Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(58)

Envy and a sense of satisfaction stab my heart, like someone is curling their finger around it and digging their nail into the tender, beating flesh of it. Pretending not to see the Emotion sitting next to me, I enjoy the sight of Eggs for a moment, then close my eyes too. I put my hands under my pillow.

Something crinkles. Frowning, I pull it out. A piece of paper? It’s too dark to see, so I lean over and switch the lamp on. When I see what it really is, my breathing becomes ragged and my pulse ricochets; Fear is already sitting beside me, studying it with curiosity.

It’s a picture … of me. I’m swimming in the lake, and the image was captured mid-laugh. The camera wasn’t able to see Revenge, so I’m completely alone in the water.

On the back someone has scribbled the words, I LIKE TO TAKE PICTURES TOO.



The painkillers Dr. Norris prescribed for my head do keep Dream away. Still, I sleep fitfully, tossing and turning until the blankets are twisted around me. It’s one of those nights you’re trapped halfway between slumber and reality, semi-aware of each realm. Random images flicker through my mind like one of those old black-and-white movies. A footprint in the mud. The branches of a tree. A silhouette in the entrance to the mines. All the while some distant part of me is aware of a solid weight on top of my left foot, the glow of moonlight across my bedroom floor, the bottle of pills on the nightstand.

Something pulls me completely awake, though. A familiar voice.

Alexandra.

My eyes fly open, and I sit upright, blinking rapidly. Alexandra, he whispers again. The room is empty and the window is closed, yet I can still feel him nearby. No, this can’t be happening again. I clutch my head and focus on breathing. “You’re not real, you’re not real.”

The clock reads 2:42 a.m. Eggs is still at the end of the bed, wide awake. She looks at me and whines. I peel the covers aside—they’re damp with my sweat—and rub my eyes. Maybe I’m not really awake yet. I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees. Something squishes. Frowning, I glance down. What … ? Dumb horror clouds my mind. I gag, and it’s so violent it hurts. Oh, God. Oh, God.

My legs are covered in mud. All the way up to the edges of my shorts. Leaves cling to the brown cake on my skin, some twigs as well. And there’s a wood tick on my foot. There are probably dozens more, their heads buried in me. Sucking, sucking. Is that a leech on my knee? Tears spring to my eyes again. I stumble to the bathroom, mindless of Saul or Missy seeing this. All I can think is, Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

Somehow I manage to twist the knobs in the shower. The water shoots free of the spout, freezing. I don’t care. My fist wraps in the shower curtain as I haul myself under the steady stream. Needles of cold stab every part of me that the water touches. Oh, God. Oh, God. Sobbing, I scrub at the mud, at the mess of ticks and leeches and horror. It comes off in chunks. Plops to the porcelain floor. I gag again and again.

The drain is clogged now. The filthy water is up to my ankles. I don’t care. It needs to come off, it needs to come off. I don’t count how many wood ticks I rip free. I can see my skin finally, stained but visible. My frenzy only increases. In my desperation I slip on my heel and I’m not quick enough grabbing the curtain. I slam down. Pain spurts through my hip. I just keep scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing. Sitting there in that dirty water.

Years go by, and eventually I drag myself out of the tub and collapse on the rug, a broken heap of flesh and searing shock. Eggs is huddled next to me. How long has she been there? But I lose track of time again. I don’t know how long I stay in that tiny ball. And I don’t wonder how I got all that mud on me, not yet. I have to keep concentrating on pulling and pushing air through my lungs.

Outside, it’s still night. Through the tiny window, the moon observes my pain without sympathy. That pale, round face inexplicably makes my mind flash back to that moment on the road, when the man in the ski mask laughed at my fear. His teeth had glinted as brightly as that moon. The thought revives me, renews the ever-present urge to move and escape. Somehow I push myself up, clean the bathroom for a second time that day, and go back into my room. Eggs clicks after me. The sight of the sheets is almost my undoing again. But I force my insides to transform into something hard and unfeeling. I bundle the sheets up and put them in the laundry hamper. Then, adjusting my legs so Eggs has room, I curl into a clean blanket. I can’t bring myself to turn the light off.

And I swallow three more pills.



On Sunday morning, it rains.

Saul is at the kitchen table, drinking his coffee. It’s been days since I’ve really seen him, and I wince when his eyes narrow at Eggs. Missy is curiously absent. Sitting in my usual chair, I fidget and mentally prepare for another argument. Which is why Surprise pops into existence when my uncle just sets his cup down and leans sideways to get closer to Eggs. “Hey, old girl.” He bends and scratches the spot beneath her chin. Her foot taps in ecstasy. “Are you the one who’s been going through the trash?”

Neither of us answers. The town clock erupts into the silence. “I’m going to take her for a walk,” I say. Then I hastily add, “I mean, if that’s all right with you.”

He’s still looking at Eggs. “It’s fine. Later you might want to go to Ian’s and pick up some dog food.”

A lump swells in my throat. Surprise grins at me. He’s a nondescript Emotion except for his hair, which resembles an especially eccentric Albert Einstein; it sticks out in every direction. As I watch, he runs his fingers through the strands. It doesn’t help.