Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(68)
Then, suddenly, signs start appearing in random intervals. BEWARE OF DOG. KEEP OUT. NO TRESPASSING. The next one isn’t a written warning, yet it’s a warning all the same: a strange, grotesque skin nailed to a piece of plaster leaning against an abandoned RV. A smart person would stop, reverse, and drive as fast as they could to get away from this place. But would Forgiveness really send me somewhere truly dangerous?
Of course he would, a tiny voice hisses. He’s one of them.
I’ve come too far to go back now. And even if Dad doesn’t want me to let any distractions in, all the new memories sprouting up demand answers. When I resolved to choose Revenge, I thought answers didn’t matter, but they do. Courage touches my arm with gentle fingers and I keep going, until the trailer comes into view.
This place makes the Mastersons’ house look like a palace. Two of the windows are broken, the door hangs off its hinges, and an enormous beehive thrives on the rusted siding. Deer antlers hang everywhere as morbid decoration. The sound of my approach brings a man to the door. He steps outside, barefoot, a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. I can feel his stare, a sensation that makes me think of oil or insects. Shifting the gear into park, I glance at the glove box where the gun eagerly waits. Impulsively I lean over and take it out, hoping the man doesn’t notice the movement of my arms as I tuck it—safety on—into the waistband of my jeans. Then I get out and walk up to the trailer. Here, it doesn’t smell like rotting animals. It just smells like garbage.
“You’re not Al,” the man says when I’m close enough to hear. He takes a long pull on his cigarette and squints at me through the haze.
I hesitate, tempted to succumb to the urge to flee. A bug flits past me. I halt a yard away from where the man stands and do my best to seem undaunted. “No. Is Travis around?”
Slowly, the man’s dull eyes scan me from head to toe. He wears a stained wifebeater and has a buzz cut. There’s a large, visible scab on the side of his head. “Nope.” He flicks the cigarette to the ground. Sparks scatter across the dirt.
“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I press, clenching my fists. Don’t run, don’t run, don’t run …
Now the man shrugs his bony shoulders. There’s a wood pile next to the door, and he kicks a piece out of the way. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He hocks and spits a brown glob to the ground, right next to my shoe.
Hearing this, my stomach suddenly sinks. “Travis is missing, isn’t he?” I know the answer even before I’ve finished asking the question.
“ … never reported it. I mean, is it considered missing if you don’t want to be found?” the man counters, his drawl reaching through my reverie.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, that kid was never around to begin with. He was always running off somewhere, usually that damn college. Probably screwing around with the female populace, if you know what I mean. Waste of space, that boy. Good riddance.”
“Do you have a picture of him?” I blurt, driven by some unknown instinct. The man pauses, like he’s thinking. It looks painful. Without a word he slams back into the trailer. I can hear him rummaging around. He comes back a few minutes later, a crumpled photo between his dirty fingers. He leans his hip against the doorjamb and appraises me again.
“What’s your interest in my son, anyway?” he asks. I can’t see the picture and he doesn’t give it to me.
I attempt to sound casual. “I used to know him, is all.”
“So, what, you want a picture to remember him by?” The man snorts. “Whatever. Here you go. Keep it. What am I going to do with it?” He hands the picture to me unceremoniously. While I take it he tilts his head and pushes his brown tongue through the gap in his front teeth. “So … you want to come inside?”
Some part of me knows he’s speaking, is aware that words are coming out of his mouth. It’s impossible to separate that distant hum into a language that makes sense, though, because the entire world has narrowed and shrunk until all that’s left of it is this single image in my hand. A boy, looking away from the camera, a sly grin curving his lips. His profile is fuzzy, but I still recognize it. Hey, watch it!
Travis Bardeen isn’t missing.
Because he’s the man who bumped into me in the hallway at school.
Briana is sitting on the steps when I get back to the apartment.
Anger squats beside her, and the sight of him is what makes me pause. In the course of our lives, I have never seen him touch my friend. Sure, Briana gets mad. She’s human. But she doesn’t let it control her, and it’s always so brief I’m not around to see it happen. But of course I would be the reason she’s finally let him close.
Birds harmonize into the stillness as I approach. Regret and Sorrow walk with me, holding my sweaty hands. When we stop, Regret departs, wiping his palm on his slacks. Sorrow lingers, pressing his shoulder to mine. I don’t look at him, yet I can still feel him as keenly as I do Revenge and Forgiveness. There’s an eerie kinship between me and this Emotion, like an invisible string knotted around our souls. Forever binding, always tugging when the other takes a breath.
Anger lifts his head to glare at me. Briana doesn’t move. She examines the cracks in the sidewalk as she says, “Missy called me. She begged me to talk to you. Said that if anyone could get through to you, it was me.”