Some Quiet Place (14 page)

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.

“Is she asleep?” I ask.

John shrugs as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. Maybe it does. “It’s off and on. Her mother is in there with her now, and it’s quiet, so probably.”

I nod. Maggie’s dad focuses, and he finally notices the wrapped package in my arms. Sorrow also notices. “What’s that?” John asks lifelessly. I look down at it.

“Something I made for Maggie.”

He tries to smile again, fails. Sorrow is unrelenting. “Why don’t you just go in? You can wait by her bed. She’ll be so surprised when she wakes up and you’re there.”

I glance at the door. “Are you sure?” John waves me in, and I walk past him. The air in Maggie’s room is warmer, still dark. Slumped in the chair by the bed, Maggie’s mom startles when she sees me, then relaxes.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” she sighs. She’s in no better condition than John. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Elizabeth?” Maggie’s voice is a rasp, a croak, really. It sounds like it hurts just to say my name. I approach the bed, clenching the package close to me as if it’s a defense against her. Realizing this, I release my grip.

“Hi.”

Silently, Maggie’s mom gets up from her chair and leaves us. She gently touches my arm as she passes. I stand there over my best friend. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as she struggles to breathe. She manages to smile up at me, something neither of her parents was able to do. I don’t know this person. She’s just a shriveled, waning thing lying in that bed. There’s no expression, no light, just bones and skin and organs that are fast losing their purpose. How odd, for something to lose its purpose.

I sit down in the chair by her bed, making my expression serene. “I brought you something,” I tell her. I watch Maggie’s eyes go to the square package in my arms, see the question in them. I scoot closer and unwrap it quickly. She takes in the painting I’ve done for her, and suddenly Emotions surround the bed. Joy, Sorrow, Anger, Confusion. None of them address me, since it’s Maggie that takes up the whole of their attention. She seems to love the painting, but I’d guess she’s also thinking that it’s the last one of mine she will ever see. She looks glad that I’ve come, but she’s also probably wondering why this had to happen to her.

“Since you can’t go to the ocean,” I say softly, “I thought I would bring it to you.”

She’s still smiling so softly, and a bubble of spit appears at the corner of her mouth. I reach out and wipe it away, and she moves her fingers a bit. They’re limp in her lap, and, focusing on our hands, I reach down and lace them together.

“Thank you, Elizabeth,” Maggie whispers. Raw.

I look at her face again, and she’s studying our hands, too. “You’re welcome.”

Maggie lifts her gaze to meet mine. Suddenly she coughs, and her body racks. “Hurts … ” she rasps. My grip tightens, as if I hold on tight enough she won’t drift away in this current, as if I hold on tight enough she won’t hurt so much.

Courage appears at my side, among the rest of the watching Emotions. Though he’s not as handsome as most of them, he’s more ethereal in appearance. He looks at me. “You’ve done well with this human,” he says. His voice is gravelly and smooth at the same time, ancient in its wisdom and kindness.

“I haven’t done anything,” I say to him without thinking.

“Who are you talking to?” Maggie follows my gaze.

I focus on her quickly. “Oh, just … talking to myself. Sorry.”

“You’ve always been so different from everyone else,”
she mumbles with another half-smile.

I lean closer to hear better, still pretending. “And yet you stuck with me. I may be different, but I think you might be a little crazy.” My tone is teasing.

My friend tries to laugh, but the sound breaks off into more vicious coughing. I can only watch. My nothingness is as strong as ever, but I sense it hardening, slamming more bricks into the wall.

“It’s a little cliché, isn’t it?” Maggie wheezes. “The dramatic last speech, the cancer. I don’t want to be a cliché.”

Even now, I feel nothing. It shouldn’t be unexpected, but still, it seems … wrong. I should be able to mourn my only friend. The hooded stranger seemed to say that the power on me would eventually fade. Wouldn’t now be a good time? Isn’t grief one of the strongest Emotions, overwhelming enough to shatter the hardest of hearts?

Disregarding the question for now, I touch Maggie’s cheek and slowly shake my head. “You could never be a cliché.”

She just tosses her own head restlessly—the movement costs her, and she winces—and I stand to set the painting on a ledge by her bed, where she can see it anytime she wants. I’m careful to keep my face away from the light; I worked on the painting all night up in the loft, and it would be unfortunate if Maggie notices the smudges under my eyes. I sit back down. The chair creaks. I hold Maggie’s hand again and she squeezes weakly.

“Can I tell you a secret?”
she asks. I nod. Her lips tremble, and she abruptly changes the subject. “You don’t show it all the time, but I know you care. That’s what kept me going, sometimes. When you weren’t around … when I didn’t hear from you … I knew it was just because it’s hard. It can’t be easy s-seeing me like this.” She swallows painfully, closing her eyes for a moment.

This girl really is an extraordinary being. Lying in this hos-
pital bed, shrinking away before my eyes, she thinks about how hard this is for
me
. I blink, pursing my lips, unsure how to respond to such sentiment. “What’s the secret you wanted to tell me?” I finally say.

She turns her head again to look out the window. It’s a cloudy day out; no rain, but no sun either. Unfair that on a day like this there shouldn’t be brilliance for her.

Maggie swallows several times before admitting, “I’m afraid
.
”
Her breathing becomes more frantic, and I do the first thing my instincts tell me to do: I lean over and I hug her. She hugs me back, desperate for comfort, for someone to tell her everything’s going to be okay. Now Fear is there, among the others, but for the first time I barely notice him.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I whisper in Maggie’s ear. “You’re going to be all right. You’ll see. You’ll see.” Empty words from an empty person.

She lets out a ragged breath in my ear, and I know that even as gentle as I’m trying to be, I’m causing her pain. I pull away, and Maggie lets me go reluctantly.

“It just wasn’t supposed to end like this.” She looks at me with red-rimmed eyes and yellow skin. Colors should be a good thing, but now, they’re marks, omens of bad tidings. “I was supposed to grow up, go to college, get a job,” she continues in that gut-clenching croak. “Meet my dream guy, marry, have k-kids. You were going to live next door and we would grow old in the same nursing home. Chuck oatmeal at each other and watch soap operas all day in our rocking chairs. That was my daydream. My perfect life. I don’t want to keep asking myself why until the end, but … ”
A lone tear trails down her sunken cheek. This time I don’t reach out to wipe the water away; I let it go. Down, down, until it drips off the side of her jaw. This is humanity. This is life and death in one room.

Time is running out. I feel the air drawing closer, sense the Element we all meet once in a lifetime coming this way. I cup Maggie’s bald head in my hand, leaning close a third time to offer her a sweet story. Truth or not, I don’t know, but I won’t send her on her way afraid.

“There’s a place”—my voice is a whisper again—“that everyone goes when they die. It’s beautiful, so perfect it seems unreal. There’s always sunlight, and when it rains the water is warm and glittering, so that you can dance in the storm without having to worry about sickness or danger. Your friends and family are waiting there for you, they’re so excited to see you. All those babies your mother didn’t get to have are there, all your brothers and sisters. In this place you can have that perfect life you want. There are gorgeous cities and everything is so easy there. Time passes much more quickly, so that by the time I get there you won’t even realize it’s been a while.”

Something dark moves out of the corner of my eye, and the room chills. When I glance over, I see Death, watching us patiently. He’s so hard to look at. He’s everything and nothing. Beautiful and ugly, terrible and wonderful. His eyes are black waters that are too easy to drown in. I can’t even look at what he’s wearing; it’s impossible to look away from that face. He doesn’t spare me a glance—Maggie is who he’s come for.

I move to get her parents, but she stops me. “Elizabeth?”
Maggie’s eyes have begun to flutter, and since my hand is on her wrist I feel her heart accelerate and slow down at the same time. “Don’t stop talking. Your voice is so pretty … like bells … ”

“I’m right here,” I say, tearing my gaze away from Death. I act like he’s not there at all, act like the dozens of Emotions in the room aren’t there. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“How long until I see you again?”
She’s fading fast now. I should go get her parents. But I don’t move. It would seem like a betrayal to her, somehow.

I press my hand to her forehead, her cheek, her hand. “Soon. Don’t wait up for me, okay?”

Death doesn’t move, but his power is a gentle, unstoppable force. She doesn’t even get a chance to answer me, because Maggie Stone is gone. When I look to Death again, he’s gone, too. All that’s left of my best friend is the shell in the bed. Quiet, empty, nothing.

Sixteen

I sit on the front steps of the school during lunch hour. I stare down at the sidewalk, waiting for the bell to ring so I can go inside and get back to class. A shadow falls over me, but I don’t bother glancing up. Only one person would make the effort to seek me out.

Joshua doesn’t try to say anything. He just stands there. After a while he sits down. Silence. A bird calls. A car goes by. Joshua chews the inside of his lip, and I know what he’s thinking: he’s debating over the right words, how to comfort me. He can’t begin to comprehend that none of it matters, that no comfort is needed. I let him flounder.

He finally chooses to say what thousands, millions before him have said. “I’m sorry.”

Feeling his gaze on me, I just count the lines in that sidewalk. I expected something different from him, somehow.

When I don’t respond, Joshua clears his throat. “I know people around here aren’t making that big a deal out of it, but it’s because none of them knew Maggie. I knew her, though. She was in one of my art classes, once. She made fun of my tree.” He laughs at the memory. I can imagine the scene, and it’s classic Maggie. Decked out in all her black and skulls, she’s pointing at his sketchpad and laughing.

Joshua knows he isn’t doing this right. He’s probably remembering how he felt when his mom died.

I decide to change the subject. “I’m sorry I never gave you my part of the portfolio. It was irresponsible of me.”

He stares at me in disbelief. “I’m not worried about it, Elizabeth. Mrs. Farmer isn’t, either. She knows about Maggie.”

I squint up at the sky. Irony of ironies, it’s sunny today. “I shouldn’t be given special treatment. I’ll finish my part of the homework and hand it in.”

Joshua processes this. He probably decides it’s is my way of dealing with the grief. “Look, I know this must be hard for you. So if you ever need to talk, well, I’m not a counselor or anything, but I am a friend. You can call me anytime.”

I turn my head to meet his gaze, cold. “Joshua, I don’t care that Maggie died. I watched the life drain from her and I didn’t feel a thing. You don’t need to have the right words, or say anything comforting. I’m fine, I always will be, and nothing is going to change. The world will go on as it always has, no matter who dies. You’d better get used to that.”

I get up and leave him there with his empty words and sad eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re still going to this thing,” Fear hisses in my ear as I guide my truck up Sophia Richardson’s driveway. Looks like everyone is here for the big birthday party. Her house is a couple miles from town, in a wooded area, a big two-story her parents bought before the divorce. As we pull up I see that someone’s started a bonfire and the hot tub is uncovered. Kids are already getting drunk; someone is vomiting into a bush.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I park my truck away from the other cars, between two trees, and kill the engine. Fear vanishes from his seat and appears beside me as I get out. He’s gritting his teeth.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” he says doggedly and tries to stare me down. I brush past him, the proximity to his essence causing the usual frightening images to race through me.

Ignoring this, I start toward the hot tub, which is where most of the kids are. I know Fear will follow me. “Do you want answers or not?” I challenge him, skirting around a loud couple making out in the grass.

He growls as he exhales. “You’re a coward. I know what you’re doing.”

Music makes the ground shake, and a loud laugh rings out. It’s dark, and Sophia has put up some medieval-looking torches. The flames flicker and cast strange shadows everywhere. I make sure not to look at Fear so nothing seems amiss. “What am I doing?” I question him, sounding genuinely curious.

A girl shoves past me, calling out, “Sean! Hey, Sean, over here!” and when I stumble, Fear steadies me. Once I’m upright he tries to make me face him, but I escape his grip and keep walking.

Fear stalks me now. “You never told Maggie Stone how you really felt, and it’s the least of what you owed her,” he snaps. “It’s eating you up inside.”

“And how did I really feel about her?” I ask, surveying the interactions around the hot tub like they really interest me. A few people have brought their swimsuits, and I watch a boy shove a girl into the water. She shrieks in mock outrage. There are many Emotions here tonight, and these kids are consumed by them.

If possible, Fear gets angrier. He disappears and bursts in front of me again. He seizes my shoulders in his zeal to make me see the truth. “We both know that you were affected by that girl’s death,” he insists. “Even though you never gave her anything back, she stayed. Even when all the other kids shied away and hated you, Maggie—a simple human child—loved you. And no matter what you say, I know you loved her back. I saw the way you looked at her in that hospital room.”

“Sometimes you see things that aren’t there, Fear. We both know that, too.” I start to walk away again, but Fear grabs my arm and hauls me back to face him. His eyes burn. As if his touch isn’t making my nothingness twitch, I raise my brows.

“I want you to admit that you care, Elizabeth,” he growls. It’s hard to hear him over the blaring music. “Say it. For once, tell the truth.”

No one sees me standing in the shadows. We’ve made our way past the hot tub and toward the front door. I lift my chin, staring up at Fear. “I may have humored you in the past, but I’m done pretending. From now on, please accept that this is what I am.”

He suddenly smiles, a bitter, sad quirk of the lips. “You know, sometimes you remind me of my kind in the way you act. The same deception, same games.”

This conversation isn’t sensible. Especially here. I look around me, pursing my lips.
Do not, under any circumstances, go to Sophia Richardson’s birthday party
.
The stranger—Rebecca—desperately wanted to hide something about tonight, so all I can do is wait and try to be in the right place at the right time. I head for the backyard.

What about the house?
something reminds me.

I jerk around quickly, stopping Fear in his tracks. He scowls. I move to the right and he sidesteps, blocking me.

“Move,” I order before thinking.

He doesn’t react well to being told what to do. He grins at me, lazy and insolent. “Not until you tell me what
you know,” he retorts. “We did make a deal, after all. I come with you to this stupid little party and you tell me everything. Well, here I am.”

I dart around him and continue walking toward the house. “You know, if you’re so detached from it all,” Fear says, following me again, “why are you looking for the truth? Why bother at all?”

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to crash the party.”

Sophia, arms crossed, glares at me. I’ve wandered onto the lawn without realizing it, in full view of everyone. Sophia has a tiny army behind her—three girls all decked out in miniskirts and high heels.

“Happy birthday,” I say to her, expressionless. Fear is cold at my back.

Sophia’s eyes bulge out of her head now and Anger is suddenly standing beside her, looking bored. “You seem to bring me to this town quite often, human,” he says to me. “You have a negative effect on this place.”

As do you,
I almost counter. I don’t seem to have good control of my impulses tonight.

Sophia steps closer, her silly high heels sinking into the soil. The torchlight makes her face an ominous orange. “I didn’t invite you here, freak,” she hisses at me. “If you don’t leave, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“You can try.” I don’t back down.

Fear laughs. “Hit her. I dare you,” he says to me.

Sophia actually shoves me. Caught off guard, I stumble back, and she laughs. She has a reputation to maintain in front of our peers. “I didn’t invite you for a reason.” She takes a step closer, menace in the movement. “Because you’re not
normal
.”

Everyone’s paying attention to us now, and some kids start cheering. Encouraged, Sophia lifts her hands to shove me again, but I need to keep searching. Rebecca wouldn’t mention this party for no reason, and I want to walk the entire property. I grab Sophia’s wrists as she reaches for me, and before she can wrench herself free, I throw her to the ground with unexpected ease. Sophia screams as she rolls through the wet grass. There are scattered laughs though the crowd.

“If you’re normal, then maybe it’s a good thing I’m different,” I tell Sophia in a mild tone. I step over her and sidestep her swiping nails.

“I’m going to kill you!” she swears, eyes blazing. She’s cradling one of her arms. I turn my back.

The entire party has encircled this little tête-à-tête, and though most move aside for me to pass, one person stays where he is. He stares like he’s never seen me before. I offer Joshua a wry smile, showing him that this is really who I am, not the perfect girl he’s made me out to be. Why did he come?

To see you,
that voice in my head whispers.

It doesn’t matter.

“Elizabeth?” Joshua watches me walk by but doesn’t reach out. Fear pats his shoulder, mockingly sympathetic. “Let her go, boy. She’s a mess.” Joshua doesn’t hear or see him, of course, but he does frown, sensing something off about me and the air around us.

“
I’m
a mess?” I repeat blandly, going around to the back of the house. Fear just snickers.

The house is dark but clean. The place hasn’t changed much from when I visited here as a child. Same wooden floors, same beige furniture. Sophia probably didn’t want anyone to come inside because her sister is here. I travel through the kitchen, then the living room until I find some stairs leading up. My ears pick up the faint sound of
Wheel of Fortune
somewhere. I trip in the dark, and at the last second I throw my palm before me as a buffer to save my face from smashing the edge of a stair.

Wordlessly, Fear holds out his hand above me. A small orb of light appears over his palm, illuminating the dark hall. Recovering, I keep going. I notice that while my weight makes the stairs creak, Fear is soundless. Using the light, I pause to study some pictures hanging up on the wall. Sophia hardly smiles in any of them, and in every single one she’s by her sister, either supporting her or looking at her with indiscernible expressions.

I keep going. The stairs open up to a large hallway, and my eyes alight on a doorway at the far end, where sounds of the TV and a blue glow pours out. Without hesitation, I go toward it.

The room is small and pink. There’s a rocking horse in the corner and a big, fluffy bed against one wall. These aren’t the first things I see, however. What I spot first is Sophia’s sister, sitting on a rug in the center of the floor, staring at the box that has been put in front of her. If my memory serves me correctly, she’s four years younger than her capricious sister.

“What are you doing?” Fear stays in the hall when I enter the bedroom, so I leave him there and move toward Morgan Richardson.

She isn’t startled by the sight of a stranger in the privacy in her house, this much I know. Does she remember me? As I approach, Morgan tilts her head back to look at me, and I in turn study her thick lashes, her round face and bleary eyes. She’s in pajamas, and the material has frogs all over it. She’s so tiny. The pants are too big for her. She must be in one of her withdrawn moods, since she doesn’t say a word. In the past she wasn’t able to communicate well, and it seems time hasn’t changed that.

“Hello,” I say, glancing around. Besides the furniture and toys, Morgan is alone. It looks like Morgan’s babysitter has left and, judging from the fact I haven’t seen her anywhere, doesn’t intend to return tonight.

“Elizabeth, this is pointless,” Fear says from the doorway.

Ignoring him, I squat down so I’m at Morgan’s level. I smile at her and she stares back.
But then, so quickly that
I wonder if I imagined it, her eyes flit to Fear. A second later she fastens her gaze back on the TV. There’s some cartoon on, something involving a talking sponge.

“Oh, fabulous,” Fear mutters, stalking to the window. “Another human that can see me. That’s just wonderful. You know, my ego can’t take much more of this.” He glares down at the lawn, the moon casting square patterns on his high cheekbones.

Processing Morgan’s stiffness, I reach to brush a strand of hair back from her face. “You see things, don’t you?” I murmur. She leans into my touch. “You know more than you should.” The girl shudders.
I acknowledge this with an incline of my head, understanding. “Sometimes the things you see aren’t very nice, are they?”

Fear whips around, his glare burning through me. “I’m nice!” he protests.

When I still don’t respond he steps closer, growling. “Elizabeth, we’re wasting time. Hold up your end of the bargain.”

“I will. Now hush.” I keep my focus on the girl, but I can sense Fear fuming. Morgan meets my gaze directly, and for the briefest of moments, her eyes become clear and focused, as if she knows me and knows all my secrets. I straighten, alert.

“Do you want to tell me something?” I ask her.

“How long are we going to do this?” Fear seethes.

Morgan’s strange brown-blue eyes go cloudy and clear over and over in an aching cycle. Her mouth moves, puckering. I lean in, putting my ear next to her lips. “Morgan?” I prompt.

She swallows, opens her mouth, closes it. Fear makes another sound of impatience behind me. “I have better things to do, Elizabeth.”

The girl touches my cheek. My hand tightens on hers. “If you have anything to say, now would be an excellent time to do it,” I tell her, forcing a note of tenderness into my tone. Longing arrives, that fickle Emotion. She kneels and embraces Morgan, smiling at me with luminescent eyes. This girl wants someone to be kind to her, just once, without the irritation and sense of duty that usually comes along with it.