Rippler

by Cidney Swanson

  Chapter Eighteen

  ACCIDENT

  After telling Dad and Sylvia that I’d fallen while running, I climbed in bed and pulled the covers over my head. But then it got stuffy under my blankets and I worried I’d asphyxiate. I crawled out of bed and tried cleaning my room. Folding and hanging clothes proved too monotonous to shut my brain down. It whispered hateful things to me.

  Will’s leaving.

  You saw how scared Mickie looked.

  Will’s gone.

  How would I survive if that were true?

  I found a favorite running sock—my good luck sock—in the back of my closet. It had been missing when our team ran our fun–meet. We lost, and it was my fault because I hadn’t cleaned out my closet. The layers of things that were my fault started piling up.

  Stop thinking about it, I said to myself, stuffing shirts into the laundry basket. But it didn’t help. If I hadn’t followed Hans today, none of us would be in panic mode right now. Mickie and Will wouldn’t have a care in the world about living here. If you weren’t still alive, they’d be perfectly safe. The thought hit me like an icy blast.

  It was true.

  I redoubled my efforts on my room, determined to drive the thoughts away. I snapped my sheets taut and plumped my pillows. I shook my duvet and settled it across the bed. The first tear hit as I began smoothing my duvet where it lumped at the bottom of the bed.

  Stop crying!

  I tugged at the comforter, smacking it to make it lie flat. But a bulgy lump remained and the tears came faster. I fell in a coiled heap at the foot of my bed, leaning my head upon the bed, my fist pounding at the bump under the covers.

  Something jingled. I looked up and flipped back the duvet. Another jacket of Will’s. With coins in the pocket—two dollars in quarters. I remembered the cold morning he’d loaned me this jacket, joking with me that those quarters better still be zipped inside or his running gear wasn’t getting washed.

  Because Will and Mick didn’t live in a normal house with a mom and a dad and a washer and a dryer. And now, thanks to me, they’d be scared every day they remained in Las Abs. Closing my eyes tight, I tugged at Will’s jacket and held it to my face, breathing in the smell of sweat and mown grass and some indefinable scent that was Will. And I cried ‘til my eyes hurt.

  An hour later, Sylvia tapped on my door letting me know dinner was ready. She stuck her head in, and I muttered something about my stomach feeling off and crawled into bed looking convincing enough that she felt my forehead, frowned and finally said to holler if I needed anything, closing the door behind her.

  I need something, but you can’t get it for me, I thought. I needed Will to call and tell me his sister had decided staying in town was as safe as any other option. I let another hour pass before I texted, knowing full well Mick might be the first one to see what I sent. I figured “How’s it going?” was neutral enough.

  I waited.

  A minute passed.

  Nothing.

  Another minute. Ten.

  Still nothing.

  I flipped my phone on and saw a message about my text being undeliverable. I’d probably punched in the wrong number or something. I tried again, this time watching the screen for the “text message sent” indicator. Instead, the undeliverable message showed again. I tried a third time, my heart sinking, already knowing I’d see “undelivered” once more.

  Why was their phone not working?

  As I sat up, Will’s jacket slid away and to the ground. I reached for it, as solid tangible proof that things were just fine, that a dead phone number meant nothing worse than … than what? I ran my arms inside the jacket, slid my feet into a pair of shoes and ran to my bathroom. I had to get back to Will and Mickie’s.

  It’s okay, I said to myself as I turned on the faucet. I cleared my mind and centered all my thoughts upon the column of water flowing noiselessly into the basin. Everything’s going to turn out fine. Turning off the overhead florescent, I tilted my head from side to side, which made the reflection of the plug–in night–light flicker through the smooth descent of water. It was beautiful. It made me think of the bonfire last night.

  Last night, a million years ago; last night, when I’d been happy. I noticed a shimmer on the mirror telling me I’d rippled. Swiftly, I descended the stairs and passed outside through our front door. A woods–and–sand scent brushed through me, but I didn’t have room in my mind for more than a single, burning thought.

  Will can’t be gone.

  I ran the mile to their cabin so fast I passed a speeding Highway Patrol car.

  The cabin was dark. The Jeep was missing. I dashed around back, my heart sinking, and discovered what I most feared: the pull–behind trailer, symbol of their vagrant existence, was gone.

  No, my heart cried out. I crossed to the back door and passed inside. Tidy. Dark. Emptied of the few items Will and his sister had owned.

  No, I whispered without a voice.

  Will was gone.

  ***

  I awoke the next morning to the sound of a man’s voice, whispering soft and low.

  “Sam? You awake? Sam?”

  Will, I thought, struggling through the surface of sleep into day. I sat up, too fast, and my head spun. But even in the bare light of dawn, I could tell it wasn’t Will.

  “Dad?” I asked, voice rasping with thirst. “What time is it?”

  “Sammy, I need you to be brave, honey,” said my father.

  I sat up. “What is it?” Had my dad heard about Will and Mickie’s departure? I knew the rumor–mill ran twenty–four–seven in our small town.

  “It’s your friends, Sammy,” said my dad. The compassion in his voice was touching. He did care about me, even though he’d been a jerk about the Bakers on more than one occasion.

  “Yeah,” I said, rolling away to face the wall. “They left.” A lump in my throat told me the night’s rest had restored my supply of tears.

  “Honey, there’s been an accident,” said my dad.

  There’s been an accident.

  Four very simple words.

  Simple enough a child might say them. Simple enough they were the exact words I’d chosen when I called 9–1–1 as a child of seven. There’s been an accident.

  I don’t remember getting to my feet, but I must have. My dad was holding me as I shook my head, screaming, “No, no, no! You’re wrong!”

  But I knew he was telling the truth. I’d awakened in the middle of the night, my heart pounding from an evil dream I couldn’t remember, and as I’d slipped back into the darkness, I’d said a prayer for Will and Mickie, afraid in that quiet–of–the–night way that still haunts you in the morning.

  “Mickie’s beat up pretty bad, but Dr. Yang says she’ll recover,” said my dad.

  I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t ask the next question.

  “No one knows where her brother’s body—where her brother is,” said my dad, his voice cracking on the last word.

  “They were together,” I said, not like a question, just a flat fact.

  “It’s not clear right now, honey.”

  Dad drove us to Doctor Yang’s home on the far side of Las Abuelitas.

  “Why aren’t we going to the hospital?” I asked.

  “Mickie got a little hysterical about checking into the hospital. She called for your step–mother, and Sylvia agreed that Mickie’s wishes should be respected. There’s something about not wanting their dad to be able to trace their whereabouts.”

  I nodded as Dad turned off the engine. “They don’t want to be found,” I agreed.

  I ran to the door, desperate to talk to Mickie, to hear her tell me that my dad was wrong, that Will was fine. But when I got to the door, I couldn’t bring myself to knock. What if Mickie couldn’t tell me what I needed to hear? As I stood, anguished, outside in the cold morning air, Sylvia opened the door from inside and pulled me in with a warm hug.

  “She wants to talk to you,” said my step–mom. “In the dining room.”<
br />
  The Yangs’ dining area had been turned into a small surgery room and Mick lay, covered in bandaging, upon what looked like a padded table.

  “Hey,” murmured Will’s sister.

  “Mick, I’m so sorry,” I began, but how could I say out loud all the things I felt sorry about at the moment?

  “Yeah, no worries,” she said. “Sylvia, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to Sam alone.”

  My step–mother smiled, squeezed my hand, and left, closing the solid–looking door behind her.

  I wanted to speak. I wanted to ask a hundred questions or just one burning one. But I could only stare and blink back tears and wait for Mickie to say the words that would color the rest of my life.

  She made a rumbling sound that I realized meant she was clearing her throat. “Have you seen him?”

  This wasn’t a question I expected. “Seen … Will, you mean?”

  “Yes, Will. Have you seen my dumb–ass brother?”

  Tears spilled out and down my face. She didn’t know, then. And now it had become my job to explain to her that no one had recovered his body.

  Chapter Nineteen

  RECOVERY

  “I’ll kill him,” said Mickie, before I could say anything. “I’ll freaking kill him next time I see him. Then we’ll see who gets the last word. Little brat.” She took in a breath, slowly, like it hurt, and clutched at her side. “Idiot could have pushed me a little farther from the steering wheel while he was at it. Damn ribs are killing me even with whatever the doc pumped me full of.”

  I stared at her, trying to make some sense out of her ramblings. And then the words just tumbled out because I needed, on a cellular level, to know that Will was okay.

  “Will’s not dead?”

  Mick laughed and then grunted, “Ow! Can’t laugh—aye carumba!”

  I thought my heart would stop beating while I waited for her to answer my question.

  “No, the little bastard’s not dead, as far as I know.” She closed her eyes. “Although he’s going to wish he was when I see him again.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “I thought … Dad said … I was afraid …” My voice shook with emotion, and Mick reached over to grab my hand.

  “Will’s fine,” she murmured. “We had a falling out, and I packed the house, and he took off. I didn’t know where he went. Didn’t want to know. I just kept packing and got everything in the pull–behind, and then I didn’t know what to do ‘cause it’s not like I wanted to leave a forwarding address sitting on the kitchen counter.”

  Mickie paused and took in a few slow breaths. “So then I’m just sitting there in an empty house trying to figure out what to do, and he rematerializes by the back door and starts arguing with me again about not moving. And finally he says he’ll come along for the ride so he knows where I’m moving to, but he’s coming along invisible, the little twit.”

  I could picture his face, dark eyes flashing with anger. My mouth tugged up on one side, but I hid the smile quickly for Mickie’s sake.

  “So I said fine, he could do whatever he damned well pleased and we took off. Well, I took off with my see–through brother presumably in the car on the highway to Fresno. And things were fine ‘til some dumb–ass driver falls asleep at the wheel and crosses into my lane, and I suddenly have to choose between car crash or going off a cliff.”

  I gasped.

  “Yeah, not much of a choice. Then Will comes solid and pushes me and steers the car and next thing I know there’s emergency lights flashing from a response vehicle and I’m strapped on a gurney and they’re asking for ID since the car tags and registration are smashed to bits.”

  “Oh, no,” I murmured. “And Will?”

  Mickie shrugged one shoulder, then grimaced from the motion. “He’s around somewhere. He rippled again just before impact.”

  “How do you know?” I asked, my voice so quiet I worried she wouldn’t hear it.

  “He did this thing. When we were kids, he’d brush through me three times to let me know he was around and … safe. Because of Dad, you know.”

  I nodded.

  “Icy cold. Always three times. He kept doing that on the ambulance ride. I finally said something ‘cause I wasn’t exactly enjoying the deep freeze treatment and then he stopped. Took off maybe.”

  Will was safe!

  “Your step–mom really saved the day,” said Mickie. “She barreled down the hill to find us, well, me, and she talked the EMT’s into keeping the whole thing off–record. God only knows what that’s going to cost.”

  “Money’s not an issue,” I said, hoping to reassure Mickie.

  “Funny, that’s what Sylvia said. But I owe her. Owe you guys. I’m sure she paid for the ambulance ride, whatever crap she gave me about it not costing anything. It’s being billed and recorded somehow, somewhere, just minus my name. Not to mention this,” she said, waving vaguely at the room full of medical equipment.

  “Doctor Yang’s a family friend,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, looks like I’ve got a whole family of folks who want me to stay put in the very place I don’t want to be found.”

  I frowned. “I’m so sorry, Mickie. It’s all my fault.”

  “Oh, please. Nothing here is your fault Sam. It’s my idiot brother who started the whole thing being born with rippler’s genes.”

  “I’m sorry,” I began again.

  “Sam, if you’re trying to apologize for someone thinking they killed you and finding out they did not, I am not going to be answerable for my actions. Please don’t tell me you think you are in any way to blame for this whole sorry mess.”

  Tears squeezed out of my eyes, closed now, as I tried to find some way to believe this wasn’t my fault. But it was. Obviously. “You left town because of me. And you got in an accident,” I whispered.

  “Listen up, Sam. And listen good, ‘cause each breath I take is kind of killing me at the moment.” She paused to take another breath, wincing slightly. “I left because I chose to leave. Because I got scared of my own shadow. Because I was pissed at my brother. It’s not your fault. None of it.”

  “But, the accident,” I said.

  “Oh, what? So now you’re God and you orchestrated things so I’d end up on the other side of the road when some idiot fell asleep at the wheel? Sam, please. Wake up and read the bumper–stickers. Shit happens. Not your fault. You try apologizing one more time, and I swear I will get up and walk to Fresno so I don’t have to listen to you being stupid anymore.”

  Through the tears streaming down my face, I smiled. Then I guffawed. “Can’t let that happen. Your brother would kill me.”

  “Yeah, well, he’d have to get through me first,” said Mickie. Suddenly she looked exhausted. “Call the doc, will you? I want more whatever–it–is in my veins.”

  “Right away,” I said, wiping my face with the back of one hand.

  “Tissue by the gauze packs,” said Mick, her words slurring.

  I’d snotted my entire face and it took four tissues to dry off.

  Outside, Sylvia and my dad looked anxious. “She’s doing well,” I said. “And her brother’s safe.”

  “Safe?” asked my dad.

  “She was saying things about Will being in the car with her,” said Sylvia. “The EMTs said sometimes a body can end up … a long way from an accident. Some of your dad’s friends who volunteer with search and rescue are out there now that it’s light.”

  “They won’t find him,” I said. “Truly, he’s safe.”

  My dad and Sylvia exchanged glances.

  “Honey, you’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. He’d be here except Mick’s really mad at him right now. They’ve … communicated.” I felt my face flushing; I’m not good with deceit.

  “I’ll tell them to call off the man–hunt,” said my dad, reaching for his cell.

  “And she wants me here,” I said. I felt sure of it, even though she hadn’t made the request; I knew Mick wanted me with her. “So I�
��m skipping school today.”

  Dad was busy on the phone; Sylvia frowned, then said, “Okay, honey. Maybe that’s for the best. Mickie thinks the world of you. She kept talking about you on the drive, and she made me call you as soon as Doctor Yang finished her stitches.”

  I smiled and things in the universe shifted a bit back into place. Then I felt puzzled. “Syl, why didn’t you wake me up and take me down with you when she called?”

  My step–mom sighed and her forehead wrinkled with worry. “Honey, it was a car accident. All I knew was that Mickie survived. I didn’t know if …” She paused. “I thought you might …” She stopped again. “I didn’t wake you because I was afraid of how scared you’d be. I couldn’t send you to the site of an accident.” Tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  And now it was my turn to tell her not to be sorry and that it was okay and that everything would be fine.

  And a part of me believed it, even.

  Dad and Sylvia decided I’d be okay on my own at the Yang’s.

  “Call if you need me, honey,” said Syl.

  “Call me,” said my dad. “Your step–mom needs serious shut–eye.”

  I smiled. “I’ll be fine. Go on.” I shooed them out the front door and blinked back a few straggler tears, grateful for family.

  Dr. Yang and his wife got ready to go to work, and Dr. Yang gave me his pager number “in case she needs anything before lunch,” when he would return and check on his patient.

  I walked back into the dining room and melted into one of the padded chairs. Mickie lay snoring lightly, looking utterly peaceful.

  If only it could last.

  Chapter Twenty

  FAMILY

  I had fallen asleep, my head flopped to one side, and a man’s voice, low and quiet, was speaking to me.

  “Sam,” he said.

  “Dad?” I blinked my eyes open.

  Will!

  “Hey Sam,” said Will. “I don’t want to wake up my sister. You want to go into the other room with me?”