Page 85 of Such a Quiet Place
“Charlotte killed Ruby,” I said. I blurted it fast. So someone else would know. So that the proof—the truth—could not disappear. Could not be buried by someone casting the suspicion elsewhere first.Get help, call the police, do something.
But Tate only stood there, gun at her side, looking between the two of us.
“Harper, stop,” Charlotte said through clenched teeth. “We’re all on the same side here. It’s over, it’s done. She’s gone.”
“Because youkilledher,” I repeated.
“Stop saying that. I kept us safe. She was dangerous. Tate, you know that. You know the things she did. She was so dangerous.”
She was dangerous, but not in the way they meant.
“She didn’t kill the Truetts,” I said.
“That’s not possible, Harper,” Tate said. “I told you, there was no one else on the camera—”
“No onekilled them, Tate,” I said.
“What?” she asked, her voice impossibly small.
“It was an accident. A horrible accident, but no one did it. And I think I can prove it.”
“Tate,” Charlotte said, making a calming motion with her hands. “Everyone played a part. We’re all liable here.” She gestured to the box tucked under my arm. “Take that, please.”
Tate looked between the two of us slowly, as if debating. Deciding. Working through each path to see which would work out the best in her favor.
Ruby was right, we had all done it. Had conspired against her even if we didn’t mean to. Individually, we couldn’t have done it. But together, we were powerful. We could set laws, enforce rules, make someone feel welcomed or ostracized.
All these things we knew about one another; all these things we had on one another. Everyone so afraid to speak up, to disturb that balance and give ourselves away.
“Tate,” I said as she took a step closer. “Please. You don’t understand. Ruby found this. Rubyknew—”
“Stop talking,” Tate said, the gun rising in my direction. “Both of you. Just. Stop.”
We both raised our arms on instinct.
I had no idea who I was dealing with anymore.
Everyone taking pictures of each other, recording eachother, and so we had to exist on two levels. The one where we knew we were being watched, and the one where we believed we weren’t.
A secret, simmering existence behind the facades.
“Tate, you understand,” Charlotte said, her voice no longer calm but pleading. “The things you would do for your children. The things you would do to protect them.”
“I do,” Tate said, widening her stance.
I’d thought she wanted safety. I’d thought the gun was for her protection. But there were different types of safety. Different things we wanted to protect.
I didn’t know any of them at the heart. I didn’t know what any of us were capable of doing.
Tate flicked a latch on the side of the gun: I could hear it from where I stood; could hear my heart racing, too.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I begged.
But her arm kept lifting until it was pointed directly over her head. She squeezed her eyes shut and shot the gun into the air, the noise deafening.
I crouched on impulse, dropped the box, covered my ears, until the ringing subsided. When I opened my eyes, Tate’s eyes were wide open, staring at the gun. She had taken several steps back, been unprepared for the recoil—like she’d had no idea what would happen when she pulled the trigger.
Only that people would come.
