Some Quiet Place

doctor run more blood tests on you,” she adds, like an afterthought. “I thought you might not want him to.”
    I lie there. Parts of me are still tender, but somehow I know that I should hurt much, much more. You’ve healed , something in my head whispers. I don’t wonder at the implications of this. Not now, at least. “Thank you,” I say to Sarah.
    She nods a third time. There’s not much else to say. Giving her the opportunity to slip away—I know she hates goodbyes—I look at the Green Jay again. It’s gotten bored with us and is observing some clouds with sharp attention.
    The chair squeaks again, and Sarah leans over, setting her elbows on my bed. Together, we watch the Green Jay lift its wings and take flight, heading deeper into the unknown, to unbury all the secrets of a land it’s never seen.
    He stands in the doorway, uncertain, quiet. There’s so much I should tell him, because somehow I sense my time is almost up. The clock is still ticking inside my head, a warning. I’m almost at the end of the road, an end I’ve been running to ever since I decided to seek out the truth. Was it ever a conscious decision? Did I ever have a choice in the matter, or does fate really control everything? There’s no telling what this end will look like, but I have a feeling that nothing—especially whatever this is between Joshua and me—will be the same.
    You will need that boy in the end.
    “You look better,” Joshua finally says, breaking the long stillness. He tugs at the hem of his T-shirt, an anxious movement. He looks a lot like Sarah; the shadows under his eyes, the drawn features. His hair is greasy and hanging in front of his eyes again.
    “You can come in, you know.” I glance at the chair Sarah vacated a few minutes ago, but Joshua doesn’t move. He just stares at me as if he’s memorizing my features. He looks torn.
    “I’m okay,” I say, and it’s the truth. My voice is normal, my minimal wounds are healing. Will Fear heal? Stop it , I tell myself flatly. But it takes a huge amount of effort to stop thinking about him.
    Joshua draws in a ragged breath, his fists clenching at his sides. “It was the weirdest thing,” he tells me. “I was at home with my dad, and suddenly I got this feeling that you needed me. I didn’t even think about it; I just left. And for some reason, I went right to the school. There was your truck, just sitting there. I heard you scream.” He closes his eyes, and I study the veins in his eyelids, such tiny things.
    Someone is speaking over the intercom and we both listen to the words for a moment. “Annie Harkin, please report to the third floor nurse’s station … ”
    Joshua rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, sighing some more.
    I straighten my blankets. “Joshua—”
    “You are really trying my patience.”
    Joshua doesn’t open his eyes or even move, but I glance away at the sound of the familiar voice. A hooded figure is standing in the open doorway, huddled, fists clenched.
    Rebecca.

TWENTY
    She stomps into the room like she owns it. She points at Joshua with a hand that’s covered by her too-long sleeve. “You, out.”
    Joshua blinks. Frowns. He glances from her to me uncertainly. “Do you … ?” he starts.
    Our intruder sighs impatiently. “You suddenly feel an urge to go home and do whatever it is you do there. Go .” Power leaks into the words.
    Joshua’s body jerks, and he resists for a moment—he’s strong, but not strong enough. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” he says to me, already walking out. “I need to go home.”
    I just watch him leave. Then I turn my gaze back to this creature who’s barged into my world yet again. She waits, utterly still, probably prepared for more questions about the past or the influence on me. After all, she’s my only link to any of it. But even I don’t expect the words that come out of my mouth, as unstoppable as a meteor hurtling to the earth: “Is Fear alive? Have you heard anything about him?”
    I picture it again, his expression, his cheek scraping over the ground, the blood between his fingers. For some reason my heart picks up speed; we both hear it from the monitor beside my bed. Beep, beep-beep, beep-beep-beep .
    She tilts her head a little. The hood falls against the side of her jaw. When it becomes apparent that she isn’t going to answer, it occurs to me that she probably has no idea what I’m talking about. “You’ve been gone for a while,” I say after a