Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(59)
“Well, have a good day,” I say to Saul, sliding out of the chair and standing. Saul mumbles something unintelligible. His forgiveness won’t be so easily earned. Only this time, I don’t think I want it.
Eggs looks reluctant to leave, but she bolts when I open the front door. We leave Saul to his coffee, and a gust of wind slams into me the instant I step into the open. It has teeth that sink into my bones. I reach back to grab my jacket off the hook. Eggs thunders down the stairs as I shrug it on and reach to firmly shut the door. When I turn back, our new dog is vanishing into the trees.
“Eggs, wait—” I call. Too late. She’s so excited that I can hear her crashing through the woods, until the sounds fade completely.
She’ll come back, I tell myself. She’ll get hungry. But doubt blooms in the back of my head like some poisonous flower. Experience has taught me that most things don’t come back. And Eggs doesn’t belong to me, not after one bath and one night. She belongs to the mountain.
For a few minutes I stand at the edge of the brush, hands shoved in my jacket pockets. Unable to let go of hope. An empty soup can rolls over the ground and touches the side of my shoe. I glance down at it … and my stomach drops. There’s a clear imprint of a bare foot in the dirt. My foot, obvious in how the second toe is longer than the first. Suddenly last night makes sense—waking up with the forest caked to my legs. Those sleepy images that I thought were random, all the times I wondered why my bedroom window was open … I must have been sleepwalking. But where did I go?
The answer comes to me even before I’ve finished asking myself the question.
Birds sing to the morning and the sky writhes, but there’s no sign of a dog with a bad haircut. Finally, giving the soup can a violent kick, I walk away. I hear it clink as it lands. Since Saul has given me permission to leave, I get into my car and go. The engine barely starts, hacking and coughing and wheezing like Loretta Roan after she’s had too many cigarettes. It does start, though, and I tear down the slope, taking the twists and curves at a dangerous speed. Fear hooks his arm around my neck, putting his other arm out the window and grinning. Memories of the accident pound at me. I just go faster.
In the face of all that’s happened—the attacks, the picture, Revenge—all I can think about now is my father and how even in sleep he haunts me. So I head back to the mines. I have to know. Was it real, or am I really going insane?
The mountain is vibrant, bright hues of green and brown everywhere I look. The instant I see that chain stretching over the road I squeal to a stop and get out, leaving the engine idling. I duck beneath it and run toward that looming mouth. He’s nowhere in sight.
Like last time, I don’t let that deter me. “Daddy?” I whisper, venturing into the darkness. It’s dry in here, and dust stirs with each step. “Daddy, are you here?” Hope and Sorrow and Confusion follow me, their touches all gentle. My calls echo and the cavern swallows them whole. I turn around and around, trying to catch a glimpse, just a glimpse, of something. His voice had been so tangible, every single time. And I couldn’t have just imagined seeing him. Now Frustration and Resentment are here, shoving me and squeezing my arms so tightly my blood stops. “Dad, answer me, goddamn it!” I scream, halting.
“Alexandra.”
I scream again, spinning.
Dad stands near the elevator.
The Emotions crowd closer around me while I drink him in. He’s shrouded in shadow, but it’s undeniably my father. The eyes that I inherited stare back. He’s wearing the plaid shirt that’s hidden beneath the covers of my bed at home. There are bruises and cuts all over his skin, and the head wound that killed him gapes and bleeds. Not a figment of my imagination. Not a dream or a thought or a wish.
Reacting on instinct, I dive to embrace him. He evades me, stepping out of the way just in time, and I stumble, grabbing a stone jutting out of the dirt wall to stop my fall. Before I can recover or demand answers Dad says, “I miss you, sweetheart.”
That voice. It brings back so many memories. A flash of pain. Brakes squealing. Straightening, I squeeze my eyes shut to keep the images out. I have to pause and take a few gulps of air in order to speak again. Questions have been living on the end of my tongue, and they’ve gone so long unanswered that they’ve begun to build homes and settle into a thing of permanence.
When I finally manage to ask one of them, it’s not the one I’m thinking of, the one I intend to say. “Do you remember what you used to tell me about the mountain?” I ask shakily, wiping a tear off the edge of my jaw.
His expression sags into one of pain and regret as he answers, “I do remember, Alex. But I’m here for a reason. There isn’t any time to relive the past.”
“What reason?” I take a step closer, aching to touch him. He counters this by taking a step back. Hurt appears and hugs me, burying her nose in my hair. She’s a tiny creature with the strength of a grown man. Dad’s next words, though, make her vanish.
“Nate Foster is leaving.”
I freeze, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. “What?”
“Someone made an offer on his house. They’re leaving within the month.” He doesn’t say it matter-of-factly—he says it with barely suppressed fury. With unrelenting agony. The same way I must sound to others.
In the quiet that follows, I become aware of a distant sound. It’s begun to rain. “H-how do you know that?” I ask Dad, meeting his gaze. He doesn’t respond. I notice the wound again, and nothing has ever seemed so red and so deep. “Is this a dream?”