Where Silence Gathers (6 page)

“On a job. Someone's piano needed tuning in Othello.”

I hesitate. Once, I might have gone and sat beside her. Watched
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire
with her.
She always managed to kick my ass. Now, though? “Well … good night.” I turn my back on her and head for the relief of my bed. Maybe Dream will be kind tonight.

“Alex.” Halting, I keep my gaze on the floor. I can feel Missy fixing her worried eyes on me, though. “What can we do?”

“What?” I can't do this right now. I can't.

“What can we do?” she repeats, more forcefully this time. “You know, I thought it was strange that Briana got her acceptance letter from UW and we still hadn't heard anything. So I called the school to check on your application. They informed me that they'd never received one … which means you've been lying to us for months. We could take your car away, we could ground you, we could make you clean the entire building. We could even revisit counseling. But none of that's going to help you, though, is it? I'm not delusional, Alex. Everyone has secrets, especially teenagers. I just wish you would
talk
to us. So I'm asking. What can we do?”

“Missy, I … ” She waits. I angle my body toward her, making a helpless gesture. “I'm not trying to hurt you. I just … I have some things to figure out.”

One side of her face quivers from the light of the TV. It matches her voice when she asks, “Like whether or not you want a future?”

“No.”
Like whether or not someone else should have one
.

But I can't say that. I can't offer her any promises or tell her things are going to change, either. All I can say is this: “I'm sorry. I am.”

My aunt just looks at me for what feels like a very long, long time. Then she whispers, “Destroying yourself isn't going to bring them back, Alex.”

Silence. She saves me from having to answer by getting up. Slowly, she walks past and creaks down the hallway. Into her room.
Click
.

The stench of Guilt fills my nostrils. Her hand settles on my shoulder and it feels as if she's made of concrete, it's so heavy. I walk away. Without showering or brushing my teeth—again—I go to bed. I stare at nothing. Soon, Angus knocks on the wall.

For the first time, I don't knock back.

Saul comes home around ten. But he doesn't come up to the apartment. Instead, I hear him tinkering around in the shop below, playing the instruments no one wanted anymore. After a while, I recognize the melody:
Swan Lake
. It was one of my dad's favorites. He'd been teaching it to me before he died. Saul plays it over and over again, and a lump forms in my throat as I listen. The voices of those sad pianos eventually lull me into dreamland … the music of something forgotten, something aching to be remembered.

Seven

I dream of my family.

We're laughing, teeth glinting in the sunlight. The grass is green and birds sing. A circle of Emotions surround us where we sit in the park. Joy, Love, Anticipation, Hope. All the good ones, whose touches are like a drug. Enthralling, thrilling, addicting. I sit between my parents—twelve years old again—with Hunter in my lap. He's sucking on his thumb.

“William, don't,” Mom suddenly says, her voice high and frightened. The sun ducks behind some clouds, casting shadow over all of us. I turn my head to look at Dad, but he's cut off from us now, surrounded by a different group of Emotions. Anger, Despair, Desperation, even Hate. All I can see are the backs of their heads.

“Mom? What's happening?”

She covers my eyes, holding me close as if to shield me. “He's doing it for you, he's doing it for you,” she starts chanting. I'm a quiet hole of fear. I want to run to Dad and I want to run away all at once. Mom's smell wraps around me just as securely as her arms. Honeysuckle.

Then the sun brightens.

I open my eyes, and I'm utterly alone. Mom and Hunter are gone. I turn to where Dad was, but he's disappeared too, along with the Emotions haunting him. The only thing left in his place is a single, glinting flash drive.

The town clock is sounding, over and over again.
Wake up, wake up
, it says. I want to take a hammer and smash it into silence.

My eyes flutter open, and even before I see her I know she's here. “I hate you,” I rasp.

Dream blinks, the movement slow and deliberate. She's a new Element that—for some reason—replaced the old Dream. There was something especially disturbing about him, anyway, so I accepted the change without bothering to ask questions. She stands next to my bed. She's one of the strangest-looking Elements there is: black hair and eyelashes, skin so pale I should be able to see veins, long limbs that are almost unnatural. Her lithe body is draped in a gossamer gown of more black. Her feet are bare and her toes peek out at me. Long, bony toes.

“No you don't,” she replies, in a voice that's made of feathers. Then it's my turn to blink, and my room is empty.

She's right. I don't hate her. Twisted as it is, she gave me back my family for one night.

I must be running late; the air smells of burnt bacon and the clock struck eight times. Missy didn't wake me up. I fly out of bed, stumbling over clothes on the floor. The window is tightly shut, exactly as it should be. Relief blooms in my chest and I dart to the bathroom, ignoring the Emotion hurrying after me.

Fifteen minutes later I'm tentatively poking my head into the kitchen. My wet hair drips, and my eyebrow ring must be getting infected because it hurts. Saul is in his usual spot, chewing loudly. There's a bowl of cereal in front of him and Missy is nowhere to be seen. He doesn't even look up when he asks, “What happened to your car mirror?”

Hesitating, I dare to take two steps closer. Is he going to mention the application I lied about? “Some freak broke it. He came so close I was lucky the mirror was all he hit.”

“What?” Saul's head jerks up. An Emotion appears. “You don't know who it was?”

I take a banana out of the fruit bowl and shrug, leaning against the counter while I unpeel it. “Must've been someone passing through.” A glance at the clock on the wall tells me there's no possible way I'll make it to my first class. I take a bite and a bad taste greets my tongue; I didn't see the bruise. Making a face, I toss the banana into the trash.

“No one passes through Franklin.” Saul turns his attention back to the paper and shovels more cereal in his mouth. “I'll talk to Frederick about it. And you should pay a visit to Erskine about the mirror. He always gives us a good deal. Shouldn't you get going?”

Crunch. Tick. Crunch. Tick.
I watch my uncle and—though there aren't any Emotions around him now—know that he's disappointed. And hurt. And angry. That clock won't stand still long enough for me to attempt to bridge the distance between us, and I'm already late. I move to the doorway again. Just as I reach the threshold, I pause and think about saying something meaningful. But, like with Missy, all I have are lies. So I slip away without saying anything and Saul doesn't try to stop me.

I wish he would.

Angus watches me leave again. He doesn't wave or smile while I drive off into the fog. Saul must have fixed my car window, because it's finally shut.

I'm halfway to school when the urge to run consumes me again. Briana will be there, probably wondering about the flash drive I haven't been able to unlock and looking at me with those troubled eyes. The teachers will drone about times and things and places I don't care about. And Emotions will be there. So many Emotions. Disorienting and constant, relentless and meddlesome.

I think of Missy's face in the glow of the television last night, and how Saul avoided my gaze this morning. They've already lost hope, and Franklin High eventually stops bothering to call when a student skips too many times. That's how things work here. Why keep fighting when I'm not sure I want to fight at all?

Of their own volition, my hands yank the steering wheel to the side and I'm turning onto Halbrook Lane. No one comes this way anymore, but the dirt remembers when men rolled over it in their trucks every morning and night. Grass doesn't grow. Trees surround the road, green-brown blurs as the miles pass. Then the signs begin appearing. Bright, rusted warnings.
DANGER. MINE SITE. NO TRESPASSING.

There it is.

The opening is black, empty, expectant. There's more than one entrance to the mines, but this is the biggest and the safest. Someone put up a fence and another sign, both easy to ignore. I park and get out. Despite the mist, it's warmer today. Spots of sunlight touch the ground and birds call. I stay by the car, staring at that wide mouth and remembering when Dad took me down there. The damp walls frightened me and the low ceilings were terrifying. I lasted twenty minutes before crying and begging him to take me back up to the surface, where everything was bright and safe and familiar. He did, and he never expressed any disappointment or impatience. I didn't see the Emotions, either. In many ways, Dad really was perfect.

And then he was taken from me.

The quiet is too loud, so I tap an erratic beat on my thigh. After a few minutes, I know I can't go in there. My movements jerky, I yank the passenger door open to grab the gun. The handle is freezing on my skin. The door slams shut again with a hard kick from my boot. I spin around, close one eye, and pull the trigger.

Bang
. The thunderous echo vibrates through the woods. The bark of a tree explodes. My ears ring.

“Your aim could use a bit of work.”

I jerk at the sound of Revenge's voice. Before I can turn, he comes up behind me and I feel the furnace of his skin as he plays with my hair. My limbs lock into place.

“Relax your grip,” he whispers. He's careful, so careful not to touch me. But he could. He's just a inch away, so close. He could. I could.

Once again Lust sidles up next to me, a creature with full lips and yellow hair. She's not the one I want, but her touch has all the same effects Revenge's would. She taunts me with that vicious mouth, brushing them over my cheek, my jawline, my ear. “My, my, Revenge,” she purrs. “This one really wants—”

“You've done your job. Now get lost,” I hiss, breaking my own rules by acknowledging her. She smirks at me before leaving.

In the silence that follows, a blush ebbs through my face; there's no way Revenge didn't see her. Hear her. I close my eyes and breathe. Parts of me still quiver and tingle.
Talk about something,
instinct urges.
Anything.

“Revenge … ” I make myself face him as if nothing has changed. His expression gives nothing away. I clear my throat, silently telling my pulse to calm. “I've been … I think I'm going crazy. I just thought I should warn you. In case I start going rabid or something.” How does the gun feel so hot now, when moments ago it was so cold?

Revenge's eyes soften in a way that makes the breath catch in my throat again. “You're not going crazy, Alex.” His voice is strangely tender.

“How do you know?” I manage to ask.

He shrugs, as if it's so obvious. “Because I know you.”

Overhead, a bird calls to another. The canopy of leaves—still recovering from the long sleep of the past few months—struggles to hide them. Then one bird takes flight, flitting to another branch in a flurry of brown feathers. It hops to a different tree, this one close to the entrance of the mine. I stare at it again. Mom's voice haunts me.
William, don't!

“My dad worked down there. He knew those mines better than anyone,” I say. The bird lifts into the sky and soars to better places.

“Is that why you came here? To feel closer to him?”

It would make sense. A pretty lie, tied up with a pretty red bow. But no, that isn't why I really came here.
The mines. The mines.
“Just needed to clear my head,” I mutter, raising the gun. Revenge doesn't respond, and he steps away. I fire off another shot.

Bang
. Smoke billows from the muzzle. The action feels empty. I imagine the bullet putting a hole into Nate Foster. But with thoughts of him comes thoughts of someone in a white T-shirt, who speaks of redemption and hope. Things I'll permanently leave behind when I actually do face Nate Foster.

“What do you know about my dad?” I ask Revenge without looking at him.

He shrugs. “Not much, honestly. Once, years ago, you told me your father was frightening. When I asked you why, I couldn't get anything else. I figured you just didn't want to talk about it.”

This raises too many questions that have no answers. My mind goes to the next topic that's been bothering me. I try to think of a careful way to bring it up.

“So are you going to tell me about Forgiveness?” I blurt. I don't know if I say it because I want to know or because some part of me wants to drive Revenge away.

His countenance darkens. Like with Saul, the space between us doesn't feel like inches or feet or yards; it feels like miles.

“You won't give up, will you?” he snaps. “What do you want to know?”

“I'm just curious.” Now I shrug, but I can tell it hardly convinces him. The truth is something I won't say out loud. As infuriating as he was, I found Forgiveness … interesting. The way he looked at me has been impossible to forget. It wasn't like I was a dealer selling the drug he wanted or just another duty to be carried, though. No, Forgiveness stared at me as if I was
someone
.

And that's a drug all its own.

Revenge picks up a fallen branch. He stoops and plucks a pine cone from the ground, too. Then, with one swift movement, he throws it into the air and swings. The cone shatters. I wait.

“We've been doing this dance for centuries, Forgiveness and I,” he says finally. “Sometimes it's over within minutes. Sometimes—like with you—it takes years.”

“What takes years?”

He looks at me. A breeze toys with his bright hair. “The choice.”

For so long, I'd thought of the other plane as something inhabited by feelings and nature. It's still difficult to wrap my mind around the knowledge that all this time, there's been something else. “Are there more? Choices, I mean?”

Now it's his turn to shrug. “A few. Not as large a group as the Emotions, or even the Elements. Choices only exist if they're significant enough that they change the course of a human life. And sometimes the choice is made so quickly that even you, with your Sight, can't catch them. Truth and Lie, for example. Now those are some slippery characters.” Revenge grins, expecting me to smile back. When I don't, he expels a breath that sounds infinitely resigned. “What else?”

I bend and pick up the shards of the pine cone, even though it's fruitless to try to put it back together. They nestle in the center of my palm, permanently broken. Revenge waits. “How does this work, exactly?” I finally ask.

I've never wanted to hear the answer before, and we both know it. Maybe because with Nate Foster in jail, there wasn't really anything I could do about it. Or maybe because I wanted to cling to something that wasn't mine to have.

“The same way it works for everyone else, even with your Sight,” Revenge answers after a long, long pause. “You won't be picking
me
or
him
. You'll be picking what we
are
. You can't just decide to grab my hand one day and that's it. When you've really made your choice, I'll know, and that's the moment I'm free to touch you.”

The pieces of the pine cone fall to the ground. I don't know what to focus on. The gun, the mines, him, the sky. Clenching my jaw, I decide on the tree I've just decimated. “How many times have you been picked?”

“Does that really matter, Alex?”

“I guess not.” Because I can picture them—those people who were stronger than me. Who made their choices while here I am, using the forest as target practice and hurting the family I have left. That's not the only reason I back down so easily, though. More questions are crowding into my throat, questions I won't ask:
Did you befriend all those others, too? Or am I just another game?

I twist so I can see Revenge's face again. But he's gone.

Wind whistles through the woods. No, not just the wind.
Alexandra
. “Shut up,” I growl. I turn and shoot the tree so many times that it's more holes than bark.