Page 54 of A Silence So Divine

I frown, raising the blanket until only my eyes peek out.

“I’ll make you pancakes.”

My stomach growls at the prospect of food. Still, I do not move.

Creed’s gaze softens before scrubbing the sleep from his face. Approaching the bed, he brushes hair from my eyes, studying the lump on my forehead, the slash on my cheek. Though the pain has grown dull, the memory burns.

“We don’t have to talk about it. Please?”

His expression is so sincere, so boyish, that my resolve slips like water through fingers. He’s impossible for me to deny, so I follow him to the kitchen.

If luck were on my side, this day would mirror all the others. I would perch on the countertop, watch him cook, and smother my pancakes in far too much syrup.

I’ve never had much luck.

Cecil stands at the counter, his back to us as he reads a newspaper and brings a coffee cup to his lips. The ends of his hair drip, darkening the collar of his gray shirt. It’s such an unassuming vision—socked feet and a caffeinated breakfast. But I know better.

The creaking floorboards give us away and he glances in our direction. The shadows beneath his eyes and the stubble along his jaw is the only indication that he might not be faring much better than I am.

Before Cecil can get a word in, Creed steps in front of me. His hands are moving, but I’m not able to make it out. Standing on my tiptoes, I peek over his shoulder to catch Cecil’s response.

“Fine. After breakfast.”

Pancakes have never tasted worse. Every bite is tar in my mouth, clogging my throat and difficult to swallow down.

Did that boy, Emory, ever eat pancakes? I suppose it’s no matter. He’ll never have them again.

There’s an agony in enjoying the life that has been ripped from someone else.

To my surprise, Cecil joins us at the table, clearing his plate within a couple minutes. Creed takes his time. Using a fork and knife, he meticulously cuts bite size pieces and chews at a snail's pace. If I were to guess, he’s prolonging the inevitable conversation.

I’d prefer to get it over with.

Pushing my plate away, I square my shoulders and turn my attention to Cecil. His eyes are already on mine.

“Did you tell him?”I ask apprehensively. Instantly, Creed drops his silverware.

“Tell me what?”He asks, looking between the two of us.

Cecil crosses his arms across his chest.

“No,” he says aloud, pointedly leaving Creed out of the conversation. “I wasn’t sure you wanted me to.”

“How do you expect to keep it a secret when you're going to… use me?”My jaw sets, and I try to keep the sting of betrayal from showing on my face. My emotions are on a carousel, cycling through grief, anger, despair, and resignation.

A slam makes me flinch, and I whip my head towards the sound. Creed has both fists planted on the table, his nostrils flared.

“Tell me what’s going on,”he signs, lips pressed into a firm line.

My palms sweat, and I gnaw at the inside of my lips. What will he think of me?

Darting my eyes back to his older brother, I feel like a coward. I can’t get the words out. I wouldn’t know where to begin. Having must read the plea in my eyes, Cecil cracks his knuckles and begins to sign.

“Do you remember how she was covered in blood when I found her by the pond?”

Creed’s lip curls in disgust, but he nods.

“She has a… capability, something that I never thought was possible. It puts a target on her back, even larger than yours. That’s why her father left her here; he knew it would mean his death if they found out he’d been hiding her. ”