Some Quiet Place

in the ditch, no name on the side of it since Mom was always paranoid about someone finding us.

She turned out to be right.

The clouds have broken up just a little, enough that a few rays of sun touch the ground in sporadic splotches. I’m stiff, holding my breath as if I’m about to drive off the cliff into the ocean. Nothing yet … just the woods on either side and the overgrown road. No one has been back here in a long, long time. It feels like it’s all been waiting for someone.

Waiting for me. I roll down the window and let the humid air in. Smelling like salt and wind, it toys with my curls as I listen to the sound of the gravel under the car. The crunch of rocks and dirt makes me think of Elizabeth’s life in Edson. All that’s missing is a slamming screen door …

The house comes into view.

It’s lonely. It’s old. No one has bothered to chop away the tangle of vines climbing up its side. The shingles are rotting and falling off. One of the windows is broken, and the front door is wide open. It’s different and it’s the same.

My head feels light, too light, and I remember that I’m holding my breath. I let it out in an audible whoosh. So many memories, so much pain. I can almost hear Landon’s voice, reading aloud, or Mom’s gentle tenor as she firmly instructs us to sit at the table and work on our math for an hour.

I expected to feel … happy, maybe. Or at least whole. But all I feel is empty. After everything, after all the years and the pain and the pretending, I expected more.

It doesn’t matter, though. What matters is that I’m finally home.

Everything is still here. Landon’s textbooks, Mom’s cookbooks. I found one of my old sundresses in a drawer—the one I was wearing in all the dreams. I remember Mom hugging me once when I had it on. Her scent has long since faded from the material, but I haven’t taken it off since discovering it, despite the cold. I like to pretend I can still smell a hint of her lavender shampoo.

I drift through the long grasses and trees of the woods that Landon and I loved. Since our father never took an interest in us—we were two among dozens he’s probably fathered, since Life can’t be contained—we used this place to feel closer to him. His presence is palpable here. He didn’t play a domestic role for us, but the trees emanate his very essence. Not that I care anymore, now that I see the truth for what it is. He slept with my mom and abandoned her. Moved on. Left us. He has to know we exist. His blood runs through our veins. But even when Landon was dying, when I was dying, the only one Life apparently cared enough to save was our mother.

There was one person who did save me, though, every single time without fail. And I abandoned him. I know that’s why he’s staying away. He thinks I don’t want him. When I became Elizabeth and left Fear in another lifetime, it was the ultimate betrayal. And how ironic that he fell in love with her. Does he hold any feelings for Rebecca, anymore? Or has my deceit obliterated any remnants of that love? Thinking of him adds to the pain, and I’m already confronting too much, so I avoid any more thoughts or memories.

Once, all I wanted to do was sing, dance, celebrate always and mourn never, but now I am consumed by what I have lost. Is Mom looking for me? Will she ever come back here? I try to imagine her somewhere else, leading an existence without me or Landon. She had no illusion to help her endure. Does she think I’m dead, too?

Sometimes I wonder if I could find comfort if I were to return to the niche with Charles. Memories are so easily erased, patterns simple to find again. But then I imagine Tim’s red, swollen face, feel the rage of his fists and hear the slur of his words. I remember Sarah’s trapped pain, the guilt that constantly consumed her. I think of Maggie, my only friend. I contemplate Joshua and what could have been. I relive Charles turning his gaze away when he noticed a new bruise on my cheek. And I know I don’t want to go back. Not really.

I lean against the trunk of a tree, huddling into myself in the twilight. I close my eyes, torturing myself with more memories.

“Someday we’ll leave,” Landon tells me, eyes so bright, so alive. He holds a book of maps in his hand. “Just you and me, Rebecca. We’ll leave the country, even.” His gaze focuses on something in the distance. “I’ve read about things I can’t even begin to imagine without seeing for myself. I mean, there are pictures, but … ” He sighs. “They’re not enough.”

“Things like what?” I ask, lying on my back and squinting up at the sun. I pluck a blade of grass loose from the green beneath me.

Landon finally lies down beside me. We both smell like earth and excitement and daydreams.

“I want to see Mount Rushmore,” he tells me, his voice soft. “Can you see us there? Looking up at huge mountains that have faces carved into them? And cities! New York! It’s full of towers so tall they touch the sky.”

Days go by. One morning I sit on a mossy bank by the river, staring down into the currents. The water by my feet is clear and trickles gently over the smooth rocks. There’s a splash nearby, and when I glance over, all there is to show for it is an oily sheen, floating on the surface. The river quickly carries it away. Trout?

“He’d take you back, you know.”

Jumping, I turn to see Fear leaning against a tree, arms crossed in that arrogant manner of his. He’s staring at me with an unfathomable expression on his frozen, lovely face.

I haven’t seen Fear since I healed him, since we both thought I was a human girl called Elizabeth, since I was wearing her mask. At the sight of his achingly familiar face, the breath catches in my throat.

“Fear.” I stand, brushing off my bottom, swallowing audibly. My dark hair—still foreign to me—tumbles into my eyes, and I’m grateful for the curtain to hide behind. I don’t know what to say. I’m vulnerable. He can see me now; he knows the truth. Does he hate me for what I did? For hiding all this time? I resist the urge to throw myself at him, experience his hands on me for real after so many years of restraint and lies. I know that he wants another now. Someone who was never real to begin with.

Fear doesn’t seem to sense my inner turmoil. “Are you going to go back?” His tone is so distant it hurts.

I blink. “Go back where?”

He sighs impatiently. “To the humans. Back to the boy.”

Joshua. He means Joshua. I turn my back to Fear, trying to muster the courage to tell him he’s wrong. I can’t. I’ve faced so many things, but this … this I’m not ready to confront. I can’t handle his rejection. I’m good at running from the truth. As I bend toward the skeleton of a dead flower—fresh color streaking through the petals at my touch—I try to change the subject, asking, “Have you done something to Tim? No one’s seen him since Charles ran him off, and I don’t think he’d stay away just because Charles threatened to call the sheriff.”

But Fear isn’t going to let me run. He strides toward me, bringing a cool breeze and all his horror with him. “I warned him never to touch you again,” is all he says. Then, “Answer me. Are you going to go back?”

I cringe, and butterflies erupt in my stomach as his essence wraps itself around me. My pulse starts to race.

Fear breathes down my neck. Helpless, I am assailed by images of us together. His lips pressed to my neck. Legs intertwined. Grass sticking to our backs. I whirl around to glare at him. “Get away from me.”

“Oh, you’re mad now. You must really miss him.”

“I don’t miss him.” I’m mad at you for staying away. I’m mad at you for falling in love with someone else. I’m mad at myself.

But he doesn’t hear my thoughts. “Now you’re the one pretending, Elizabeth.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, glaring at him. Is he deliberately being cruel, throwing it in my face that I can never be the one he loves again? “Elizabeth was the little girl whose life I stole. I’m just the fool who tried to be a human, and I damaged everyone I came into contact with. I’m not Elizabeth. Even if it hurts so much sometimes I want to kill myself, I’m going to remember myself this time.”

Fear lifts a finger in the air, teasing. “Ah, but you are Elizabeth. You’ve brought a little of her back with you. Don’t you remember who you were, Rebecca, before Landon died?” Before I can retort or hate him for mentioning my twin’s name, Fear silences me by putting his finger over my lips. A jolt runs through me at the touch, and I struggle against the terror suddenly edging in.

“Listen to me,” Fear whispers now. His breathing is