Some Quiet Place

The house is a mourning skeleton of a place. Without Sarah, it’s lost its soul, its purpose. I imagine it misses the tender hands that tended to every corner of its insides, misses Sarah’s gentle footsteps and her soothing voice. Even the shadows feel abandoned and empty.

It’s been three days since she left. Three long, tension-filled days. Sheriff Owen tracks me down to ask me his questions, to which I give vague, useless answers. Tim drinks himself into oblivion for hours on end now, leaving the fields and the livestock untended. Charles avoids the house like a plague. And since Tim isn’t exactly around to notice, Joshua has been by every day, once in the morning to pick me up, once in the afternoon to drop me off. He’s not taking any chances now, and won’t take no for an answer. To anything.

Now. Now. Now. It’s all I am. All I can focus on. To think of anything else would only bring me around in circles. The questions are too many, the solutions too few. Should I leave? Is Nightmare nearby? When will he pounce? Is Fear still alive? And then there’s Tim to think about—he’s a ticking time bomb, set to burst at any second. Will I survive the explosion this time, especially since Fear won’t be rescuing me again?

I’m lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, the smell of dry paint filling my nostrils. When a loud creak sounds through the walls, I instantly sit up. My first thought is that Nightmare has finally come back for me. But after a moment, I recognize my brother’s tread: slow, light. Somehow I know what he’s doing. Change is in the air. For a second I ponder if I should confront him or not. Then I slide out of bed and pad to the door.

“What are you doing?”

Charles twitches, dropping his bags right there in the hall. They hit the floor with two resounding thuds. He looks at me over his shoulder as if he’s been caught doing something wrong. For a moment it seems like he’s actually considering pretending that he’s not leaving, that nothing is different.

Moving in a way that won’t startle him, I approach my brother in the dark, bend down, grab the handle of one of his bags, and press it into his sweaty hand. I smile up at him, this boy who will never grow up.

He swallows. I watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. We both know there’s no pretending this time. And finally he does mutter, “I have to go.” As if the words have a bad taste, he clears his throat. I don’t have the reaction he’s probably expecting: hurt or maybe anger. My calm appears to bother him even more, and, unable to keep eye contact, Charles looks down at his feet. Now he looks like a child about to be scolded.

I give him what he wants. “It’s okay. I would do the same if I could.”

Charles laughs a little, shaking his head. “No, you wouldn’t. You’ve never wanted to be anywhere. You never seemed to care about any of it.”

I pick up his other bag and hand it to him. “That’s not true. I think deep down, I always wanted to paint Venice.” The lie is sudden, effortless. I don’t know why I give it to him.

He raises his head. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looks even younger here, in the dim. I re-member Charles as a child, always leaving me behind to play with his friends, always running off when Tim was in one of his moods. “You’re going to live the life you want,” I tell him. “And you shouldn’t feel guilty about that.”

The grandfather clock at the end of the hall dongs. We stand there, and the song plays. Charles sighs. “I’m staying at my buddy Garrett’s house for a while. If you … if you need me for anything, just give me a call, all right?”

We both know I won’t. But it’s nice of him to make the offer anyway. “See you,” I say, reaching out to give him a one-armed hug since he’s carrying the bags. He doesn’t try to hug me back, but I do feel his chin rest on the top of my head, just for a moment.

I watch him go down the stairs. Before he reaches the bottom step I turn away to go back to my cold, lonely bed.

“Liz?”

I poke my head out the door one more time. Charles has stopped. He’s looking up at me. When I don’t respond, he bites his bottom lip. “You asked me a while ago if I remember what you were like as a baby.” He meets my gaze suddenly, determination in the lines of his face. “The truth is, I don’t really remember that girl. She was so different from who you are now. But I do remember one thing. I’ve never forgotten, really. It was right after you had your accident. I asked you once, ‘How are you feeling, Liz?’ It was … scary. You looked right at me and said, ‘Liz is dead.’”

I force a smile. “Thank you for telling—”

“I’m not done.” His hold on both bags tightens. “I asked you why you would say that. You didn’t answer me right away. In fact, it wasn’t until after supper. I was outside hitting some balls. You came up behind me and you said, ‘I took her place.’ I was just a kid, but even then I saw how real it was. You’ve never been my sister, but I still treated you like one, because I always thought you needed someone to show you some kindness.”

I blink. Once. Twice. “What—”

“I’m not as ignorant as I act. None of us are. We all saw the change in you. No accident could do that. I don’t care what the counselors or the doctors said. I’ve always believed that there are strange things in the world, even though we can’t see them. You’re just one of the mysteries, Elizabeth. I accepted that.”

The words hit me like bullets to the chest. You’ve never been my sister. Some part of me did always believe that even though I’m different, apart, I’m blood to these people. This—the need to belong to a family I should have already belonged to—might have been the real thing that urged me to find the answers. Their pain drove me to try to become the girl they once knew.

But I can’t think about this now. Later. Because it’s time for another goodbye.

I study Charles. Maybe I’ve been too quick to judge him. It just goes to show that what’s on the surface is never all there is. “Charles.” I smile down at him. “Go. You were a good brother—the best you could be—and I’ll never forget you.”

It’s as if a weight has lifted off of him; his shoulders slump and he sighs again. “See you in another lifetime, Liz,” he murmurs, grinning. That flop of hair shines beneath the entryway light. He nods at me and turns his back for the last time, leaving this life behind to seek out a new one. Just as Sarah did. A life that won’t hiss with secrets from every corner and where pretending is unnecessary.

The door shuts with just a gentle click and Charles Cald-

well is gone. Somehow, I know I won’t see him again.

I go back to bed, settling into the sheets as if I’d never left. The filmy curtains around my window flutter, and I focus on them as sleep claims me. The dream waits in the recesses of my mind, waits patiently to take me down into the depths.

He stands with his back to me, in that pose I’m beginning to identify as his: arms behind his back, hands clasped. We’re on a clear platform of some kind, surrounded by nothing but white, open air. The wind tugs at my hair. It hangs loose, long—I never wear it like this. I look down and see that once again I’m wearing the yellow sundress. It seems out of place now that all the illusions are gone. He isn’t using Landon this time, isn’t hiding behind meadows or stone houses.

“What are you waiting for?” I ask his back dully. “Go ahead. Finish it.”

He doesn’t turn. After a moment he says, “I find that I like my opponents to be invested in the game.” His tone is light, casual, as if he’s commenting on the weather. His clothing presses against his body; he’s facing the wind. I glance around and wonder for a brief moment where we are. Then I remember that it doesn’t matter. None of it is real. He’s in my head.

When he doesn’t get a response, Nightmare finally faces me, and it’s difficult to look him in the eyes. They’re round black jewels. Snake eyes. “It’s time for a short intermission,” he informs me. His hair reminds me of Fear’s in the way it rests against his skin like silk.

His words register. “Is this a game or a play?” I ask, taunting him for some reason. Foolish. I can’t take it back, though.

His gaze narrows. “Perhaps you’d rather continue now, then.”

Again I don’t answer, but my heart stumbles. He sighs, waving a hand. “Go, little one. You’ll see me soon. I do hope you regain some of that charming emotion I saw so briefly.”

I open my mouth to speak, maybe ask the questions I’m unable to ask Rebecca, but an invisible hand pushes me right in the center of my chest. My arms flail, but it’s too late. I fall into the white oblivion. Down, down, the air rushing from my lungs.

I land in my bed.