this damaged animal some kindness. It’s a strange sensation, allowing this part of myself to shine through when I’ve become so accustomed to keeping it smothered in the darkness.
She takes one step closer. Then another. And another.
I barely dare to breathe. It seems like the only sound on the mountain is the skitter of dirt every time the pads of her feet touch the ground. I keep my gaze glued to that rock. Its image is imprinted on my brain now. When I close my eyes tonight I’ll see it, the gray ridges and pitted texture. Then a black nose comes into view, and she’s so close I could bury my fingers in her tangled fur. But I don’t; the only way something can truly come to you is from its own choice.
Choice.
Before the vacuum of bleak thoughts can suck me in, my new friend cautiously sniffs the back of my hand. The beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of my mouth, and I forget Revenge and Forgiveness and all the rest. For the moment, at least. “You picked a fine time to show up,” I whisper, showing her my empty hands in a slow movement. Her scent reaches me, and it’s so awful I have to make a conscious effort not to cover my nose. “I would go get something from the fridge, but it’s kind of a war zone in there right now. It’s my fault, of course.” The dog edges forward some more, ears perked as though she’s really interested. I purse my lips, imagining Missy lying in bed, Saul fiddling with gadgets in a piano, just to keep their fears and pains at bay. Fears and pains I’ve caused.
The dog bumps her head against my wrist, probably aiming for my hand or too timid to, and I oblige by scratching her ear. She closes her eyes in pure bliss, as though no one has ever touched her before. It makes me feel … guilty. For being so consumed by losing my family when there are some who never had one to begin with. But I can’t think like that, not if I’m going to keep my promise to them and make the right choice.