Ruthless (22 page)

It strikes me—they don't know if I'm alive or dead.

So far I haven't felt much in the way of pain. Then they hoist the stretcher from the ground up to rolling height. The sudden
jerk sets my body screaming. The blond EMT must have seen my expression because she's right back beside me.

“Keep breathing, Ruth. Focus on that for me. Breathe in, breathe out.”

It's good having a job, it centers me, but it all feels so precarious.

We start our journey toward the ambulance. It's as if the stretcher has no shocks at all. The ground is smooth for a forest floor, but against my injuries it feels like a rumble strip. My whole world is breathing.

After a few feet a cop comes up alongside me and says, “Your family is already on the way to the hospital. They'll meet you there.”

I see them in my mind, waiting for me. I see them overwhelmed and crying, and I recoil from the thought of it. I can't make this okay for them. I can't make it okay for me, let alone them.

My EMT looks concerned. “Don't worry about anything but breathing, okay?”

I nod, but that nod is a lie. Instead of focusing on my breathing, I remember imagining what it would be like walking out of the woods a triumphant hero. I imagined what it would be like, to cry and hold my family, my heart bursting with relief and joy. I never imagined that this moment would be nothing. I never imagined some stranger named Sean would spark more emotion in me than my own family.

My stretcher keeps rolling. It's a surreal method of locomotion. I search the yellow sky for the moon, missing him. He's not there. I need the moon. He'd understand me right now. Nobody else can understand me.

Finally, we reach pavement and my ride evens out. Now I can
see the crowd, all the volunteers. Each one is a stranger to me. Then I notice a man without a search-and-rescue vest. Taking him in, his expression, his energy, he feels different from the people with the vests on. It hits me that he is nothing but an onlooker, some guy who saw a commotion and wondered if he'd get to see a dead body or some blood.

Scanning the people pressed up against the police tape, I see more and more locals. There is a ghoulishness about their expressions that sickens me. My emptiness gives way to rage. I want to kill these onlookers. I can't kill them, so instead I stare at them, wanting to tell them with my eyes what I think of them. And there, tall enough to be seen in the back row, is Wolfman.

I gasp as if punched in the gut, but I don't believe my eyes. I've already hallucinated him once. The EMT stops the stretcher, thinking my reaction has something to do with my injuries.

Wolfman sees me, propped up and alive, and even from this distance I can see his surprise turn to hate. My reaction mirrors his because I know him. God knows, at this point I know him as I know myself, and I believe nothing more than that he'd come back to watch, supervise, get off on seeing my dead body carried away.

I scream.

Not in English, but in hate.

I twist my body into a pretzel, possessed. Writhing, twisting, I fight against all that binds me. The thin elastic band of my oxygen mask snaps. Broken as I am, I still want to kill him.

My EMT tries to replace it. I lock my gaze onto hers. I tell her, clearly and distinctly, “The man who took me is in the crowd.”

I look back to where he was, and he's already gone. My scream wasn't smart. I let my hate get the best of me and gave him a chance to escape. I must be smart in how I speak. I must make these people believe.

“What?”

“The man who tried to kill me is in the crowd.”

“Are you sure?”

I hear the power in my own voice as I tell her what she needs to know. “He is tall. Over six feet. He has dark hair and a beard. He was in the crowd, but he left as soon as he heard me scream.”

I'm not sure what all is happening beyond the border of my stretcher, but cops and firemen appear. I keep talking, keep saying my message, like a general instructing soldiers going into battle. “The man who took me was in the crowd. He is over six feet tall. He has dark hair and a beard. He drives an old red pickup truck. He is middle aged.” I say it again and again. People come and go, but I don't stop talking, don't stop repeating my message.

It feels like far too much time has gone by, but I don't stop giving instructions. It's the only thing I can do.

My EMT returns, puts her face close to my mine. “We have him. You can stop. We have him.”

I hear her words, but I can't absorb them. “The man who took me is in the crowd.”

“No, he's not. He's in a police car. We have him.”

“You have him?” I don't sound like a general anymore. I sound broken.

“Yes, Ruth, we have him.”

I believe her, but I can't stop talking now that I've started. “He killed a cop.”

“Try to relax, okay?”

“He killed six girls.”

“Please try to lie back and breathe.”

“He killed six girls and he buried them under his cabin.”

“Just lie back, okay?”

“He tried to kill me.”

The EMT puts a new oxygen mask up to my face.

“He took me to a cabin in the woods and he was going to rape me, but I ran away.”

“Let me put this on you.”

“I ran away and I got to some people's house and they wouldn't help me. Why wouldn't they help me?”

“Calm down, Ruth. I need you to calm down.”

“And then I took him. I took him hostage.”

The EMT stops trying to put the mask on me. I know there are other people around, but I don't care, I'm just talking to this one woman, the woman with the calm, confident voice. I need this one person to understand.

“What?”

“I took him hostage, the man who kidnapped me. I tied him up. I did bad things. I tried to kill him with his own gun, but he got away and came back to get me again.” I can't tell if she believes me or not.

“But then you got away, and now we've got him. You understand that, Ruth? You're safe.”

I don't really think I'm safe, but I nod anyway and let her put
the oxygen mask on me. The stretcher rattles along toward the ambulance. With a quick heave I'm up and in. Inside the ambulance I find a small dark cave. The lights glow dim. There's something soothing about this dark little cave. I keep my gaze on the blond EMT, the one who listened.

“What's your name?” I ask. She lifts up the mask and I repeat the question.

“Janet,” she says. “I'm Janet. And I'm real proud of you, Ruth. I'm real proud of you.”

The words mean a lot. Some of my clenched muscles let go.

“Would you do me one favor?” asks Janet. “Would you close your eyes?”

I do.

“Would you breathe real deep?”

I take a long, deep breath. More muscles unclench.

“Would you believe me when I tell you it's going to be okay?”

I don't believe her, but I nod anyway.

She pats my hand. “Good girl.”

I know I'm in the hospital as soon as I wake up. It's night. There's a soft pool of light under the door; medical equipment buttons glow amber, red, and green. I turn my head, trying to get a sense of the space in the darkness. When I move, someone stands up. I'm not alone.

The weight of that knowledge, that someone is here, presses into me. I don't know much, but I know I don't want to talk to anyone. Don't want to explain anything. Don't want to hear someone cry over me. I want to be left alone.

From his silhouette I can tell it's Caleb.

That's something. I'd rather it be Caleb than anyone else.

“Ruth?”

“Yes?”

“You're awake.” He pauses, as though waiting for me to speak. I don't. “Your parents are eating dinner in the cafeteria. I'll go get them.”

“No.” Only I don't just say no, I try to raise my arm, and the pain hits hard. I gasp and Caleb presses up against the bed and grabs my hand.

He whispers, “I'm so sorry, Ruthie.”

But I don't want his pity. I turn away from him, as much as I am able.

“Ruth?”

“What?” I don't want to sound angry, but I know I do.

“Look at me.” He says it with a firm authority that surprises me, so much so that I obey, trying to see his expression in the low light. There's no pity in him, only a fierce certainty.

“I love you, Ruth. You know that. Because I love you, I'm going to tell you the truth. And you're going to listen.”

I do. I listen with everything I have.

“You're the strongest person I know. I've no idea what all you've gone through, but I bet most people wouldn't have made it, let alone gotten the one who did it. I heard the cops talking about you, and they couldn't believe what you did, spotting him in the crowd like that. You're a hero, Ruth.”

I don't know what I wanted him to say, but it isn't this. I won, I got the victory, I should be happy to know I succeeded, that no one else will suffer because of Wolfman, but instead the praise is suffocating.

Caleb's tone shifts, becoming stern. “Now, I know you won't want to hear this, but you've been too tough for your own good. For a long, long time now.”

My heart skitters forward a few beats, and without thinking, I flip my hand around and grab Caleb. He's no longer holding on to me, I'm holding on to him.

“Believe me when I tell you—the strongest thing you can do right now is admit you're not strong enough to do this on your own.”

I squeeze Caleb's hand. So hard it's like a death grip. He's right, I know he's right, but I have no idea how to do anything but be who I've always been. Caleb must think he hasn't gotten through, because he keeps preaching.

“You were strong enough to hold the farm together, you were strong enough to survive”—he pauses, not sure how to describe it—“everything you've survived, but you're not strong enough to do recovery alone. Nobody is.”

It's so dark in the room I'm not sure if Caleb can tell I'm nodding. I'm nodding because I know if I speak I'll cry. I don't want to cry.

Caleb's voice is soft now, hushed. “It's okay to cry, Ruthie.”

I fight it as hard as I can, but it's winning. My breathing spasms with the sobs I'm holding back.

“You are safe.”

Without thinking, I say, “I don't think I am.” I sound like an animal, the words mangled by emotion, but they're my truth. Caleb holds tight to my hand. I can feel his patience, his willingness to be a still center in the middle of my chaos. He is listening with all his might. There's no editor, no filter when I tell him, “I don't know how to be.” I say it because I don't. I don't know how to be in this world, as this person. I don't know how to let people help me. I don't know how to let somebody else be in charge. I don't know how not to fight. Except, in a way, I do.

The sobs that were threatening to take over disappear. I take a deep breath. Caleb can feel the change, and he leans in, ready to hear what I have to say.

“At the end, he buried me. In the dirt. I couldn't fight anymore because everything was broken. I knew that to live, I had to play dead.”

“That was smart, Ruthie. Real, real smart.”

To my surprise, a spark of me comes alive, and I feel proud of myself. I say, “I kept my eyes open, even as the dirt hit.”

Caleb doesn't say anything for a moment and the energy shifts. There's resistance, hesitancy in him. I can tell it's painful for him to learn these things, but he knows he has to hear that detail the way I want it to be heard. He has to be strong for me.

“Damn, girl . . . that psychopath picked the wrong target this time, didn't he?”

I laugh, and it feels like a miracle, because it means I'm still alive. I'm still alive inside this body. Wolfman didn't kill what makes me me. But he's also changed me forever. I'm overwhelmed with relief that a part of me lives on, and I'm overwhelmed with sadness that I'm broken, permanently damaged. My laugh melts into sobs. Caleb must think I've gone crazy.

He smooths back my hair. I can feel grit against my scalp. The dirt from my grave is still with me. The gentle touch calms me down some.

“Caleb, I want you to know that I know you're right. I know I'm not strong enough to do this on my own.”

He exhales, tension leaving his body. “I'm so glad to hear you say that.”

“I'm never going to be the same.”

“No, you won't.”

I shut my eyes and tears fall, but I appreciate his honesty.

“You're going to be better.”

In shock, I look up at Caleb.

“It'll be a long, hard road, I don't deny that. But you can be better than you were before. I believe in you. You can do this. Everyone who loves you will be there every step of the way.”

It is a stunning thought, a thought that feels like sunlight. I made it out. I have another shot at life. And that life could be anything.