"You knew?" Quil asked Jacob in disbelief.
"Sort of," he replied sheepishly, wincing a little in anticipation of Quil's reaction.
"What do you mean sort of? She told me you were the one who picked her up!"
"Okay. Maybe a little bit but–"
"–And you didn't tell me?"
"Tell you what?" I interrupted meekly, feeling left out.
Quil turned to look at me, his face looking pained.
His words came out in a desperate cry as he turned back to Jacob.
"How could you not tell me?"
Jacob rushed through his words.
"We didn't know how long she was planning to stay. Last time she left– well– you remember. No one wanted to see you go through that again."
Quil looked so sad.
It made me upset, even though I didn't know what was happening. I had a sudden urge to comfort him, but I didn't know if it was appropriate.
"Go through what?" I asked Quil again, sadness visible in my tone.
He looked back at me, the same emotion on his face.
Again, my question went unanswered and he looked back to Jacob.
"No one? No one out of how many people? Who else even knows she's here?" he asked.
"Just me and Emily," Jacob responded automatically.
I flinched and Quil noticed.
Jacob hesitated for a moment, and then spoke again.
"And Sam and Embry. And Jared…Maybe Paul," he admitted.
Quil's jaw dropped.
A second passed before Jacob finished.
"And…Seth," he let out finally, looking at the floor.
Quil's head was shaking; his eyes closed.
I shot glances between them, going back and forth repeatedly, trying to understand the situation.
"That's why I patrolled with Leah, Collin and Brady?" Quil asked, though it came out as more of a statement.
Jacob nodded.
I mentally paused at this. If they were all security-patrollers, then did that mean one of them was a big giant man named Leah?
What is with this place?
"What is going on?" I asked Jacob a little louder now.
They both looked at each other and grimaced, and then Jacob nodded as if encouraging Quil to talk.
Quil's eyes closed as he took in a breath, then he turned to me. "Claire," he began, "You.. have a history here that you probably don't remember."
I'll say.
"Okay…" I responded, a little scared.
"Well, we have a history you don't remember," he amended.
I looked back to Jacob, to read on his expression whether this was a joke or not.
His face was serious.
Wait. If the voice is real, and if dream-Quil is real, then…
"Is this somehow linked with the wolf?" I let out, without thinking it through properly.
They both gasped, and Quil's eyes widened.
"What?" he asked, stunned.
I was taken back by both of their reactions. I didn't know if they were mad at this, so I quickly sidestepped.
"Um, I think I remember seeing a wolf– when I was here," I lied.
They looked at each other, both with anguished expressions. Quil's eyes were closed again, taking in another deep breath. He looked into my eyes, trapping me in his gaze.
"I'll explain everything, Claire. I promise."
I nodded, surprised to realize I believed him completely. He took my hand into his, and my urge to comfort him finally overcame me. I reflexively moved our hands to his chest, over his heart. Again, time slowed and the silence seemed quieter.
…Until Jacob spoke.
"Um, actually, Quil," he interrupted, though nor Quil or I looked at him, while he continued to mumble on. "Can you explain.. later because.. technically.. you're supposed to be patrolling now.. and.. I haven't really slept.. in like–"
He stopped when Quil and I both shot glances at him.
"But.. I'm not really that tired," he back-peddled.
A moment passed, and I turned back to Quil, who was still watching Jacob. I wasn't sure what we were waiting for.
"A little privacy, Jake?" Quil asked.
"Oh. Right," Jacob let out, then quickly made his way out of the room.
Quil looked back to me and I could see internal struggle on his face. He dropped our hands from his chest, and it took him a moment to begin.
"I think maybe.. you should sleep, and we can talk in the morning," he told me, looking down at my legs that were still covered in blanket. "You've had.. a lot, for one day."
What? No!
"I think maybe.. I shouldn't," was all I could come out with, trying to match his polite tone.
He smiled.
"What?" I asked, intrigued by his sudden change in mood.
"You've always been stubborn."
I considered this, and decided to delve straight into it. If he knew me so well, I wanted to know how.
"How exactly do you know me?"
His smile faded, and a concerned look surfaced.
"I met you when you were two," he answered, sidestepping my question.
"Okay. And how did you meet me then?"
He really seemed to think his answer through, before coming out with it.
"Your family came to visit Emily."
"And I lived in the next town?"
"Yes."
"And you lived here?"
"Yes."
"So, you knew me for one year?"
"Yes."
"And why did I leave?"
He winced, halting the flow of our conversation.
"Your.. mom wanted to move."
My mom? My mom!
The secrecy.
I'd almost forgotten the whole reason I was here was to figure out Mom's secret. And now it was somehow actually linked to my own twisted secrets? So maybe she did know I was crazy? Of course, she probably just chose to sweep this information under the rug.
Under the nice, expensive rug.
I was brought back to the morning in the kitchen, and the conversation with my dad. Who recognized Quil in the painting. Who sent me here. Who, in a way, subliminally told me to come here and find out the truth for myself?
Oh.
"My parents know something," I processed aloud, "About this place– about you?"
He swallowed and nodded slowly, as if he were scared I would piece any more information together.
"And…they didn't like it," I concluded.
I was trying to get what I could from him, without giving anything away about the hallucinations. If I could figure it out myself, there would be no need to go on worrying anyone about my mental health.
He looked away from me now, but I could still see his pained expression.
"Does this make you sad?" I asked, again feeling sad just by watching him ache.
"It's just a little painful…to relive the memory. That's all," he told me.
"But, I was two?" I pointed out, "How much can you even remember? How old were you?"
He sighed.
"What?" I asked, surprised with his hesitance to answer something so simple.
"I just.. don't know how to explain all this. It's one thing.. to grow up knowing your whole life about the.. stories, but to find out when you're eighteen.. once you think you know how the world works.. it's weird."
I contemplated this for a second.
Weird.
He thinks his truth is weird.
Meanwhile, I'm the one dreaming about him every night, and hallucinating his voice, and hanging pictures of him up in my room like some stalker.
Who stalked her imaginary friend.
"I think I can handle it," I told him honestly.
His expression was a little amused at this, and he continued.
"Okay… What exactly do you remember about the wolves?"
My eyebrows creased a little. I lied earlier, or rather left out the part about seeing the wolf in my dream. And usually to get out of a lie, you have to tell another lie. And I didn't want to waste time doing that.
"Claire?"
"Um. Well, I don't exactly remember."
"But you said–"
"I…lied," I admitted.
"But how–" he paused, and seemed to change his train of thought, "Do you know something?"
"I think so," I told him, "I think I know bits and pieces, but don't really know how they fit together."
There, I thought. That sounded somewhat sane, while still tiptoeing around the delusionary truth.
He sighed.
"Claire, you're gonna have to tell me everything you know. So I can help you understand."
Aw, man.
"Okay, fine. And you have to tell me everything you know," I challenged, even though he already said he would. I just didn't like the feeling of surrendering without getting something in return.
Huh. I guess he's right. I am stubborn.
He smiled at this, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.