Some Quiet Place

for what?” Playing the game even though all my instincts go against it.
    She’s hunched over, like being near me is causing her physical pain. Once again she’s hidden in layers of clothing—the same black sweat pants, black boots, and black hoodie as before—and all I can see of her face is the tip of her nose. “You’ll see, won’t you?” my visitor says through her teeth. There’s an underlying waver to the words; she sounds exasperated, worried, scared. But there are no Emotions. Proof that she’s not human, if I needed more than I already do.
    I concentrate on the motions of my hands. “Why is it that you answer my questions without giving me any real answers?”
    Of course the stranger doesn’t answer this, either. She stands there and watches while I finish. Eventually I get to my feet, the small stool scraping across the dirt. “You haven’t given me enough information,” I tell her, locking Mora in her stall with one hand and clutching a bucket of milk in the other. “If you really want me to … remember, or feel again, then I need more.”
    Now she sighs. “Oh, you’ll get answers. Of that, we can be sure.” Her hood flutters and I get a whiff of forest. Her essence is so strong. Without giving me a chance to define it, she walks away. The doors to the barn are open—they weren’t before. She wants me to follow again. Quickly I go put the pail in the cooler.
    I trail her outside, unwilling to give up just yet. “What’s your name?” We slosh through the mud—it’s raining.
    “Later,” she dismisses me. I knew she wouldn’t tell me. But she’ll make a mistake eventually, and when she does, I won’t miss it.
    She’s leading me into the fields, toward the trees, like last time. Mom and Tim are in the house for the night, both lost in their own existences; they won’t notice I’m gone. I know that if I let this woman slip away again, I may be losing my last and only chance to find the missing pieces to the puzzle.
    She mutters as we walk. “The power hasn’t faded yet. You’re beginning to break through it, though. It’s almost t-time.” Why does she sound as if she’s in pain?
    A moment later her words register. Almost time . This is more than she gave me the last time we spoke. I don’t press for more. The corn stalks brush my shoulders on either side as I follow. My visitor moves at a steady speed, but I stay on her heels. She isn’t trying to run from me. She must want to show me something.
    We abandon the cover of the crops and plunge into the darkness of the woods. We hike in silence, save for the sound of the wind in my ears. We’ve left the farm behind, and she’s taking me east of Edson. The wall of nothingness hardens; Emotions are nearby. There are Elements, as well. I sense Greed and Hope and Rain and Curiosity weaving through the trees, answering their summons as they were made to do.
    “You have a purpose,” I venture after a brief silence. “But I don’t know it. Have we ever met before?”
    She sighs, an irritated sound. Then she starts to run, and I quicken my own pace to keep up. Our surroundings speed by in blurs of green and black. She swerves around a tree trunk. She’s careful to keep her back to me, keep her face concealed in that hood.
    We’re slowing down. I move quickly to avoid a fallen tree hanging over our path; it’s caught in a V between two others. At first I continue, following my mysterious visitor, but then I process the trees, stop, jerk around, and study the V formation again. It’s getting dark out, and the trees’ outline stands out in the orange twilight.
    “So you do recognize it.” Her voice sounds somewhere behind me. “I wondered if you would.”
    I barely hear her; my attention is fastened on the V … the trees … the shadows …
    Something inside of me clicks, and my nothingness cinches painfully tight when I realize the truth. This is the place . This is the clearing. Those are the same trees that surrounded them; those are the same dark shadows, the same grass, the same leaves. This is the place that haunts my dreams.
    This is where he died.
    I don’t have to close my eyes to see the image. I’ve painted it dozens of times, drawn it, seen it in my sleep, in my daydreams. It’s permanently embedded into my brain, an enigmatic tattoo. There is the beautiful girl, her face twisted in anguish, the blood spilling out onto the grass I see now, and the boy she holds in her arms …
    The stranger steps into