Some Quiet Place

yanking me back. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Fear materialize—he must’ve been coming for one of his visits. His white beauty makes the ugly scene almost surreal. His expression is thunderous and … torn.
    “It won’t last long,” he says to me. “He’s going to pass out soon.”
    I know this. It doesn’t lessen the physical pain any. I try to crawl away, but Tim kicks me and I slump against the wall. A groan slips past my lips. “Get up!” he orders. “Get up, whore!”
    Fear stands close, so close that I can feel his cool presence gently flowing over me. I touch the edge of his coat. There’s blood on my fingers I didn’t know was there. Fear kneels down, his icy eyes lovely and anxious. “I can’t interfere,” he murmurs. “It’s one of the few rules my kind has. You know I would help if I could.”
    “Doesn’t matter,” I manage to say.
    “What’s that?” Tim sneers. “What did you say?” He reaches down, hauls me up by my shoulders. Yet another slam. I’m going to have some bruises tomorrow, I think insipidly. Fear touches my cheek before standing back.
    Then, suddenly sagging, Tim stumbles into me so that I’m crushed between him and the wall. My hand shrieks and I struggle to escape, but Tim is dead weight. His breathing becomes more labored as he hangs onto me, as if he’s really the child. “Well?” he mumbles, the words muffled and watery now. “Answer me.” He sobs, a gurgled, ruined sound.
    I stare straight ahead. Blood runs down my temple. “I have no answers that will satisfy you.”
    My father laughs, more of a bark, really. “You’re so …
strange. I hear people in town calling you a freak. Yeah, a freak. That’s what you are … ” I still can’t move, and I scan the area around us again for anything to use as a weapon. Fear is still watching from a corner, his jaw clenched, and our eyes meet. Tim groans, distracting me. As I pull my attention away from Fear, another puff of Tim’s foul breath assaults my senses. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles tearfully, mindless. “You know I don’t mean it, don’t you? Sarah won’t even look at me, you know. She doesn’t love me. It’s my fault. I was the one who was supposed to be watching you that day … ”
    I grow more alert at this. Is he talking about the accident?
    But Tim is too far gone to answer any questions. He makes another sound deep in his throat and stumbles against me, trying to stand. I’m forced to shift to the side and lose my balance. Tim continues to sob as I fall …
    … right into a pitchfork.
    I let out another cry of pain, instinctively dropping and rolling to my back. The end of the tool clinks against the ground but doesn’t fall out. The tines should be easy to extract, yet the agony is already blazing through me, making it impossible to move. Should I pull it out? I think distantly, lying in some moldy hay. Tim is blubbering, moaning more apologies and woes. I pull my hand away from my side and gaze down at the red on my fingers. Too much , a voice in my head whispers. Black begins to cloud my vision. “Fear,” I say without thinking. I don’t know why.
    And that’s all it takes. One strangled word, his name, his essence, and Fear is there, a gust of frozen fury. Yet the hands that cup my face are gentle, and it’s as if I’m made of something more breakable than glass. As if I’m infinitely precious. “This is going to hurt,” he warns. Before I can tell him that I already hurt the burning intensifies, and I arch my back and scream. Somehow the pitchfork is gone, and the holes in my middle close. One, two, three, four. When it’s done I pant, blinking through sweat. The wall of nothingness quivers, then becomes firm once again.
    Fear smooths damp hair away from my face, still kneeling there. His palms are so cold. “Are you all right?” he asks.
    “I didn’t mean to!” Tim chooses that moment to whimper. Forgetting me, Fear jerks upright, eyes wide, nostrils flaring. He vanishes in a burst of smoky tendrils, and Tim is across the room before I realize what’s happening. Fear bends over my father, his clothes a fluid, dark waterfall that obscure my view.
    “You’re not going to touch her again,” he snarls, and blood sprays against the barn door.
    “Fear, stop,” I say, struggling to my feet. Fear pounds Tim’s face, over and over, with all his unrestrained strength, and he doesn’t stop until I touch his back. My hand jars him out of his wild stupor,