Waterfall Effect

by K. K. Allen

  A cold hand grips my wrist, and before I can stop the force, I’m being yanked toward Scott’s SUV. Tanner shoves me toward a tree on the left side of the car, so close that my nose is pointed into the bark just where the wood has been carved. The glow of the headlights illuminates the small space.

  “What the fuck is that, then, Aurora? Who carved that?”

  I gasp and jerk back against Tanner, who releases his grip on me.

  “M.R.?” Her initials come out on a breath. I whip my head toward his, ice filling my veins. “Is that her? The missing girl?”

  “M.R. Melody Roberts. Look at the tally marks.”

  A chill scrapes my spine as I turn again toward the tree. And there they are: eight familiar tally marks carved in the wood.

  “Th-this doesn’t make any sense. Are you sure this was just carved today?”

  “Look down.”

  Tanner aims a flashlight at the ground where he wants me to look, and I see shavings everywhere.

  “But how?”

  He gives me a long stare before letting out a heavy sigh. “Let’s just say I’ve been conducting my own investigation over the years. You said you have no memory from those three days you were taken, right?”

  I nod, then swallow. “Nothing. It’s all just…empty.”

  “Is there anything you’ve been able to remember since then? Anything at all? A motive, maybe?”

  I shake my head before I even give it a thought. “No, I can’t—”

  “Think hard. Anything at all. A smell. A feeling. A moment. Something you never told anyone before.”

  Letting out another breath, I shake my head. When I think of those three days, all I see and feel is a darkness I can’t seem to find my way out of. My eyes snap up to his. “Darkness.” I swallow. “I remember the darkness.”

  Tanner lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Well, that’s helpful.”

  Trying not to steam at his words, I think back to last night, which brought me closer to those three days of darkness than ever before.

  I can’t tell Tanner that I painted a cave because I don’t remember doing it, and I’m not sure what it represents. And I definitely can’t tell him that I dreamed about it, too. He’ll just laugh at me again.

  “Why, Tanner?” My voice rattles through my anger. “Why does any of that matter? It was so long ago.”

  His eyes move toward the woods. “I don’t think your dad killed those girls. And I don’t think he was the one that tried to kill you.”

  A laugh bubbles up my throat. Tanner always did have a thing for conspiracy theories—politics, natural disasters, you name it. He always wanted to believe there was something beneath the surface, which I probably would have appreciated if he hadn’t been one of the voices in town accusing my father of the hateful things he was tried and committed for.

  I’ve spent the past six years after my father’s guilty plea convincing myself of what he was charged with. I thought I’d finally come to terms with what my father was, in fact, capable of, no matter how wrong it felt in my heart. And now, here’s Tanner telling me it was all a lie. A setup.

  “Okay,” I say, throwing up my hands. “I’ll bite. Who did it, Tanner? Who framed my father and murdered all those girls and hid their bones? Tell me. I’m dying to know.”

  Everything about Tanner should terrify me right now. The glow of the headlights that casts a halo around his lean, uniformed body. The seething look of hatred on his chiseled face when he stares down at me from his six-foot frame. The glint of satisfaction in his eyes because he knows he’s gotten under my skin. The rough brush of his sweaty palms wiping against his pants. And the odd combination of musk and patchouli that brings a rush of familiarity and hits me right in the gut.

  And then the whistling begins from behind me.

  Fear could grip me. It could whisper irrational warnings in my ear. But I learned years ago that fear kills faster than courage. Something tells me I’m going to need all the courage I can muster tonight.

  “Everything okay out here?”

  My heart stops, and my head whips toward the familiar voice; toward where the whistling stopped. His voice is slurred, like he’s come straight from the bar.

  Sheriff Brooks.

  “Everything is fine,” Tanner cuts in as he grabs my arm, his other hand on his holster. “Get back in the car, Aurora.” He looks up at his dad. “We’re heading out now.”

  Brooks’ eyes widen as he takes in the SUV Tanner and I are standing in front of. “How did that get out here?” Just the casual tone of his voice bristles the hair on my arms.

  “It belongs to a Scott Turner, a friend of Aurora’s,” Tanner says, gripping my elbow again. “I was just questioning her, Pops, but we’re done here for the night. Taking her to the station now. I’ll be back for the search in the morning.”

  “Wait, you aren’t searching for them tonight?” I jerk my arm away from Tanner again as I turn to face him. His eyes dig into mine, as if he’s begging for me not to argue. I don’t understand.

  Brooks lets out a deep laugh. “Search parties take place during the day. You should be familiar with the process, Miss June. It’s not safe at night for us to dispatch an entire rescue team into the woods at this hour. We’ve just got a private team out searching tonight.”

  A private team? What the hell is Brooks talking about?

  “Just the deputies and myself, Aurora,” he says in response to my confused face. “But seeing as you know the boy who’s managed to park his car in our woods, perhaps you should join us. You tried calling him?”

  “I don’t have a phone.”

  Brooks’ face twists in half-amusement, half-intrigue. “Well, ain’t that unfortunate?”

  “Alright, Pops, that’s enough. I’ll get Aurora back to the station, and I’ll join you after she answers some questions. I’ll radio you any leads I get. You good out here?”

  Why does Tanner sound like he’s in a rush to leave? The dynamic between him and his father has never been something that’s made sense to me. Growing up, Tanner seemed terrified of his father, but that didn’t stop him from constantly getting into trouble. Despite the issues between them, Brooks would somehow find every loophole in the book to get Tanner off the hook for his crimes.

  “Actually, son, I think I’ll take Aurora off your hands. You head on back to the station now.”

  Tanner’s grip on my arm strengthens, making me wince. “Ouch,” I hiss before shaking from his hold.

  “Pops, you’ve been drinkin’. You shouldn’t be out here. Let’s all head back now, and we’ll reassess the situation in the morning.”

  Brooks’ eyes grow wild. “You don’t give the orders around here, Deputy.”

  “Don’t I have a say in this?” I cut in, staring between the two men. “Look, I’ll call Scott again once I get to a phone, but right now I need to get to the hospital. Claire might lose her baby, and Jaxon’s waiting for me.”

  And that’s when I hear the click of a safety being unlatched, and I can almost feel the gun pointed at my back. I turn, despite the rise of panic in my chest, to see Brooks’ holster empty, his gun raised in his hands toward Tanner and me.

  My heart leaps up my throat.

  “Pops, what the fuck?” Tanner yells.

  “Move away from her, son.” Brooks waggles his gun in a gesture for Tanner to move.

  But Tanner doesn’t budge. Instead, he yanks me against his chest. “Get in the car,” he whispers through his teeth while reaching for his belt with one hand and pushing me behind him with the other. “Aurora’s got people looking for her, Pops. She’s leaving with me.”

  Brooks lets out a laugh, his back arched and protruding belly pointed outward. He eases his laughter as he shakes his head, the unsteady barrel of his gun still trained on us. “You don’t seem to understand what’s going on here, boy. Aurora and I have unfinished business to attend to. Now run along before you find a bullet between your pretty blue eyes
.”

  I gasp, only getting a glimpse of Brooks over Tanner’s shoulder. He wouldn’t shoot his own son. But unfinished business? What does that—?

  “What the fuck did you just say?” Tanner grabs his own gun from his holster. “You forget I’ve been putting up with your bullshit for twenty-eight years. No more. I’m not leaving here without Aurora.”

  “You know better than to sass me, boy. Maybe you won’t leave here at all.” Brooks’ eyes narrow and his jaw hardens, and I swear I see his body sway slightly, bringing another image to mind.

  It’s now that I remember the odd friendship Brooks struck up with my father. The secrets between Jaxon and me that somehow made it to my father’s ears. Brooks knew Jaxon took my virginity. He knew we’d been sneaking off together. Painting together. And on the night I went missing, my father confronted me about all of it.

  Air stops in my throat as, piece-by-piece, memories surface and lock back into place. And just like that—I remember.

  I’d thought it was the flu.

  The same day my rolling stomach began to send me to the bathroom earlier in the week, my father came home with news that Jaxon got the offer he’d put in for at the beginning of June. To travel the world. He’d done it. Just like that, he was accepted. So, I suffocated the selfish hurt in my chest at the fact that Jaxon didn’t tell me the news himself, and I called to congratulate him on his acceptance. I was truly happy for him, despite my rising insecurity that I would be alone in Balsam Grove without anyone who knew me—who knew I wasn’t the same drunken, unstable mess my father was. It was hard enough to make friends with Jaxon by my side. I couldn’t imagine not having him there to bat away the narrowed eyes and upturned noses. Somehow, none of that mattered when I was with Jaxon.

  But one week later, I had my answer. The rancid reaction in my gut wasn’t a flu symptom. Not even close.

  The room swirled as the walls closed in around me, the row of blue ducks decorating the wallpaper blurring into an indistinguishable mess. Woozy, I reached out to grab hold of something—anything—but before I could, I fell, my ass hitting the floor and my back slamming against the cold bathtub.

  The indicator fell through my fingers and clattered to the floor beside me. I looked down, as if the three confirmations before it weren’t enough. But there it was. Another blue plus sign.

  I was pregnant.

  At seventeen.

  And I couldn’t breathe.

  My head fell back as I gulped in air, and a panic attack swept through me. I was done for. Not only had my father banned me from painting back in June, when I’d first arrived after my mother’s death, but he’d warned me away from Jaxon as if my relationship with him was something I could just cut off like a dangling string.

  He’d heard the rumors, that Jaxon and I were more than just friends. The lonesome artist with no future, four years his daughter’s senior. Though I’d deny it at every opportunity, it didn’t stop the rest of the town from stirring up drama, and anything related to Henry June was surefire entertainment. It made me a target. People quickly learned that any news to do with Jaxon and me made my father act out—publicly. And it all led to the worst night of my life.

  When my panic ceased, I wrapped up the four pregnancy indicators and tucked them into my bra. I ran into my bedroom and hid them under my bed before my father could stop to ask me what was wrong—not that he was awake. He’d come home from an afternoon trip from the bar and passed out on the couch.

  It was nearing eight o’clock, and being late fall, the sun had already set. I thought I could sneak out the front door rather than my bedroom window, but the moment the door creaked open, my father flew from his spot on the couch. He mirrored me, red-faced and still half-drunk. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  I froze in place. “I-I was feeling better and wanted to get some fresh air. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  He glared down at me, his eyes red and his unshaven face a cruel, twisted shade of flush. And he scoffed in my direction. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to running around the woods at all goddamn hours of the day and night? You ruin the boy’s future and you think he still wants to see you?” My dad let out an evil chortle. “When are you going to stop fucking with everyone’s future, Aurora? First your mom. Now Jaxon. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

  The terror from my newfound pregnancy dispersed in an instant and was replaced with a medley of confusion and dread. What is he talking about? As far as I knew, Jaxon was still planning on leaving at the end of December. We had plans. He would be back in six months, I would graduate high school, and we would move to Durham. There, I would go to college and he would paint, and then we’d travel the world together. As much as I knew I’d miss him for six months, I was happy with that plan—even when I realized there was a life inside me.

  I’d be seven months pregnant by the time he’d get back. The way I saw it, that was still plenty of time for him to be with me during the pregnancy. And by then, maybe he’d have enough artwork to sell so we could finally leave this place together. We wouldn’t have to scrape by.

  “I haven’t done anything.” I reached for the door. Nothing would stop me from leaving this house. I’d deal with the consequences of my father’s bad mood later—if he even remembered this conversation.

  My dad glared. He’d been glaring for months, ever since that shipment of my paintings arrived from my mom’s storage. It was like his patience, along with his mental health, was wearing thinner every day.

  “If you hadn’t forced your mom to go to your art show, she’d still be alive today.” Anger tremored in his escalating tone. “But that wasn’t enough for you, was it?” He fumed, breathing heavily through his closed mouth. “You had to go and stop that boy from traveling to fulfill his dream, too. Why is that, Aurora?” He tilted his head, an accusing look piercing my heart. “When will you stop?” Spit flew from his mouth as he screamed the last question.

  My jaw dropped. My body shook. Jaxon wasn’t leaving? Since when? He hadn’t called. He hadn’t stopped by. I was sick and promised I’d be by as soon as I got better, but why was I hearing this from my father?

  “There’s got to be a mistake. I need to talk to him.”

  And before my father could say another word, I flew from the house with Lacey at my heels. We ran as fast as we could into the storm and through the narrow path in the woods that joined my home with Jaxon’s.

  I had to see him. He had to know about the baby. Maybe then he’d go.

  I stopped halfway to his house as rain battered down on me, realizing I needed a plan. I stood there for what seemed like hours. What would I say? How would he react? How could I get him to leave Balsam Grove to fulfill our plans so we could have our life together and take care of a baby?

  Oh my God. What if he doesn’t want this baby?

  And that’s where my mind stuck, repeating over and over like a broken record. Suddenly, I didn’t know what I wanted anymore. My determination dissolved into second guessing everything, and every decision Jaxon and I had made together festered within me until I grew angry. Angry that he hadn’t discussed such a life-altering decision without me. Angry that my father was the one to reveal such critical information to our future. Angry that there was a baby growing inside me, preparing to be born into the world of secrets and lies and mental illness that had ripped my family apart. And there was nothing I could do about it.

  The rest of my journey to Jaxon’s house was a blur, my mind a raging inferno. I was furious and ready to unleash. But I didn’t expect to walk away in tears, without a resolution, in so much emotional pain it practically blinded me.

  I fled Jaxon’s house after the worst fight we’d ever had. The panic from earlier still swirled through me, my tears an endless cascade. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him about the baby.

  I knew I’d only be returning to my father’s wrath. But I didn’t realize he’d be digging through my things
during my absence.

  I didn’t realize he’d find what I so foolishly tried to hide.

  And I didn’t realize he’d be ready for me.

  Oh, but he was.

  When I returned to the cottage, tears streaking my cheeks, I found him sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch, the buzzing light above him dim and flickering as it had been for days. I saw the silver metallic gleam of the label on his beer before I saw him, and I knew before I even saw his face that I should be afraid. His stillness halted me in my tracks, my heart thrumming triple time while the rain shower soaked me down to the bone.

  I cowered into myself, not from the rain, but because of what he gripped in his other hand.

  “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

  I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. My face was drenched with rain and tears, my eyes probably as red as his were. And there was nothing I could say or do to make any of it go away. To make any of it better.

  From in front of me, Lacey growled something fierce, not liking my father’s rage. That helped nothing. He stuck his face near Lacey’s and growled back, unafraid of her shiny, white teeth that she bared in warning. She was ready to pounce, but just as she started to, my father’s heavy boot slammed into her neck, tossing her from the porch as she yelped helplessly.

  I screamed. I screamed bloody murder at him, then scooped Lacey up and fled. Away from my father. Away from Jaxon. Away from my pain, though it never seemed to leave me. I just kept running, praying for the pain to dissolve. For the Earth’s axis to tilt back into my favor, to where dreams and plans didn’t seem so damn impossible.

  At first, I thought I’d run right into his trap because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I’d learn later that I wasn’t heading toward him. He had been watching, lingering. Just waiting for the perfect time to strike.