The Ridge

by John Rector

Neither of them wanted to make waves.

  So they moved on, slipping back into old patterns and routines, leaving all the ugly thoughts behind.

  At first it seemed to work, and they were happy.

  But then, three days after Megan watched her die, Rachel Addison opened her front door and stepped outside.

  12

  Megan was driving home from the plaza when she saw her, moving slowly across her yard toward her rosebushes.

  At first, she hardly recognized her.

  Rachel was wearing the same gold sundress from the night in the garage, but one of the shoulder straps had been torn free, and there was a dark, greasy stain along the back. Her hair fell around her shoulders, tangled and caked with dirt.

  Megan hit the brakes, hard, and the car skidded to a stop in the middle of the street. She was aware of the low death rattle coming from the Corsica’s engine, and the rapid pass of her breath in her throat, but she barely noticed either.

  All she could do was stare.

  Rachel was carrying her pink-handled pruning shears in one hand and the white plastic bucket in the other, and when she got to the rosebushes, she stopped and dropped the bucket on the grass. It hit the ground at an angle and tipped onto its side, but Rachel didn’t seem to notice.

  Megan watched as she knelt in front of the rosebush, reached in bare-handed, and randomly cut away one of the branches, roses and all. Then she dropped the severed branch on the ground next to the overturned bucket and reached for another.

  She cut them out, one at a time.

  After a while, Megan’s hands started to ache, and she realized she was squeezing the steering wheel. She pried her fingers loose and shook her hands out, rubbing one with the other.

  Behind her, someone honked.

  Megan glanced up in the rearview and waved them by.

  The driver shook his head and sped around her. She felt him staring at her as he passed, but she didn’t care.

  She didn’t even look at him.

  Her focus was on Rachel, kneeling in her garden, and slowly cutting a hole through the center of her rosebush.

  After the second car passed, Megan realized she was drawing attention, so she drove to her house and parked in the garage. But instead of going inside, she walked down and watched Rachel from the end of her driveway.

  Then the phone rang.

  Megan considered letting it go, but then she thought it might be Tyler, so she ran inside and picked it up.

  It was Fiona.

  “Bad news,” she said. “Looks like I’m not going to be able to go on our walk in the morning.”

  Megan carried the phone into the living room and looked out the front window at Rachel. “What happened?”

  “I have to go in early tomorrow,” she said. “One of the units in my section is on the fritz, and I have to arrange to get it taken off the grid.”

  “I thought you were an administrator?”

  “I am, and that makes me a supervisor. I’m responsible for all the test units in my section.” She paused. “It’s a wide umbrella. Not all that interesting.”

  Megan knew from hearing Tyler talk about his job that she was probably right, but she didn’t say that to her.

  “Too bad you can’t go,” Megan said. “I was looking forward to it.”

  “Go by yourself.”

  “It’s not the same.”

  “Fresh air is good for the mind,” Fiona said. “Don’t let me keep you.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Outside, Rachel stood up and grabbed the overturned bucket, ignoring the large pile of cut branches lying on the grass. She carried the empty bucket back to the garage and disappeared from view behind the hedges.

  “Listen,” Megan said. “Can we talk later? I just got back from the store, and I—”

  “Of course.” Fiona cut her off. “I only wanted to tell you the bad news about tomorrow. Sorry again for skipping out on you like this.”

  After they hung up, Megan stayed at the window and waited for Rachel to return. When she didn’t, Megan carried the phone into the kitchen and set it in the cradle. Then she went outside and walked down the street, heading for Rachel’s house.

  Megan didn’t think about what she was doing, only that she had to have a closer look. She had to see Rachel up close, had to talk to her, had to hear her voice. Because even though she’d seen her outside with her own eyes, part of her still didn’t believe she was real.

  When she got to Rachel’s house, she went around the side of the garage and looked down the path. Rachel wasn’t there, and the side door was closed.

  Megan cut across the yard to the porch and climbed the steps to the front door and rang the bell.

  She heard the familiar two-toned chime from deep inside the house and felt her first real tinge of fear. She did her best to push it down and bury it.

  No one answered the door.

  Megan rang again, and this time she stepped closer and listened for movement inside.

  Nothing.

  Megan stood on the porch, waiting. She stared down at the two ceramic turtles beside the door and tried to figure out what to do next.

  She could hear Tyler’s voice in her head telling her to go home, to leave Rachel alone, but it was too late for that. She knew if she went home, she’d never have the courage to come back, and that wasn’t an option.

  She had to know.

  Megan stepped off the porch and crossed the yard to the side of the house and stopped next to the pile of newly cut branches lying on the grass next to the rosebush. She bent forward and examined the hole in the center of the bush, and once again she heard Tyler’s voice, whispering to her, telling her that it was none of her business.

  This time, she almost listened.

  Instead, she turned away from the rosebushes and walked around to the side of the house and tried to look in through the dining room window. There was a break in the curtains, but it was too high up for her to see, so she looked around the empty yard for something to stand on.

  Then she remembered.

  Megan ran back to the porch and picked up one of the ceramic turtles. It was heavier than she’d expected, and the muscles in her arms burned as she carried it to the side of the house and set it under the window.

  Once it was in place, she stepped up and looked through the break in the curtains, into the dining room.

  At first, she didn’t understand what she was seeing.

  The large oak table had been pushed sideways against the wall, and all the chairs had been overturned. There was broken china scattered across the floor, and one corner of the Persian rug looked black and charred.

  On the other side of the room, she could see the bar-top counter that separated the dining room from the kitchen. The surface was covered with dirt, and behind it, the refrigerator was open, its contents spilling out, rotting on the floor.

  “What in the hell?”

  Megan pressed her face against the glass, cupping her hands around her eyes to block the glare from the sun. It helped, and she stood there for a long time, trying to make sense of the scene.

  But she couldn’t.

  She was still focused on the room when she felt something soft, like a cold breath, brush against the back of her neck.

  She spun around, fast.

  Rachel was standing behind her, hand outstretched, fingers reaching toward her.

  Megan jerked away. Her foot slipped off the back of the turtle, and she fell, landing hard in the grass. An electric jolt shivered along her arm, from her elbow to her shoulder. There was no pain, but when she tried to push herself up, her arm folded under her.

  Megan rolled onto her back and pushed away with her legs until she could get her feet under her and stand up.

  Rachel watched, silent.

  “I rang the bell,” Megan said, backing away. “No one answered, so I came around here. I didn’t mean to—”

  Rachel stepped closer.

  There was a deep black bruise on he
r cheek, and the white of her right eye was solid red. Megan could see angry scratches and cuts on her hands and up her arms, and there were several bald patches on her scalp, as if entire chunks of hair had been ripped away.

  Megan tried to tell her again that she was sorry, but before she could get the words out, the smell hit hard.

  Ripe and rotting.

  It rolled off Rachel in waves, and Megan took another step back, trying to breathe, her eyes watering.

  Rachel moved with her, matching each step.

  Megan wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t go. When she opened her mouth, the words stuck in her throat, and all she could do was stare.

  Finally, she found her voice.

  “What happened to you?”

  Rachel paused midstep.

  Megan watched as the edges of her lips split apart, curling both up and down at the same time, showing a row of perfectly white teeth.

  It took a minute before she understood.

  She’s smiling at me.

  Again, the urge to run tore through her.

  Megan turned and moved, fast, across the yard and back toward the sidewalk and into the street. Once she was on her side of the road, she glanced over her shoulder.

  Rachel was following her.

  Moving slowly, smiling.

  Megan ran the rest of the way to her house, her breath coming out in small cries. When she reached her front door, she looked over her shoulder and saw Rachel cutting across the street, her eyes focused on her.

  Megan hurried inside and shut the door. She pressed against it and stared out through the peephole, her breath quick, her heart beating hard in her chest.

  It seemed like forever before Rachel came into view.

  She moved slowly, stopping at the end of the walkway and looking up at the house, her gold sundress fluttering gently in the wind, the smile wide on her face.

  Megan leaned back against the door. Her heart was pounding so hard that her ribs ached, and she couldn’t catch her breath. For a moment, the floor seemed to fall away underneath her, and she bent forward, hands on her knees, trying to calm down.

  Deep, easy breaths.

  Eventually, she felt her mind begin to settle, and her pulse start to slow. When she was steady enough, she stood up and looked out the peephole.

  Rachel was standing at the foot of the steps.

  Megan jumped away, her hands pressed against her lips, holding back a scream.

  The room was silent.

  Then she heard footsteps outside the door, moving slowly up onto the porch.

  Megan wanted to run.

  A voice in her head screamed at her, telling her to get out of the house, to go through the kitchen and out the back, and to keep running until she was far, far away.

  But her legs wouldn’t move, and all she could do was stand there and stare at the closed door.

  Several seconds went by before she noticed the door was unlocked.

  Megan made a sharp sound and lurched forward. She fumbled for the lock, turned it, and heard the bolt click into place. Then she stepped back, her legs trembling under her, and listened for movement.

  There was nothing.

  Slowly, Megan inched closer, forcing herself to breathe. When she reached the door, she leaned in and looked out through the peephole.

  Rachel was looking in from the other side.

  Megan bit the insides of her cheeks, hard, and this time when the voice in her head screamed at her, telling her to get out of the house, she listened.

  She was about to run when something changed.

  Rachel’s body seemed to stiffen, and she turned away from the door. She paused for a moment, then walked down the porch steps and along the path toward the street. When she reached the sidewalk, she turned right and headed home.

  She never looked back.

  Once Rachel was gone, Megan felt the strength in her legs drain away, and she slid down to the floor. There were tears running along her cheeks, and she wiped them away before pulling her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her knees, squeezing them tight.

  It was a long time before the shaking stopped.

  13

  Megan took her suitcase from the top shelf of the closet and opened it on the bed. She went to the dresser and started pulling clothes from the drawers. She only needed enough for a few days. Anything else she could pick up on the road, or back in Chicago.

  All that mattered was getting away.

  Once she finished packing, Megan carried the suitcase downstairs and set it by the front door. Then she went into the kitchen and took a pen and notepad from the drawer and sat at the dining room table.

  At the top of the page, she wrote:

  Tyler,

  And stopped.

  She’d thought writing the note would be easy, but as she stared down at the blank page, she realized that she had no idea what to say. There was so much to tell him, and she knew she couldn’t put it all down in a letter.

  She decided to keep it simple.

  Under his name, she wrote:

  I think we both knew this was coming for a while now, and I hope you’re not too surprised that I’ve decided to leave. All I can say is that I’m sorry.

  You should know that my decision has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with this new life and my place in it. It’s become obvious to me over the past few months that I’m not the type of person who can live here, and for that I’m truly sorry.

  So I’m going home.

  I believe it’s the best thing for me, and for both of us.

  I’ll call you once I get to the city and let you know where I’ll be staying. I’m going to try and find a place in our old neighborhood. It won’t be the same without you, but it’s all I know. I hope you decide to join me.

  I’ll be waiting.

  I love you.

  Megan read the note over twice before signing it. Then she tore the page out, folded it in half, and set it on the kitchen counter.

  She paused.

  Seeing the note sitting there touched something inside of her, and she allowed herself a minute to take a step back and think about Tyler and how her leaving was going to affect him. She didn’t know if she was making the right choice, or if she could really drive away and leave him behind without seeing him one more time.

  Megan picked up the note and read it over again.

  No, it wasn’t enough.

  Tyler deserved better, but she didn’t know how she could make him understand. The last time they’d talked about Rachel, it’d almost broken them. If she brought her up again, told him what’d happened, all he’d hear was that Rachel caught her looking in her window and chased her off.

  Nothing else she had to say would matter.

  And then the fighting would start again, spiraling away from them both, neither willing to bend, and this time she wasn’t sure they’d survive.

  Still, he deserved more than a note.

  It occurred to her that maybe this time he’d understand. He knew how unhappy she was living in Willow Ridge, and she thought if she was honest and told him she couldn’t stay, maybe he’d accept it. She knew he wouldn’t be happy, but at least she wouldn’t be sneaking away while he was at work.

  It was a small chance, but still a chance.

  Megan glanced down at the note in her hand, hesitated, and then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the trash under the sink. She put the pen and notebook back in the drawer, then walked down the hall to the front door.

  She took her suitcase and started up the stairs to the bedroom to unpack. She’d only taken a few steps when the image of Rachel following her home flashed in her mind.

  Megan went back down.

  She set the suitcase by the front door and pulled out two days’ worth of clothes. Then she took a day bag from the closet, stuffed the clothes inside, and carried it out to the garage.

  She opened the Corsica’s trunk and set the bag inside.

  It wasn’t much, but k
nowing it was there in case she needed to leave in a hurry made her feel better.

  That night, Tyler came home late.

  Megan was in bed, but every time she closed her eyes, all she saw was Rachel’s bruised face, making it impossible to sleep.

  Tyler moved softly through the room, and for a while she let him. Eventually, she said, “It’s okay. I’m awake.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to be quiet.”

  “It wasn’t you.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  She told him it was, then said, “I can’t sleep.”

  Tyler sat next to her on the bed, and she felt the mattress give under his weight. He put a hand on her hip.

  “Want to talk?”

  She knew this was her chance, and every part of her wanted to tell him what’d happened, how she’d almost left, but when she tried, the words wouldn’t come.

  “Megs, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Just tired.”

  Tyler leaned in and kissed her head. Then he got up and finished getting ready for bed. When he slid in next to her and put his arm around her shoulder, Megan pushed back against him and felt his body envelop hers.

  It almost made her happy she’d decided to stay.

  “You’re shaking,” Tyler said. “Are you cold?”

  Megan wiped the tears from her cheeks. “No, I’m not cold.”

  For a while, they were both quiet.

  Then Tyler said, “You think I can’t tell when you’re upset, but I can.”

  The comment surprised her, but she did her best not to show it. Instead, she whispered, “I know.”

  “You can talk to me,” he said. “About anything.”

  Megan thought about this, wondering if it was true. She didn’t believe it was, but she knew he did, and maybe that was good enough.

  “What if I wanted to talk about going back home?”

  “To Chicago?”

  She nodded, silent.

  “Then I’d tell you I have good news,” he said. “I put in the request for time off today, and as soon as it clears, we’re all set. We’ll take a few days and—”

  “Not a trip.” She rolled over and faced him. “What if I wanted to go back home for good?”

  It was too dark to see his face, but Megan felt his body tense next to hers, and he pulled away. When he spoke again, there was a ragged edge to his voice.