EVERYTHING HAD CHANGED. The crisp winter winds had warmed once more, the monotonous expanse of glittering white snow had thawed. Like everyone else in Eventide, Finley had accompanied her family to watch the sun reemerge from behind the purpled mountains turning her face skyward to allow its warmth to kiss her face. As winter faded, she gradually grew aware of the minute changes: budding leaves bringing life to barren branches, soft sprays of crocuses emerging from icy clouds of snow, laughter and voices filling the once vacant streets. No matter how the town cursed the swirling lights of the night, they embraced the day.

With the emergence of summer, Finley felt light, nearly buoyant as she passed through the crowded halls of school. Joy was the only time she did not loathe her gift. She loved the way it spread through her, stretching beyond the consuming pain and despair until all she felt was warmth. As the emotions of others claimed her they intensified until it was all she could feel. In most things she kept herself guarded never trusting her environment and what it might cost her. She moved through life robotically, keeping others at a distance to protect herself – to protect them.

Quint Reed’s face lingered within her consciousness, forever reminding her of what could happen when she was careless.

The lightness came as a surprise to her. The longer she experienced it, the more Finley found she craved the carefree nature of those around her. It was not until that night at dinner that she had dared to consider that there was something more, something larger at work within the sleepy town.

Her thoughts had drifted to things other than the conversation her parents were having when her father’s voice, sharp and irritated pierced through her reverie. “God! Do you even hear a damn word I say, Finley?” She stared at her plate, nervously pulling aprt her roll as he continued to thunder. Submissiveness was the only survival tactic she knew. “Sometimes I wonder how you can even be my daughter. I really wish I knew what went on in that head of yours.” He turned his eyes toward Caleb. “Caleb?”

Caleb swallowed hard, exchanging an apologetic look with her. She watched as his azure eyes widened with astonishment before shaking his head. “I can’t…,” he mumbled to the table. “I can’t hear anything.”

“What do you mean you can’t hear anything?” Jonathan demanded his hand hitting the table so that it lay flat. His eyes narrowed as he sized up Caleb, searching for deception. Finley stared absently at her father’s hands – hands that had the appearance of hard labor despite never having toiled. He wore two rings, one on each of his ring fingers. The simple gold band on his left signified his marriage while the more ornate platinum on his right demonstrated his place within the Eiríksson family. It was the same ring that would one day adorn Caleb’s hand, a silent reminder of who the head was. But Caleb would never be like their father. As she stared absently at the hands that once cradled her as an infant, Finley wondered how they could now be used to harm her. Her eyes flickered back to Caleb as she prayed he would keep her thoughts secret. Sweat beaded upon his brow as he stared at her. “Nothing,” he finally whispered.

“So now I have not one, but two deficient children?” Jonathan thundered.

Caleb’s mouth fell open in mute admission and for the first time that she could remember, Finley was the one saving Caleb from their father’s wrath. “It’s because I wasn’t thinking anything,” she admitted softly. “He can’t hear what I don’t think.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Jonathan sneered. “I can’t remember the last time you had an intelligent thought in that waste of a mind—”

“Jonathan!” her mother cut in, horror a pale sheen upon her pallid

“You know it’s true! If she put some effort into things perhaps she’d be something more than a blight on this family.”

“May I please be excused?” Finley asked and before he could answer she slipped silently from her seat and to the stairs.

His accusations were nothing new. The knowledge that his daughter was not whispered while so many in the town were was a constant thorn. The great Jonathan Eiríksson was supposed to be infallible. His children were supposed to be admired and envied. The knowledge that one of his own was less than that continually added stress to the house of cards that they lived in. Every time the thought traced his mind Finley was certain that she could see another thread unravel; another card slip from their elaborate house they had constructed. Each time she watched this she took secret pleasure in knowing that all of his distress was based upon a lie. She was whispered like she was destined to be. It wasn’t an ability that her father would ever believe was an asset, but it was hers. It was the only thing he couldn’t take from her.

She didn’t want to go to her room. Not with her father as angry as he was. He would find her and take everything out on her until he felt better and Finley no longer existed. It never mattered what happened. In the end everything that went wrong within their household circled around the solitary moment where she had almost died. Finley crept down the darkened hallway, disappearing into the long shadows. Her fingers idly traced the carved wood of the staircase searching for the small gap. Curling her hand into the narrow opening she felt the aged wood give way, the panel sliding free until she could slip inside.

Caleb had found the narrow space when they were still children. It had been an ever-shifting land of make believe. For Abigail and Finley it was often a castle where they were princesses entertaining at a ball; for Finley and Caleb it was a pirate ship headed for adventure and treasure. The space transformed as their interests did: a covered wagon to space ship. Once their imagined pursuits faded, the space had become the one place she knew she would never be found.

Curling into the small space, Finley picked up a chipped tea cup, tears hot and embittered in her eyes. Just like the innocence that encompassed childhood it had been fractured revealing the truth no one wished to acknowledge – nothing could last forever. Cradling the cup closer she could still make out the faint roses in pink and yellow and blue, the tarnished gold rim glinting dull in the dim light. It hadn’t always been like this. She hadn’t always wanted to hide from her father, merely his expectations. Once, in a different story, she had felt loved and secure. Then she hadn’t been a mistake – a screw up.

“…she’s your daughter!” Her mother’s frantic voice broke through her thoughts and Finley pressed herself further into the shadows to keep from being found.

“She might as well belong to someone else. I hardly know her. She never talks to me – to anyone. If she doesn’t want to be a member of this family, why should I treat her like one? It’s a waste of my precious time.” His words were like a slap, their mark felt long after any bruise.

“Can you blame her for that? You treat her like a leper…”

“I do not need you, out of all people telling me how I should treat my own children! If it was not for me, they would be—“

“Normal?” Leanne Eiríksson spat at her husband. “God forbid that! God forbid Abigail comes home to visit or Caleb to not get into God only knows what or for Finley to actually be that bright girl she used to instead of this shadow. Yes, Jonathan, I can see how normal must seem like this terrible thing to you. I would give anything for us to even resemble it!”

“You know nothing.” Jonathan’s voice was calculating and precise, each word carefully enunciated. It was the voice he used when he was blinded by his rage – the eerie calm before the storm. She knew this from the countless times he had turned the same fury upon her. As she listened, Finley gradually became aware that for the first time in recent memory she could not feel her father’s rage.

Her mind replayed dinner and Caleb’s inability to read her mutinous thoughts; to the euphoric freedom she felt as she walked through the halls at school. Pieces of conversations she had overheard replayed in her mind: the lights dimming, the being the ones to bestow abilities. Was it possible, she thought with a thrill of excitement, that her ability had finally disappeared? Closing her eyes, Finley focused her thoughts upon her parents’ emotions – emotions she knew as well as her own. Her mother’s resigned despair and her blinding rage that remained cool despite being red hot. It didn’t matter how together he appeared from a distance, once you came too close you ended up being burned. She could hear their heated words, imagine their expressions, and even know their emotions.

It had been an eternity since Finley Eiríksson felt nothing.

She waited until her parents had stormed into the study, the heavy slam filling the quiet where their emotions still lingered – emotions she was finally free from. For now, she reminded herself. Nothing in Eventide was guaranteed least of all her freedom. Questions laced through her thoughts: were she and Caleb the only ones affected or were there more? was this permanent? what would her father do once he discovered the truth of what had happened at dinner? She glanced cautiously at the closed door of the study. It wouldn’t take him long to draw the same conclusion she had. If anything, the explosion at dinner was a result of what he already knew to be true – the piercing realization that all that had made them special no longer existed. She wanted to warn her siblings; to explain to Caleb what had happened at dinner so he could brace himself for what was to come.

More than anything, she wanted to be free.

She crept to the front door, waiting for the slightest sound to indicate her plans. Whisper-soft, she reached for the polished brass handle and inched it open until she could slip into the silvery night. The door latched with a soft click behind her and Finley greedily inhaled the cool night air. Then, before she could stop herself, she began to run, her home fading in the distance. Everything had changed and hope filled her lungs with its sweet perfume.

Finley Eiríksson was finally free.