Ripple Effect: A Novel (35 page)

I can hear Reinhardt’s voice, but I don’t comprehend what she is saying. There is one thing I know for absolute certain; she shot Leison. She stopped the monster.

FBI personal must be passing by me. I can see their shadows moving, hear the sound of their boots on the dirt ground. They seem to be running deeper into the cave—chasing the straggling cult members? There are so many noises; walkie-talkie static, injured men moaning, girls crying, Kelly repeating my name over and over.

I stare at the knife, now lying still. It’s all I see in my world—now soundless and motionless. I focus on it, shiny, glinting in the light—it somehow dulls the throbbing of my stomach. It is a reminder of the blood that trickles to the cold floor, escaping from the wounds inflicted by such an instrument.

“Cecily!” Kelly yells, whipping me back to the present horror––back to the darkness and noise and chaos.

I cry out suddenly in recognition of my pain. Everything
hurts
on my body! What did that monster do to me? I have to
cover
myself, or––or something!

Kelly quickly crawls to my side and looks down at me. He catches me struggling to cover my exposed and mauled body. With horror, I reach down to my pants and find that they are just barely pushed down to expose my hips. I cover my chest with my bruised, scratched arms and roll into fetal position. At last, my head rests on the sooty ground as I cry––sob––so loudly that it echoes in the dark space.

My world spins and I close my eyes.

“I’ll be nothing without you, Papa. Please don’t die . . .” I sat beside him on his bed, watching his face closely. Hollowed cheeks and darkened circles around his honey-colored eyes scared me, terrified me, and proved he was close to meeting the Reaper.

Papa held my face in his skeletal hand. A tube stretched from his arm to an IV bag that hung beside my parent’s bed. “Don’t think of it as me dying, Cecily.” A smile cracked on his white lips. “I’ll always be here––” he touched my chest above my heart “––with you, forever. Even though you won’t see me, I’ll be here.”

“What is it like to die, Papa?” Tears filled my eyes and I held his hand in mine, staring at the wrinkles and lines that had rapidly appeared overnight. “Does it hurt?”

With effort, his hand reached up to hold my face again, to bring my attention to his dimming eyes. “My body is tired; it has nothing left to give. My spirit understands what must happen next.”

He stared up at the ceiling as a few tears trickle down the side of his face. A small smile cracked on his exhausted face, as if he’d saw something up there, something that I couldn’t.

“Be brave, my daughter. Know that I love you. I love you so, so much.”

“Papa?” My body filled with chills as a sound of horror filled my throat. “Papa . . . You can’t die!”

Then he started heaving his last breaths. I could only sit there and watch in horror.

Lifeless eyes stared into the abyss as his head sunk into the pillow.

He was gone forever.

It’s so cold where I lay. It is so bitterly cold. Antarctica would be a horrible comparison to how cold the frost is that fills my veins.

My eyelids flutter open, releasing ice crystals and frozen eyelashes everywhere. All I find is darkness, surrounding me everywhere I look. My limbs twitch violently before being released from their icy slumber, my arm even ripping away from my body and smacking the wall of my holding cell.

I can’t feel pain, only cold. A solid wall covered in a thin wall of ice crystals, from the feel of it, surrounds me in all directions. I’m trapped in some sort of frozen, darkened, horrible cubby hole.

Even my tears of panic are frozen to my face the minute they leave my eyes. My jaw tremors violently, echoing the sound of clattering teeth through my icy holding cell.

“Help,” I whisper hoarsely, my vocal cords so cold they don’t even work.

As if on demand, a door opens by my feet, no larger than two square feet. The slab I lay on is pulled from the icy cubby. The air is slightly warmer out here—barely.

Once out, I look around me. I’m in a tunnel, dark as night except for one lone lantern in the corner. This light allows me to see the horrors of the tunnel, the huge scratch marks, the tracks that run down the middle, and the piles of bones in the corner.

A man coughs and I look in his direction. I see his silhouette. Dark eyes watch me, light glinting eerily off the glossy surface. He moves one step forward and stops, turns his head in examination—his features shadowed—and he continues creepily toward me.

I can’t scream, I can’t talk, and I can’t even whimper. I am frozen in dread.

His touch on my frozen body feels like acid and his hand rests lightly on my exposed abdomen, singing the nerves in my frozen skin.

Turning toward the light, I see something all the more terrifying. His shoulder has missing flesh and bloody gashes fill his face. Gunshot wounds bleed still, as if freshly acquired.

*              *              *

Shaking my head violently, I force my eyes open. My mouth
is gaping and I find that a horrible noise is escaping me.

It’s warm here. A soft blanket is tucked around me and the room is dim and smells funny, like a hospital. I try to sit up and am restricted because of the tubing that is connected to my arm.

What is going on? I’m not in the mine anymore . . .

Screaming again, I try to rip the tubing out as tears stream down my face.

Leison’s coming for me. I know he is!

Strong hands hold my shoulders and someone sits on the hospital bed. Blue eyes, like the calming waters of the ocean, stare into mine with controlled emotion.

“Kelly?” I whisper.

He nods and holds my face in his hands. “Cecily, you’re okay.” A frown fills my face and I can’t help but to cry. He kisses my forehead. “He’s dead. I promise you you’re safe.”

Relief fills me and I start sobbing hysterically. Kelly holds me tightly in his arms and I cry into his shoulder, releasing heart wrenching sobs. “I’m scared!”

The skin on my stomach starts burning and I sit back. My hand rests on my abdomen and I look down at it. A few specks of blood appear on the hospital gown. Though it shouldn’t be too major of a deal, I start flipping out over it.

“Cecily, it’s okay,” Kelly says quickly and grabs my hands in his.

Dr. Reed enters the room quickly––and frantic, though he hides it well. “You’re awake.”

I stare at him, confused. “How did I get here?”

“Ambulance,” he says. It would make sense, wouldn’t it?

Kelly moves away from me and Reed takes his place. I can see the sorrow that fills his brown, sunken eyes. He looks professional, his brown hair styled, and his white doctors coat wrinkle free over his business attire.

“I rushed down here as soon as the nurse said you were . . . awake.” Reed shoots Kelly a look of appreciation, for being here for me, I guess. “How—where does it hurt, Ces?”

“Everywhere.” Tears sting my eyes. “Where are the other girls?”

Reed lifts my head so he can see my face. “They’re recovering. They’ll be fine.” Pulling a light from his pocket, he shines it in my eyes and examines them before he turns it off. “How is your head feeling?”

The machine beside me beeps and I jump. After looking at it, finding that it’s nothing, I turn back to him. “I have a headache,” I reply. “I’m really tired, too.”

Reed scratches the back of his neck. “You have a concussion.”

“I remember.” Closing my eyes, I reach to the back of my head and feel a bandage. Eyes open wide, I stare at him with worry. “What is that?”

“A minor cut, nothing too big. You were beat up pretty badly in the mine,” he explains.

I look down at my hands, the dirt and blood encrusted under my finger nails, remembering. They surely tried to clean it out. “In the mine,” I whisper, horrified.

Kelly stands up, as if he can’t bear to listen to it.  “I’m going to go out––there––for a second,” he says and leaves.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, my voice filling with sadness.

Reed holds my hands. “No, you did nothing wrong. It’s hard for Kelly to hear this because he feels guilty.” Confusion fills my face. “He’s kicking himself because he couldn’t stop Leison; he feels weak and pathetic.”

“He couldn’t have! He was knocked out!” I shake my head. “Is he okay?”

Nodding, he flashes me a small smile. “He has some bruises, but he’ll be okay.”

I look down and touch a speck of blood that has dispersed through the cotton gown. “Agent Owens needs a report. And I’m only going to repeat what happened once.”

Reed understands completely. “I’ll get the Agents, Ces. You try to sleep a little more.”

“Okay. Will you send Kelly back in?”

“Sure thing. Anything else––food, drink, anything?” he wonders.

I speak quietly. “How’s Sherriff?”

“I’m just fine, little darling.” Sherriff Copper enters the room at the exact moment. He is wearing his tan cowboy hat, Sherriff’s shirt, and golden star badge.

Reed smiles at him. “I’ll be back in a little while with the Agents.”

“Thank you,” I say quickly. He nods and leaves.

Sherriff Copper advances into the room slowly. “Hey there, precious.” He sits beside me, making the bed sag toward him. “How’s my little hero feeling?” He takes off his hat and sets it at the foot of the bed, revealing his white hair.

I examine his tired face and see a suture over his forehead. His white hair reminds me of how old and fragile he can be sometimes. Strong hands take mine in his and he kisses them as a father would. The man
is
my Godfather.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

He laughs a deep, hearty laugh. “Baby girl, I’m fine—now that you’re awake.”

I shake my head. “Liar pants.”

“Oh, you are your father’s daughter.” He chuckles. “Always so aware of everything, you are.”

“Is Leison really dead?” Inevitably, tears form in my eyes.

The smile wipes from his face. “Both of them are dead. Nothing will ever touch you again––not like that, Cecily.” He will hold true to his word.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” I say quickly. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Sherriff, and––”

He holds his hand up to silence me. “Cecily, don’t you be sorry for a thing. You stopped a serial killer with your bravery. I am sorry that you couldn’t talk to me––not with that man in my office, as my Deputy. I was the blind one who should have stopped this far before it happened.”

“Did you have any clue that he had a brother who worked at the school?” I wonder.

“No, darling. I had only seen them one at a time, assuming it was always Deputy Paxson. He said that he had come to our town by himself to start new, even find religion. But I was a fool, Cecily.”

I touch his hand softly. “You aren’t a fool. You have a good heart, Sheriff.”

“Did I ever tell you that you are my hero?” he says.

A few tears gather in my eyes and I smile. “I’m so glad you didn’t die.”

Sheriff laughs, deep and hearty. “Not me, little darling!”

I laugh too, just so that we can end this on a happy note. Inside, I want to bawl again.

“Okay, Ces. I’m going to let you sleep now. You seem like you need it.”

I nod. “Thank you, Sherriff.”

Kissing my forehead softly, he winks and leaves my room. Dr. Reed and Sheriff Copper exchange smiles as he enters, turning on the big lights now. I cover my eyes for a second until I can adjust to them.

“Well, we need to change your bandage,” Reed says with reluctance. A nurse enters from behind him with a tub filled with gauze and tape, ointment and antiseptic, even sutures.

My eyes widen. “How bad is it?”

Dr. Reed takes my hands in his and pulls me up. “I need you standing.”

“You didn’t answer me,” I say.

He looks into my eyes. “I’ve seen worse, from a clinical aspect, if that is what you want to hear.”

“I guess.” I stand on the cold linoleum floor and allow for the blood-specked hospital gown to go off. Beneath it is gauze with large blobs of blood, which is wrapped around my chest and stomach. “You said it wasn’t bad.” I stare at him, wide eyed.

“I’m going to cut it off now, you’ll feel the cold of the metal for a second, but it’s not cutting you,” he says and continues forward. It’s hard for him to see me so beat up, I just know it.

He is right about the metal. Goosebumps rise when it touches the soft flesh. Before removing the gauze gently, he warns me that it might hurt a little bit. I brace for the worst and continue to breathe the best I can. It does hurt, like ten million Band-Aids being slowly removed all at once. And then the smell hits me, and it is disgusting. Antiseptic mixed with blood––gag me.

“Do you want to see what happened?” He asks and I realize my eyes are closed.

They open and I stare down at my naked chest and stomach. It’s a good thing that Reed has been my doctor for my whole life, or this would be horribly awkward. I get past that insecurity and see the cuts that are all over my flesh.

Gasping, tears fill my eyes and I go to touch one of them. Reed catches my hand and looks up at me. “Ces, don’t touch them.”

“He did this?” I ask, my voice thick with tears.

I have no idea that my mom has entered the room. She is quickly holding my shoulders. “Baby, you’re safe now. Don’t worry.”

Dr. Reed applies something cold and numbing to the wounds and starts dabbing a sterile cloth over them for cleaning. Surprisingly it doesn’t hurt––it’s just cold. “The FBI has the Exacto knife he used,” he answers.

“The one I was going to slice him with if he tried anything,” I mention. “It’s like I did this to myself. I was so stupid.”

Mom and Reed look at me with surprise. “Ces,” he says, “don’t talk like that.”

I sigh. “That idea was an epic fail, wasn’t it?”

They didn’t have anything to say about it. They are avoiding an argument.

The dabbing stops for a minute and Reed lets out a disturbed sigh. I follow his gaze to my right hip and see some sort of marking on my hip bone. I look closer—it’s a cut, healed now, in the shape of two lines intersecting at a right angle, pointing down toward my leg. It’s not a random slice.

Mom pats my shoulder and wipes the tears from my cheeks. “Sweetie, we’ll get the scars fixed—removed, even. You don’t have to live with this.”

For some reason I feel as if she is treating this as some minor flesh wound—acquired from falling in a playground or off a skateboard. As hard as I try to contain my annoyance, I find myself yelling—

“Every time I look down . . . I feel his hands touching me!
I smell him on me!
I’m damaged! No amount of plastic surgery will get
him
out of my head!”

Dr. Reed and Mom exchange glances and he returns his focus to the wound. My mother claps her hands before her and looks down.

The wound is cleaned and I’m wrapped up again. They flip the lights to dim and I lay down, after refusing to eat, and close my eyes. How could I possibly eat when all I want to do is throw up? I fall back asleep, annoyed at my throbbing head, and my mom right beside me. Though I am scared of what nightmares await me, it is so very necessary that I sleep.