Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(66)
“I’m dropping out.”
Crows take flight as I turn onto Sanderson Road. In their wake they leave a mutilated deer lying in the ditch. Beside me, Revenge hums under his breath. He taps his thumbs on his thighs and his green eyes are sharp. Tonight he’s wearing a cowboy outfit, complete with hat and spurs. Normally I would comment, but not now. The house comes up on our right, and though it’s not huge, it’s a mansion in a place like Franklin. Just one more thing to resent them for. From one glance I know that the Fosters aren’t home. Lights off, cars gone, everything closed. As if locks can keep me out. I kill the engine and quiet descends. The trees stir in the breeze, making a gentle rustling sound.
Before getting out, I turn to look at Revenge, asking him the question with my expression since I can’t bring myself to say it aloud: Is it time?
A muscle twitches in his jaw. He shakes his head.
Frustration appears behind me, wrapping his fist in my hair. The force of his grip makes my head snap back against the headrest. “How can that be?” he growls for us. I grimace. “Will this not alter the course of their lives?”
“Not enough, apparently,” Revenge snaps.
The revelation makes me want to scream. Even now, after everything, I haven’t truly decided?
Frustration unlatches his fingers and leaves. For the first time I notice his scent, something that resembles burnt rubber. It lingers in the confined space of my car.
Revenge and I stare at each other. Just as I did with the school, I commit everything about him to memory. His features are so sharp and pale, like strange scissors. That tarnished hair isn’t so artfully gelled today. It’s mussed and wild, as though he’s been raking his hand through it every time I’m not paying attention. Neither of us looks away. My heart aches, I want him so badly. It’s always been Revenge, even when everything else got in the way. I was just weak. No more, though. No more. I’ve made my choice—apparently my head or my heart just need to catch up.
Maybe Revenge can hear my thoughts. I’ve always wondered. “What do you want, Alexandra Tate?” he murmurs suddenly. Our pulses beat into the silence. Then, as an answer, I grab the stack of flyers off the floor, along with a roll of tape, and swing up and out of the Saturn. It doesn’t matter if this won’t seal the decision; the result will still hurt Nate Foster.
Revenge stays where he is, and I can feel him watching every moment, every movement. I march up to the front door. The color of it taunts me. As red as blood. With the ghosts of my family looking on, I slap a flyer to the center of it and tape it in place. Then another, and another. Over and over again until the whole thing is covered. There’s no way Jennifer Foster will miss it. I go back to my car, get in, and wait. Revenge doesn’t say anything. I don’t either.
Like clockwork, she pulls into the driveway at six. Purse in hand, she totters up the sidewalk on high heels. Her hair flutters. She lifts the keys in her hand, prepared to put it into the lock … and then lifts her gaze. She freezes.
She doesn’t see me, but I see her. I see everything. Every knife I’ve stabbed into her heart. Anger, Sorrow, Surprise, Denial. All of them appear around the woman and reach for her with invisible hands. She puts her hand against one of the pictures to cover it, or maybe convince herself that it’s real, and bends over. The sound of her sobs echo. The Emotions are merciless and take their time drifting away.
There’s a whisper of sensation in my stomach, the beginnings of some unwelcome feeling. I shove it down by closing my eyes and seeing their faces. Hearing their screams.
My nostrils flare and detect mint. There’s a shimmer in the backseat. Revenge stiffens. “Is this what you wanted?” Forgiveness asks softly. There’s pain in his eyes.
Comforting myself with the knowledge that he won’t be able to come near me much longer, I smile and make myself watch Jennifer Foster. She’s on her knees now, just as Death was when he peered in at my family on the night of the accident.
“No. I want more.”
TWENTY-FOUR
I stand on the edge of the bridge.
Missy and Saul don’t know about school yet—Julia agreed to let me tell them—and I had to make a pretense of going somewhere today. This was the first place I thought of. The water trickles below, brown and bloated from all the rain. The morning sun is painfully bright, reflecting off the silver of my eyebrow ring, and I squint. Though the weather has been deceptively cold this spring, a drop of sweat slides down my temple.
Minutes pass. I envision myself spreading my arms like some sort of bird, slowly tipping forward and falling onto those rocks. If I were to die now, would I end up with my family? For that matter, do people change in whatever afterlife exists … or do we take all our pain with us? I consider it for a few seconds, try to imagine what it would feel like to have my insides at peace, my mind at rest, my aches and wars gone.
Or existing with them forever.
And yet … if I leave now, I’ll never speak to Briana or Georgie again. Saul and Missy. Revenge and even Forgiveness. Their faces haunt me, their shadowed eyes and fragile hopes. So much unfinished and so much barely begun. So much undiscovered and so much concealed. At the thought, Guilt materializes on my other side. And thinking of him must have been the encouragement he needed, because Forgiveness forms on the other. I focus on his beauty while Guilt touches me with her big, meaty hand.