Where Silence Gathers Read Free

The dining room. Two people sit in chairs, eating and drinking. Wine quivers in their glasses. Somehow they haven’t seen me. I dart to the side and edge closer, using the shadows of the trees to hide me. Closer. I still have the gun.
    And there he is.
    Over all these years, I’d built him up. He became this monster, this thing made of thorns and red eyes and hisses. But all I see now is a man. An ordinary, weary-looking man. He takes a bite of his food and chews like a cow, his jaw going around and around. There are bags under his eyes, and he’s lost hair since I saw his picture in the paper. Nate Foster.
    â€œAlex,” Revenge breathes from his place beside me.
    He must feel the way my insides go still. “So that’s who killed them, huh?” I ask, barely recognizing my own voice. It’s flat, empty. My grip loosens on the gun. “I almost wish he was a monster.”
    â€œJust because he looks like an accountant doesn’t mean he isn’t capable of murder.” Revenge is standing so close I can feel the heat rolling off his skin. That scent of chocolate coaxes me. So good, so easy.
    For some reason, I choose this moment to imagine that empty bottle I left on the bridge. It rolls across the gritty surface, clinking over the rocks and dirt. Then it falls. It makes the smallest of sounds when it hits the water, and all its pain and toil is behind it. The water carries the bottle down the mountain, to new and different places. I could do that, couldn’t I? Float away and never look back? Just … move on?
    Something flickers out of the corner of my eye.
    No, not something. Someone. The newcomer stands in the shadow of a pine tree, too far away for me to make out the details of his face. All I see is a white T-shirt.
    â€œWho is that?” I ask Revenge, not taking my eyes off the newcomer.
    Oddly enough, Revenge’s jaw is clenched. “No one,” he growls. “Alex—”
    â€œDon’t.” I’m still staring at the stranger. He stays where he is. Somehow, as always, I know he’s one of them. It’s the way they move, I think.
    Eventually, I tear my gaze away from the stranger and focus on the gun. It’s so light, so small. Strange that something this insignificant could cause such damage. I glance at Nate Foster again. He’s listening to the woman speak. His wife.
    I could do it. I could walk up to that window and shatter their lives the same way he shattered mine. I could.
    Instead, I walk away.
    â€œThat’s it?” Revenge calls after me. He doesn’t follow this time, and I see that the stranger is gone. Feeling as if my soul is made of the heaviest iron, I head for the car. I’m not drunk anymore. No, I’m more sober than I’ve ever been in my entire life.
    â€œFor tonight, yeah.”
    Just as I reach the driver’s side, I hear, “Hey, Alex.” I turn to face him, and Revenge musters one more smile. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he looks sad for me. “Happy birthday.”

Two
    Saul is waiting for me when I walk through the front door.
    He sits at the tiny kitchen table. It’s round, placed right in the center of the room. One lone light bulb dangles from the ceiling and casts a soft glow over him. I pause in the doorway, flattening one palm against the wall to pull my boots off. They leave dirt on the floor.
    Uncle Saul watches for a moment. “Are you drunk?” he asks calmly. He looks at me with my father’s eyes, rich and brown and knowing. They flick to my eyebrow ring, but he doesn’t comment on it.
    I hesitate before going to stand behind the chair opposite his. My finger trails the wiry path of some blue river on the wall; every room in the apartment is decorated with the contours of a continent. “Not anymore.”
    â€œThere’s cake in the fridge.”
    His tone is still even, but the implication is clear: they had plans for