Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(63)
“Dr. Stern?” I say, breathless and low. I tuck my hair behind my ear and hurry to the privacy of the girls’ bathroom. The scent of unwashed toilets greets me. I grab the edge of the sink—water clings to my palm—and stare at my reflection, willing him to respond. Don’t let this be another fluke.
His accented voice is terse and urgent. “Meet me in the campus library at three o’clock.”
“What—”
“Bring the flash drive. And don’t tell anyone.”
Click.
There’s no time to wonder how he knows I have the flash drive, nor about his sudden change of heart or the need for such secrecy. All that matters is that a window has finally opened when everything has been shut so tightly around me. Bolting from the sink, I sprint to my locker to retrieve my keys. Just as I reach it someone passes me, a man. His shoulder slams into mine. “Hey, watch it!” I snap.
He doesn’t apologize or look at me, and I glimpse his face briefly before he walks away. I resist the urge to retaliate. Keys in hand, I turn toward the front doors … and time stops completely.
“You can’t be here,” I whisper. Surprise and Disbelief once again fly to Franklin at my call, both of them gaping. They murmur to each other as their hands grip me, and their words are as meaningless as the wind. My entire body trembles. My mind races, struggles to accept what my eyes see. I’m in school. We’re not alone. There are no shadows. It’s impossible.
Like our last encounter, my father’s expression is solemn and hard. Something is different, though. He’s not as mournful as he was in the mines. I can’t discern what it is now shining from his eyes. I start to speak again, strange urges ripping through me like wolves over a carcass: the desire to be with him regardless of where we are, and the instinct to deny any of this is happening.
He cuts me off, quickly and curtly. “You’ve let yourself forget,” he growls. “Your feelings for that creature are clouding your judgment.”
Suddenly I know what emotion glints in his gaze. Anger. It’s anger.
And he’s talking about Forgiveness. Somehow he knows about my struggle, my unfulfilled promise, how I keep pushing Revenge away. Shame blinks into existence. His essence is strong, and I try to swallow the lump swelling in my throat and reach out a hand toward my dead feather. “Daddy, I swear I haven’t forgotten anything. I’ve been trying—”
“Remember, Alex.” He steps back, unrelenting. When I frown, he says it again. “Remember.”
At first I don’t know what he means. But then the Emotions around us vanish until only one is left. I twist to face it, and I recognize him as he draws nearer, so near I can hear the moans and sobs and wails that cling to him. Though I retreat, my back hitting the wall of lockers, he doesn’t stop. Images waver all around—someone on her knees cradling a boy covered in blood, a wraith of a girl in a hospital bed, a family standing in front of a casket. More and more and more, a planet’s worth of pain coming at me and threatening to undo me.
“No. Don’t do this. Please. Please.” I’m on the floor now and I can’t see Dad. Sorrow huddles next to me, his lips pursed in a way that’s almost apologetic or reluctant. Before I can plead or run, he embraces me. His grip is so tight it hurts, as though his fingers have sprouted tiny blades that dig into my shoulders.
This touch is different than the other times he’s visited me. I can’t fight against it, not even for a moment. My eyes roll back in my head and my body convulses with the violence of the memory I’ve tried so hard to keep at bay all these years. I’m falling into it, descending into darkness and cackling shadows until I’m opening my eyes … and it’s starting again.
I huddle next to my bedroom door. Lightning flashes, making the white material of my T-shirt glow white. I feel like a spirit. Then the sound of my mother’s gasp makes my heart seize in my chest, and for a wild moment I really do believe that I’m dying. “Is that … blood on your shirt? Will, what happened?” she asks, the words urgent and low so I won’t hear. They don’t know that I always hear.
Dad doesn’t reply to her question, and Mom doesn’t say anything either for a long, long time. I don’t move. The storm howls for all of us, raging at the windows and walls that contain so many secrets and quiet agonies. Eventually Mom says, “If we’re really going to do this, then I want them to go to Andrew’s. That way they won’t hear anything or try to come over.” Her voice wavers. It frightens me more than all the rest; I’ve never known her to be anything but strong.
“Yes, fine, okay. Let’s go.” Dad sounds just as desperate as I feel. There’s the sound of footsteps now, coming down the hallway and closer to my door.
I run back to bed and pretend to be asleep. The sheets are freezing. Then Mom is coming in, gently urging me awake, telling me to get dressed. As I hurry to obey she goes into Hunter’s room. She comes out with my brother, who’s in her arms and blinking blearily. We walk past Dad, who’s standing by the apartment door with the keys to the truck in his hand. He doesn’t look at me, but I look at him so hard my eyes burn. There’s a speckle of red by the collar of his shirt, a color that doesn’t belong among the blues and greens and yellows of the plaid he’s wearing. My alarm grows. What’s happening?
Something stops me from asking. Together we all go down the damp stairs. Mom shields me as best she can from the wetness, and she watches me get into the back. Next she circles the truck to buckle Hunter into his car seat, and he starts to cry. She soothes him but it doesn’t help. Dad climbs in behind the wheel, tapping his fingers restlessly, and it’s time to go so Mom leaves Hunter to get into the front. He keeps screaming, and I scoot over to comfort him. He swings his arm up and his little fist connects with my nose. Pain slices through the bone, but I don’t leave him. I stay. Because that’s what Mom told me to do. Stay. It doesn’t matter where; all that matters is that I’m doing it.