Some Quiet Place

My eyes fall on me and Landon. I take in the silent anguish, my arms embracing death. It’s the thousandth time I’ve seen the image—through flashes of memory, through dreams—but now it means more. So much more. That was the moment I denied the blood running through my veins. What was the point of being Life if I couldn’t use it to bring my brother back?
    Something wet falls to the wooden floor, the sound like a crash all around me. I look down, see the drop of water. I touch my cheek. I’m crying.
    That’s when I realize I’m no longer alone. Someone stands behind me, someone with gentle fingers as they rest on my shoulder. I turn and meet Sorrow’s bottomless eyes. He doesn’t say a word, and as always, he’s crying, too. There’s nothing to say. We grieve together for a few moments before the Emotion fades into nothing, leaving his essence as a token. As the salty taste in my mouth.
    It’s being in this room. It’s thinking of him. It’s Sorrow’s brief presence. But suddenly I can hear his voice—something I’ve done everything to avoid—in my head, warm and alive.
    Just you and me, Rebecca. We’ll be travelers. We’ll see everything and no one will tell us what to do.
    A sob hitches in my throat. Wanting to block it all out, I bend over, picking up a bucket of green paint by my feet. I hurl it at the wall. It splatters everywhere, ruining the mural and bleeding across the floor. It’s not enough. I pick up another bucket, throwing it at the next wall. The bucket cracks at the force of the impact. But the paint simply drips down the wall—not enough, not enough. I collapse against the wet paint, screaming, rubbing it with my hands, spreading it over me, the trees, and the shadow that is Landon.
    “This is the last place I expected you to go.”
    The woman stands behind me. In another lifetime, my mother considered her a good friend. She’s proved to be more than worthy. She helped me run, she created the illusion, she tried to protect me when Nightmare found me a second time. This woman, with her cryptic warnings and ever-present pain. I should have known who she was, even when I was Elizabeth. It’s so obvious, so simple.
    “Leave me alone, Denial,” I whisper.
    She glowers. Trembling, I just lie there against the wall, paint dripping down the side of my face and staining my hands. The sensations coursing through my veins are overwhelming.
    Denial watches me. “It’ll take some time to adjust to,” she says, waving her hand at me dismissively. “Now, back to the matter at hand.”
    I barely hear her. After the illusion broke, I fled Joshua and the barn and all the Emotions. This was the first place I could think of to go. So far, Charles has yet to make an appearance.
    Denial only endures my silence for a minute before she grows impatient. She smashes the stillness. “Your time for mourning is done. I told you, Rebecca. You’re strong enough to—”
    “I haven’t even started to mourn!” I hiss, pushing myself up, clenching my fists. Even now, I’m still trying to hold on to Denial’s essence, to the nothingness that’s desperately gone now. I want to balk at all of this, refuse to accept it. I want the oblivion back!
    I take a step away from Denial and collide into a warm chest—Anger. “Nice to see you again,” he murmurs, and I can see that he actually means it. Smiling with a trace of smugness, he reaches out and takes hold of my shoulder. The fury is devastating, and the ever-present pain makes tears spring to my eyes. Finished with me, the Emotion vanishes. I turn this new wrath onto Denial. I feel my eyes burning, but she isn’t afraid; she just glares back.
    “And whose fault is that?” she challenges. “I did what you asked. I did the illusion. I hid you here. It’s time for you to grow up and face reality again.”
    I whirl away. “You agreed to my terms, Denial. You shouldn’t have tampered with any of this. You should have let me be .”
    “Don’t you dare turn this around on me. I saved your life—Nightmare would have eaten you for breakfast if I hadn’t come back to warn you.”
    My fist slams against the wall of its own accord, and the plaster crumbles. I shake my head, my wild hair sticking to my skin. Now I’m a sniveling hole of regret. “You shouldn’t have let me do this. You shouldn’t have—”
    “You remember that day, Rebecca. You were desolate. No, that’s not strong enough. You acted like you were dead, too. You asked me