Some Quiet Place (22 page)

Nightmare toys with my earlobe, then, without warning, he digs his nails into the side of my head. I scream. He leans down and growls through his teeth, “Tell me where he is right now, or I swear I’ll put a knife into your stomach so many times that it’ll look like Swiss cheese.”

His fingers dig even deeper into my skull, and I whimper. My fingers twitch a little—the closest to moving I can get.

When still I don’t speak—I’ve already told him dozens of times I have no idea who he’s talking about, because he can’t possibly mean Tim—Nightmare straightens, pulling his fingers out. Tears slide down my cheeks, soundless rivers. He circles me some more, his footsteps thunder in the tiny space.

“I don’t mean to be so vulgar. Come, now,” he coaxes. He’s playing nice again. “The fool can’t mean that much to you. Honestly, I watched your family all those years ago, waiting for him, and I never saw him once. Doesn’t seem like he cared, otherwise he would visit, wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t
he show up now to save you? Is he really worth dying for?” When I still don’t reply, he sighs. “Such a slippery fellow. Every time I waited at a birth, he didn’t make an appearance. The others know about me now, and this is getting harder.”

I barely hear this last part.
He knows something about me
, I think.
He knows who I was before the illusion
. But I don’t have any answers for him, and I can’t utter a single question. So when I just shake my head, tears running out of the corners of my eyes, Nightmare smiles a little. His teeth glow in the darkness and his anger fills the tiny space. Slowly, his hand reaches for the light switch on the wall next to the door. I open my mouth—try to shout something,
no, please, no
, anything, but I can’t—and his finger lightly flips it, as if it’s the smallest thing in the world.

Electricity sizzles through my body again, and I rock the table from side to side, coming dangerously close to tipping it as I convulse. Now spit, combined with the snot, runs down the side of my neck, pooling on the surface by my cheek. My fingers grip the edge of the table in desperation and a weird sound manages to escape from my mouth, a half-shriek, half-sob. Nightmare instantly flicks the switch back off when he hears it, and his eyes are alert.

“What?” He strides back to my side, cupping my cheek in a tender way. “What did you say, little one?”

I wait a beat. Then, summoning up what energy I have left, I hack the slimy glob from the back of my throat into his leering face. It hits his eye with a satisfying squirt.

The Element jerks back, freezes for an instant. Slowly, he wipes the mess away with the back of his hand, revealing dangerous, scorching eyes. Lumps of coal with depths of perilous fire. “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he informs me. He goes to another table at the side of the room, where he has an assortment of knives and tools stacked against the wall.

As he runs his fingers over every one of them, taunting me, Nightmare gives me accounts of all the Emotions and Elements he’s hunted, tortured, killed. The manner is very similar to how Fear had once told me his own tales, but there wasn’t such malevolence in his eyes.

I can barely see Nightmare now. His elbow moves. When he turns around to face me, I can finally see what he’s holding in his hands. One of the shorter knives. He approaches, surprising me when he just plays with the blade, doing a trick by balancing it on the tip of his finger. Instead of more pain or more talk, the Element gets an old-looking chair from the corner of the shack, pulling it across the dirt to the table. He sits on the edge of it, almost primly, and crosses his legs
.

“You know, you’re the only one that got away,” Nightmare says. The light bulb above illuminates the harsh angles and planes of his face. “I’d given up on you. Then, a month ago, I happened to eavesdrop on a couple of Emotions. They were talking about a girl who could withstand their touch and not feel a thing. Curious, I began to investigate. When I got here, I soon stumbled upon you and your dreams. That’s when I put two and two together. Your new face didn’t throw me—that’s easy for one of us to do if we have enough power. But I’ll admit, I began to doubt after watching you for a while. My nightly games didn’t ruffle you a bit. You were quite dull, even for a human. But just as I was about to leave I saw you save the boy from being run down at that party, and I knew.”

Nightmare jerks, and suddenly the tip of the knife is buried in my hand. I try not to scream, try not to give him the satisfaction, but it’s impossible. My screech fills every corner of the shack, a deafening sound. Nightmare kisses my temple. His lips are dry.

“You know, besides Landon, you’re the longest to ever last in my clutches,” he whispers.

Time slows until it stops completely. The world around us disappears. What did he just say?

Landon
.

My insides heat up and up until my blood is lava inside of me. There’s a loud rushing in my ears, like a wave or a billow of wind before the tornado hits.

Nightmare moves out of my line of vision and I see a flash of his hand as he goes back to his torture instruments. That hand touched Landon. That hand hurt Landon. That hand
killed
Landon. How didn’t I see it before? Nightmare is the shadow in the trees, the villain in the siblings’ story. My breathing grows shallower, and my chests rises and falls so quickly I feel like a blur. An image of Rebecca’s brother fills my mind, a picture of him sitting at that kitchen table, shoving a huge bite of cereal in his mouth.

I want to make Nightmare feel the same pain he caused Landon. I want to watch him die. I want him to regret what he did to that sweet boy who loved his books and his family with limitless, quiet devotion.

Would you like to hear a story?

From the dreams and the flashes, I remember the way he turned the page of a book. Such reverence, such concentration. For the first time, the memory causes pain. Because of this creature, that boy is gone. Ripped away from this world forever. Destined to haunt my dreams.

“I’m going to kill you,” I whisper. The words burn up my throat and blood is pooling on the table; the gunshots haven’t healed and my hand is screaming. My strength—what pathetic little there is left—is almost gone. I won’t last much longer now. No more time to seek out the deeper answers.

Nightmare turns to face me again, a different knife in his hand. This one has a crooked end. “What was that?” he asks, quirking a brow. I fall silent again. He pats my arm. “I do hate to be left out of a joke. Share!”

Even though I still refuse to answer, Nightmare senses he’s struck a nerve. “What did I say?” he muses out loud. “Oh, does talking about Landon bother you? Don’t worry, dear. He didn’t suffer … much. After I was done with his blood—that’s where all the power is, you know—I burned him alive. And I hope he keeps on burning in the worst kind of hell there is. Where I’ll be sending you shortly here if you don’t tell me where I can find your father.”

With an image of Landon standing beside me, holding my hand, I look right into Nightmare’s empty eyes and rasp, “See you there.”

Twenty-Two

The Element just throws back his head and laughs, teeth glinting in the feeble light. He bends down, presses his cold lips against my ear once again. “Shall I tell you how he died?” he whispers. “Should I tell you every tiny detail? Oh, he was so much fun, that child.”

I honestly don’t know how I’m going to kill him. There will be no spontaneous surge of power, no burst of strength. I’m alone and weak and dying. I’ll be joining Landon and Maggie soon. Too soon. I close my eyes and remember the way Fear’s fingers felt on my cheek.

“You’re not listening, little bird. How can I hold your attention? Hmmm. Ah, did you know that as I pulled out his nails one by one, Landon screamed? No, wait, how thoughtless of me. You wouldn’t know because you weren’t there. He was completely alone when I killed him.”

“I … hate you.” For the first time, I feel it, that Emotion. It’s weak, without the actual being around to force his essence on me. It’s a subtle slither through my veins, a memory wrapping itself around me until I’m caught in its mesh. A bitter taste on my tongue.

Nightmare doesn’t hear me—my voice is barely a whisper and he’s walking to the table again, apparently unsatisfied with just knives. The light bulb above flickers again, and it would be just too fortunate for the power to go out, so I don’t even entertain the hope.

The Element comes back, settling down onto the chair again. The legs scrape in the dirt. He rests his chin in his hand, elbow on the table, examining me in a detached way like I’m a fascinating painting.

“You’re leaving me no choice,” he says, sighing. “Though I don’t enjoy getting messy.” His other hand appears, an odd clamp positioned between his two fingers as if it’s a cigarette. Then he picks up a knife, and I have no idea what he’s planning to do. He moves his face closer and the single ray of light bearing down touches his skin. It casts disconcerting shadows over his features. “One last chance. Your father?”

My father? I don’t know who that could possibly be, much less where he is. I look away, because Nightmare isn’t the last thing I want to see in this lifetime. I close my eyes and think of Fear, of Joshua, of Charles, of Sarah, of Maggie, of Landon and Rebecca.
You all got me to care.

Just as Nightmare is adjusting his hold on the clamp in one hand and the knife in the other, something hits the wall. Something heavy; we both hear the
thud.
It’s just outside the door.

He pauses, pulling his tools away. “I should drain you now,” he mutters, distracted by whatever’s outside. Belying his hard tone, his face is caked in frown lines.
Go to the door, see what it is,
I urge him silently. Nightmare’s hand lowers as he considers the best course of action, and suddenly the knife is just inches away from my twitching fingers.

I need to act quickly. Nightmare takes one step toward the door. I find one last scrap of stamina within me and jerk over and reach for the blade. I have no choice but to snatch it by the sharp edges, and I gasp as pain licks through my hand. I try to sit up and my body screams at me. The world blurs in a wild blend of colors and heat. My torso is tilted from the movement, and now the upper half of me hangs off the table. I can’t get back up, but I clench that knife as tightly as I can, trembling.

“How—” Cursing, Nightmare leaps at me, about to take the knife back from my limp fingers, but then a figure appears briefly on his shoulder, shrieking.

“Get up, get up!” the thing squeaks.

T
alking to me
, I think distantly, moaning. Something tugs at my hair and I struggle to move again, but then Nightmare is there, digging his nails into my skull to lift my head. He grins in my face.

“What are you going to do with it?” he taunts me. “Go ahead. I’m curious.” He releases my hair to wrap his fists around my hand, the one holding the knife, and dares me with his smirk. I struggle to keep my head up. Neither of us moves. I look into the depths of his gaze and see all the darkness he’s done and caused. I loathe him and wonder how one individual can go so wrong.

Before I can decide what to do, the tiny being is back, darting between the two of us with another high-pitched shriek. “Get him, get him!” that same tiny voice orders, and suddenly through the haze I recognize it. Moss. Little Moss.

Nightmare is still as a stone, watching the Element appear and reappear at random spots around the shack. He’s wearing that odd smile. Just as Moss runs along my other side again, begging me to “stab him, stab him,” Nightmare flies over me and the table, arm shooting out, and then Moss is in his grip. “Drop it,” he orders me, meaning the knife.

I do, with just a moment of hesitation. But even when it falls to the floor with a woeful
clink
, Nightmare doesn’t let go of Moss. With an intense expression, he closes his fist and begins to squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. She’s probably not worth draining.

A million images and memories pound into me like the bullets in my back, drawing blood and tides of Emotion despite the illusion that’s still miraculously intact. Rebecca was wrong—even danger such as this, facing death itself and choking on a sensation of feeling, hasn’t broken it. I sense the power hanging on by a thread. Most of the wall has crumbled.

I remember Landon and the way he squinted at words on a page.
She’ll be back. She always comes back.

Rebecca and her passionate abandon as her skirt twisted around her thighs.
Please come back!

Their mother and her constant, wrinkled worry.
No more dancing.

I see Maggie and her sweet smile.
Since you can’t go to the ocean, I thought I would bring it to you.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

I witness Sarah and her pain, scrubbing vigorously at the kitchen sink.
When someone is pretending to be something, or hiding who they are or what they believe, they’re really more … protecting themselves.

I’d like to think that it’s never too late to change the way things are.

I invoke Joshua’s image. Frustrating, stubborn, kind, enduring, irrevocable Joshua. So many words, so many looks, just a few unrequited touches.
How many of them have secrets they don’t want the world to know? How many of them wear masks everywhere they go? We’re anything but typical.

What more can there be?

And then there’s Fear. His impossibility, his adoration, his infuriating ways. His kisses, his persistence, his sacrifice.
At least I know that if you can’t feel anything for me, you can’t feel anything for him, either.

Why are you the only one who can’t let go?

I should have—

“Elizabeth!”

The name jars me, and I crane my neck to find my little friend. Moss is gasping, her tiny fists pounding on Nightmare’s finger. She grapples and keeps making weak, frantic sounds. Her big eyes fasten on my face.
Help me,
she mouths. Already she’s fading. Her inner light sputters as her life drains.

I can’t do anything but watch. The edge of the table digs into my stomach as I observe Moss’s time slipping away. Her gaze meets mine one last time, and she reaches out with her hand, flailing for me. At just the right moment, Nightmare shifts closer—he’s laughing, riveted on Moss’s face—and her fingers land to rest on my ear.

There’s a surge of power, and suddenly I can move. Gasping, I shoot up to a sitting position, and Nightmare’s head whips around. He hisses in shock. Before he can react, I reach out and shove him with everything I have.

The monster flies back and crashes against the table of weapons and toys with a loud shattering sound. I sway for a moment before I fall. My head bounces painfully on the edge of the chair, but half of me remains on the table.

“Elizabeth … ” Moss gasps, warning me. I can’t see her, but I can hear her wheezing and swallowing heaps of air somewhere.

Nightmare is already stirring, muttering under his breath. He braces himself against the wall, swiveling around to find me with his eyes. They speak murder.

Just a little more strength. That’s all I need to end this.

Nightmare stumbles to his feet again, blood running down the side of his face from a cut on his temple. The sight of it gives me a fresh surge of resolution; he’s not indestructible. I can kill him—I can survive this. He glares at me through the crimson stream and wipes it away with the back of his hand. “You’re going to die slowly,” he promises in a hiss, stalking back toward the table.

“Moss,” I rasp, my eyes rolling painfully as I search the room for her. “Moss!” I need her to give me power again. But I can’t find her. Nightmare laughs at me, drawing even nearer. He kicks the chair out of the way.

“You didn’t burn Landon,” I say in a wild attempt to gain more time. I don’t know why this is what I choose to say, but it feels so important.

Nightmare pauses and does his head-cocking thing again. “And why would you say that?” He sounds genuinely interested. He’s stopped smiling, and I don’t think he’s even aware of it.

I swallow. Pause. Purse my lips. Then, in a voice that shakes like a frightened child’s, I tell him, “Because someone found his body.”

The paintings, the dreams, the memories. All of it led to this. I may not remember a life before being Elizabeth, I may not recall the illusion or who I was, but I do remember one moment like it’s my own—when Rebecca cradled her brother in her arms, screaming over his lifeless body. Never again would she hear his laugh. Never again would he say her name. Never again would they dance in the woods.

Nightmare is speaking, but his voice is a senseless hum, the shack and my own pain a blur.

Because now, finally, I’m remembering.

Rebecca wakes up in her tiny room, and the first thing she notices is the silence. She has no idea how she knows, but something is wrong. There’s a taste on her tongue—something bitter and sweet, like salt and strawberries.

Fear.

She whips the blankets aside, her feet touching the chilled floor. She casts about for some pants and settles on a wrinkled pair of jeans tossed carelessly over a chair. Yanking them on, Rebecca hurries out the door. The house is so small that she knows in an instant she’s alone. The kitchen is dark, the bedroom doors all open and mournful. Where are Mom and Landon?

She whirls and runs to the front door, bare feet slapping against the tiles. Just as the girl is reaching for the knob, though, Fear bursts into the space between her and the outside. She screams, leaping back.

“Rebecca, you can’t go out there.” Looking panicked, Fear grabs her wrists and stops her when she recovers and grabs for the knob again.

“I have to,” she says frantically, trying to shove him out of the way. He flattens his back to the door. Uttering a half-terrified, half-infuriated cry, Rebecca wrenches herself free of his hold.

“Wait—” Fear attempts to seize her shoulders, but she moves more quickly this time. “Rebecca, your brother—”

“Leave me alone!” she screeches up at him. “You’ve answered your summons! We’re done!”

Hurt flashes across his beautiful face, but she doesn’t care. There’s a window in her room that she can fit through, so Rebecca turns her back to him and hurries away, her mind filled with her mother and Landon. Fear appears at her side again. “You can’t help Landon!” he insists shakily. “But your mother is alive, so please, let me take you away from here.” She gives him a look of loathing as his words roll off of her like dew on a leaf. Undeterred, Fear grabs her arm and shoves her against a wall. “You don’t understand, Rebecca. I can’t answer Landon’s summons because—”

Taking him off guard, the girl brings a knee up and slams it in the tenderest of places. Bending, Fear wheezes. As soon as his cool hands are gone she rushes away once again. This time he lets her go.

Scrambling through the window, Rebecca falls to the ground and glances around wildly. It’s a cloudy morning, and there’s no sign of Mom in the garden or Landon in the yard with one of his books. The ocean roars, oblivious to her world cracking. Something urges her toward the woods. She doesn’t question the instinct. Rebecca sprints through the trees, full speed. Her terror is so strong that it’s a choking sensation. For the first time in her life she can’t breathe.

“Landon! Mom!” She starts screaming their names, over and over. Her shirt snags on something and she hears it tear, doesn’t pay it any mind. She senses Emotions and Elements running from this place as quickly as they can. Why? Why? She’s too frantic to pause and find out.

The girl trips over something. Something solid and warm. She sprawls on the ground, getting a mouthful of dirt. She hacks, shuddering. After a moment, she struggles back up to her feet, glancing back to see what tripped her.

The world stops spinning.

The trees darken.

Her veins pound.

Landon lies on his back, his beautiful eyes staring up at the sky. Glassy. His blood sinks into the soil around him. His body, his achingly familiar body … it’s ruined. She stares down at him, and abruptly she feels a laugh bubbling up inside of her. Vicious Fear and his games. How could anyone make an illusion this cruel? She kneels down beside this fake boy, poking him. “This isn’t funny, Fear!” she calls out, clutching her middle as hysterics overtake her. There’s a loud ringing in her ears.

A buzzing overhead. A fly lands on Landon’s blood-flecked arm.

For some reason, it’s the sight of the fly that breaks her.

No, no, no, no. Screaming, Rebecca crawls closer to him, pulling his head onto her lap. She rocks Landon back and forth, sobbing. Because she can’t deny it now. He’s dead. She starts to whimper. Back and forth, back and forth. “No. Come back, please, please,” she begs, a broken whisper. His blood soaks her jeans. “Landon … ”