Some Quiet Place (Some Quiet Place #1)(40)

“Who’s there?” the boy calls out, failing to sound brave. The book falls to the ground, unheeded. The girl frowns and tugs at her brother’s arm.

“Landon, it’s nothing. You know we don’t have anything to be scared of out here … ” As she speaks, though, a figure emerges from the green shadows. The boy shifts so he’s in front of the girl, and he glares at the man.

“You don’t belong here,” he snaps. There’s recognition in his eyes.

The intruder stares at them with an odd little smile curving his lips. He’s older, though there’s no way to guess his age. He’s out of place in the woods; his clothing is impeccable, pressed and dark. He wears slacks and a white dress shirt. “I’m sorry if I scared you,” he says, folding his hands behind his back. “I was answering a summons, just north of here.” His tone is friendly. “I heard you and thought I would drop by to say hello. What are you two doing all the way out here? It’s not safe.” His smile is too bright. The girl glares at him. When neither of them answers the man takes a step closer, tilting his head. “Where are your parents?” he asks. “Your mom … and your dad?”

Landon opens his mouth to speak again, but the girl beats him to it. “Leave,” she snarls, and in her agitation, the leaves in the tree actually tremble. “You have no summons here, and you’re not welcome.”

“Rebecca,” her brother hisses. “Stop it!”

Their visitor, surprisingly enough, is already backing away. He’s still smiling. “Better get home,” he advises as he reaches the tree line. “Don’t want to be out here after dark. You never know what could be roaming these parts.”

And then he’s gone.

I slowly withdraw my hand away from the dead boy in the mural, my lips pursed in contemplation. The man … How do I know him? He looked familiar, somehow. I struggle, searching all my memories for a placement. But there’s nothing. No, not nothing. Whatever else I don’t know, I now know this.

The siblings in my dreams were something more than human.

And their names were Rebecca and Landon.



The phone rings through the empty house. It’s the only sound besides the clock in the hall. My eyelids slide open, listening to the harmony. Ring. Tick. Ring. Tick. Tim snores on, oblivious. Since Mom and Charles don’t creak out into the hall, they must not hear it, either.

No one ever calls this late.

The phone stops ringing for less than a minute before beginning again. It’s almost like an abrasive slap in the sacred silence of the night. I set my covers aside and get out of bed, padding downstairs on silent feet. I pick the phone up on its third ring.

“Hello?”

“Elizabeth? Is that you?” a tearful voice asks.

Still affected by remaining dregs of sleep, I don’t identify it right away. The person on the line asks if I’m there, and it slowly clicks. Maggie’s mom. I lick my dry lips, unable to make my voice properly concerned as I ask, “Yes, what is it? Is Maggie all right?”

My friend’s mother sobs once, tries to smother it. “I’m sorry to call so late,” she chokes. “But Maggie’s been asking for you. I thought you might want to see her one last time … the doctor says she won’t be with us much longer. Until tomorrow night, at the latest.”

I don’t respond for a moment, and just listen to her cry. It’s a wet, desolate series of noises. Whimper, snort, hiccup, exhale. “Elizabeth? Are you still there?” she asks when I’ve been quiet for too long.

“Yes. Let me think.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “It’s just … Maggie is barely holding on as it is. You’re so important to her, and I just thought … ”

It wouldn’t be prudent for me to see Maggie, even now. Tim would find out if I skipped school, and the portfolio for Mrs. Farmer’s class is due. I still haven’t written a poem or a peer review. I shouldn’t encourage these connections—not until I know the truth about myself and the influence over me has been broken.

“Elizabeth?” My name has never sounded so bleak on another person’s lips. I clutch the phone tight, holding it away from my ear slightly as if it could sting me. Maggie’s mother sniffles one last time, and I decide to pretend again despite the consequences. After all, Maggie will be dead in a matter of hours, and no one would understand if I were to go on like nothing is wrong.

“I’ll see you soon.”

Maggie’s mom sounds so relieved and grateful as she says goodbye. After I’ve hung up, I stand in the kitchen for a couple minutes, thinking, remembering. An idea forms in my mind. A few more minutes pass, and then I quietly exit the house. I go into the barn, up into the loft, and don’t leave until morning.



The air in the hospital is brittle this time, grim, as if everyone knows about the girl on the ninth floor. The nurse at the front desk doesn’t smile at me, and after I’ve stepped off the elevator, the anguish hits me like a wave. Walking up to her room, I see Maggie’s dad, John, sitting in a chair in the hallway, bent over his knees, eyes in the heels of his hands. Sorrow is beside him, his white palm resting on John’s bowed head. As usual, the Emotion doesn’t speak when he sees me.

At the sound of my approach, John glances up. Recognizing me, he attempts a smile. “She’ll be glad you came,” he murmurs. His eyes are red-rimmed and he looks like he hasn’t slept in days. This man watched us grow up. He drove me and Maggie to the park. He took us out for ice cream.