Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(57)
Suddenly Briana sobs. I hold her even tighter and kiss her cheek. My friend tastes like salt and anguish. She shakes. And finally, after so many years of being silent and enduring, she cries. I stay there and keep my arms around her, as if that’s the only thing keeping her together. Every sob makes me wince, and Revenge’s words are lyrics to the music of Briana’s pain. Pain I never realized the depths of until now.
I have never met anyone so blind.
And here I thought I saw everything, even what no one else could. Turns out, Revenge was right.
He was right about everything.
TWENTY
The beam of my headlights sweeps across the shop and the stairs. Near them, a pair of eyes glows in the dim. At first I think it’s a raccoon. Then the animal wags a tail, and I know. Eggs. I cut the engine and get out, approaching deliberately. She pins her ears to her head, but she doesn’t run. I squat. When she remains sitting, I run my hands over her. My palms brush her protruding ribs, mindless of the brambles in her fur. She makes a sound of pleasure deep in her throat. I realize that I’m smiling through a sheen of tears. “Come on,” I murmur, flattening my palms against my thighs to stand. It feels like I’ve gained a thousand pounds in the last twenty minutes.
But Eggs won’t follow, no matter how much I coax her. Hoping she’ll stay, I slip into the apartment and open the fridge. Find a plate of roast beef covered in tin foil that was probably meant for me. I ease back down the stairs and pinch a piece of meat between my fingers. Eggs cocks her head, interest in her wide gaze. I wave it beneath her nose. She tries to snatch it from me, but I retreat, one step at a time. She creeps up the stairs in pursuit. “That’s it. Good girl,” I whisper.
The doorway gives us the most trouble. Eggs stops and peers inside, fearful, as if monsters might be lurking in the shadows. I know the feeling. “There’s nothing there,” I say soothingly, scratching one floppy ear. She leans into the touch and catches the scent of the meat again. “That’s it.” I ease into the entryway. After another hesitation, Eggs follows. I give her the meat and move around her to shut the door. She scarfs it down so quickly she probably doesn’t even taste it. Praying that Saul and Missy don’t hear something and get out of bed to investigate, I now herd Eggs toward the bathroom. Whatever reservations she had must have been abandoned at the door, because she doesn’t struggle. I shut this door, too, and twist the faucet on the bathtub. The pipes shudder and groan in the wall. “Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up … ” I mutter, testing the temperature of the water with my hand. Once it’s warm, I shove the plug into the drain and turn to Eggs.
She’s already figured out my intentions and is pressed in the corner, whimpering. I croon empty words meant to comfort. Eggs resists, and I end up dragging her across the floor and lifting her into the tub. Immediately the front of my shirt is soaked. Eggs tries to jump out every five seconds. I keep one hand firmly on her neck while the other manages to get my shampoo off the ledge, open it, and apply it everywhere. I can feel tiny bumps burrowed into her skin—wood ticks. Some are just knots. Those will have to be taken care of later.
Someone clears their throat.
I jump and turn around with a sinking feeling in my chest. Eggs seizes the opportunity and leaps out of the water. Puddles form on the floor as Missy and I stare at each other. The dog makes it worse by shaking herself off and completely spraying us, the mirror, the walls. Though there’s no possible way to cover this up, I still try to come up with something, but all that leaves my mouth is a strange croak.
Missy ends the silence by rubbing her eye with the heel of her hand. She’s never looked more exhausted. “Alex, what is that?” she asks me groggily. There’s a hint of resignation in the question.
“Uh … ” I clear my throat. “It’s a dog.”
“I see that. What is it doing in the apartment?”
I look from Eggs’s timid eyes to Missy’s tired ones. Though I know it’s wrong to put another burden on my aunt’s shoulders, I can’t help it. “She needs us,” I say simply. Behind me, the faucet leaks. Drip. Drip. Drip. Missy doesn’t reply. She looks long and hard at Eggs, who cowers into my side. Petting her head, I don’t say what I’m really thinking: that we need her, too.
“We’ll talk about this in the morning,” Missy finally mutters. She shuffles back to bed.
Telling Eggs to stay, despite the fact that she probably doesn’t know any commands, I quickly clean up the mess with a towel and drain the water. It gurgles. Then I step into the hallway, and Eggs eagerly accompanies me. After we get to my room, I dig some scissors out of the desk drawer. Once again I pin the dog into place while I attempt to get rid of the forest tangled in her coat. Chunks of brown-black hair fall onto the rug. She looks vaguely ridiculous when we’re done, like she lost a battle with a drunk barber, but she’s probably cleaner than she’s ever been in her life.
It’s even later by the time I take a shower of my own, brush my teeth, and get into some sweats. I fall into bed, willing Dream to stay away.
Eggs paces for a few minutes, her claws clicking against the floor. She keeps looking at the door, me, the window. I lie on my side and wait. My patience is rewarded when the dog finally dares to jump up on the bed—the springs creak—and settles onto her stomach, heaving a sigh. The scent of my tropical shampoo surrounds us, seeps into the sheets. Eggs closes her eyes, and I’ve never seen an expression so content.