Where Silence Gathers Read Free Page A

tonight. They wanted to celebrate the day that I dread most.
    â€œIs Missy asleep?” I ask, trying to sound as controlled as him. We’re both frozen lakes, everything hidden beneath a layer of ice.
    Saul finally cracks. He rubs his eye with the heel of his hand, revealing just how worried he was. Even if the Emotion has left, their essence always lingers. But all he says is, “I told her there wasn’t a point to both of us waiting up.”
    â€œLook, I’m—”
    â€œGive me your keys.” I toss them onto the table and open my mouth to try apologizing again. “Just go to bed, Alex. We’ll talk in the morning.” Saul heaves himself up, wincing. He must have been sitting there for hours. Guilt appears and puts her heavy hand on me. That’s how they come, almost every time; one moment there’s nothing, and the next they’re reaching for you with too-hot or too-cold hands and forcing you to feel everything.
    Without another word, Saul lumbers down the hallway and disappears into their room. The door clicks shut. I stay there for a few seconds, wishing I’d done everything differently tonight. Regret joins Guilt and both of them torment me with their existences. I slip out of their grasps, giving them no time to enjoy it.
    We live above Saul’s piano tuning shop, in one of the three apartments. The one to our left is empty; it’s where I used to live with my family. I haven’t been inside since the day of the accident. The one to our right is occupied by a little boy and his parents. Angus. The moment I enter my room and sit down on my bed, the springs squeal and Angus knocks on the wall our rooms share. It’s a language we invented a couple years ago, something to connect our uncertain worlds. I listen and decipher. You okay? he’s asking.
    I smile and knock back: Fine. Sleep.
    His reply takes a few minutes. Happy birthday .
    The simple statement pierces me even more than when Revenge said it. Angus reminds me of my little brother. Or at least, what my little brother might have grown to be.
    Exhausted, I don’t bother with pajamas or brushing my teeth or even the mascara caking my eyes. I just crawl beneath the covers and curl up. The sheets are cold. Light from the hallway spills toward me, reaching. I stay in the shadows. Still, it’s comforting. That light never stops trying, never fades.
    Alexandra.
    My name is so faint I wonder if I imagined it. Frowning, I sit up and listen. The fridge hums in the kitchen and the wind blows against the window next to my nightstand. I don’t hear the voice again. “Uncle Saul?” I shout-whisper.
    No answer.
    Glancing warily around the darkened room, I lie back down and close my eyes. Eventually I fall asleep and dream of the figure in the white T-shirt.

    Voices drift down the hallway. I open my eyes a slit and hover in that place between full awareness and the straggling images of my dreams. They were all about the accident,
of course. There are spaces of white in my memory, but every night I see a doctor’s droopy eyes, a ceiling rushing past. Blood. Always blood.
    As I wake, those images slowly fade. Gray light pours through the window and rain splatters against the glass. Another day.
    I can hear the giant clock on Main Street marking the hour. Dong. Dong. Dong.
    â€œ … just think we need to nip this in the bud. If we give her any leniency, it’ll only get worse.”
    Uncle Saul. I sit up, rubbing my eyes. The hangover isn’t as bad as I thought it would be; my head aches rather than pounds. Mascara smears my hands. I’m still wearing the clothes from yesterday. After sniffing everything else lying around, I just leave them on. Then I leave the comfort of my bed and tiptoe toward the kitchen, trying to ignore how cold the floor is. I get close enough in time to hear Missy reply, “You don’t know that, honey. She’s never done anything like this