Some Quiet Place (Some Quiet Place #1)(70)
Snot runs down my mouth, and I try to spit it out. It only clogs my throat, and I gag for a few moments. Nightmare’s expression twists into one of disgust. His pupils are slits, like a cat’s. “Give me your father’s location and I’ll let you go,” he says gently, brushing some of my hair out of my face with his sharp fingernails. He draws little pinpricks of blood. I can’t even move away from his touch.
Nightmare toys with my earlobe, then, without warning, he digs his nails into the side of my head. I scream. He leans down and growls through his teeth, “Tell me where he is right now, or I swear I’ll put a knife into your stomach so many times that it’ll look like Swiss cheese.”
His fingers dig even deeper into my skull, and I whimper. My fingers twitch a little—the closest to moving I can get.
When still I don’t speak—I’ve already told him dozens of times I have no idea who he’s talking about, because he can’t possibly mean Tim—Nightmare straightens, pulling his fingers out. Tears slide down my cheeks, soundless rivers. He circles me some more, his footsteps thunder in the tiny space.
“I don’t mean to be so vulgar. Come, now,” he coaxes. He’s playing nice again. “The fool can’t mean that much to you. Honestly, I watched your family all those years ago, waiting for him, and I never saw him once. Doesn’t seem like he cared, otherwise he would visit, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t
he show up now to save you? Is he really worth dying for?” When I still don’t reply, he sighs. “Such a slippery fellow. Every time I waited at a birth, he didn’t make an appearance. The others know about me now, and this is getting harder.”
I barely hear this last part. He knows something about me, I think. He knows who I was before the illusion. But I don’t have any answers for him, and I can’t utter a single question. So when I just shake my head, tears running out of the corners of my eyes, Nightmare smiles a little. His teeth glow in the darkness and his anger fills the tiny space. Slowly, his hand reaches for the light switch on the wall next to the door. I open my mouth—try to shout something, no, please, no, anything, but I can’t—and his finger lightly flips it, as if it’s the smallest thing in the world.
Electricity sizzles through my body again, and I rock the table from side to side, coming dangerously close to tipping it as I convulse. Now spit, combined with the snot, runs down the side of my neck, pooling on the surface by my cheek. My fingers grip the edge of the table in desperation and a weird sound manages to escape from my mouth, a half-shriek, half-sob. Nightmare instantly flicks the switch back off when he hears it, and his eyes are alert.
“What?” He strides back to my side, cupping my cheek in a tender way. “What did you say, little one?”
I wait a beat. Then, summoning up what energy I have left, I hack the slimy glob from the back of my throat into his leering face. It hits his eye with a satisfying squirt.
The Element jerks back, freezes for an instant. Slowly, he wipes the mess away with the back of his hand, revealing dangerous, scorching eyes. Lumps of coal with depths of perilous fire. “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he informs me. He goes to another table at the side of the room, where he has an assortment of knives and tools stacked against the wall.
As he runs his fingers over every one of them, taunting me, Nightmare gives me accounts of all the Emotions and Elements he’s hunted, tortured, killed. The manner is very similar to how Fear had once told me his own tales, but there wasn’t such malevolence in his eyes.
I can barely see Nightmare now. His elbow moves. When he turns around to face me, I can finally see what he’s holding in his hands. One of the shorter knives. He approaches, surprising me when he just plays with the blade, doing a trick by balancing it on the tip of his finger. Instead of more pain or more talk, the Element gets an old-looking chair from the corner of the shack, pulling it across the dirt to the table. He sits on the edge of it, almost primly, and crosses his legs.
“You know, you’re the only one that got away,” Nightmare says. The light bulb above illuminates the harsh angles and planes of his face. “I’d given up on you. Then, a month ago, I happened to eavesdrop on a couple of Emotions. They were talking about a girl who could withstand their touch and not feel a thing. Curious, I began to investigate. When I got here, I soon stumbled upon you and your dreams. That’s when I put two and two together. Your new face didn’t throw me—that’s easy for one of us to do if we have enough power. But I’ll admit, I began to doubt after watching you for a while. My nightly games didn’t ruffle you a bit. You were quite dull, even for a human. But just as I was about to leave I saw you save the boy from being run down at that party, and I knew.”
Nightmare jerks, and suddenly the tip of the knife is buried in my hand. I try not to scream, try not to give him the satisfaction, but it’s impossible. My screech fills every corner of the shack, a deafening sound. Nightmare kisses my temple. His lips are dry.
“You know, besides Landon, you’re the longest to ever last in my clutches,” he whispers.
Time slows until it stops completely. The world around us disappears. What did he just say?
Landon.
My insides heat up and up until my blood is lava inside of me. There’s a loud rushing in my ears, like a wave or a billow of wind before the tornado hits.
Nightmare moves out of my line of vision and I see a flash of his hand as he goes back to his torture instruments. That hand touched Landon. That hand hurt Landon. That hand killed Landon. How didn’t I see it before? Nightmare is the shadow in the trees, the villain in the siblings’ story. My breathing grows shallower, and my chests rises and falls so quickly I feel like a blur. An image of Rebecca’s brother fills my mind, a picture of him sitting at that kitchen table, shoving a huge bite of cereal in his mouth.