Some Quiet Place (8 page)

“Wishful thinking, Fear. You want to understand, and you want to able to put me in a category. But the reality is we’ll probably never know the truth about what happened to me.”

“I can’t believe that,” he says, and once again he seems unable to resist touching me when I’m so near. His fingers trail down my neck and he makes little designs on my chest. His fingers are cool, and his essence battles with my immunity. Images of war and pain and terror sweep through my mind.

The ball of fire in the sky has risen even higher into the endless expanse, and the light inches into my room. It catches the icy blue of Fear’s eyes. “You watched me grow up,” I say. “Wouldn’t a child cry when her parents ignored her? Wouldn’t a girl care when her father hit her? Wouldn’t the way Sophia treats me bother me? And wouldn’t seeing Maggie—”

“Why are you so insistent?” Fear challenges. “You’re so adamant that you’re right and I’m wrong. Isn’t
that
feeling something?”

Arguing with him is pointless. I glance at the clock by my bed. “Fear, I do need to go. Would you please release me?”

He sits back, sighing, roughing up his hair in frustration. “Not yet.” He follows my gaze to the window. He shifts restlessly, a wild thing, a creature no one can tame or understand, not completely. He makes me think of a pale, pale lion. Beautiful and feral and always on the hunt.

“Everything has a purpose,” I remind him, my voice soft. “And yours isn’t to solve me. If you’re ever going to be happy, you need to move on.”

He laughs quietly. “See? Right there. Why would you say something like that unless you really do care?”

I lift one shoulder in a mild shrug, ignoring the pain the movement costs me. “I have instincts, Fear. But I don’t have all the answers. So, please, let me go to school.”

He sighs yet again, waving his hand. Suddenly I’m back in my real room and Tim is gone, as are the cuts and blood on my body. “I’m sorry,” Fear says. I don’t know if he’s apologizing for the pain or the rest of it.

“It’s fine.” I slide my feet to the side of the bed, standing. Fear watches me, longing in his eyes. I don’t have time to shower now, so I move to my closet, pulling out jeans and a T-shirt—what I wear every day.

“You’d look beautiful in a dress,” Fear says, so quietly that I almost don’t hear him. I don’t bother asking him to leave—he never listens to me, anyway—so I turn my back to him and take off the shirt I slept in. I hear him suck in a breath, but when I turn again to speak, he’s gone.

Ten

After a day of Sophia making snide comments every time she shoulders by me in the halls, and Joshua doing his best not to stare at me, I pull out of the school parking lot. Instead of going home, I head to town.

Hal, the owner of the hardware store, waves at me when I pass him. Nodding in return, I go directly to aisle eight. I study the selection carefully, though it’s very limited. There are exactly three shades of green: lime, emerald, and myrtle. Debating for a moment, I decide to take them all. As an afterthought, I also grab cans of gray and black and white.

“Do you need help carrying those to your truck?” Hal asks as he takes my money.

I stack the paint cans and lean them against my chest, shaking my head at him. “No thanks.” I start for the door.

“No, don’t touch anything!”

A display of vitamins topples over. The same female voice curses, and a woman appears in the aisle. Her hair is streaked with blond and her acrylic nails glint in the light. With a cell phone pressed to her ear, she bends and begins to stack the bottles. “I told you to keep your hands to yoursel
f
!” the woman snarls. Her glare is directed at someone blocked by the display. “No, I’m fine,” she says into the phone now, still stacking. “Morgan is just being a pain.”

She has to mean Morgan Richardson. Sophia’s little sister. This must be her babysitter.

The clock over her head catches my attention, and I hurry outside.

I drive over the speed limit to get home; Tim will start bringing the cows in from the pasture, and Charles won’t be around to cover for me when it comes time for milking. Once I’ve pulled into the driveway, I park beside Tim’s truck and leave the paint cans, heading straight to the barn. Mora pokes her head over the edge of a stall at the sound of my approach—I’m even later than I realized—and I immediately move to the milking supplies.

“Where have you been?”

I should have seen him when I first came in; he’s standing by the shelf of bottles, holding a halter in his hands. He must have just finished taking the cows in. “I had school,” I answer carefully, trying to get an idea of what I can expect. My father glares at me.

“I know you had school, Elizabeth. You usually get home at three. It’s twenty after. So I’m going to ask one more time: where have you been?”

He’s forcing himself to be calm, but danger lurks beneath his scruffy exterior. I won’t tell the truth; he’ll find a reason to let his fury loose. “I was working on a school project with a partner,” I say. “For English class.” If he thinks I’m being responsible, he might let me go another night without bruises.

Tim fiddles with the halter some more, his expression becoming thoughtful. “Who’s your partner, sweetheart?”

I hesitate, assessing the situation from every angle, trying to figure out which one will let me off with the least pain. “Joshua Hayes.” I pause. No reaction from Tim. “He lives on a farm across town with his dad. His mom—”

“I know who he is, Elizabeth.” Tim finally sets the halter down on his workbench and I notice for the first time how his beefy fists are clenched. His knuckles are white. “Funny thing … ” My father takes a step toward me. I don’t move. “Joshua Hayes just called the house ten minutes ago, left a message with your mom. Said something’s come up and he can’t work on your ‘project’ tomorrow. Weren’t you with him ten minutes ago?” Tim moves even closer, until he’s backed me up against a wall.

I look up at him, blinking.
Fight or flight
fills my being. And for some reason I find myself choosing to hold my ground. “Where do you think I was?” I question.

He studies me, expression still unfathomable. “You know, I didn’t notice at first. It took me a while to make any connections. But the least I can figure, you changed after that car accident. The kid I knew was just gone. I don’t know what happened to you, but the doctor said you were fine, we were just worrying too much. I don’t think so,” he repeats.

Clearly, I’m not going to be able to get any more out of him. I try to look afraid. “I could try harder to be that person you knew. I will try.”

“If I’ve learned anything in this godforsaken world, it’s that people don’t change. Look at me.” He laughs softly, and I smell the faint tang of alcohol on his breath. “I tried to be a good husband, I tried to be a good dad. When I couldn’t do that, I tried to be a good farmer. Nope, people sure don’t change!”

His words strike a chord somewhere inside me. He’s wrong; people can change. They can. Now is not the time for argument, however. Now is the time to appeal to his humanity. “Dad—”

The word coming from my lips seems to anger him even further. “You’re just like your mother,” he says, grabbing my shoulder quicker than I can jump out of his reach. “Always lying!”

I shove him without thinking, and my resistance infuriates him further. Swift as a snake, he bangs my head against the wall. Reflex tears spring to my eyes. More instincts shriek at me.
Run, claw, reason
.

“ … would you lie to me about where you’ve been unless you were with a guy?” Tim is demanding. “Did you sleep with him? How long has this been going on? What if you get pregnant, slut? Huh? Do you expect your mother and me to clean up the messes you make?” The questions come at me relentlessly, each one punctuated with a head slam. My vision blurs, the first sign that I’m going to lose consciousness. Impulse takes over again, and my fist lashes out before I can stop it, connects with flesh. Tim stumbles back, bellowing.

“I wasn’t with anyone,” I attempt to say. But the words are lost when Tim utters another cry of rage. He seizes my arm and throws me to the floor. I start to scramble up but he steps on my hand with his heavy boot, and we both hear something crunch. I let out a scream of pain, and I can tell that the sound gratifies him. He bends, lifting me by my throat. With my good hand I reach to scratch his eyes out, but he jerks away just in time. Kicking is pointless, but I try anyway.

“You’re part of this family,” he says through his teeth, shaking me. “I take you to church every Sunday. Where did I go wrong? Why am I cursed with a daughter like you?”

I couldn’t say anything even if I wanted to—Tim’s grip is too tight. I see now that I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have taken his abuse, endured the hits, the insults, his revolting breath and sweaty palms.

No.
Fight or flight
. Once again I gravitate to fight. Is it really instinct that urges me to it? Has to be. Before I comprehend what’s happening, my nails are digging into Tim’s hand. He releases me, making yet another animal-like sound that’s part grunt, part growl. I tumble to the dirt, scraping my knees and the heels of my hands, jarring my injury. The pain nearly consumes me.
No
, I think again. Quickly I glance around for a weapon, something to deter him. The manure shovel—

Tim comes at me from behind. Then his fist is in my hair and he’s yanking me back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Fear materialize—he must’ve been coming for one of his visits. His white beauty makes the ugly scene almost surreal. His expression is thunderous and … torn.

“It won’t last long,” he says to me. “He’s going to pass out soon.”

I know this. It doesn’t lessen the physical pain any. I try to crawl away, but Tim kicks me and I slump against the wall. A groan slips past my lips. “Get up!” he orders. “Get up, whore!”

Fear stands close, so close that I can feel his cool presence gently flowing over me. I touch the edge of his coat. There’s blood on my fingers I didn’t know was there. Fear kneels down, his icy eyes lovely and anxious. “I can’t interfere,” he murmurs. “It’s one of the few rules my kind has. You know I would help if I could.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I manage to say.

“What’s that?” Tim sneers. “What did you say?” He reaches down, hauls me up by my shoulders. Yet another slam.
I’m going to have some bruises tomorrow,
I think insipidly. Fear touches my cheek before standing back.

Then, suddenly sagging, Tim stumbles into me so that I’m crushed between him and the wall. My hand shrieks and I struggle to escape, but Tim is dead weight. His breathing becomes more labored as he hangs onto me, as if he’s really the child. “Well?” he mumbles, the words muffled and watery now. “Answer me.” He sobs, a gurgled, ruined sound.

I stare straight ahead. Blood runs down my temple. “I have no answers that will satisfy you.”

My father laughs, more of a bark, really. “You’re so …
strange. I hear people in town calling you a freak. Yeah, a freak. That’s what you are … ” I still can’t move, and I scan the area around us again for anything to use as a weapon. Fear is still watching from a corner, his jaw clenched, and our eyes meet. Tim groans, distracting me. As I pull my attention away from Fear, another puff of Tim’s foul breath assaults my senses. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles tearfully, mindless. “You know I don’t mean it, don’t you? Sarah won’t even look at me, you know. She doesn’t love me. It’s my fault. I was the one who was supposed to be watching you that day … ”

I grow more alert at this. Is he talking about the accident?

But Tim is too far gone to answer any questions. He makes another sound deep in his throat and stumbles against me, trying to stand. I’m forced to shift to the side and lose my balance. Tim continues to sob as I fall …

… right into a pitchfork.

I let out another cry of pain, instinctively dropping and rolling to my back. The end of the tool clinks against the ground but doesn’t fall out. The tines should be easy to extract, yet the agony is already blazing through me, making it impossible to move.
Should I pull it out?
I think distantly, lying in some moldy hay. Tim is blubbering, moaning more apologies and woes. I pull my hand away from my side and gaze down at the red on my fingers.
Too much
, a voice in my head whispers. Black begins to cloud my vision. “Fear,” I say without thinking. I don’t know why.

And that’s all it takes. One strangled word, his name, his essence, and Fear is there, a gust of frozen fury. Yet the hands that cup my face are gentle, and it’s as if I’m made of something more breakable than glass. As if I’m infinitely precious. “This is going to hurt,” he warns. Before I can tell him that I already hurt the burning intensifies, and I arch my back and scream. Somehow the pitchfork is gone, and the holes in my middle close. One, two, three, four.
When it’s done I pant, blinking through sweat. The wall of nothingness quivers, then becomes firm once again.

Fear smooths damp hair away from my face, still kneeling there. His palms are so cold. “Are you all right?” he asks.

“I didn’t mean to!” Tim chooses that moment to whimper. Forgetting me, Fear jerks upright, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. He vanishes in a burst of smoky tendrils, and Tim is across the room before I realize what’s happening. Fear bends over my father, his clothes a fluid, dark waterfall that obscure my view.

“You’re not going to touch her again,” he snarls, and blood sprays against the barn door.

“Fear, stop,” I say, struggling to my feet. Fear pounds Tim’s face, over and over, with all his unrestrained strength, and he doesn’t stop until I touch his back. My hand jars him out of his wild stupor, and he lets Tim slump to the ground.

“Fear,” I say again. He whips around, staring at me.

I stare back. There’s a tight sensation in my stomach. “You’re going to pay a price for helping me,” I tell him quietly. He already knows, of course, but I say it anyway. Although Emotions and Elements have no sovereign, any of the few rules they break are brought to balance by some unknown force. Maybe sooner, maybe later. Years ago, when I was learning more about the other plane and those that dwell there, Fear informed me that Disgust had killed a human once. Ten years later, Disgust’s lover was murdered. Coincidence? None of the beings from the other plane seem to think so.

What will be Fear’s consequence?

My hand—still unhealed—throbs as Fear makes a sound of contempt. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, imitating me. And then he smiles, a slow, gentle smile. I feel my nothingness twinge, harden itself. For a reason I can’t fathom, I think of that night in the loft when he held my hand. Offered to help me sleep. As Fear looks at me, that same expression of unexpected vulnerability crosses his beautiful face. My body aches all over, but I owe him this. Stepping forward, as if I’m moving through water, I slowly place my arms around him, rewarding him because I pay my dues.

He hesitates only an instant before embracing me in return. He buries his face in my hair, inhaling. Tim had done the same thing just moments ago, but it’s vastly different with Fear. There’s that sensation again, of something within me moving. His touch brings on images of panting terror and horrific experiences of people around the globe, but I ignore them all.

Fear heaves a sigh, arms tightening around me like he never wants to let go. “I have summons,” he murmurs reluctantly. “Better get back to work.” I don’t respond. Smiling again, Fear bends and brushes a soft kiss on my lips. Once, twice, three times, as if I’m a drug and he’s a drowning addict. He shudders in my hands, this timeless, powerful Emotion. Being with me really does change him, affect him.

“Don’t.” I pull away. An odd instinct doesn’t like the distance between us, but I chalk it up to my mind striving for safety. Right now, Fear represents safety. Yet Tim isn’t a threat anymore. He lies there with his back to a stall, a lump of regrets. Above him, the cows watch us curiously. “You’ll only get hurt.”

Fear winks at me, buoyed by the kisses. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

He disappears from my sight, and I turn to see how much damage he’s done to Tim. It’s not encouraging when my father coughs up blood, hay sticking to his pummeled face.