Silence Read Free Page A

something hard, jarring the world sideways. Darkness encroached on my vision.
    I couldn’t have been out for long. When the stark black of unconsciousness faded, I was still breathing hard from the exertion of running. I knew I had to get up, but I couldn’t remember why. So I lay there, the icy dew mingling with the warm sweat of my skin. At long last I blinked, and it was then that the nearest headstone sharpened into focus. The engraved letters of the epitaph snapped into single-file lines.
    H ARRISON G REY
A DEVOTED HUSBAND AND FATHER
D IED M ARCH 16, 2008
    I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. Now I understood the familiar shadow that had lurked over my shoulder since waking up minutes ago. I was in Coldwater’s city cemetery. At my dad’s gravesite.
     
    A nightmare,
I thought.
I haven’t really woken yet. This is all just a horrible dream.
    The angel watched me, his chipped wings unfurled behind him, his right arm pointing across the cemetery. His expression was carefully detached, but the curve of his lips was more wry than benevolent. For one moment, I was almost able to trickmyself into believing he was real and I wasn’t alone.
    I smiled at him, then felt my lip quiver. I dragged my sleeve along my cheekbone, wiping away tears, though I didn’t remember starting to cry. I desperately wanted to climb into his arms, feeling the beat of his wings on air as he flew us over the gates and away from this place.
    The resumed sound of footsteps pulled me out of my stupor. They were faster now, crashing through the grass.
    I turned toward the sound, bewildered by the bob of light twinkling in and out of the misty darkness. Its beam rose and fell to the cadence of the footsteps—
crunch … sweep … crunch … sweep—
    A flashlight.
    I squinted when the light came to a stop between my eyes, dazzling me blind. I had the terrible realization that I definitely wasn’t dreaming.
    “Lookie here,” a man’s voice snarled, hidden behind the glare of light. “You can’t be here. Cemetery is closed.”
    I turned my face away, specks of light still dancing behind my eyelids.
    “How many others are there?” he demanded.
    “What?” My voice was a dry whisper.
    “How many more are here with you?” he continued more aggressively. “Thought you’d come out and play night games, did you? Hide-and-seek, I reckon? Or maybe Ghosts in the Graveyard? Not on my watch, you aren’t!”
    What was I doing here? Had I come to visit my dad? I fished through my memory, but it was disturbingly empty. I couldn’t remember coming to the cemetery. I couldn’t remember much of anything. It was as if the whole night had been ripped out from under my feet.
    Worse, I couldn’t remember this morning.
    I couldn’t remember dressing, eating, school. Was it even a school day?
    Momentarily shoving my panic deep down, I concentrated on orienting myself physically and accepted the man’s outstretched hand. As soon as I was sitting upright, the flashlight glared at me again. “How old are you?” he wanted to know.
    Finally something I knew for certain. “Sixteen.” Almost seventeen. My birthday was coming up in August.
    “What in the Sam Hill are you doing out here by yourself? Don’t you know it’s past curfew?”
    I looked around helplessly. “I—”
    “You ain’t a runaway, are you? Just tell me you’ve got someplace to go.”
    “Yes.” The farmhouse. At the sudden recollection of home, my heart lifted, followed by the sensation of my stomach plummeting to my knees. Out after curfew? How
long
after? I tried unsuccessfully to shut out the image of my mom’s enraged expression when I walked through the front door.
    “Does ‘yes’ got an address?”
    “Hawthorne Lane.” I stood, but swayed violently when blood rushed to my head. Why couldn’t I remember how I’d gotten here? Surely I’d driven. But where had I parked the Fiat? And where was my handbag? My keys?
    “Been drinking?” he asked, narrowing his