Some Quiet Place

red-rimmed. They scan the room frantically until they come to rest on me.
    “You,” he breathes. “You did this.”
    I did. Without my encouragement, Sarah never would have started thinking, and she never would have left. But still I don’t move, even when Tim advances in a snarling rage. He seems so out of place in my small room—he’s never been in here before, actually.
    “What makes you tick, Tim?” I ask, looking up at him, causing him to pause for an instant. Death at this man’s hands will surely be better than the slaughtering at Nightmare’s.
    This human who is not my father growls, reaching down to haul me to my feet. I’m limp in his hands, my thoughts a gnarled haze. We stare at each other for what feels like eons until Tim grunts once, then throws me at the wall as hard as he can. My back slams into the depiction of Landon. The plaster cracks. Ignoring the blaze of pain ripping up my spine, I reach up to touch one of the tears on Rebecca’s cheek.
    Tim advances, stumbling. He reeks, the sting of his scent filling my senses. Anger is absent—this is born purely from Tim and that amber liquid he loves so much. Just as he reaches down to pull me up yet again, I tell him, “What happened to me isn’t your fault, you know.”
    It’s the wrong thing to say. A dark reminder. I know it, of course. Tim’s an animal now, wounded and furious. He throws me down and jams his knee into my stomach, clenching his fists around my throat. I cry out in pain, half-laughing, and dry-heave a second later; I haven’t eaten for a while. I forgot.
    “You’re a demon,” Tim mumbles thickly. He tightens his hold. As he leans his weight on me, his knee buries itself in my stomach until I can feel my organs crumpling. I don’t fight him. My instincts are a dull, throbbing mess. All I keep thinking is, I’m not Elizabeth. I’m not human. Who am I, then? Where do I belong? Again I envision Fear and Rebecca. He’s lying in a bed, slowly healing, and she’s sitting at his side, smiling into his eyes. The image hurts; just more pain to add to the onslaught.
    Dots dance in front of me, green and blue and red, and they’re so close that I reach up with one slender finger, trying to touch one. Tim’s talking again, but his words don’t register. Exactly six seconds tick by and I give up on the dots, eyes drifting shut.
    “Wake up,” someone—Landon?—orders. “Open your eyes. Now.”
    I smile sleepily. His voice is familiar, comforting. “No point. No point.”
    “Tap, tap,” Landon says. Now I frown. It doesn’t seem like something he would say. I don’t know how I know this; I just do. “Tap, tap,” Landon says again, and now I do open my eyes, looking past Tim’s red, bulbous face to the window. A little figure stands on the sill, her pretty face pressed to the glass. It’s sprinkling outside, and her hair sparkles with lingering droplets. As if she doesn’t even notice the rain, the creature clenches her tiny fist and knocks on the window. Tap, tap . She looks worried. Why is she worried?
    Darkness is clouding in again. I lose awareness of anything besides Tim’s grip on my air supply, the consuming dizziness, something humming in my ear. No, wait, there’s a fly in the room. It buzzes past my nose.
    And then, like a star illuminating the black night, a new voice explodes through the shrinking space. “Get out. Get out now and never come back, or I swear to God I’ll call the cops and have you put away for the rest of your miserable life.”
    Without warning, the crushing weight is gone. Coughing and gasping simultaneously, I gulp in gallons of air, my lungs greedy. Suddenly time is utterly still, and it’s over. I lie there, my back to Landon, gazing around my room until my vision clears up completely. I’m alone except for my bed, the dresser, the rickety desk, a mirror, and the mural. I try to figure out what was real and what was illusion when Tim was choking me. For a wild second, I thought I’d actually heard Landon … And had Moss really been standing at my window? One quick glance shows the empty sill, the lonely glass. No. I’d been half-delirious.
    Which brings me to wonder where Tim went. The house is so still—he must really be gone. How … ? I lift my nose and sniff the stale air, wondering if an otherworldly being saved me … maybe Fear … there’s nothing but the scent of alcohol. Tim.
    He might come back.
    I try to stand and find I can’t. Pain grips me and draws