Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(43)
“Maybe it’s a good thing that I’m hurting them,” I add quietly, envisioning the moment when I finally open that red door. “It’ll make it easier when … when I finally go into Foster’s house. Right?”
Alexandra.
The dog lets out a yelp, and before I can comfort her she tucks her tail between her legs and runs.
She heard it, too.
This isn’t happening. It’s the same thing I’ve told myself every other time the voice rips through my head. It doesn’t work now, though. Not after what I saw in the mines. Suddenly a gust of wind tries to blow me away, the strength of it out of place when there’s only been a serene breeze to disturb the leaves.
Still raw from the incidents on the road and at the mines, still brittle from the realization that my best friend doesn’t love me, I feel something inside me just snap. “What do you want?” I scream, clutching my head.
There’s no hesitation. No, there’s almost a sense of … eagerness in the response. The mines. The mines.
It’s no longer a hiss or a whisper. The voice is distinctly male, and it must be gaining strength or confidence, because I’ve never been able to discern that before. Fear and Resentment follow me as I jump up and storm to the front of the shop. “You want me? Fine!” I yank my bike upright and swing my leg over it. Saul must be keeping an eye on the windows, because the bell over the door jangles as he rushes out, shouts my name. There’s no point, I want to shout back. Let me go. But that’s what love is: holding on and holding tight no matter what. Through death, through pain, through everything. There’s a part of me that wants to turn back and be worthy of it. I’m standing on the edge of that bridge, though, and I’m tilting forward. Falling. There is no turning back.
It’s seven miles to the mines. By the time the warnings appear on my right, my thighs and lungs burn. Hysteria bubbles up inside of me and bursts out in breathless laughter. I keep going, inexplicably drawn to this place. Then I crest the hill, and there’s the entrance.
It has an air of expectancy surrounding it. I tip the bike to the side and get off violently, letting it crash to the ground. I stand a few yards away from the leering darkness and raise my voice. “Well? Here I am! You wanted this. Now show your f*cking face.” My chest heaves.
Nothing. Seconds pass. In the daylight, the mines don’t seem so terrifying or mysterious. If I tried hard enough, I could convince myself that I hadn’t seen anything last night.
As tranquility presses in, making me doubt that what I saw was real, my fury begins to fade. Birds continue to call to each other and the treetops murmur and the sky is so blue it’s almost mocking. What did I expect? Sammy Thorn to come sauntering out, have a conversation about his hobby of taking children? I raise a shaking hand to push my hair out of the way. Revenge was wrong—I have truly, deeply, utterly lost my sanity.
Manic laughter is rising up inside me again. It’s a moment away from bursting into the clearing … but then something moves. The laugh dries up like one of Francis’s flowers. I stare.
This is not a stray dog or some leaves.
The same silhouette emerges from the shadows, stopping just in front of a shaft of sunlight. And this time, I can see his face. The features have become fuzzy in my memory, but the edges become sharp and clear once again. My stomach drops, my heart explodes, my head becomes a balloon that floats up into that blue sky. Suddenly Emotions are everywhere, reaching for me, offering commentary in a blend of different voices and expressions that I don’t hear or see. Disbelief, Surprise, Joy, Wonder, Denial.
When I finally manage to speak, I sound like the child I was the last time I saw him. “Daddy?”
SIXTEEN
“Alex!”
Briana smiles, surprised but happy to see me. Her smile quickly dies when she sees my face. “What is it? What happened?” Blind to the presence of the Emotions, she pulls me inside her house, her skin the only warm spot on my icy skin. I can hear Joe’s station playing on their old radio. Briana stays by the doorway and waits for me to respond. It must be later than I realized, because both of her parents are home. Francis is in her chair, the one with the pink flowers and fraying edges, looking down at a checkerboard between her and Briana’s dad.
“Alex?”
Her sweet voice breaks through the haze, and I focus on Briana again. She’s standing so close I can feel her breath on my cheek, ready to take on any burden I’m willing to give her. And suddenly I can’t tell her about anything, especially not what I saw in the mines. “What’s wrong?” she repeats.
I force a smile and shrug, as though it’s nothing. “Feeling a little moody, is all. I could use some girl time.”
Of course she doesn’t believe me—I can see it in her eyes—but that’s where Briana and Georgie differ; one allows the walls while the other wants to kick them down.
“I might be able to help you with that,” she says, hugging me. She must have just showered; her hair is wet and the smell of her shampoo wafts over me. Where I would normally pull away, I don’t. After a few seconds she’s the one who breaks free, cupping my elbows. “Come on in. I was just watching Mom kick Dad’s ass.”
“It’s not over yet!” Bill calls from his spot. He holds his chin between his thumb and forefinger and squints down at the board. I follow Briana into the room and we settle on the floor in front of them. Einstein twines through my arms and legs, purring. I pat him absently and enjoy the sight of Francis, more animated than I’ve seen her in months. Strange that she should be so alive on a day consumed by the dead.