Page 15 of Dangerous Silence
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something shift in the woods. If it were an animal, it would move again and reveal itself. But if nothing moved, it could have been someone. A person trying to stay undetected. A soldier sent by Muro.
Another shift in the woods, several yards away from the first.
Then nothing.
“Axe?” Demi asked.
I looked down, meeting her eyes for a moment. They were full of truth, waiting for my answer. If she knew who I was—what her father had taught me—all of that respect would be gone.
But right now, I had to go take care of business.
“We’ll discuss it later,” I said. “Stay here.”
I walked into the woods, leaving her behind.
CHAPTER 4
Demi
Axe walked into the woods like he was searching for a lost jewel without a treasure map. His eyes were penetrating, his attention focused. Part of me wanted to follow him to see what drew him into the forest. The other side of me didn’t care. Not a single bit.
“Demi Walcott, is that you?” a fragile woman’s voice asked.
A hand landed on my shoulder. I hated,hatedwhen people put their hand on my shoulder. As if they wanted to show me how small I was. When I looked up, I realized it was because the woman needed a steady hand. The anger lifted from my chest. I didn’t mind that.
“I haven’t seen you since you were a baby,” she said.
Another line I loved to hear. I thought of a million lines to spout off in response, but instead, I simply said, “And I don’t think I’ve seen you—ever.”
The woman laughed, her shoulders shaking. She fixed her brooch. “You know, your father was one of my good friends before you were born. He took good care of me.”
“And me,” another woman said. They both looked about my dad’s age, maybe younger, though it was hard to tell with their hair dye. “I didn’t know Shep raised such a—” the second woman paused, eyeing my hair, “—such an adventurous young woman.”
I smiled, giving the widest, toothiest grin I could muster. “You know, that’s what finally put him over the edge,” I said. I leaned in, bringing my voice to a whisper, “He saw my hair and croaked. Couldn’t take it anymore. Not with a little hellion like me.”
The women laughed, though the one who had made the ‘adventurous’ comment gave me side-eyes.
“You’ve certainly got his spirit.”
I glanced at the woods, expecting to see that ogre of a man looming through the trees like a storm spreading across the sky, but I didn’t see Axe anywhere. I balled my fist, holding onto the funeral service pamphlet. I wanted to go home, but I had no idea where that was anymore. My parents had paid off the house a long time ago, so I knew I could go there, at least until we sold it. But I also knew that the dorm rooms back at PGU might feel better. Either way, home wasn’t Axe’s empty bedroom with the sleeping bag on the floor.
I pictured Dad’s blanket over the top of that maroon sleeping bag. That’s what I wanted.Home.
Maybe I needed to be by myself.
The two women kept talking, sharing stories about old times with Shep. Without announcing my departure, I went to the kitchen, leaving the two of them behind. I followed the stream of people to a side room, where a dining table was covered with every casserole imaginable, plus cheesy bread, chocolate chip muffins, a cherry pie, pizza, and pasta. I swiped a chocolate chip muffin off of the table, wishing I still had my sweatshirt to hide it in the pocket. The black dress I was wearing was nice—I guess Axe had sent someone to buy it for me—but it wasn’t practical for hiding baked goods.
Tossing the muffin between my hands, I wandered back into the kitchen. A couple of people glanced at my hair, whispering to each other, and I pretended not to notice. That’s the thing they don’t tell you about brightly colored hair; people gawked at you all of the time. But I had only dyed it because I liked the colors and I wanted to do something for myself for once. To not care about what Dad thought.
It was funny how I ended up at his funeral like that.
Bottles of hard alcohol lined the countertop, with a cooler on the floor full of ice and red-labeled beers, one of Dad’s favorites. I eyed the bottles, searching for tequila. I hadn’t tried it, or any alcohol for that matter, but my roommate loved to brag about the pungent taste and the punishing aftermath; tequila washerdrink. I wanted to see if it was true. Anything to distract myself until the end of the night.
I reached for a bottle of amber-colored liquid, but then hesitated. I wasn’t supposed to drink alcohol. A pang of regret trickled in. Would someone tell on me?
Why did I care? Dad couldn’t punish me.
But that nagging grew, scraping at my stomach. I couldn’t break a rule at his funeral. Dad had always said that every rule had a reason behind it, which meant you had totrustthat the rules were just. Still, would one drink hurt? I held the stem of the bottle, debating what to do, that gnawing sensation digging deeper inside of me.
