by MK Schiller
My spine went rigid. Mr. Cranston sat on Sylvie’s bed, bleeding from his head as two men took turns punching him. Their backs were to me. One was tall with broad shoulders and balding. The other was shorter, but with a strong build. Judging from his laughter, he was taking pleasure in Mr. Cranston’s pain. They both wore baseball caps, but curls of dark hair stuck out from the edges. Outside of the movies, I’d never witnessed anything like this in my life. One of them pulled out a gun and held it against Harry Cranston’s head.
Her mouth dropped open. She was about to scream. I cupped my hand against her lips, suppressing the sound before it escaped. I pulled us both down to the ground.
“Shut up,” I whispered. “Don’t scream.”
After a second, I let up my hand. “Who are they?”
I released my hand, but kept it close in case she felt the need to scream again. She looked up at me, white as a ghost, lower lip trembling. “Cancer,” she answered.
“Where is she?” one of them said loud enough for us to hear.
“I told you I don’t know,” he said. I will never forget the sound of his voice. There was no rhythm or flow in his words. Each syllable monotone and bleak, reeking of resignation. He knew he wasn’t going to survive, and he’d accepted it. It freaked me out.
A fat tear formed in the corner of Sylvie’s eye. Her body shivered violently against mine. She wanted to save him. Hell, even I wanted to save him. But it wasn’t going to happen. I pressed my hand against her mouth again. I didn’t trust her to keep whispering. She bit the skin on my palm so hard that I let go.
“We have to go help him, Cal.”
“We will, but my way. They have a gun.” I slid my phone from my pocket and dialed 911 on my cell, keeping one arm hooked around her waist. It was just three digits but my hands shook so much I wasn’t sure I could manage. I spoke hurriedly, giving only the pertinent information as my father had taught me once a very long time ago. “Two armed men. 1611 Pine Crest. Send multiple units and an ambulance. Suspects in the house with a hostage.”
She scrambled out of my grasp. I grabbed the cuff of her shorts and pulled her back down. “Are you crazy? They will kill you if you go in there.”
“I don’t care if they kill me. I have to help him.” There was no way I was letting her go in there. I put my body on top of hers, trying to keep her still, but she was thrashing and squirming so hard I had a tough time of it despite being so much bigger than her.
“Stop moving.”
“Let me go. He’s my dad.”
I rested my full weight on her. No doubt I was hurting her, but I’d rather she was hurt than dead. I said the only thing I could think of to get her to stop fighting me. “Do you care if they kill me?”
She blinked her eyes rapidly, confusion spreading across her face.
I repeated myself. “Do you? Because if you go in there, I’m going with you, and we’ll both die.”
“Go home,” she cried.
“If you want to go in, then we both go. It’s your choice. We both die tonight, or neither of us does. Which is it?”
She was hyperventilating so I moved off her, but still gripped her shirt in case she made a run for it. “Neither,” she choked.
“We have to get to my house.”
She shook her head. I started dragging her, but she was so much stronger than I’d ever given her credit for.
That was when we heard the shot. It wasn’t loud, just a pop really, followed by the dull thud of something, or more likely someone, hitting the floor.
This time she did scream, and I couldn’t stop her. I picked her up, slung her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and ran toward the safety of the street. We maybe on an island, but it was an island in Texas. The majority of my neighbors had guns. Even pot-smoking, hippie Rose Sterling had a Remington in her front closet. All I had to do was yell, and they’d all come to our rescue.
We never made it that far. As I rounded the corner, my head connected with a sharp object, and I fell with her in my arms. The crunch of footsteps on the dried leaves was the only sound I heard. I shook my head, trying to clear the confusion as I saw the shadows of two looming figures above us.
“Look at you, little girl grown up,” I heard one of the men say through the ringing in my ears. Then a foot connected with my head, and warm blood covered my face.
“Is this your boyfriend? See this, Eddie? Your girlfriend’s fooling around on you.”
“Leave her alone.” My voice sounded eerily calm. They were both surrounding her. I managed to stand. Warm blood covered my eyes. I swung my arm at one of them, but my fist connected with nothing but air. Their laughter, bitter and hallow, rose up around me. A sudden, searing, sharp pain attacked my right leg, causing me to fall back. I tried to get up again, but my body wasn’t cooperating. Sylvie let out a blood-curdling scream. It didn’t sound fearful though. It was strong like a battle cry.
“Don’t hurt him,” she said. It wasn’t a plea as much as a command.
I opened my eyes in time to see her clawing at one of them. I told her to run. At least, I think I did. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the distant sounds of police sirens. We were safe. We would be fine. She would be fine. I fought against the pounding pain in my head and lifted it.
Sylvie’s small frame looked almost possessed, slapping and hitting one of them while the other one tried to push her off.
The popping sound wasn’t loud. It was much too small of a sound for something so heavy.
She went silent. I forgot all about the bump on my head or the raw pain in my leg. The world went quiet. So fucking quiet.
She fell to her side. Her head and shoulder bounced against the grass.
“No!” I screamed over and over again. “No, no, no!”
“Why did you do that? We were supposed to take her,” one of them said to the other.
“It’s better this way. She’s dead,” the older one said. It was a cold, clinical statement.
“No, she’s not,” the younger replied. A surge of hope sprang through me. The shorter man stared at Sylvie, then fell to his knees in front of her. I heard her whimper in pain. I thanked God for that sound. If she could make sound, it meant she wasn’t dead. The shorter man grabbed hold of her hair and lifted her head. He whispered in her ear.
“Put her out of her misery,” the older one said, holding his gun out.
“Don’t do it,” I screamed, but it was the shorter man who stopped him by seizing his arm.
“We have to go.” I didn’t know who was speaking. They both turned toward me, anonymous cloaked figures, meaning only harm. Cowardly bastards. I couldn’t see it, but I sure as hell heard the click of the pistol, followed by the short popping blasts of fire. The stiffness in the air crackled and whirled, leaving a metallic aftertaste in its path as bullets propelled past me. I thought I was dead. Maybe it would have been better if I was.
The sirens grew stronger, and then car doors slammed. More crunching, faster this time. They were leaving, rushing off towards the woods, scurrying like insects. I stared at my girl, willing my body to move toward her. I tried to stand, but I collapsed. I could not put any weight on my leg so I crawled. I dug my fingers as deep as they would go into the hard-packed earth, breaking a few nails as I clawed my way to her. The silver glint of the St Michael’s medallion acted as a beacon against the dark sky. Where the fuck had all the stars gone?
A dark spot clouded over her waist, spilling out like hot lava against her white shirt. It grew exponentially as I drew nearer to her. It was only a few feet, but it might as well have been a million miles. I finally got close enough to press my palm against her waist, applying as much pressure as I could to her wound.
“Sylvie, look at me.”
Her face, ashen and gray, scared the hell out of me. But her chest rose and fell. It gave me hope. “Please, open your eyes.”
She blinked them open, looking confused. “Tex?”
I finally exhaled. I stroked her hair w
ith one hand while keeping my other pressed against her waist. “Listen to me. We’re safe. You’re going to be okay. Do you understand? You’ve been shot, but you’re going to make it.”
“It hurts.”
“I know, baby. I know, but you are a brave girl and you’re going to be fine.” I wasn’t sure if I even believed what I said to her. The warm, sticky blood oozing from her wound seeped through my fingers, no matter how hard I pressed. There was so much of it. I stared at her face, so frail and haunting. An indentation marred the flesh of her cheek. I could make out teeth marks. The bastard had bitten her. While I kept promising her she would be okay, I promised myself I would kill the man who did this to her.
“I’m cold.” Her eyes fluttered. I laid my arm across her body in an effort to warm her.
“Do not close your eyes. Listen to me. You have to fight. You have to survive. Promise me you will.” I tilted her face toward me.
“Stay,” she whispered.
My own tears salted the wound on my cheek. Every cell in my body hurt. The blood from the gash in my head covered my eyes, blinding me. I couldn’t let her see me weak when I needed her to be strong. “I promise I will. Don’t leave me. I need you. I love you, Sylvie Cranston. I love you so much. You have to fight for me. Fight for us.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, closing her eyes. I knew what that meant. She was saying good-bye.
“No!”
Her eyes fluttered and finally opened. I breathed a sigh of relief. “Listen up, girl. This is not our ending! Do you understand?” I heard the crunch of footsteps. “Here,” I called out. “We’re here.”
“Cal, is that you?” Sheriff Smalley called.
“Yes, two ran into the woods, but we’re here. She needs medical attention. She’s been shot, but she’s okay.” I feigned a weak smile. “You’re okay, right? Just tell me you’ll be okay, baby. Say it. I need to hear it.”
“’K-Kay,” she whispered, as her lips started chattering. I kissed them softly.
Several officers ran into the woods, and then there were paramedics surrounding us. They pulled me away from her. “I can’t let go. She’ll bleed out,” I screamed.
“We have her,” one of them replied.
“She’s been shot.”
“So have you.”
Then I couldn’t see her again until we were both on stretchers. I tried to get out, but strong hands pushed me back in and placed straps over me. “I need to go with her,” I demanded when they placed me in another ambulance.
“You can’t, Cal. There’s only one bed in each. You need to calm down and let us do our jobs.”
“I have to. I promised I wouldn’t leave her.” I tried getting up again, but the straps were too strong. I turned my head toward the other stretcher where she laid. “Sylvie, listen to me. I’ll see you soon. Stay awake. I love you. I need you. Do not die on me. Do you hear me, girl? Do you?”
I felt the pinch of a needle and then darkness. I still heard the words of my mantra, but I wasn’t sure if I was saying them aloud anymore.
Chapter 16
Excerpt from Raven Girl
Age 17
I woke up in the hospital room. I could barely move my bandaged leg, but it didn’t hurt. My face was free of blood, but it did hurt, especially my head, which felt like it was lodged in a vice grip. Momma stood next to my bed. She looked as if she’d aged a decade. How long had I been out? She smiled, but the telltale streak of tears and her tired face told me she’d spent many hours crying.
“Momma?” I said, blinking my eyes open.
“Cal, oh, sweetheart. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d lost you. I was praying so hard. I told your father to kick you out of heaven because I needed you here with me. He must have heard me.” I stared down at my leg and back up at her. She cleared her throat. “You’ve been shot in the leg. They found several stray bullets where you were. Praise the Lord, they missed you. There’s no paralysis. They were worried about that at first. You can walk. You may not be able to run for a long time, but you can walk.”
I was only half listening to her. My mind was recalling the events like some horrible nightmare I wanted to forget. “Sylvie?” I asked.
“You need to worry about getting healthy now.”
“Sylvie?” I said in a louder voice. My hands were trembling.
“Shhh, you need to calm down.” She tousled my hair and practically begged me with her eyes not to ask again.
“Sylvie?” I screamed.
My mother shook her head. “She didn’t make it. I’m sorry, son. She lost too much blood.”
“No!”
“Cal, you have to be calm. It’s not good for you to be agitated.”
I sat up, but it felt like my brain fell apart with the movement. I tried to shift my legs off the bed. “She’s alive. She promised me. Where is she? I need to see her.”
“You can’t,” Momma said.
Two nurses came in. I tried to punch the male nurse, but I couldn’t even manage to connect my fist. They laid me back on the bed as if I was a child, fastening cuffs to my wrists. “I know she’s fine. She wouldn’t leave me.”
The female nurse said they were calling for a psych consult. Momma started to cry again.
“Cal, I’m so sorry,” my mother said. The pinch of a needle pricked my arm, and drowsiness set in.
“Momma, I love her,” I croaked, trying to fight against the darkness, but it was too strong for me. The darkness was coming for me, claiming me for membership.
“I know you did, son.”
Chapter 17
Excerpt from Raven Girl
Age 17
I spent several days at the hospital like that. I insisted she was alive. They kept telling me she was dead until I became so hysterical, they shot me up with another needle.
The police and even FBI came to talk to me. They asked me a million questions. I couldn’t tell them much. When it came time for my questions, they refused to answer. I demanded and pled and eventually begged for information. Their answer was to give me another shot to put me out.
It was when the third psychologist came in to analyze me, I realized my leg had healed, but they wouldn’t let me go home until I admitted she was dead. So, I did. After all, I couldn’t very well start my search laid up in the hospital.
Sylvie and her father were cremated. Of course, they were. There was no evidence of her death and no body to view. There was no funeral either. They had no family in Prairie, and apparently no family to speak of, except Uncle Joe. Momma said it wasn’t right and insisted on having a memorial for them at our house. I think she did it as much for me as for Sylvie. She wanted me to have some kind of closure so I could move on. It wasn’t going to work. How could you bury a girl who wasn’t dead?
I hobbled around with one crutch like an old man. The physical therapy helped, but I still limped. My football career was over before it ever started. People said that was part of the reason I was acting so crazy. They were fools. I didn’t care about that.
I preferred to sit in silence. Everyone greeted me with wincing faces or blatant pity. I didn’t want any of it. What I really wanted was to run into the woods and scream. Instead, I sat in the living room with my arms crossed, glaring when mourners went on about what a wonderful girl she’d been. How she was just coming into her beauty or some such nonsense. How tragic her death was. What a bunch of hypocrites. They’d never even known her, choosing to spread malicious gossip instead of embracing the smart, sweet, funny girl I’d grown to love.
Shelly Watson came over and sat next to me. “If only you’d stayed at the dance.” She put her arm around me. “I think you need a friend right now.”
“Get the fuck away from me,” I said.
She did.
I spotted Sheriff Smalley and limped my way over to him.
“Hi Cal, how are you?” he asked cautiously.
“Don’t you have a duty to find the truth? Don’t you care that there’s a cover-up in our town?
”
“Like I told you, it’s not our investigation. The FBI took over. We’re not equipped for this. I’m sorry, son.”
“I am not your son,” I spat.
He flinched at my words.
I felt the slight hindrance of guilt because he was a good man, but I wanted him to do his fucking job.
“The FBI is saying it’s random.,” Smalley said.
“There was nothing random about the shit that happened that night. They knew her name. She knew them.”
“I understand you want justice for her.”
“No, you’re wrong. First and foremost, I want to find her, Sheriff. I want to make sure she is okay, and if she’s not, I want to help her recover. Once I do that, I’ll worry about beating down the assholes who hurt her. Right now, her safety is my priority. Why isn’t it yours?”
“She’s dead, Cal.”
“She’s not. Answer this. How the hell did they get on the island when the ferry stopped running?”
“They must have had a motorboat. The bridge on the south side is up again. Look, Cal, we might be an island, but that doesn’t mean bad things don’t happen here.”
The irony of his statement fueled my bitterness. “You think I don’t know that? This isn’t the first time you’ve let a killer slip through your fingers.”
He winced. I didn’t have to explain I was talking about my father. It was a sucker punch because Sherriff Smalley had taken Dad’s death hard and had searched for his killer for years, even stopping by the house to give us updates.
“Maybe you can talk to the agent assigned to her case?”
“I call him twenty times a day. He won’t return my messages anymore.”
“Well, I would take that as a sign to stop calling. Let them do their jobs.”
I gave up. The man was no use to me.
That was when good old Uncle Joe strolled through the door, wearing a dark suit and his signature shades. He talked to my mother for a while, thanking her for the memorial. He even hugged her.