Some Quiet Place by Kelsey Sutton

loft when he held my hand. Offered to help me sleep. As Fear looks at me, that same expression of unexpected vulnerability crosses his beautiful face. My body aches all over, but I owe him this. Stepping forward, as if I’m moving through water, I slowly place my arms around him, rewarding him because I pay my dues.
    He hesitates only an instant before embracing me in return. He buries his face in my hair, inhaling. Tim had done the same thing just moments ago, but it’s vastly different with Fear. There’s that sensation again, of something within me moving. His touch brings on images of panting terror and horrific experiences of people around the globe, but I ignore them all.
    Fear heaves a sigh, arms tightening around me like he never wants to let go. “I have summons,” he murmurs reluctantly. “Better get back to work.” I don’t respond. Smiling again, Fear bends and brushes a soft kiss on my lips. Once, twice, three times, as if I’m a drug and he’s a drowning addict. He shudders in my hands, this timeless, powerful Emotion. Being with me really does change him, affect him.
    “Don’t.” I pull away. An odd instinct doesn’t like the distance between us, but I chalk it up to my mind striving for safety. Right now, Fear represents safety. Yet Tim isn’t a threat anymore. He lies there with his back to a stall, a lump of regrets. Above him, the cows watch us curiously. “You’ll only get hurt.”
    Fear winks at me, buoyed by the kisses. “We’ll see, won’t we?”
    He disappears from my sight, and I turn to see how much damage he’s done to Tim. It’s not encouraging when my father coughs up blood, hay sticking to his pummeled face.
    “Oh, dear,” I murmur, feeling my own injuries twinge, demanding attention.
    “Since I’m already breaking the rules … ” I hear Fear’s voice say in my ear. A moment later my cuts and bruises close up; my skin becomes smooth and unbroken as if none of it ever happened. The burning pain in my hand is gone, too.
    “More interfering,” I say.
    Fear doesn’t bother with a reply, leaving me alone to figure out what to do with Tim Caldwell. After much debate, I decide that the best course of action is to do nothing at all. I milk the cows and shut up the barn for the night, leaving one door open.

Eleven
    The next day, there are two abnormalities. Joshua isn’t at school, and when I get home, Sheriff Owen is in our kitchen. He’s taking statements from Mom and Tim, who refuses to go to the hospital.
    The story is simple: Tim woke up alone in the barn last night without a memory of how he was beaten or who did it. Standing there with his calm expression, Sheriff Owen waits for my statement, pen poised over a notepad. I focus on his sandy-brown mustache and tell him in simple terms that I came home late yesterday, milked the cows, and went into the house for supper and homework. No, I didn’t see Tim in the barn. I went to bed around ten. No, I didn’t see anyone suspicious around the farm.
    “One of the doors was wide open, and you found Tim lying a few feet away in his current condition, correct?” Owen asks my mom. Lips trembling, she nods.
    The sheriff frowns, rereading his notes. “Well, the way I see it, Tim, you must’ve been working in the barn and someone came at you from behind. It explains your lack of memory. Are you sure there’s no one angry with you that would have a motive to do this?”
    Holding an ice pack to his head, Tim just scowls and shakes his head.
    Owen sighs, pocketing the notepad. “I’ll ask a few questions around town and see what I can find out.”
    Mom shows him to his car. There’s the sound of an engine revving as Sheriff Owen leaves. Mom comes back inside and goes right to her dishes. Tim lumbers upstairs to lie down.
    I wait until he’s gone—I can hear him moving around above us, a water faucet turning, the bedsprings squeaking—and then sit down at the kitchen table. Mom doesn’t notice me at first. She sighs in