After the Thaw

by Therese Heckenkamp

  He spoke the words that had to come next. “Will you marry me?”

  Emotion rippled through her. She looked into his eyes, eyes so earnest, reflecting devotion and love. Everything I need. Everything I want.

  “Charlene?” His gaze flickered concern.

  “Yes, Ben, of course I’ll marry you.”

  Joy flooded his face. In one fluid motion, he lifted her to her feet and slipped the ring over her finger. A perfect fit. Perfect, like him.

  Mesmerized by the diamond’s fiery play of light, time stood still.

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me?” he teased, and she blushed and smiled, and then the smile was lost in a warm kiss. She clung to him as her heart thrummed. I’ll marry him and finally live happily ever after.

  Finally.

  “So you like the ring?”

  “I love it.” She lifted her hand. The gold band branched into tendrils, caressing the low-set diamond in intricate scrolls. It’s like a fairytale princess ring. “Where did you find it?”

  “In my pocket. How lucky was that?”

  “Ben.” She smiled and shook her head. “You know what I mean.”

  “Sure.” His fingertips brushed her arm. “Let’s just say, there’s not another ring exactly like it. It’s unique, like you.”

  “I’ll never take it off.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll be happy to hold you to that, but first, go ahead. Just this once. I want you to see what’s inscribed in the band.”

  An inscription, too? But that was Ben, always above and beyond. She eased the ring from her finger, all set to peek in the band, when instead her traitorous eyes fell on the scar encircling her ring finger.

  In a flashback, she saw blood beading up, forming a cruel crimson wedding band.

  No!

  Her insides coiled, binding with fear. Her teeth clenched. Don’t think. Don’t remember.

  She’d had the thin white scar for years. She was used to seeing it, though she did her best to avoid it. So why now, at this crucial moment, did the sight of it bring the hideous memories squirming back?

  The cold earthen room.

  Burning black candles.

  Evil Abner slicing first her finger, then Clay’s, with a snake-handled knife. Their blood mingled in a twisted ceremony. Scarring more than just her finger.

  She shuddered. The slight tremor of her hand, combined with slick sweat, was all it took.

  The engagement ring popped free from her fingertips and went sailing through the air.

  She let out a little gasp and, unthinkingly, lunged forward to save the ring from falling off the cliff. But at that same moment, Ben swiped for it, and instead of saving the ring, she bumped into him.

  He teetered. His feet, already too close to the rocky edge, scrambled for footing as he flailed for balance.

  She should have reached for him, but she remained rooted to the spot, horrified. Though the moment happened in a flash, it was as if she had time to comprehend that if she tried to save him, she would fall too. So she didn’t move. She let him go. Wide eyed, she processed every split-second change in his expression: shock, panic, terrible realization.

  He fell from sight, his awful yell ripping the air. Then, thunk.

  Silence.

  Dreadful, meaningful, deathly silence.

  A scream scraped her throat but didn’t make it out. Ben! She fell to her knees. Her forehead dropped to the cold stone.

  God, no!

  In desperate disbelief, she crawled forward, her nails scraping the stone. When she reached the edge, she gripped the slab, craned her neck, and looked down.

  Her heart leaped when she spotted him. He lay on another ledge, only about fifteen feet down. He hadn’t fallen countless feet to the jagged rocks lining the lake, thank God.

  But still, his lifeless form was frightening, his body splayed at an awkward angle. That dark spot near his head—was it a shadow, or blood seeping out from under him?

  “Ben!” She willed him to answer, to move, but there was no response.

  “Ben! Can you hear me?” Her voice echoed, unnatural and frantic. “Are you all right?” She waited several painful heartbeats. “Ben!”

  When her scream died, she thought she heard a groan float up from where he lay. If she stared at him long enough, hard enough, maybe he would move. Suddenly, there it was, a sign of life, a slight lift of his elbow. A fleeting movement, but something. Hope kindled in her chest.

  “Hang on, Ben! I’ll get help. Just hang on!” Her brain fired her muscles to action. She scrambled her way back to the main path and, though she already knew what she’d find, she yanked out her phone. Sure enough, no service. Always no service when you needed it the most.

  Alone in this forsaken wilderness, how would she ever find her way back down the bluffs? And if she did, it would surely be too late to do Ben any good.

  No, she couldn’t think like that.

  Ben needs me. Just follow the path. I can do this. She had to think of something besides his broken, bleeding body and this rapidly darkening, steep terrain.

  It was as if once she acknowledged the impending night, a gauzy black curtain dropped over the world. Nocturnal noises erupted—hoots and howls, scurrying and swooping sounds, underbrush rustling and branches snapping—and her mind whirled with terrible thoughts. What was out here? Wolves? Bears? She’d never been fond of the dark, but after her kidnapping experience, being lost and alone in a shadowed network of trees was not what she needed.

  So what, she thought, stomping down her emotions. This isn’t about me. I’ll do whatever it takes, Ben, I promise.

  Navigating the path took much longer than it would have with Ben guiding her. So many roots and rocks and branches. Her heart’s rapid pulsing reminded her of a ticking clock.

  Time’s running out.

  As she picked her way down loose slopes and a narrow set of natural rock steps, she imagined Ben’s heart beating slower and slower, until—

  Think positive. Think of the future, all we have to look forward to.

  But deep down, she knew she was kidding herself. There would be no wedding now.

  I’ve destroyed us.

  Guilt gnawed at her soul. She gulped deep breaths to calm her nerves. Her parched mouth tasted sour. At last she emerged from the overgrown trail into the parking lot. A slight sense of relief touched her, but a quick glimpse of her phone still showed no service. She’d have to drive closer to civilization before she could call for help.

  Pushing past exhaustion, she ran for Ben’s car, the only vehicle in the lot. Despite moonlight giving off a halfhearted glow, the darkness felt heavy, smothering.

  She halted at Ben’s car, realizing she didn’t have his key.

  Swallowing frustration, she pulled at the door, begging it to open. No good. She slumped against the car, but only for a second.

  Ben’s counting on me.

  She clenched her hands and glanced back at the towering bluffs, the monstrous silhouette. Her mind flashed a picture of Ben sprawled in a pool of blood on the rock, waiting, dying . . .

  She sprinted down the road, her hiking boots beating a lonely rhythm. Every few moments, she checked her phone, but no service still taunted her. She jogged past the cheery “Thank you for visiting Sunset Lookout Park” sign, and emotion clogged her throat.

  When at last her phone signal kicked in, she had to fight down breathless panting so she could talk to the 911 dispatcher. Her words tumbled out, urgent, pleading, but somehow intelligible.

  The dispatcher assured her help was on the way.

  “Hurry,” Charlene begged. “It’s already been so long.”

  Dear God, don’t let it be too late.

  * * *

  Sirens shrieking and lights whirling, emergency vehicles careened into the lot. Charlene ran to meet them so she could guide the rescue to Ben.

  The time she’d spent waiting and praying had allowed her to recharge slightly, and she soldiered back up the bluff path, this time illuminate
d by numerous flashlights and surrounded by capable firefighters and EMTs hauling a stretcher with metal sides. She began to hope that things might actually turn out okay.

  Radio dispatch voices crackled to life, died, then crackled again in a distracting, erratic rhythm. She watched the bobbing letters on the backs of the firefighters’ jackets and thought of Ben. For some reason, her lips moved and she rambled. “Ben’s a firefighter for Woodfield. He was part time for so long, and he finally got a fulltime position. He was so excited . . . he was going to start this week . . .”

  And now he won’t. He can’t. There’s no way. If he survived, this fact alone would devastate him.

  She stilled her lips and saved her strength for climbing.

  The firefighter hiking directly in front of her turned briefly, and their eyes connected as she gave Charlene a look of . . . what? Sympathy? Pity? Encouragement? As her head turned back, Charlene noticed for the first time the woman’s long, thick dark ponytail.

  Charlene found the hidden turnoff to the cliff easily, surprising herself. Swallowing, she pointed. “There. He fell off there.” She wilted onto a rock, not wanting to get in the way as the experts worked their rescue. Her ears tuned in to catch any indication, good or bad, of Ben’s situation.

  The firefighters lowered the stretcher, which she heard called a “basket,” over the side of the bluff. Two of them—a muscular young man and the ponytailed woman—harnessed themselves to ropes which they secured around thick tree trunks before rappelling down the bluff.

  Eventually, at their signal, the others pulled, carefully lugging Ben, in the basket, up and over the side.

  Charlene sprang to her feet, dizzy at the sight of him. “Ben.” She tried to make her way over, then realized he needed the professionals much more than he needed her.

  The tone of their voices told her his condition was serious. Her fingers grappled together and twisted, but she stayed back, determined not to do anything more to hurt him than she already had.

  Chapter Two

  It wasn’t right that he should be so still. Not Ben, so full of life. From her chair, Charlene gazed at him in the hospital bed while his mom, dad, and younger sister clustered near, murmuring prayers.

  They’d believed her so readily.

  Too readily.

  Her explanation echoed in her mind, a scourge to her conscience. “We were too close to the edge. He lost his balance.” It was the truth, but not the whole truth.

  She would tell them the rest, but not now, with him unconscious and wrapped in bandages, hooked up to IVs and monitors. The bruises, the abrasions, they would heal. But the spinal damage . . .

  No. Hold on to hope.

  Her lashes lowered. Almost as if to torture her, her thoughts strayed to a happier time . . .

  “Seriously, you’ve never been on a rollercoaster?” Ben’s incredulity had been tangible—as had her apprehension when he insisted on taking her to Six Flags and she saw the monster tracks looping hundreds of feet in the air.

  “Come on, you’ll be fine,” he promised after they climbed aboard their first ride. “Live a little.”

  “That’s just it.” She laughed nervously as she sat beside him in the metal car, dreading takeoff. “I want to live.”

  Before he could answer, they surged forward. The fierce speed rammed her against her seat. Her hands clutched a death grip on the lap bar, which didn’t seem tight enough. What if she flew out from under it? They zoomed, the wild motion flinging her worries and hair in all directions.

  Her heart pounded as the car slowed and, clacking and creaking ominously, climbed a practically vertical track. They crested the top, paused, and whoosh, they fell.

  Her stomach dropped. She screamed.

  “Yeah!” Ben hollered.

  They wove up, down, around, flashing, flying. It was reckless exhilaration, careless abandon unlike anything she’d ever experienced, and when the ride stopped, her eyes stayed wide, her heart racing. The expression “throwing caution to the wind” took on a whole new meaning.

  Ben turned to her. “Well?”

  Her lips twitched. “Let’s ride it again.”

  Ben’s smile deepened, a dimple appearing. He grabbed her hand and they dashed for the line.

  Near the end of the day, as they strolled along deciding which ride to make their last, he bought them cotton candy. He pulled off a piece, and she did the same, saying, “I’ve never had cotton candy before.”

  “What?” He stopped in his tracks to gape. “How’s that even possible?” He nudged her. “Weirdo.”

  She smiled. Only Ben could make an insult sound endearing. She plucked more cotton candy, fascinated by how the sticky sugary fluff dissolved almost instantly on her tongue.

  He watched her, clearly amused. “You’ve got some stuck on your lip. Right there.” He touched her mouth, and her lips tingled.

  His fingers slid to her cheek and lingered, warm and expressive. “Never been on a rollercoaster, never had cotton candy . . . You’ve been missing out.” He looked into her eyes, his gaze turning deep. Perceptive. Knowing there was so much she’d never done.

  Her heart fluttered. He leaned in, his lips landing soft on hers, sweet with cotton candy. Taking her breath away. More thrilling than the rollercoaster.

  Now, pulling in a ragged breath and returning to the present, her eyes traced Ben’s lips. So dry, so inert. She wanted to kiss him, but didn’t know if that would be okay. She was so afraid of hurting him now. Despite his muscular physique, he looked fragile, lying silent and still, eyes closed.

  She bit her lip. I love you, Ben. Come back to me.

  * * *

  “Charlene, how were your days off?” Julie, the children’s librarian, asked brightly. Her hair, though blond, was almost as curly as Charlene’s. Julie seemed better able to control hers, though, often using fancy clips and pins to create strategic styles Charlene could never figure out.

  Julie’s question was inevitable, innocent, yet it released a flood of pain. The room’s colorful storybook themed walls seemed to close in on Charlene. She braced herself against the librarian’s desk and filled her in on Ben.

  Julie blinked. Her thickly lashed eyes went wide as she expressed sympathy and concern. “Are you sure you’re up for working today?”

  Charlene nodded. “It’s better to keep busy.” Besides, Ben’s parents had insisted she take a break from her vigil at the hospital, assuring her they would call the second he woke up.

  Julie’s brow puckered. “Why don’t I take over storytime? You could shelve instead. Have some peace and quiet.”

  More silence? “No way. Don’t worry, I can do this. I love storytime.” Charlene grabbed the waiting books and stuffed animals and hurried into the connecting room before Julie could protest.

  Parents and kids were already gathering, claiming seats. Moms with toddlers and babies sat in chairs near the back, while preschoolers clustered on a round alphabet rug, their legs crossed and eyes expectant.

  At precisely nine, Charlene began, digging deep to find her carefree, happy voice and a big smile. After welcoming everyone, she introduced herself, for the benefit of those who weren’t regulars, as Miss Charlene. Then she started with a customary get-all-the-wiggles-out rhyming and action song. Here, in this role, she didn’t mind being silly, and most of the adults joined in, looking as goofy as her as they used their arms as elephant trunks.

  When the giggles subsided, everyone sat and she read, “Stand Back,” Said the Elephant, “I’m Going to Sneeze!”

  While children practiced elephant sneezes, she passed around the stuffed elephants for them to cuddle. After the last story, everyone stomped like elephants.

  As Charlene encouraged each child to pick up a coloring page on the way out, she noticed a short man standing against a wall and holding a sheet of paper. He didn’t seem to belong with any child. Stout and balding, he wore little glasses and an oversized tan jacket. She glanced at him repeatedly, uncomfortable as she tidied the roo
m under his shifting eyes.

  Sensing him heading her way, she looked up and he was already beside her. She tried to hide her startled expression.

  “Excuse me, Miss Charlene, since you’re a librarian, I have kind of an odd research question for you.” His stubby finger touched the thin mustache on his upper lip.

  “Well, I’m not officially a librarian, not yet, but I’m working toward it. I take classes part time, so another few years—”

  “Yes, well, that’s very nice, but I’m sure you can still help me.”

  “I’ll try. What do you need?”

  He moved closer, and she noticed an odor, as if he needed a shower. She struggled to keep a pleasant look on her face and willed herself not to step back.

  “I deal in rare and antique pieces,” he said, “and at the moment I’m trying to gather information on this particular piece.”

  He held a paper out to her, and she took a sharp intake of breath. Her hand stopped halfway to her throat and trembled as she stared at the photo of an all too familiar snake-handled knife.

  Knowing first-hand the damage that wicked knife could do, she clenched her fingers and tried not to shiver as she was hit with a jolting memory. The current of pain. The debilitating fear.

  “Everything okay, miss?” The man watched her too intently, like a boy studying a butterfly before plucking off its wings.

  She wanted to tell the ill-smelling man to go away, but she caught a glimpse of Geraldine, the library director, observing from a distance. Charlene took a deep breath and, rewarded with a lungful of stench, immediately regretted it.

  “I’m fine,” she said with forced pleasantness. She dropped into a red plastic chair and pushed her fingertips against her forehead.

  He slid the paper under her gaze. “Take a real good look.”

  That was the last thing she wanted to do—stare at that horrid thing, the hunched snake body handle, the slivered eyes, the sharp protruding, hissing tongue, the tail curling over the silver blade.

  “Very interesting,” she managed at last.