“How much you have to learn,” she mocks. “And unless you learn fast, little girl, that monster will find you, and he’ll take your power for his own.”
The words hit me suddenly. Nightmare isn’t gone. Of course not. He’s out there somewhere, waiting for a second chance. And unless something changes soon—I regain all my memories and I break the illusion, or I leave Edson behind forever—he’ll seize the next opportunity and I’ll be dead. What happened to Fear will be merciful in comparison to what the Element will do to me.
My stomach lurches at the thought, and again the memory of Fear’s anguished expression assails me. I sit up, debating whether or not to leave the bed and the room and go. Follow Sarah’s footsteps in venturing beyond this tiny town, leaving behind the conflict and the malicious, petty intents. What was once keeping me here doesn’t seem to exist anymore, or maybe it just doesn’t matter.
Rebecca sighs yet again, suddenly losing her fire. Her shoulders slump. I appraise her thoughtfully. How strong do you have to be, to go on after an experience as horrific as hers? The bloody death of a brother, running for years and years. I try to picture what she looks like under that hood, an expression other than the one that she wears in my dreams over and over again. “Why—” I start.
She shakes her head, scowling. “No more questions! Think! Haven’t you noticed that p-people are d-drawn to you?” She bends to hold her stomach but continues determinedly, “Why is that? Haven’t you ever stopped to wonder? Just break the damn illusion! And stay alive until you do. I might not be able to get the boy to you in time if this happens again.”
Wait. Rebecca is the one who saved me? She’s the one who warned Joshua? I open my mouth to respond, but then the rest of her words sink in. Drawn to you. Morgan. Maggie. Fear. Joshua. There was no reason for any of them to pursue me. She’s right. But I can’t begin to puzzle out why. I lift my gaze again to implore, “Can’t you—”
She cuts me off with a downward slash of her hand and walks away. Her footsteps are soundless. At the door she pauses, inclining her head thoughtfully. “One more thing.” She turns and flattens her palms against either side of the doorway. Her tone is hard. “Fear isn’t dead. He’s nearby, in fact, since he was too injured to move very far. While that monster was distracted with you, I pulled him into the woods. I’m doing my best to make sure that he lives. I’ll return once you’ve remembered everything.” She gives me her back again.
I raise my voice to stop her. “Fear thought you were dead. All this time he was mourning you. Why didn’t you tell him? Did you think you were … protecting him?”
She pauses but doesn’t turn this time. Finally she says, so softly, “I wasn’t the one he was looking for.” I frown. But before I can utter another word, she’s gone.
Maybe not quite gone. A second later, her voice sounds from farther down the halclass="underline" “If you get killed, I swear I’ll bring you back from the dead just to kill you again myself!”
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.”