Some Quiet Place

to the back of the house. Fear just snickers.
    The house is dark but clean. The place hasn’t changed much from when I visited here as a child. Same wooden floors, same beige furniture. Sophia probably didn’t want anyone to come inside because her sister is here. I travel through the kitchen, then the living room until I find some stairs leading up. My ears pick up the faint sound of Wheel of Fortune somewhere. I trip in the dark, and at the last second I throw my palm before me as a buffer to save my face from smashing the edge of a stair.
    Wordlessly, Fear holds out his hand above me. A small orb of light appears over his palm, illuminating the dark hall. Recovering, I keep going. I notice that while my weight makes the stairs creak, Fear is soundless. Using the light, I pause to study some pictures hanging up on the wall. Sophia hardly smiles in any of them, and in every single one she’s by her sister, either supporting her or looking at her with indiscernible expressions.
    I keep going. The stairs open up to a large hallway, and my eyes alight on a doorway at the far end, where sounds of the TV and a blue glow pours out. Without hesitation, I go toward it.
    The room is small and pink. There’s a rocking horse in the corner and a big, fluffy bed against one wall. These aren’t the first things I see, however. What I spot first is Sophia’s sister, sitting on a rug in the center of the floor, staring at the box that has been put in front of her. If my memory serves me correctly, she’s four years younger than her capricious sister.
    “What are you doing?” Fear stays in the hall when I enter the bedroom, so I leave him there and move toward Morgan Richardson.
    She isn’t startled by the sight of a stranger in the privacy in her house, this much I know. Does she remember me? As I approach, Morgan tilts her head back to look at me, and I in turn study her thick lashes, her round face and bleary eyes. She’s in pajamas, and the material has frogs all over it. She’s so tiny. The pants are too big for her. She must be in one of her withdrawn moods, since she doesn’t say a word. In the past she wasn’t able to communicate well, and it seems time hasn’t changed that.
    “Hello,” I say, glancing around. Besides the furniture and toys, Morgan is alone. It looks like Morgan’s babysitter has left and, judging from the fact I haven’t seen her anywhere, doesn’t intend to return tonight.
    “Elizabeth, this is pointless,” Fear says from the doorway.
    Ignoring him, I squat down so I’m at Morgan’s level. I smile at her and she stares back.But then, so quickly that
I wonder if I imagined it, her eyes flit to Fear. A second later she fastens her gaze back on the TV. There’s some cartoon on, something involving a talking sponge.
    “Oh, fabulous,” Fear mutters, stalking to the window. “Another human that can see me. That’s just wonderful. You know, my ego can’t take much more of this.” He glares down at the lawn, the moon casting square patterns on his high cheekbones.
    Processing Morgan’s stiffness, I reach to brush a strand of hair back from her face. “You see things, don’t you?” I murmur. She leans into my touch. “You know more than you should.” The girl shudders.I acknowledge this with an incline of my head, understanding. “Sometimes the things you see aren’t very nice, are they?”
    Fear whips around, his glare burning through me. “I’m nice!” he protests.
    When I still don’t respond he steps closer, growling. “Elizabeth, we’re wasting time. Hold up your end of the bargain.”
    “I will. Now hush.” I keep my focus on the girl, but I can sense Fear fuming. Morgan meets my gaze directly, and for the briefest of moments, her eyes become clear and focused, as if she knows me and knows all my secrets. I straighten, alert.
    “Do you want to tell me something?” I ask her.
    “How long are we going to do this?” Fear seethes.
    Morgan’s strange brown-blue eyes go cloudy and clear over and over in an aching cycle. Her mouth moves, puckering. I lean in, putting my ear next to her lips. “Morgan?” I prompt.
    She swallows, opens her mouth, closes it. Fear makes another sound of impatience behind me. “I have better things to do, Elizabeth.”
    The girl touches my cheek. My hand tightens on hers. “If you have anything to say, now would be an excellent time to do it,” I tell her, forcing a note of tenderness into my tone. Longing arrives, that fickle