Ripple Effect: A Novel

by Adalynn Rafe

  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.

  Chapter 46

  Softly, like a baby kitten’s fur, someone rubs my hand in theirs. The beeping monitor still sits beside me, reminding me that I am in a hospital. I’m not scared, but feel okay… like maybe my world won’t end and I won’t die.

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me,” Mom whispers.

  She always recites this verse to us when we feel that we don’t have what it takes to get through a trial. Personally, I think it is what gives her the will to keep moving forward. Her faith is something I have always admired––something that keeps our family together. Papa included.

  Upon opening my eyes I see my mother beside me, her gentle hands wrapped around mine. Her eyes are closed tightly and I can see her lips moving in a silent prayer. She is the strongest person I have ever met. Her brown hair is curled under, barely kissing her collar bones, mascara coats her eyelashes, and a soft pink is subtly placed on her lips.

  There is a Bible open beside her. It’s dim so I have to strain my eyes to see the small print. Highlighted is Psalm 24:3, the verse that she just shared with me––the verse that I’ve quoted so many times before.

  I stare down at her wedding ring and think of my father, my Papa. What would he do if he were here now? Probably sit on the other side of me and tell me stories, make me smile and laugh. I could see that happening.

  “Mom,” I say quietly.

  Her eyes open and she stares up at me with a relieved smile. “Baby,” she says lovingly.

  A sigh releases from me. “I’m so happy to see you.”

  Nodding, it’s clear that she feels the same. “How do you feel? Are you hungry?”

  “Fine. A little sore. I still want to puke.” I look at the piles of flowers on the table across the room and smile at the kindness of people. “Can I go home yet, Mom?”

  Mom stands. “I’ll ask Dr. Reed.”

  “How’s Adie?” I wonder.

  She forces a smile on her face and sits back down. “She needs a transplant, but will be fine for a bit while you heal.”

  “Hazel?” I shift to my side just barely and entire stomach burns. I wince, holding my breath, eyes shut. “I’m fine, really,” I force out, smiling at Mom.

  Now worry colors my mom’s smile. “Hazel’s been here at your side while you slept. She went home with Darien just now—he is also in bad shape and needs her there . . . .” I feel horrible and it surely shows on my face. “It’s not your fault, Cecily.”

  I stare at the endless flowers on the shelf on the wall opposite. They think I’m a hero.

  “I’ll ask Reed how much longer you need to stay here.” Mom kisses my forehead before she heads out. “I know how much you hate hospitals.”

  I reach for a mirror on the side table. I whisper, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death . . .”

  I brace for the worst, only wondering if my face will look like the rest of my body. Thrashed and hashed. I hold the mirror up to my face. I gasp when I see it—my face. It’s nearly unfamiliar through the bandages and scars. My lip is bloodied––just scabbed now––and I have a few bandages on my forehead and jaw line. My eye seems a little black, but it could be the dim lighting . . . or exhaustion.

  “ . . . I will fear no evil; for thou art with me.” My eyes close and I can see myself in a white dress, sitting beside me on the hospital bed.

  Opening my eyes, I see that there is nothing here, just as I expect. I pull a bandage from my chin, it stings a little and I wince, and look at the long cut revealed. It’s very fine––definitely put there by the thin blade of an Exacto knife.

  “Cecily,” Dr. Reed says as he enters, a different nurse in his shadow. “You seem to be feeling better.”

  I smile forcefully. “I am doing well. I think I can go home now.”

  Laughing, he shakes his head. He sits beside me and flashes the light in my eyes again. “No, I think you’ll stay here one more night. Your pupils are still dilated and blood oxygen is on the low side. I think you’ve suffered from a minor traumatic brain injury and would feel loads better if you stayed.”

  Tears fill my eyes now and I pout my lip in disappointment. “I want to go home.”

  Reed’s brow furrows and he touches my shoulder lightly. “Tomorrow, I promise.”

  “Doc,” I say, “the skin on my stomach feels like it’s burning.”

  “Will you give her more pain medication?” he asks the nurse.

  She nods and leaves the room for a minute to collect it before returning to add it to the IV. I watch her do it with interest. So many times I have received the wonderful pain killer, all thanks to Adie and me being her donor.

  A knock raps on the wooden door and two figures stand in the doorway, their shadows cast into the dimly lit hospital room.

  “Agents,” Dr. Reed says in his professional “I-Have-To-Be-Cordial-But-Don’t-Want-You-Near-My-Patient-At-This-Moment” tone. He’d keep me here for a year if he could, just to ensure that I was completely restored to normal Cecily mode. “Come in, please.”

  Agent Owens enters first and grants me a small smile. He looks just like Kelly!

  “Where’s that brave nephew of yours?” I ask, missing him all the more.

  His head nudges toward the hall, bright with fluorescent lighting. “Asleep on a couch.” A soft laugh comes from him. “The poor kid is exhausted.”

  I glance at the empty blue couch in the room. “Why is he not asleep in here?”

  “I think your mom was in here,” Reed says. “Would you like me to wake him?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “Let him sleep. Besides, he doesn’t want to hear this.”

  Owens sits on a chair beside the bed and Agent Reinhardt is revealed. She seems far more relaxed now, her hair up in ponytail and her blazer thrown over her arm. I notice that she isn’t wearing as much makeup as before either, and is very pretty, actually.

  I glance down, feeling aw
kward, and pick at my thumb. First I assumed she was a serial killer’s accomplice . . . but soon found out she was the serial killer’s victim. I almost feel bad for everything I discovered about her.

  “Cecily,” she says, her voice soft. I look at her with innocent eyes. “You’re a brave girl.”

  Bravery is the last thing I feel. “Too brave for my own good.”

  She laughs, and it’s actually legitimate. “That’s what I was thinking exactly.”

  Owens rests his hand on mine. “Would you mind if we asked you some questions?”

  “Just don’t ask me to do this ever again,” I say.

  He nods. “I would never.”

  “What do you want to know?” I exhale loudly, nervous to relive it all.

  “Cecily, what happened in there?” Reinhardt asks softly as she watches me. She sees the pain on my face.

  I glance at each of them. “Bad things.” Shivers of terror move through me.

  Reinhardt nods. “I understand.” And it seems that she truly does.

  “Where do you want me to start?” I ask.

  “When you got the map,” Agent Owens replies and pulls a voice recorder and touch pad out.

  Gulping, I try to find my voice. I can do this. I can tell them.

  “We were at the school and decided that we’d check the map in the classroom with a black light. With the FBI in town, Leison was going to kill the girls sooner than he anticipated––or so we guessed. When we found that it was the map with the coordinates, we took it and ran.” This horrible nauseated feeling enters me. “The thing was––Leison was there, dressed as an officer, and chased us. Principle Smith came into view at the perfect time.”

  I look at Owens. “We tried to call you after that, but you wouldn’t answer. We knew that if we didn’t go there and get the girls then, he’d kill them.” Tears fill my eyes now. “And Sheriff Copper––I was on the phone with him when he was knocked cold. It was Leison, or so I thought. He had a brother I guess, a twin, hired as the Deputy.”

  “Had you encountered the brother before then?” Reinhardt asks with curiosity. She is sitting in a chair on the other side of me now. Her legs are crossed and her hands are interlaced over her stomach.

  “I saw him. I assumed it was Leison when I went to tell the Sheriff that I was being assaulted by Leison . . . well, he was at the station.” I cringe internally. “Apparently, Leison and the brother had been trading off at the school, doing these horrible things to girls.”

  Owens nods and takes down a few notes. “And what happened after you couldn’t reach any officials?”

  “I called the Sheriff. He was hurt really bad––I thought he might be dead––and then a man said that I was all alone. Somehow . . . instead of being scared . . . I felt like it made me stronger. I was willing to die for those girls. I could suddenly avenge Sheriff Copper and stop Leison.”

  “You’d be the hero?” Reinhardt asks.

  I shake my head. “I didn’t care about being a hero. I don’t want a sticker saying: I did It, I Helped Defeat a Serial Killer and Lived to Have Nightmares.” I roll my eyes. “I wanted to help the girls. Could you imagine what it feels like to know that you’re going to die, and to die slowly and in great pain?” I look at Reinhardt. Perhaps she actually had felt such a thing. “It wasn’t about being a hero; it was about stopping him.”

  Her eyebrows rise and she nods slowly. “Where did you go from there, Cecily?”

  “The mine. Once there, Landon and Darien stayed outside and the rest of us––Kelly, Hazel, Sabrina, Stacy, and me––headed into the tunnel. We found three girls, starved and near death. I tried to feed them, but they wouldn’t have it.”

  “Were the girls recognizable?” Agent Reinhardt asks.

  “Sabrina knew exactly who they were. I couldn’t recognize them very well, but Sabrina said it was the girls from the pictures.”

  Leaning forward, Owens watches me with worry. “What happened after that, Cecily?” I am betting that the others gave their reports and he knew how bad it got from here.

  “Well,” I say, “the boys at the front had said that officers had come but that they were bad guys; then they got beaten up, I think, and things went dark. Kelly and Hazel went into hiding. The next thing I knew, Leison had his hands around my neck. Sabrina and Stacy were fighting him off me and I was on the ground. Aaron holds a gun to my face. Deputy Paxson, the brother, comes into it and shoots the other Leison.” I think for a moment. “Goons were there—his little cult. Tell me you did something with them?”

  Owens nods. “They’re detained.” It is somewhat relieving . . . I’d rather have them dead.

  Reinhardt leans forward now, intrigued by the story. “Can you tell us more about the brother?”

  I nod. “The brother is his twin. I guess his reason for shooting him was his incompetence. He told us that they’d be trading off at the school, but his brother messed everything up, kept touching the girls he had set aside. He kept the other three alive for too long. So he shot him.” My head shakes as I try to clear the memory from my head, which make my headache worse.

  Owens touches my hand to focus my mind back to him. “Cecily, what happened then?”

  “He said that he played on our fears to get us to do what he wanted. He was collecting his hostages. I was the victim, Stacy the brains, Sabrina the slut.” I sigh loudly. “He said that the maps were left on the classroom walls, the ones with coordinates, and that if anyone was smart enough to look, they’d find the bodies of the girls––all thirty six.”

  Reinhardt lets out a long sigh and shakes her head. She probably hates herself for not figuring it out sooner. All those lives stolen, at such young ages . . .

  I spoke softly now, “He mentioned you, Agent Reinhardt.”

  Cocking her head to the side, she glances at me. She is not very surprised, but very curious.

  “He said that you were one of his first victims, and when he spoke about you he held something in his eyes, jealousy or envy . . . maybe even desire. He said that you were still a temptress to him.” I look down at my scarred hands.

  Owens seems shocked as he stares at the paled Agent Reinhardt. Did he know this?

  “Apparently, you had spirit and he let you go because he knew you’d hunt him down. He enjoyed haunting you, thrived on it, really.”

  She let out a short laugh. “James Longhorn was a sick man.”

  “What happened after that?” Owens wonders, pushing the drama with Reinhardt to the side. He had no idea that she is so involved in the case, I can tell in his eyes.

  This part, I don’t want to tell. I want to run away and hide. Tears gather in my eyes and I shake my head when I look at him.

  Reinhardt places a soft hand on me. “Cecily, we understand.” And she does fully understand how scared I am, how terrified he makes me feel. She’d been there.

  “Leison had me against the wall. He said I was pure, untouched. He compared me to Reinhardt––my fight to live. Then he bit me.” I shudder from the memory. “Kelly came from the shadows and attacked him, but Leison knocked him against the wall, cold. I tried to fight––I tried to reach for the knife––but he stopped me. Leison took a hold of me and smashed me against the wall and I hit my head really hard.” I stare off for a minute. “I hit my head a few times, actually.”

  Reinhardt’s eyes fill with concern and she almost opens her mouth to say something.

  I keep talking. “He pushed me to the ground and started ripping at my clothes. Taking the Exacto knife from me, he started cutting my skin, branding me with his scars. He was touching me everywhere and––” I cover my mouth and start crying, so much fear filling me. “He was going to do it, but Kelly yelled my name and Agent Reinhardt shot him. Kelly pushed him off me and I curled into a ball.” My head shakes in horror. “I blacked out after that.”

  Reinhardt has, at some time, covered her mouth with her hand. Owens has the same look of anger that Kelly had. “He was going to do what, exactly?” he asks
, not wanting to.

  “Rape me,” I whisper as my heart breaks in half.

  “People like this are very sick and demented,” Reinhardt says quietly after a moment. They waited patiently for me to get my uncontrollable sobbing leashed.

  I stare at her and abruptly ask, “What’s your story with him?”

  Owen’s clicks the recorder off. Looking at Reinhardt, he would like to know as well.

  “Agent, why did he let you live?” I wonder, sniffling.

  She nods, as if expecting this question to come. “Longhorn . . . he was sick, always has been. We were friends in high school, up in Oregon. I was a cheerleader; he was on the track team. Brilliant man, really.” Her voice mutes as she looks down.

  “Agent Reinhardt?” Owens asks. “Celeste?”

  Her eyes meet his, but instead of being cold or blocked off, they are filled with emotion. She looks away from him. “I was so in love with him, but he was always chasing other girls, so I dated another man. When James found out about that––he wouldn’t have it, couldn’t stand it! He called me horrible names, shot nasty accusations at me. I guess I was the slut. In the end he kidnapped me. It was the summer after graduation. He raped me, and put me in a cave with two other girls to starve to death. I didn’t know the girls; they were from a different school.”

  Owen’s reaches his hand across me and holds Reinhardt’s forearm. “Celeste,” he whispers, “this happened to you?”

  She gulps loudly and looks away to hide her emotion. “He was my best friend and he did that to me.”

  Sorrow fills me as I stare at her, tears leaking down my cheeks. She really does understand my fear! “How did you get away?”

  “My life has been a game for him ever since. He set me free and told me to come and catch him. I stumbled down a darkened mountain, covered with rain. I told the cops but I couldn’t remember where the site was. Luckily they found it, got his DNA, and went searching for him. It felt like every year after that an FBI Agent would knock on my door and ask me about James Longhorn, the man who had killed another three girls and was a nationally wanted serial killer.”