Some Quiet Place (17 page)

I rake my wild hair back; there was no time to brush it this morning between the poem and my chores. “I’m sorry.” I stare up at him. “I’m not … good at this.”

“Get out of the way!” One of Sophia’s friends shoulders past. She glances at me with a strange expression before hurrying on.

Joshua ignores her. “Talk to me,” he orders.

Now I give all my attention to the lockers to our right, studying the dents in the metal as if they hold some deep meaning for me. “I don’t think that this is smart,” I tell those dents. “You’re going to get hurt. The people in my life have always been disappointed in me sooner or later.”

“Huh.” He takes my elbow to guide me out of the wave of kids rushing to their classes. I’m going to be late yet again. Joshua snaps his fingers in front of my face, forcing me to look at him. “I don’t think you’re really worried about me,” he says bluntly. I blink.

“What do you—”

“You’re scared.”

That’s not true; Fear is nowhere around. My hair is falling into my face. Ironic, since Joshua’s is finally smoothed out of the way. “I don’t have time for this,” I say. I move past Joshua. He lets me go, his irritation obvious.

“If we don’t take any risks, then we won’t find the things worth living for,” the boy calls after me.

“Go to class, Joshua,” I toss over my shoulder. I think of the poem I’ll never show him, never show anyone else but Mrs. Farmer.

There are different kinds of hiding.

I hide, I protect, I pretend.
I give no promises or look to tomorrow.
There is only this, only me.
A shadow and a whisper.
I hide, I protect, I pretend.
Everyone else.
No one else.
Impossibility and useless efforts.
Reasons?
I don’t know.

I just know this.

During my lunch hour—among the aging stories and forgotten history of the library—I finally find the newspaper article I’ve been looking for. This time it doesn’t disappear, but all my efforts toward finding it have been in vain; there’s nothing more to know here than in what Sarah has already told me.

Girl Survives Car Accident

Yesterday, Elizabeth Caldwell, four years old, wandered out to the highway by herself. The driver of an oncoming car didn’t see the little girl until it was too late. When questioned, he had little recollection of what had happened. An ambulance was immediately called, and paramedics say Elizabeth was conscious and lucid on the scene. She escaped with nothing but a few scrapes and bruises. Doctors say it’s a miracle. She’s already been discharged.

I’m beginning to wonder if there’s a point to finding the answers about my past. Maybe the truth really isn’t beneficial to my survival here in Edson, and this mystery is best left alone.

End of the day. Final bell. Girls shrieking and boys shouting down the halls. Teachers lecturing about assignments, calling for quiet. Lockers slamming shut, doors closing, lights dying. I wait in a corner with my book bag until everyone has left and the air is still, waiting for tomorrow. The school is ghostly after hours, and I chase my shadow when I make my way to the front doors. White light spills through the glass, beckoning to me.

I answer because there’s no other logical solution.

I could avoid Sophia and her friends now, of course, but that’ll only make her more determined to find me later. Even though her revenge will make me late getting home—Tim will definitely notice the delay—I think I’ll let her do this tonight. And after her petty vengeance is out of the way, I can focus on my façade and she’ll go back to her usual forms of torment.

Sunlight breaks through the clouds. I squint up at it as I step outside. I stand on the steps for a moment, studying the girls waiting for me in the parking lot. I’d guess that there are none that are actually upset with me—they’re only here because they’re afraid of Sophia. Most are probably glad that it’s not them in my position.

“Hey, freak!” Sophia raises her voice so I can hear her across the lot. I hide my bag behind a bush so they won’t terrorize my books. My keys jangle as I set it down.

If I had a sense of humor, the sight before me would be comical. Besides Stephanie Dill, a hulking girl Sophia keeps around for muscle, these girls are small. They’re all wearing miniskirts and too much makeup.

“Come on, we don’t have all day!”

My truck is a couple yards away from them. They wanted to make sure I didn’t leave. Squaring my shoulders, I start toward the group, listening to my shoes scrape against the pavement. They all stare. So many Emotions … and so much emptiness where there should be actual beings. Which can only mean one thing: whatever sent them running is back. And nearby, maybe.

The flag whips against the pole, bringing me back to the situation at hand. As soon as I’m in earshot Sophia says in a low, furious voice, “You owe me an apology.”

I realize my expression isn’t correct for this situation; I try to look nervous and regretful. “I’m sorry,” I respond, adding a wobble to my voice for good measure.

She clenches her jaw. “Too easy.”

I stop just three feet away from her little group. “What do you want me to say?”

“She’s so weird,” I hear one of them mutter.

“Do you really think ‘sorry’ is enough for ruining my party?” Sophia snaps. “Do you think it’s enough for humiliating me? Especially in front of … ” She trails off, but we all know whose name is on the tip of her tongue. She’s holding her cast with tight, enraged fingers.

Any answer I give will only rile her further.

Stephanie—the big girl—scowls impatiently. “Can we just get this over with?” she demands. “I want to get to the hardware store before it closes.”

Sophia sighs. “Fine.”

That one word is all it takes. All the girls tense, but it’s only Stephanie who jumps at me. She clearly expects me to struggle or run, because the first thing she does is pin my arms to my sides. I just look at the ground. “Okay, I’ve got her,” Stephanie says, triumphant, as if she’s won a big contest. Her breath blows down on my face, and I can’t hold back a gag. It reeks heavily of chewing tobacco and rot.

They’re hesitant at first. The girls glance at each other, questioning this, questioning their leader. A blond opens her mouth, about to protest, then thinks better of it and shuts it again.

Sophia gives them a look of contempt usually reserved for me. “What are you waiting for?” she snaps, approaching. She grins fiercely and reaches up to grasp the collar of my T-shirt. The material is old and thin. It rips right in half.

Encouraged by Sophia’s brazen behavior, two girls surge forward. The rest follow. One by one they take my pants, my shoes, my socks. And when I’m just standing there in my bra and underwear, Sophia sneers.

Fight back,
instinct says.
End this,
logic insists. No, not logic. It’s Fear’s voice in my head, Fear urging me on. Will he come? Or have I finally driven him away forever?

Hoping to embarrass me, Sophia laughs, and the others laugh, too. Like a pack of hyenas. I just watch them throw back their heads and observe the way all the girls’ teeth shine in the weak sunlight.

Stephanie’s grip is firm. “Are we done?” she asks, cutting the cackling short. My bare feet curl on the ground; a small rock digs into my toe.

Sophia’s smile dies as she looks at me, and now her eyes burn in a slow smolder of lost regret and hopelessness. She swiftly hides this behind a curtain of hatred. “One more thing,” she hisses. Two quick steps, and her hand is flying.
Slap
.

“Don’t ever piss me off again, or it’ll be worse than this.” The threat is empty; Sophia’s disconcerted by the coldness of my gaze, unhidden now, and my disarming smile.

“Just finish this,” I say to her.

She doesn’t voice the murderous thoughts emanating from her expression. Instead, she nods to Stephanie. The huge girl hauls me over to the flagpole, setting me up on the cement foundation. I hadn’t known what to expect, but this definitely wasn’t it; I start to rethink letting this happen. Stephanie’s dull eyes watch me sharply for any sign of rebellion. Then one of the girls presents a chain—I hadn’t even noticed it until now. It clinks as she moves.

They’re hesitating again. Once more Stephanie is the one who takes action. I’ve taken too long to reconsider—before I can jump down from the foundation, she takes the chain in hand and wraps it around me quickly. Once, twice. She also loops them around my wrists. Finished, she then produces a lock. It shuts with a resounding
click
. The girls stare at me for a moment, waiting for any kind of reaction. Sophia is just smiling.

The loops of the chain dig into my bones and my bare stomach. Tight, tight, too tight. The telephone pole is a welcome coolness to my back.

When I give them no tears or pleading, Sophia’s smugness melts into a mixture of disdain. “God, even now you can’t act like a normal human being,” she snaps, and her friends follow suit with the expressions of disgust. Mindless sheep. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” Sophia gestures to those sheep gathered behind her. They start to shuffle away.

They want a reaction? Fine. “Sophia.” I attempt to put a note of agony in my voice. “Please don’t leave me here. I’ll let you do anything else to me, I’ll say anything you want, but you can’t—”

“I can do whatever the hell I want. You had this coming. You should have thought about it before barging into my party uninvited and doing
this
to me.” Sophia jabs a finger at her cast. Her words carry so much more meaning, though. She hates me for having her sister’s affection without even trying, she despises the fact that Joshua sees me instead of her. I open my mouth to add something else—anything—but she’s already walking away again. Her skirt flutters in the breeze, and the girls’ high heels make sharp noises against the pavement. They take my clothes with them.

One by one, the girls get into their cars. The sound of waking engines erupts throughout the lot. Without honking or sneering or shouting, they leave me. In less than a minute they’ve all driven away. The last pair of taillights disappears around a bend.

When I can’t hear their cars down the street anymore, I struggle against my bonds, and the rattle of the chains echoes in the silence. But I didn’t think this through; I can’t break free. The parking lot is cold and utterly empty. The breeze blowing past my ears is the only sound for miles. Even though it’s futile, even though there’s no point, I shout at the top of my lungs, “Help! Someone, help me!” Is there any way Fear will hear?

The parking lot is still empty, as it will be until morning. My truck is lonely in the corner. The sky is uncaring and I’m alone. Now what?

“Well, this is interesting.”

Nineteen

At first I think I imagined the voice. Just to make sure, though, I twist. The chains prevent me from angling my body too much, and the pole is blocking most of my view, but there
is
a person behind me. I see a head of black, tousled hair and some pressed slacks. How fortunate—I won’t have to spend the night here. “Hello. Do you think you could help me?” I ask politely.

The man moves, stepping into my line of vision. I take in the tiny smile, the glint in the man’s dark eyes. I’ve never seen him before. He’s wearing a button-down white shirt with a black jacket slung over his shoulder, something that someone might wear to an office, and his free hand is behind his back, so casually. His shoes shine weakly in the looming dusk. Some women might call him handsome, with his groomed appearance and his contrasting tones. White skin, dark hair. But for some reason the sight of him makes my pulse quicken, a sour taste fill my mouth, my skin crawl.

“I don’t have the key,” I inform him, and an extraordinary quiver takes over my voice. Questions race through me, and the loudest …
Who is this man?

Without answering, the man stares at me for a few heart-stopping moments, taking in my near-naked state. I begin to think he’s not going to help, but then he walks around me to stand in the spot where Stephanie secured the chains. I catch a whiff of his scent. A combination of something fresh and something … not. As if one smell is supposed to hide the other.

He’s still silent, probably examining the lock. “Lucky for you,” he finally says, “I make it a habit to be prepared for situations just like this.” His voice jars something inside of me—it’s smooth and confident, like the strum of a violin—and an impulse to flee fills every corner of my being.
Do I know him?

Mindless of my internal struggle, the man begins the work to free me. There’s the sound of a pick digging around in the lock. I should thank him. For some reason, though, I can’t. There’s a lump in my throat, a rock, a cluster of …

Fear.

Where is he? Where is he? Why wouldn’t he come?

Calm
, a voice in my head advises.
Stay
calm
.

My rescuer doesn’t work in silence for long. “So how did you get yourself in this predicament?” he asks me. His finger slips on the lock pick, and his surprisingly sharp nail slices my arm. I wince.

“Some girls at school,” is all I say.
Wrong
, my instincts keep whispering. Something about him is so familiar …

The man seems satisfied with this, and I hear a smile in his voice when he replies, “Yes, I’ve been to a few high schools. Hard to believe children can be cruel so young. And it only gets worse.”

When the lock opens with a loud
click
and the man unwraps the chains from around me, I manage to speak again. “So what brings you to the school at this time of day?” I rub my raw wrists. My stomach has indents where the links were pressed against me.

I look up and catch the man staring at me again. When I clear my throat, something in his gaze flickers, and that strange half-smile appears again. “I was passing by and heard you calling for help,” he tells me.

I’m hardly paying attention because I’m so distracted by his expression. He doesn’t even try to hide it. Rather than curiosity or boredom as I would have expected, this man who saved me is watching my every move with … hunger.

“May I borrow your jacket?” I ask, a bit too formally. Being alone with him is still causing my senses to quake.
Leave. Leave.
The power around me is cracking, I can feel it—fear still edges in, trying to consume.
Where is he?
Where are the other Emotions? Why don’t they come? Am I breaking through the wall?

The man doesn’t move to give his jacket to me. “You look familiar,” he says instead, like he’s reading my mind. “What’s your name?” He cocks his head, and I’m suddenly picturing a wild predator about to pounce. I forget about covering myself and proceed with caution.

“I’m Elizabeth. And I really have to go. Parents waiting and all that. But thank you for helping me.” I’m not going to ask what I can do to repay him.

He doesn’t respond, so I move to pass him. We do a little dance. I step to the left in an attempt to go to my truck, and he blocks me. It’s clearly intentional, because when I start to the right, he follows again. His feet hardly make any sound on the ground. I purse my lips, trying to hide that faint feeling of agitation deep within me. Strangely enough, I want my nothingness back. I
need
it back …

Just barely, the floodgate in my wall opens.

Please come back, please.

You did this.

“What are you thinking about, Elizabeth?” The man has gotten closer without my realizing it. Reacting automatically, I dart around him.

“I’m sorry, but I really have to be going,” I call over my shoulder. He doesn’t try to stop me again. He just stands there with that strange smirk, head tilted. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and I get the distinct impression that the pick isn’t the only thing hidden in those depths.

It isn’t until I pull on the handle to the driver’s door that I realize I don’t have the keys—they’re in my bag, which I stuck behind some bushes by the front doors of the school. I remember that I also might have a sweater in there. I can feel the man’s unfaltering eyes on me the entire time as I quickly jog to my bag, dig around in it for both my keys and the sweater—it turns out to be a windbreaker—zip it on, throw the bag over my shoulder, and run back to my truck.

The man still doesn’t say a word. The absolute silence feels alien, and my fingers are still shaking as I grasp my keys and shove them into the door. The worn material of the seats rubs against my skin as I get in, but I scarcely notice. I’m concentrating on the steps, focusing only my hands.

Close the door. Lock it. Put your bag in passenger seat. Put the key in the ignition. Turn it.

Nothing. Silence.

I turn the key. Again. And again.
No, no, no, no …

After a few more turns, I stop. It’s futile.

The man has been waiting patiently. When he sees that I’m done, he lopes around to my window, tapping on it with the back of his knuckle, a delicate movement. My heart is pounding and my hands are sweating. There is something very, very wrong here. I roll the window down just a crack, choosing to stare at his perfectly white teeth rather than his cold eyes.

“Mind if I take a look?” the man asks. I shake my head.

He leaves my side and lifts the truck’s hood. Moments later he calls to me, “It appears those children took out your battery.” He shuts the hood.
Slam
.

I just sit there. My mind whizzes through all the possibilities. The school is locked, so I can’t reach a phone. I could walk … no, not without pants. Too many questions, and someone would see and probably get back to Tim. But getting home is probably more important than anything Tim will do to me … maybe I should stay … but when morning comes my classmates will see me, and rumors will spread like a wildfire.

I’m at a complete loss as to what to do. Seems to be happening to me often lately. Too often.

“You know, I could give you a lift home,” the man says, his voice suddenly gentle. He knows I have no other options. No phone, no truck, no clothes. Fear hasn’t appeared yet, which is odd in itself. I could wait a little longer—

Thunder rumbles the ground.

I start, glancing at the horizon. When did it turn gray? This strange fear flowing through my veins clouds my logic. It’s nearing sunset already—how did that happen? Staying definitely wouldn’t be safe … would it? Not with something out there that sent even immortal beings running for the hills. No, not safe. Especially not for a half-naked girl in a rusty truck, no matter what abilities she may have.

Clutching the steering wheel, as if the truck will spontaneously start and solve all my problems, I swallow. “You’ll take me right home?”

If possible, the man’s smile grows until it seems like it’ll stretch right out of the confines of his face. Of course everything inside of me is shrieking,
Danger, stupid, stay where you are
. But I just need to get home. If he tries anything, I’ll probably be able to overpower him.

“ … straight home,” the man at my window is promising. The thin piece of glass protecting me fogs with my breath, and I touch it with my finger, steeling myself.

The man has turned away. He’s walking across the parking lot. When I remain in the cab of my truck, he glances back, lifting a brow. “Coming?” It sounds like a challenge.

Don’t go!
my instincts advise one last time.
Fear will come.
But I don’t feel him anywhere near. I can’t stay here. When once again I put the warning aside, the voice curls away like withering vines. Defeated.

Every sound is an explosion in my head. The lock clicking, the door opening, my feet slapping the pavement. I take my bag with me and drop my keys in the side pocket. Following this man is like letting a shadow lead me through the dark. No relevancy or light to guide me.

Since there isn’t a single car in the lot now, I assume his vehicle is along the road behind the school, where the teachers park. We’re both quiet.

Then he turns, walking backwards. This is strangely disconcerting, like an owl turning its head all the way around. “So, Elizabeth,” he says in that violin voice, “how long have you lived in Edson?”

Around the side of the school we go, to the back as I’d suspected. There’s one car and one truck along the curb of this road. Is there still a janitor here?

“All my life,” I answer, my voice tight and careful. There’s grass underfoot now, damp and freezing on my heated soles.

He nods as if this is so interesting. “I see.” He stops under a large weeping willow, and the light and leaves cast intricate shadows on his face. I watch the patterns move over his skin in the breeze. I don’t know which vehicle is his, so I’m forced to stop as well.

The man is doing that head-cocking thing again, and now there’s an anomalous glint in his black eyes. “Tell me, Elizabeth”—my name is a hiss—“because I’m simply dying to know. Have you finished the mural in your room yet?”

A beat of pregnant hush between us. I’m frozen for a mindless instant.

And then I run.

He’s after me before I’ve even turned around completely. I can hear his footsteps just behind me, a taunting drum surrounding, choking, laughing. There’s something about the sound of his run, I dimly realize in my whirling frenzy. I fly back around the corner of the school, heading for the parking lot and the front doors.

“Oh, Elizabeth!” the man sing-songs. He doesn’t even sound out of breath.

“Help!” I scream, willing someone, anyone, to hear me. Fear, just when I need him most, is far away. I rush through a line of bushes and some twigs scratch the vulnerable skin of my legs. There it is! The lot appears before me, open and empty. My truck in the corner, urging me onward.

The sound of the man somewhere behind vanishes, and then he’s suddenly landing in front of me in the end of a giant leap. He exaggerates the swing in his arms, panting wildly, mocking. The veins in his eyes are huge. “What are you going to do?” he gasps. Then, just as swiftly as he evolved into this wild creature, he straightens, smoothing his hair and pulling at his shirt cuffs. “Shall we proceed?” he asks. “Or will you insist on trying that again?”

It’s as I stand there, helpless—more desperate possibilities and disorienting panic whizzing through me—that I comprehend where I recognize his run from. The night of Sophia’s party, when I was rushing through the woods, trying to get to Joshua … there had been someone behind me. Following me. At the time I’d just assumed it was a kid trying to get to his car. But now I realize the truth. Is he what Rebecca was so worried about on the night of the party? Oh.
Oh
. She’d been protecting me all along.

And that isn’t all I remember. An image, like a blink or a flash, appears and vanishes. Burning eyes and a planted stance. That same tilted head.
He was in the hallway at school
. I remember now. He’d been staring at me with the same eyes he has now. Hungry eyes.

It’s as I’m putting these pieces together that the man asks me, so casually, “Are you her?”

The words slam into me over and over again
. Are you her? Are you her?
A scrawled sentence on a lined piece of paper. There’s a teasing lilt in the man’s voice; he’s mocking me. He wants me to know that the note was his.

“What do you want?” I ask, watching his every move warily.

“You know,” he says as if I haven’t spoken, “you’re really a fascinating creature. You never responded to all the games we played. No one has done that before.”

Creature. Not girl. He thinks I’m from the other plane. “You’ve made a mistake,” I say, backing away. “I’m just a human. I’m normal.”

He smiles again, advancing. “Oh, so wrong. You’re far from human. We have a history, young lady. I’ve been looking for you for a long, long time. You had me fooled. You and that Emotion.”

Even more comes together, suddenly, in my head. It’s so obvious that I wonder why I didn’t figure it out the instant I laid eyes on him.

There are some things humans shouldn’t know. Even a human like you.

He’s here, he’s here! Run before he gets you, gets you!

This man—no, not man, something else entirely—is what has all the Emotions and Elements running.
He got me,
I think faintly. But he shouldn’t be after me. I’m not one of them. “What do you want?” I ask again, backing away, down the hill.