Death by the River (A St. Benedict Novel Book 1)

by Alexandrea Weis

  Beau pushed on through the brush, eager to get to the parking lot.

  After he secured his duffel bag in his trunk, he checked his phone. He had plenty of time to make the party at the brewery. If he didn’t, he had a hell of an excuse.

  He combed his hands through his hair and straightened his shirt. Time to tell everyone he had just arrived. Act surprised like everyone else and enjoy the big show.

  And Leslie?

  A grin stretched across his lips. Beau pictured her charred remains pulled from The Abbey in the aftermath. Or perhaps the partygoers would reach her in time to remove whatever was left. He couldn't wait to see the tears in Foster’s eyes, or the pain Dawn would experience at losing her twin sister. The thought of their grief made him happy, but not exuberant. He’d need another girl for that.

  “But it might make for a very interesting evening.”

  Beau hurried, anxious to join the rest of the revelers at The Abbey.

  * * *

  Sick with fear, his heart a tangled mess, Derek ran as fast as he could across the high, clingy grass. At the fountain, he caught the spindle of smoke wafting upward into the black sky from the caved-in entrance to the cells. Flashes of orange light coming from The Abbey lit his way across the grounds. Fire! It would spread quickly through the dry, derelict structure, consuming everything in its path.

  At the opening in the wall, he slipped inside, not caring what awaited him. His fear for Leslie pushed him through the thick smoke. Eyes burning, tears raking his cheeks, Derek walked blindly through the haze.

  Small patches of red and orange flames spread along the corridor, carried by piles of debris. He followed the billowing smoke to a cell. Inside the most dilapidated section, in the room he and Leslie had found, the fire burned out of control.

  Derek tore the sash from his waist and covered his nose and mouth. On the ground, in the doorway of the cell, he saw a naked woman. She lay on her stomach as if she’d tried to crawl to safety.

  Leaves and twigs were tangled in her blood-soaked hair. Duct tape covered her mouth. Wounds, along with red and pink patches—some dotted with blisters—covered her skin. She reeked of some kind of accelerant.

  His throat clenched.

  God, not my Leslie!

  He was almost afraid to touch her—afraid she would shatter into a thousand pieces and be lost forever.

  “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”

  He scooped her into his arms, the smoke and his utter disbelief compounding his tears. Derek wanted to scream. His grief came crashing down on him, leaving him breathless. He almost fell to his knees but pushed on. He had to save her first, then he could fall apart.

  His regret turned to dread. She wasn’t reacting to him. She remained limp in his arms.

  “Leslie? Wake up, baby. God, please wake up.”

  She didn’t respond. Panicked, Derek carried her to the gap in the wall. In the seconds he had been with her, the fire had swelled and filled the corridor, heading toward The Abbey at alarming speed.

  His muscles screamed as he carried her dead weight through the narrow crack. The vines, smoke, and bushes cutting off the entrance made him claustrophobic, but he kept on, for her.

  Once clear, he gasped for fresh air, coughing up the smoke he had inhaled. His vision blurred, he could not see where he headed, but he ran. Carrying his lifeless Leslie in his arms, he summoned every ounce of strength he had and prayed for someone to help them.

  At the edge of the grassy field, people gathered to watch the fire. Some held up cell phones, videotaping the event.

  “Help me!”

  Several individuals stopped filming when they heard him, but only two guys came to his aid.

  Derek stumbled and fell to his knees. He inspected the battered creature in his arms. She was like ice.

  Derek set her on the grass and ripped off his black shirt. After he gently covered her, he searched his pocket for his phone. He’d left it in his truck.

  “Holy crap,” one guy said. “Who is she?”

  “Do either of you have a knife to cut this tape away?” he demanded.

  The taller of the two boys brandished a Swiss Army Knife on a keychain.

  Derek snatched it from his hand. “Call 911. Get an ambulance out here. Get the fire department. Get everyone.”

  While one of the boys dialed 911, the other helped Derek cut the tape away from her mouth.

  He wretched when the tape pulled away some of her skin. “No!”

  Her nose broken, blood drizzled from both nostrils. Her lips were swollen and split, her cheeks red, and her discolored jaw hung awkwardly to the side. He could not imagine what she had endured.

  “Help me get the rest of this tape off her,” he hysterically demanded.

  The boy’s hand stayed Derek’s. “Let’s get her to the parking lot first. The faster we get her to the paramedics, the better.”

  Derek nodded, knowing he was right, and carefully lifted Leslie into his arms. He held her close, willing her pain away. The thought of giving her to strangers sent a whirlwind of panic through him. He didn’t want to give her up. What if this was the last time he could hold her? What if this was the last memory he would have of her?

  “The paramedics are coming,” the other boy said, jogging alongside them.

  The crowd gathered at the gate parted as Derek approached. They gawked at the half-naked girl in his arms.

  With the two strangers as his guides, Derek carried Leslie to the parking lot. The whole time, he kept repeating, “She won’t die.” An existence without her was unimaginable. He would not survive it. His life revolved around her. His heart belonged to her. Everything good in his world came from her smile.

  At the parking lot, he took her to his truck. He had to get her warm. Then, she would wake up and everything would be all right.

  When he heard the screech of sirens, he turned and began running to the road, Leslie in his arms.

  “Hold on, baby. Help is coming.”

  The headlights of the ambulance came toward them. The boys with him waved and screamed for them to stop.

  Two men dressed in blue jumpsuits hopped out of the back. They took Leslie from his arms; Derek almost fought to hold on to her. He didn’t want to let her go.

  “What happened?” one man called out.

  “She was, ah …” Derek fought to keep from crying. “In the cells. They’re on fire. I found her like this and put my shirt over her.”

  The two medics carried her to the back of the truck. Derek followed, needing to see her. If his eyes stayed on her, he wouldn’t fall apart.

  “Can you tell me anything about her?” the ambulance driver asked. “Do you know her name?”

  Derek kept his eyes on the two men as they lowered Leslie on a gurney.

  “Leslie, Leslie Moore.”

  “We need to go now, Rick,” one of the medics called from the ambulance.

  The driver moved Derek to the side and shut the back doors.

  “We’ll take it from here, son.”

  “Can I go with her?” Derek’s voice cracked.

  “You can follow us to the hospital.” The driver then rushed to the front of the ambulance.

  Derek stood shaking and unable to move until the ambulance sped away, its harsh yellow lights disturbing the darkness surrounding the road.

  A hand slapped his shoulder. “Get in your car and follow her.”

  Without even glancing at the boys who had helped him, Derek ran to his old blue truck. Panic had his hands shaking so hard, he could barely get his door open.

  Just as he pulled out of the lot, fire trucks sped past him.

  But he didn’t care about the fire. All that mattered to him was Leslie.

  He hit the accelerator and the old truck chugged, gaining on the bright lights of the ambulance ahead.

  “Please, dear God. Save my Leslie. I’ll do anything. Just save her for me.”

  * * *

  In a waiting room, stinking of smoke, Derek paced the
scuff-marked floor. He vacillated between the scorching pain of guilt, the sour knot of fear, and the sickening grip of grief. Minutes felt like hours. Perhaps it was all just a bad joke—her promised surprise.

  “Are you the young man who came in with Leslie Moore?”

  Derek wheeled around and was hit by a pair of troubled hazel eyes. The name across the lab coat pocket read Dr. Jeffers.

  “Is she okay?” Derek shuddered as the words escaped his lips.

  The doctor’s faint smile did little to reassure him. “How do you know her, son?”

  “She’s my girlfriend. We were supposed to meet up at the river. She had a surprise for me, but I must have missed her on the beach because when I got there—”

  “Do you have a number where I can reach her parents?” he cut in. “I need to ask them some questions.”

  “I called her dad. I got his voicemail and left a message. He was at a party, but I’m sure he’s on his way.” Derek’s lower lip trembled. He was going to be sick.

  “What’s your name?” Dr. Jeffers asked.

  “Derek. Derek Foster.”

  “Derek, do you know if she has any drug allergies? Any medical conditions she might have told you about?”

  Derek shook his head. “She wasn’t allergic to anything. Last year, she got the flu. Other than that, she’s healthy.”

  Dr. Jeffers scanned the faces of the other people in the waiting room. “Is there anyone with you?”

  Something had happened? The doctor wouldn’t ask if he needed anyone unless it was bad—very bad. Derek shook uncontrollably, the reality of losing her settling over him.

  “No. I found her … in the cells. I followed the ambulance and …” His voice dried up. The lump forming in his throat made it impossible to go on.

  Dr. Jeffers grimaced and lowered his head. When he looked, his hand clasped Derek’s shoulder.

  “I think you should come with me.”

  Derek’s knees buckled. “What is it? She’s gonna be all right, isn’t she?”

  Dr. Jeffers put his arm behind his back and urged him through a pair of double doors.

  “Your girlfriend is very critical, Derek. I’m not sure how much longer we can keep her going. Maybe if she heard your voice, knew you were there, it would help her.”

  A long white corridor appeared before him. Derek’s trembling got worse—a lot worse. He could barely stand.

  In the corridor, the aroma of antiseptic blended with the stink of bleach and the smoke clinging to Derek’s clothes. Conversations of staff, patients, and others in the hallway came and went, but he couldn’t make out any words. His world shrank before his eyes until the only thing he could see were the white tiles on the floor and the reflection of the harsh fluorescent lights above.

  “You’re going to see her hooked up to tubes,” Dr. Jeffers warned as he stopped before a door at the end of the hall. “They’re keeping her alive. She’s sustained a lot of trauma to her brain and …” He pushed the door open. “Just let her know you’re here.”

  Derek fought back tears. Brain trauma. He might have been a high school kid, but he’d watched enough medical shows to know that was bad. What if his Leslie came back and wasn’t his Leslie anymore? What would he do?

  Digging his nails into his palms to keep from breaking down, he walked into the room. Then he froze, his legs like lead when he saw Leslie on a bed.

  Machines with blinking lights surrounded her. The breathing tube in her mouth was foreign. Her pallid hands rested on her stomach with bright red lines cut into her wrists. Burns blistered her arms, while her bruises had turned a pale shade of blue.

  This wasn’t his Leslie. There was nothing he recognized of the girl he loved. She was so still, so empty of life. How could this be the same person? This didn’t seem real.

  Bile rose in his throat. He forced it back, bringing tears to his eyes.

  Machines hummed and the monitor above the bed beeped with her every heartbeat. The noises whirled in his head to a deafening shrill. The lights above became too bright, and the heaviness in his heart sunk him deeper into a pit of despair he was sure he would never climb out of.

  A heavy, numbing, throbbing sensation overtook his limbs, erasing all thought. He was overwhelmed and overcome.

  “Is he family?” a nurse at the bedside asked.

  “No, but I’ll take responsibility,” Dr. Jeffers said. “Let him stay with her.”

  The nurse pulled a chair closer to Leslie. “Have a seat.”

  Derek willed his legs to move, approached the bed, and became transfixed by the pattern of bruises on her cheeks. Is that real? The red mark around her neck left a patchwork design embedded in her skin. Her lips, her jaw, and her nose were distorted and swollen. Her beautiful hair, now partially shaved, lay spread out on the pillow behind her.

  “You can hold her hand,” the nurse encouraged.

  Something tapped against his cheek, and he wiped it away. Tears. He hadn’t even realized he was crying.

  He lifted her fingers, caressing her skin. Still shaking, he slipped his hand into hers, hoping for some sign of life, something to let him know she was in there. She was like ice. He almost asked the nurse to get her another blanket, because her hands had never been so cold. Leslie’s hands had always warmed him, strengthened him, uplifted him.

  Memories of her laugh, her smile, her voice, her beautiful eyes inundated him. He curled inward, unable to breathe, unable to speak. It hurt so much.

  “You can’t leave me.”

  He didn’t recognize his voice.

  This can’t be happening.

  “We have our whole lives ahead of us. There’s college and law school. We have to open our law practice together. And we are supposed to get married, remember? Who’s going to teach me about feminist literature, watch movies with me on Friday nights, and make me smile?” Tears flowed down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop them. “I’ll be lost without you, Leslie. I can’t go on without you. You are everything to me. Stay with—”

  A loud, harsh buzzer rolled around the small room. Dr. Jeffers and the nurse raced to the bed, shoving Derek out of the way.

  “Give her an Amp of Epi,” Dr. Jeffers ordered.

  More hospital staff stampeded into the room, moving Derek farther from the bed. He wanted to hold Leslie’s hand, to beg her to fight, but he could not get near her.

  “What is it? What’s happening?” he shouted.

  The monitor alarm above the bed continued to sound its godawful screech. People shouted. In the back of the room, Derek waited.

  He was nothing more than an observer, helpless to interfere. He became a shell. Absorbing everything but registering nothing.

  Shouts filled the room and he flinched with every raised voice. Someone climbed into her bed, performing CPR. The pounding on his Leslie’s chest horrified him. This was nothing like his life support class. His Leslie wasn’t a doll. They were hurting her.

  They added medicine after medicine to her IV while the doctor stood by and waited for the flat orange line to change on her monitor.

  Derek prayed, he hoped, he called to God to save her, but the orange line never wavered. It stayed flat and ugly, bereft of life.

  A hush settled over the room, and then Dr. Jeffers turned to Derek.

  His eyes connected with the man, and he saw it. The sympathy he had seen since he was a kid. People sorry for his lonely life, for his struggling mother, for his absent father. His heart trembled.

  No, God, please.

  Dr. Jeffers raised his head to the clock on the wall. “Time of death, ten-fifty-three.”

  “No!” Derek cried out. “You have to save her.”

  Dr. Jeffers grabbed his shoulders. “She’s gone. There’s nothing else to do.”

  Derek ran out the open door and down the corridor. He had no idea where he was going; he just had to get away.

  Then Derek ran right into someone. He bounced off them and fell back on the floor. He glanced up. John Moore stood over him.
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  Derek pulled up his knees and covered his head with his hands, wanting to disappear. “She’s gone. She’s gone.”

  The world came crashing down around him. The pain in his chest made him feel as if he had been split in two.

  Someone helped Derek from the floor. Arms went around him and held him close. He cried onto a shoulder, and he inhaled a familiar scent. A spring meadow filled with clover—that was it. Through his tears, dirty-blonde hair registered. He pulled back, realizing who held him.

  He had to get it together. Leslie was his, but she had a sister, a mother, a father who would grieve for her, too. The Moores needed him as much as he needed them.

  His voice caught in his throat. “Dawn, what am I going to do? I won’t make it without her.”

  She took his hands, squeezing them. “Derek, what happened?”

  Her hands were so warm, like Leslie’s used to be.

  “I don’t know.” Derek’s deep breath rattled around in his chest. “When I arrived at the cells, there was smoke everywhere and when I went inside …”

  “Why would she go there without me? I’m supposed to protect her. I’m in charge of keeping her safe, but she never gave me the chance. But why didn’t she tell me about it? Why?”

  Dawn’s voice was different, deeper. It frazzled him. She sounded so much like Leslie. Derek wiped his eyes, wanting to see Dawn’s face.

  Then, slowly, her blue eyes came into focus, her nose, her lips, her lovely chin. It was everything she shared with Leslie, but then she tilted her head—her face was discerning, questioning, tough. This wasn’t Dawn.

  “Leslie?” Derek whispered.

  The slight nod took away the strength in his legs. He wobbled and then sat on the floor, hyperventilating, overcome. She was alive. He glanced back at the room door. But Dawn was gone. Suddenly, his grief meant nothing next to the horror he had to share with family.

  She stooped down to him, her arms around him, holding him close. “Tell me my sister is alive, Derek. Please tell me she’s okay.”

  He held her, squeezing her harder than he ever had. “I don’t understand. How are you here?”

  Leslie trembled against him. “Dawn took my phone, the car, even the bottle of champagne I had for us. I went to a neighbor’s and called you, but you never picked up.”