Where Silence Gathers (Some Quiet Place #2)(70)
That’s it. The simplicity of it is so unexpected that I open my eyes and look at him. I’d been bracing myself for questions. That’s when I notice what he’s wearing. His lithe body is draped in a frock, a red waistcoat, and a top hat. Square-toed boots and black trousers complete the ensemble.
“You look ridiculous,” I observe flatly. My glance flicks to his fist, which is clutching the handle of a walking stick. “Scratch that. You look completely ridiculous.”
“Oh, good. For a minute there I was worried I’d only accomplished partial absurdity.” His tone is dry. I touch my lips to hide a smile, and one corner of Revenge’s mouth tilts up in an uncertain smile of his own. A dimple deepens in his cheek. “Anyway, you know I’m impervious to insults,” he adds.
Forgetting that I have no right to laugh or tease after all that’s happened, I lift a brow in challenge. “You’re also annoying.”
“Well, that’s true,” he concedes.
“And infuriating.”
“That too.”
My lips form another insult, but music suddenly drifts into the space between us. The despondent tones of Swan Lake. Again. We both turn to focus on Saul. My uncle is sitting at one of the pianos in the back, creases lining his forehead while he plays. He doesn’t notice me at the window, staring. The sight brings me back to reality, to what I’ve done and what must be done.
“I have a plan, Revenge,” I whisper, almost unconsciously. But I don’t elaborate, and though I don’t look, I feel my friend’s frown returning. I can’t tell him that this new plan, woven thread by thread as I came to my decision, involves the bottle of pills that live in my pocket. I can’t let on that the moment Revenge is gone, I’m going to disappear, too. And it’s not because I’m unable to exist in a world without him, or because of the consequences of what I’m going to do. It’s because—despite what Death said—I should have died that night, with my family. I stayed because I was frightened. But I’m not anymore. I think I stopped being afraid that moment in the cave, when my father told me they were all there. Waiting. Watching.
“Alex! Supper is ready!”
Saul’s playing halts and he slides off the bench. He still doesn’t notice me, and for a wild instant I wonder if I’m really here. Missy calls for me again, and I pull away from the window. Drift up the stairs. Revenge follows me, and it’s reminiscent of how things used to be. The apartment doesn’t reek of burning food, which is promising. Shutting the door, I kick my shoes off and face the kitchen table, making an attempt to seem cheerful. Whatever fa?ade of mirth I achieve, however, wilts immediately once I glimpse Saul and Missy’s faces.
Taking a breath, I sit in my usual spot. And it begins. Emotions come and go, words rise and fall. The food in front of us is untouched. “ … can’t support you forever … get a job … back to school … ” While my aunt and uncle are talking, something flashes and sways in the window, drawing my attention. Missy must have hung a bird feeder outside. I didn’t even notice, and I nearly ask her how long it’s been there before I remember that they aren’t thinking about feeders or birds, they’re thinking about futures and fears. Neither of which I hold on to now. As I watch, a hummingbird darts toward the feeder. Its wings are a green blur and its beak long and slender. It takes a quick sip of the red liquid and before I can blink, it’s gone again.
“Alex? Are you listening?” Something clinks. A fork against a plate.
Blinking, I look at Missy. She clearly expects a response of some kind, so I just nod. Nothing comes out of my mouth, though. What can I offer that they’ll accept? Her jaw clenches, and it’s so hard for her to say what she says next. “We want you to start seeing a therapist again.”
Both of them tense, clearly expecting a battle. And the old me would have argued that people in Franklin don’t talk about their problems; we act like they don’t exist. Besides that, they can’t afford therapy bills. Now, though, I only nod again, sitting there with my hands limp in my lap. Revenge watches me from his perch on the edge of the countertop. I gaze at his lips and imagine how they’ll feel on my skin. It’s easier than facing Missy and Saul.
But apparently we’re done. Saul heaves himself up to refill his glass with milk, and Missy takes a bite of her meatloaf. When Saul sits down none of us try to start a new, different conversation. Eight minutes pass. The planet keeps on turning even when it should at least hesitate, and somehow the light outside is gone.
Once again Missy is the one to venture into the bleak land of silence. “We’re going to the cemetery tomorrow,” she says. “Are you coming with us?”
Tomorrow is the last day, a time for goodbyes and last chances. If she’d asked me two weeks ago, I would have said yes. I’ll go with you to the cemetery to see them. Say the words there was no time to say the night of the accident. But now? I know where my family is, and they’re not in those graves.
“No, thank you,” I say. To be polite, though my appetite is nonexistent, I take a bite of the food she made. It should taste like ketchup or have a faint taint of something overcooked. Instead, it’s a lump of nothing in my mouth.
Neither of them is surprised. Missy hauls herself to her feet, taking Saul’s plate and stacking it on hers. “Almost done, sweetheart?” She sounds so, so tired.