The Silent Girl: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller full of suspense, page 26
“Yeah,” I whisper, but I’m watching Nathaniel and not my brother. “It was my fault.”
“Do you know what it was like? Getting arrested at twelve years old? Can you imagine that?”
“I’m sorry, Miles,” I say. “I could have lied for you. I didn’t. What you did was to help me. Every time.”
Miles looks at me with tears in his eyes. “You got to go to school, learn to swim. Went to college. And you visited me every so often, like hearing how well you were doing was going to make everything better.”
“You’re my brother,” I whisper, sensing weakness. “I’ve always wanted to help you. I didn’t know how.”
“You never told him the first thing about yourself, did you?” I realize that Miles is jealous, somehow, that what Nathaniel sees matters to him.
“He’s right,” I say, holding Nathaniel’s gaze. “That was one of the first memories that came back to me. I hid it from you.” When I talk, I can taste blood on my lip. “I didn’t want you to know that I messed up my brother’s life. I’m sorry—I lied to you.” I hear the tremble in my voice. Nathaniel leans over, wraps his hands around mine.
“Sophie,” Nathaniel says, shaking his head gently. “It’s okay—you were a child.” Miles grabs my wrist away from him and hits my hand against the sofa.
“She’s not your Sophie, man. That person’s not even real.” With his other hand, he takes the gun out of his jacket and rests it on his knee. Nathaniel watches with a mechanical expression. Suddenly, there’s a flicker in his eye, and I see his expression take on a look of dread like I’ve never seen before.
“Dad? I can’t sleep.”
“Stay in bed, okay, buddy?” Nathaniel’s eyes go wide and blank. I hear footsteps on the stairs.
“Dove Girl, you came back.” Lincoln’s dressed in pajamas, his shaggy brown hair in his eyes. I cover my bleeding lip with one hand as Lincoln looks around the corner of the landing from the bottom stair. “Dad? What’s going on?”
Fifty-Three
“Hey, kid,” Nathaniel says. I have some small idea of the amount of control this takes, to make his voice sound as if everything is okay. “Go on up. I’ll be there to tuck you in real soon.”
“No, no,” Miles says. “Come sit down.”
“Hi,” Lincoln says, his voice drawing out into a question. “Who are you?”
“I’m Miles,” he says, with a grin, then turns to Nathaniel. “You’ve got to let them sit up late every once in a while, let them live a little. Maybe not as much as I did at his age.” He laughs. I’m trying not to move, but my head is shaking with denial. My brother is gone. This isn’t him. Lincoln looks at me and rubs his eyes with one small hand.
“Dad,” he says, stepping into the room, halfway between Miles and Nathaniel. “I couldn’t sleep. I tried to call Mom but she didn’t answer.”
“You can always come to me when you can’t sleep, kiddo.”
“Yeah, but you told me just now to stay upstairs.” Lincoln frowns. Nathaniel bites on his lip, hard. I can see the strain in his eyebrows. “I was scared. Look.” He reaches into the pocket of his flannel pajama pants. “I got your phone. Mom called back but I missed it. Here.” He holds his hand out, trying to give the phone to his father. I see his little hand hovering over the green dial button.
“Hey, little man, give me that.” Miles snaps his fingers quickly to get Lincoln’s attention. Lincoln turns to face Miles, who has the gun still resting on his knee. Lincoln shakes his head, then reaches to give the phone to his dad. “Do not press that button, kid,” Miles hisses. He fumbles for the gun and I see his finger on the trigger.
I throw myself across Miles’ chest, wrapping both my arms around him in an embrace. My body covers his arms and the gun and I hug him tight against me, bracing for an impact that doesn’t come.
“I’m so sorry, Miles. I’m sorry. Thank you for finding me.” I feel the anger in his shoulders ease, somehow. “I’m sorry I didn’t think it through. Thank you so much for coming after me.” His hand rests on my back. “I know I can’t make it up to you, but you’re my big brother. Please.” I lean my forehead against Miles’ chest, tuck my chin down. From the corner of my eye I can see Nathaniel pull Lincoln into his arms, then behind him.
“You called Mom, buddy?” he whispers.
“Yeah. She didn’t answer. Maybe she’ll call back.”
His eyes land on mine. I exhale slowly. This is the only way. I think he knows it.
“Miles, please,” I whisper again. “Please, just get me out of here.”
“You don’t deserve to come back with me.”
“I know.” My voice is thick with tears, but not for my brother.
Miles sighs and finally returns my hug. He holds me at arm’s length, with his strong hands on my shoulders. He looks at my eyes, and then nods his head. “Let’s go.” Holding the gun, he waves it at me in a gesture that means stand up. I get to my feet, carefully staying in between him and Nathaniel, so close to Miles that the barrel is almost against my face. Miles reaches an open hand out and I see Nathaniel place the phone in his palm. Miles puts it in the pocket inside his jacket. “You want to say anything to these two, say it now.”
I start to turn, to face him, and Miles shakes his head, a hand on my chin. Staring past him into the wall, I begin to speak in a low voice. “Lincoln, stay cool, okay? Say hi to Roxy for me.” I pause and draw a breath. I will him to hear me, to remember. “Nathaniel…” The things I want to say to him, the time I want to share with him, could go on forever. It hits me suddenly that I’m not going to see him again.
“Make it quick,” my brother says.
“You have to forgive yourself for the past. You’re a good man. Anyone would be lucky to know you. I know I was.”
Miles takes me by the elbow and we walk outside.
Fifty-Four
Miles walks me across the gardens, and he offers his arm when he sees I’m stumbling. I don’t take it, doing the best I can to manage on my own. I know better than to try to get away, but as we walk across the footbridge, there’s part of me that imagines jumping in. Miles drops Nathaniel’s phone into the water.
Following my brother across the grounds, I pray Nathaniel knows better than to try to follow us. Miles is looking for any excuse now to start firing. But Nathaniel knows that, I think. If my brother, my own flesh and blood, would do this, there’s nothing else he can take away from me. I look over my shoulder, hoping to take a last glance at Zenaida Atwood, that she’ll offer me some parting words. I grit my teeth and make a promise to myself: that I may be leaving, but I’ll haunt this place forever. Maybe I’ll finally get to ask her what that letter meant. But in the dark, it’s nearly impossible to see the figure in the glass. Instead of the voice I’ve come to know, only my own thoughts echo in my mind: My own flesh and blood. Nothing else to take away. Another riddle, when I was hoping for solace.
The gate is locked, and I see Miles must have climbed over the same tree I once did to get in.
“Go on,” he says.
“My knee.”
“Go,” he repeats. I make a show of doing the best I can to scramble up the wall, reaching an arm toward the branch, but fall down twice before he finally lifts me in his arms so I can reach the tree branch. Once we’re both outside the wall, he turns his back to me as he opens the door of the car. My hands close tight, fingernails digging into my palms. Miles clicks his tongue, shaking his head at me.
“Sorry about your mouth,” he says. I notice that it’s still bleeding. “I needed you to hear me. You get lost in things, sometimes. I’m the one who cares about you, here.”
“I know,” I answer. “It’s okay.”
“Come on.” He indicates the passenger seat and I sit down. Miles closes the door behind me, then goes to the driver’s side and sits down. “You know I can’t let you go again.”
“I know,” I repeat. Miles and I exchange a look. He’s searching my eyes for something, resistance, I guess, which he doesn’t find. I’m looking through him. The person I know, the person I thought I knew, is no longer there. All I have to do is get him away from here. Nothing else to take away. Maybe it wasn’t an empty riddle. I realize that I have nothing else to lose.
He starts the car and peels out onto the road. I watch silently out the window, hoping to see sirens behind us, somehow knowing that I won’t. We round a sharp curve and I grip the seat tightly. These roads are perilous enough in broad daylight.
“Why’d you do it?” He sounds wounded. “Why couldn’t you just stay?”
“Miles, my life has always been about you,” I answer. “Even when I couldn’t find you—especially then. Maybe I’d like to make my own choices, for once.”
“Since when?” His eyes cut over to mine. “You didn’t hit your head that hard.”
We’re getting close to Miles’ camp. I’ve faced my own death before. At this point, I’m not sure it even shocks me. But the knowledge of losing Nathaniel and, worse, that I put Lincoln in danger, that I leave him with a loss, strikes at me hard. I cry into my hands, then silence myself, not wanting to make Miles angrier. It’s dark, but I can sense the shape of the road. I know where we’re going.
“What is it now?” he asks. “Why aren’t you happy? I want you to be happy.”
My eyes water. “I love him.”
“He doesn’t love you,” Miles answers. “Anyways, he wouldn’t for very long.”
It occurs to me now that love isn’t words. Professions of love shouldn’t be a balance for your actions, or in spite of them, and I don’t know whether this is something I’m remembering, or if I’ve finally learned it.
“How do you know that?” I demand.
“Because you’re a liar,” he says. “You lied to me. You ruined my life.”
“No, I’m not,” I say, almost as if we’re normal siblings having an argument. “You are—you lied to me.” I point at my lip, gesture to my head. “You said you’d never hurt me.”
In the near dark, his eyes are flashing, the pale blue of light on a blade, and I can see that he wants to hit me again. But he has one hand on the steering wheel, the other one on the gun, and I guess he doesn’t want to let either go. I slouch against the door and turn my glare toward the darkness around us.
“Dora?” His voice is calmer now. “Come on, don’t stay mad.” When I don’t answer, he falls silent. By dark, the twists and turns of the narrow road are hypnotizing. I want my brother back, the one who would surprise me with a present or a visit when I needed it most. I remember the pink coat he gave me when I was twelve. Back then, I clung to every word he spoke. Now, listen. You’re strong, okay? But you’re little. If you’re going to hit someone, it’s not going to be for fun, and you need to move fast. Every time the road curves around the mountainside, it’s as if time doubles back and I blink to find I’m still here, still in this impossible reality. I breathe in, count to four; out, count to four.
Miles is talking again now, his tone almost apologetic. “We’ve both made some mistakes. We’re together—that’s what matters. Right?” Though he jostles my shoulder gently, I make no move to respond. “Oh—sorry. Didn’t realize you were sleeping.” But I’m wide awake. Go for the nose, as fast and hard as you can. Even if you don’t break it, he’ll see stars, and it’ll hurt like hell. Gives you a second to take the next move. Go.
To my left, Miles relaxes into a yawn. I pull back my arm, curl my hand into a fist, and hit his nose as hard as I can. In the second that follows, the tires screeching around a curve, I hold tight to the handle by the window and pull the emergency brake.
Fifty-Five
The brakes lock and the rear tires swing wildly, sending us into a skid. With a double impact, the car hits the embankment, then jackknifes to the other side, coming to rest at a right angle across the road. Something hurts, but I know I don’t have time to waste, and thankfully, my body doesn’t protest as I climb out the door and keep moving, the sound of the car hissing and spitting behind me and Miles swearing.
The night is black. Earlier, when I needed cover, this was an ally. Now, I need to be able to see to get away. I run blindly until I’m out of breath, and the thorns and scratches are my helpers, keeping me awake and letting me know which way not to walk. The forest is dense, beautiful, but up ahead I see a darker denseness and remember what they called the laurel hells, those wide tangles of rhododendron, thickets you could get lost in for days. There’s no walking through it upright. No walking through it at all in the dark. I scramble up the embankment and into its dark branches. I can hear the crashing of dried leaves and brush around me, but bank on the hope that, for now, Miles is distracted enough by the noise of the wrecked car. When I hear quiet from the direction of the road, I sink to my hands and knees, crawling as quietly as I can. My hands reach out in front of me using branches to pull over or under, trying to find my way. My forehead hits a branch and everything spins with pain.
When I open my eyes, the dark seems diluted. My eyes have adjusted to the night. There must be a moon, somewhere, underneath these clouds. Then I hear him.
“Dora?” A voice not distant, but not close. “Dora, where are you?” I don’t move.
“You know I’m gonna find you,” he yells, his voice tinged with an almost friendly brotherly annoyance. “Don’t make this hard.” The sound draws closer and I see that he has a lighter, keeps snapping it in front of his face, giving him an advantage. I duck, but my hair tangles in the leaves, and I hear the bush above me rustle. Shit. I hold my breath and sit as still as I can, trying to find balance. I hear the brush rustling nearby and hope it’s an animal. I slip forward, reach out to catch myself with my arms, and find both my wrists in a viselike grip.
I pull on my arms, but there’s no space behind me, nowhere to pull to. I wrench my elbows weakly, slip one arm loose.
“Stop it already, Dora!”
“You stop it!”
I slap at him with my free hand then shove my weight to my feet and try to turn. Miles grasps my hand again, at the same time I stand up and crash full force into a branch with my shoulder. I can almost feel the bones straining in the socket and I sink back down. My brother laces an arm around my shoulders and sits down, holding me tight so that I’m leaning against him.
“Now would you finally shut up?” he says. “I’ve got a headache. Can we just relax?” I hold my breath and lurch forward, then feel the barrel of the gun against the back of my neck. “You do not give up, do you? I didn’t know that about you.”
I begin to feel the impact of the car stopping. All the discomfort I’ve tuned out rushes into focus. I feel the crack in my lip and the grain of dried blood.
“Dora,” Miles breathes, his voice a bit softer. “What am I gonna do? We can’t go back. I can’t bring you back there again. Nobody would look at me the same.”
“They already don’t.”
“All the more reason,” he answers, as if we’re having a regular conversation. “And I can’t go anywhere else. I’ll just wind up in jail.”
“They could help,” I say. “If you tell the truth. I can still help you. Get you a good lawyer.” I feel the gun pressing into my skin and fall silent.
“I’m never going in again.” He’s dead serious. “You can’t imagine what it’s like.” Maybe he’s right. Maybe I can’t understand.
“How did this happen? How did I let you down this badly?”
“You didn’t,” Miles says. “You’re the only person who was mine. Even when we were little, it was like—you were the only good thing in the world. If I could protect you, that was all that mattered. When you had nice things, a safe place to stay, it was like it was okay that I didn’t have them. But then, you started doing things on your own.” Though his tone turns conversational, his grip on me stays tight. “All I knew was for us to be a team. I would have done anything to take care of you.”
“But this is on a completely different scale.”
“Not really,” he says. “Once things started happening, they had their own momentum.”
“I wish I could go back and change it,” I say. “If I hadn’t called you that day—”
“No,” he says, shaking his head, no venom or muscle in his tone. “You did the right thing, Dora.”
“But you said—”
“You were six years old,” he says, then repeats: “Six. Of course it was not your fault. Can’t you see that’s goddamn crazy? Look at me, okay?” Though we’re sitting in the dark, I try to comply, turning around a little so I can face him, though he doesn’t let me move much. “It wasn’t your fault that girl died. Say it.” I start, then find myself crying again. After a couple tries, I manage it.
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“The whole thing,” Miles says. “I want to know you believe it, before—”
“It wasn’t my fault the little girl died.” I’m leaning against his shoulder now. Trying to understand why it has to be like this: why does Miles have to love me, too? How am I supposed to understand this? “Before what?” I ask, suddenly combing over his last sentence. “Why now? Why tell me that now?”
Oh. My breath catches. He doesn’t answer.
“I can’t bring you back there with me,” he says. “I can’t have you running around again. It was only my good luck you didn’t remember anything this last time. Dora, there’s too much on the line, for—”
“You don’t want to lose the people you have around you. I know—you’re like me, a little,” I tell him. “You don’t want to be alone. Miles, I can help you.”
“No, you can’t!” he says. “Stop saying that.”
“Well—well then—” I’m stammering, grasping for anything I can think to say. “I’ll go away. Just let me go. I’ll walk as far as I can. Hitchhike—go to a different town.”
“Now you’re lying,” Miles laughs. “If I leave you here, you’re walking back to the road and going to him. Ten out of ten chance. You’re going to the police, coming up here and ruining everything for me, because you think you can help somehow.”
