Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(47)
“ … promised it would be safe … ”
“ … Alex … ”
“ … rumors … ”
“ … telling me the truth … ”
With each word they become louder and louder. Hunter is going to wake up, and I don’t want them to fight anymore. I want us to be like we used to be, happy and smiling. I don’t like how much Dad scares me now. Deciding to risk making him even madder, I open the door and step into the hallway. Something glints on the floor, and I see it too late as my heel sinks onto the sharp edge. I reel back, crying out. Keys. I remember the sound from earlier—Daddy dropping them. I plop down and hold my foot. Blood seeps from a tiny cut.
Mom hushes Dad, and hinges moan. Light floods the narrow space. “Alex? What happened?”
“Alex? What happened?”
It takes me a minute to realize that it’s Missy’s voice slicing through the dream. I raise a fist and rub some crust out of my eyes, but the world is still blurry. I can see enough to know that my aunt is standing over me and she’s clearly upset, staring down with a perplexed frown. Outside, the sky is the pink of dawn. What am I doing on the couch?
Last night comes to me in pieces. Dinner. Saul leaving. Missy going to bed. A book in my hands … and Forgiveness. I jerk upright, twisting, but of course he’s gone. He must have laid a blanket over me before he left. I finger the green knit material, recalling the warmth of his voice.
“Alex? Are you listening? What on earth happened in here?”
I look up at Missy again, prepared to ask her what she’s talking about. But something over her shoulder catches my eye: a piece of paper plastered to the wall just above the light switch. What … ? There’s another piece of paper, just by her foot. Frowning, I stand up and look beyond her.
“What do you—” I blink, and the blurred room finally comes into focus.
The pages of To Kill a Mockingbird have been torn out of the spine and scattered everywhere.
Laughter echoes through the parking lot as I get out of my car. I slam the door shut; chips of paint flutter to the ground. The damage from the confrontation with the Taurus looks as bad as ever, but at least my car still runs. I turn my back on the forlorn car and walk toward the building, keys in hand. The letters over the doorway in front of me glint gold in the sunlight: GREEN RIVER COMMUNITY COLLEGE. I walk beneath them and grasp one of the long door handles, pulling it without hesitation. The time for uncertainty is over.
There’s a group of students standing near the doorway. I brush past them. Air conditioning toys with my hair as I turn right, heading for Andrew’s office. After all those avoided calls and messages, I’m ready to hear what he has to say. Apprehension stalks me all the way to the door. He disappears the moment I see that the lights are on in the room but the chair behind Andrew’s desk is empty; he probably went for a coffee run.
I venture to the bookshelves like I did last time, prepared to wait, but it occurs to me that this may be an opportunity. If I’ve learned anything these past few weeks, it’s that people don’t destroy their secrets; they only hide them.
Hurriedly setting my keys down so both hands are free, I open all of the drawers in the desk, rifle through the files and papers. From swift glances it’s obvious there’s nothing here besides the typical academic documents. Next I jiggle the mouse to his computer, waking it up. The screen brightens and I swallow a curse when another password box taunts me. There’s no way I’ll be able to guess it. I stand back, looking at every corner of the room to see if I’ve missed an area to snoop. Unless Andrew actually writes his secrets down and tucks them into books, there’s nothing.
Wait. Not nothing. I lean forward again and take the phone out of its cradle, stepping over the long cord. Praying that Andrew uses this machine more than his cell or the one at home, I jam a number with my knuckle to get his voicemail. My foot taps impatiently, anxiously. People keep walking by the doorway, but no one looks in and sees. That could change at any moment.
An electronic voice drones a greeting. Fortunately, there’s no passcode here. I listen to the menu for a minute, then hit 7 for saved messages. The first one comes on immediately, just a co-worker offering tickets to some concert in the city. It’s dated two days ago. The next message is older, from two months ago. Andrew, calling himself to leave a reminder about renewing his license.
There’s a third message on the phone’s memory, but I’m on the verge of hanging up. Maybe Andrew is the rare individual who keeps everything locked within his head, or at home where I can’t reach it. Just as I pull the phone away from me, though, that electronic voice announces the date when this one was saved.
Over six years ago.
Why would he keep a message for so long? My breath quickens, and now Anticipation is beside me with a gleam in her eye. The message starts. This voice is different from the others. Deeper. It has a slight drawl to it that takes me a few seconds to recognize, and I’m concentrating so hard that I miss the words it’s saying.
A jolt slams down my spine when I finally realize I’m listening to my father’s voice.
He sounds … breathless. Like he’s running. “I know you took the kids, and I know you lied to me and Stern,” Dad says. “But if you think—”
“Yes, I’ll take another look at it and get back to you.”