by Amy Cross
And then, just as abruptly as it started, the witch's shuddering stops again.
“Peace,” I whisper, placing a hand on her bare shoulder, hoping to give her some comfort. “Just rest.”
I wait, and now she seems much more settled.
“He's gone now,” I whisper, leaning close to her right ear. Glancing toward the tunnel, I see that there's no longer any sign of the creature. With the whore having fallen into the river, I suppose the creature has retreated into the darkness again. He's probably confused, just like I'm confused, and maybe he's wondering if his long task has come to an end. He's always seemed a little dumb, so he's probably waiting to see how I react first. Maybe he's been promised the chance to go home too, once this is all over, although deep down I think the creature might be too far gone to ever return to civilization.
Not like me. I'm going home when this is over, back to my family. But first, I need to know if it really is over.
“I'm going to go and check on her,” I say finally, hurrying around the witch and heading over to the tunnel. “If she's really the whore, she can't be dead yet!”
As I make my way along the tunnel, I spot the creature up ahead. He backs into an alcove as I pass, and I hear him grunting and sniffing.
“Don't worry!” I tell him, as I start running. “I'll find out for sure! I'll come back and tell you!”
***
Once I've made my way out of the tunnel system's nearest exit, it takes only a few more minutes for me to clamber down the steep path that leads to the river's edge. I almost slip a couple of times, but fortunately my bare feet are just about able to grip the grass and finally I reach the spot where Ramsey crashed into the water.
Looking up at the cliff-face, I can just about make out the gap that marks the location of the chamber. Then I look toward the sky, and I realize that this is the first time I've left the tunnels in many, many years. For a few seconds, the sight of the dull daytime sky is actually quite mesmerizing, and it takes a while before I remember that I'm out here to perform a specific task. There'll be time to look at the world later. Right now, I have to check to see whether the whore survived the fall.
For the next few minutes, I follow the course of the river, looking for any hint that Ramsey might have managed to get ashore. It's almost impossible to believe that she could have fallen so far without at least losing consciousness, but it's completely impossible to believe that the whore – the real whore, the whore we've been waiting for – could have arrived and then died so quickly. Somehow, some miracle must have saved her, even if there's absolutely no sign of her now.
When I reach the next bend in the river, I stop for a moment and look around.
“Ramsey?” I call out finally. “Are you here? I want to help you!”
I wait, but all I hear in return is the sound of the river rushing past.
What if she's already out of the river? What if she's running?
Setting off once again, I tell myself that it's my duty to keep searching. I spend so much of my time tending to the witch and ensuring that she has no chance of escaping, and sometimes I find myself settling into a rhythm. It must be years since I came out into the forest like this, and I have to admit that my heart is beating much faster than usual. As I climb over a set of rocks and look down into the river, hoping to spot Ramsey floating along, I briefly consider the possibility that I could just keep running forever and never go back into the tunnels. I could be free. I smile at such a dumb idea, but then I freeze as I realize that maybe it's not so dumb after all.
I could run away.
I could make my way to the nearest road, and then I could go into town and find my parents, and then I'd be too far away for the devil to call me back. Even now, I don't sense him anywhere nearby, which maybe means he's not paying me any attention. I could sneak out of the forest and free myself, and go back to what I was before I ever came here. For a few seconds, the thought ripples through my mind, constantly pushing against my natural reticence and telling me that yes, I really do have a chance. I could just abandon the witch, and abandon the tunnels, and leave the devil far behind. After all, he might be all-powerful in this forest, but beyond its limits he has no power whatsoever.
And then I spot her.
Down at the very edge of the river, Ramsey has somehow managed to get caught in a set of glistening black rocks. She looks to be unconscious, and the river's current is strong enough that it might nudge her loose at any moment.
I quickly start climbing down, taking care to keep from falling in, until finally I'm able to reach out and grab Ramsey's left arm. It takes a moment before I'm able to get a proper grip, but eventually I start dragging her away from the rocks, hauling her heavy, soaking wet body up onto the shore. My arms are aching, and once she's safe I slump back, taking a moment to get my breath back before crawling over to her and checking the side of her neck for a pulse.
She's alive.
Just as I expected. It's not quite yet her time to die.
“Can you hear me?” I ask, gently tapping her shoulder. “Ramsey, can you hear me in there?”
I wait, but her eyes remain closed and it's clear that she was knocked out by the fall. I place a hand on the side of her face, and I'm immediately shocked to find that her flesh is ice-cold. I was never told what to do in a situation like this, but I guess I should try to keep her alive so that she can face the devil. All thoughts of escape have left my mind now, and I'm focused on the task at hand. I know deep down that if I try to run, the devil would probably stop me before I reach the forest's edge. I look around for a moment, desperately trying to figure out what I can do to help Ramsey, and then finally I spot a rocky over-crop that might provide a little shelter.
Grabbing her hands, I start dragging her along the riverbank.
“Sorry!” I stammer, as she bumps against a set of stones. “Don't worry, it's not far!”
Since I'm not strong enough to carry her, I have no choice but to drag her all the way into the shelter. The process isn't exactly dignified, but at least I've managed to get her out of the elements, and I immediately get to work trying to build a small fire. That, thankfully, is something I've learned to do over the years, so it's not long before the flames are crackling. I start slipping Ramsey out of her soaked clothes, which I then arrange close to the fire so that they can get dry. In a while, I can head out and find something to eat, but for now I just have to stay close to Ramsey and hope that she wakes up. And then I guess I have to take her back to the tunnels.
“Can you hear me?” I ask again, leaning closer to her. The light of the fire is dancing across one side of her face, but her eyes remain shut. “Ramsey, you need to wake up,” I continue, trying to ignore the hint of desperation in my chest. “Are you okay in there?”
When she still fails to reply, I reach over and force her left eye open, but it slips shut again as soon as I let go. She must have taken a bang to the head, either when she slammed into the river or when she hit the rocks. Either way, she's out cold, but at least there's no sign of an injury. I run my hands through her wet, matted hair, just in case she's split her scalp open, although finally I'm satisfied that there can't be anything seriously wrong with her. There's no blood on my hands, only water and a little dirt. I guess I just have to be patient and wait for her to wake up.
Still, I drag her a closer to the fire, so she can benefit from its warmth. She looks so weak and injured, it's hard to believe that she's still alive. If she was just some ordinary girl with no protection, she'd most likely be dead by now, but she's not an ordinary girl.
She's the one they've been waiting for, and I have to fix her up before I take her back into the tunnels. It's not like I have a choice. After all, she's the one they've been waiting for. And then, once this is all over, the devil will keep his promise and I can go home.
Forty
Sheriff James Kopperud
Today
“And then there was that time you got your head stuck in the r
ocking chair,” I continue, unable to stifle a faint smile. “Remember that? I don't know how you even managed it, but you and Leanne were playing in the front room and suddenly Leanne came running through to ask me for help. And you'd wedged your head in that chair so hard, I had to saw the wood to get you out.”
For a moment, I think back to that day, and I remember how much Ramsey was laughing.
“I still have that chair,” I add. “And you know what? It's still got that big old section that I had to glue back in place after I'd cut you free. I was so mad at the time, but now I can't imagine the chair any other way. Still, if my mother was around to see it, she'd be horrified. That chair was her pride and joy, she was always going on and on about how it was an antique and it needed to be looked after. She never even liked anyone sitting in it. She'd be furious.”
I pause for a moment, still smiling.
There was a time once when Ramsey was just a kid, running around the house having fun. And I was her father and she loved me.
I stare down at her hand, before turning to look at her calm, closed-eyed face. She hasn't responded to me since I got here, and now it's almost midnight. I guess I was kidding myself earlier when I thought that perhaps I could jolt her out of her sleep by talking about the past. This is probably the same mistake that all parents make when they're sitting next to their injured, unconscious kid, but I can't help myself. The logical part of my mind keeps telling me that I should get back to work, that Ramsey will wake up when she's good and ready, but I can't leave her here alone. I have to be sitting right next to her bed when she opens her eyes.
“Leanne is...”
I pause.
I can't tell her that, not now. I'll have to eventually, when she wakes up, but for now I just have to focus on the positives.
Leaning down, I kiss her hand gently. And again, deep in the back of my mind, a flicker of hopes continues to burn, still insisting that maybe – just maybe – my touch might wake her up again.
There's something else, too.
I know it's wrong, but I still have this faint hope that when she does wake up, we can talk again. That maybe, just maybe, she'll forgive me for everything. If I can just talk to her, and make her understand that I've changed, then -
“Ramsey!” a familiar voice yells suddenly, out in the corridor. “Where is she? Where's my daughter?”
I get to my feet, just as Emma comes running into the room. Barely even looking at me, she tosses her bag onto one of the chairs and races to the bed, pushing me out of the way as she leans down to give Ramsey a hug. Already sobbing, she pushes one of the tubes aside slightly so she can get a better look at our daughter's face.
“You're going to be okay,” she stammers. “I got the first flight, as soon as I heard. I'm here, baby, I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave your side until you wake up, do you understand? Mommy's here and she's not going to leave you alone.”
I watch as she kisses the side of Ramsey's face. This is the first time I've seen Emma in more than five years, and to be honest I decided a while ago that it'd be best if we never bumped into one another again. Even those rare phone calls were difficult, but now she's here in the room with me and I can't deny that there's a strange, tightening feeling of discomfort in my chest. It takes a moment before I can put a name to that feeling.
Panic.
“The doctors want to wait until morning,” I say finally. “They figure that's when we'll have a better idea of what's going on. They want to try waking her up, and then they can assess any neurological damage. There's a good chance she'll be absolutely fine.”
I wait, but Emma doesn't respond. It's almost as if she doesn't know I'm here. Either that, or she's ignoring me.
“I think Doctor Peters is still on duty,” I tell her. “I'm sure he'll be happy to fill you in.”
Again, I wait.
Again, she completely ignores me.
“She hasn't said anything while I've been sitting with her,” I add finally. “I've been talking to her, though, and trying to -”
“Will you please shut the fuck up!” Emma hisses suddenly, still not turning to me. “I'm trying to be with my daughter!”
I open my mouth to reply, before realizing that I really don't know what to say. Maybe I should leave the room and give them some time alone, but I can't quite bring myself to take even one more step away from Ramsey. I want to be here.
“It's okay, darling,” she continues, kissing the side of Ramsey's face. “I'm here now. You're not alone anymore.”
“She wasn't alone,” I almost say. “I was here.”
But I don't say that. I doubt it'd go down too well.
“She was found next to the river,” I do say finally, figuring that Emma needs more information. My throat is so dry right now, but I can't stand her silently like a goddamn statue. “We don't know how she got there yet. I had no idea she was anywhere near Deal, not until one of my deputies called me and said they'd found a girl with Ramsey's wallet. I thought she was at home in New York with you.”
“That's where she should have been,” Emma replies, her voice trembling slightly. “Safe, at home with me.”
She kisses Ramsey's cheek again, and then she starts whispering something under her breath that I can't quite make out. I step a little closer, but whatever Emma's saying, she seems to be trying very deliberately to make sure that I don't hear a word. I guess it's none of my business.
“Do you mind?” she snaps suddenly, turning to me again. “Can you please give me a little privacy with my daughter? Why the fuck do you have to be hovering like that?”
“What was she doing in Deal?” I ask.
“Are you asking as her father, or as the local sheriff?”
“Both.”
I wait for an answer, but I know Emma too well and I can tell that she's holding back.
“What was she doing in Deal?” I ask again. “The last time I spoke to Ramsey, she made it very clear that she never wanted to come here ever again. A spit-balling, inbred backwater pit of mutant slime, is how she described this place. I got the impression she was happy in New York. It seemed like the city suited her better.”
“How the fuck would you know what suited her?” Emma snaps. “You don't know anything about her!”
She pauses, staring at Ramsey's face, as if she too is willing her to wake up.
“But yes,” she adds finally, “as a matter of fact, she's very happy in New York and it does suit her. I don't see how Deal could suit any kid, at least not one with a hint of brains or ambition. This kind of backwater is where people go to die, or to drink themselves to death. How's that going, by the way?”
“So why did Ramsey come back here?” I ask, figuring it's best to avoid an argument over the hospital bed. I wouldn't want Ramsey waking up to that.
“You wouldn't understand. She's eighteen years old now, James. She's not the pre-teen kid you let down all those years ago. I can't fucking give you a character sketch of her in five minutes. If you wanted to know her, you should've been a better father.”
“I need to know what she was doing here,” I reply, slipping into professional mode so that I don't have to deal with my ex-wife's anger. Besides, my gut is rumbling with pain and I'm worried another attack is coming on, and I refuse to let Emma see that I'm sick. She'd probably just laugh, anyway. “What were she and Leanne doing out there in the forest?”
“Leanne?” Emma turns to me, clearly shocked. “She was with Leanne? Leanne Halperin?”
“I think so.”
“Well, where's Leanne now? Why don't you ask her?”
I hesitate for a moment, wondering whether I can even get the words out. “Leanne's dead,” I say finally.
She furrows her brow. “How?”
“We found her body yesterday,” I explain, “out in the forest. So I'm sure you can understand why I need to know what's been going on here. I find it very hard to believe that Ramsey and Leanne just happened to be running around in the forest
completely independently, without bumping into one another. There has to be a connection here.”
“Do you think Ramsey was attacked?”
“I think it's a possibility. She has certain marks that are consistent with what happened to Leanne.”
“Well, that's just typical, isn't it?” Emma continues, eyeing me with even greater scorn than before. “Ramsey comes back home to Deal, and within a couple of days she's fighting for her fucking life in a hospital bed, and her best friend is dead. Well done, James. Clearly she's really safe here with you. Being around you is so fucking good for her!”
“If I'd known she was here -”
“Get out!” she sneers. “Just get the hell out of here, okay? We've managed perfectly well without you, and we don't need you now! When Ramsey wakes up, do you really think she wants to see your face smiling back at her? That's the absolute last thing she'd ever want to see, so you need to get out of here and keep away until she's well enough for me to take her home! Do you understand?”
“Emma -”
“Can you put Ramsey's needs before your own?” she adds. “For once? Can you do that, James? Can you just leave her alone? Go do your job, or go drink alone in the corner of some lowlife bar, just don't hang around here like some kind of ghost! And I'll do my job, which is being a mother to my daughter. God knows, at least she has one parent she can rely on.”
I open my mouth to tell her that she's not being fair, but a sudden burst of pain in my gut signals that maybe I should get out of here after all. Swallowing hard, I force myself to stay in my professional mode, which means getting out of here. Besides, Emma's probably right. Ramsey doesn't want to see me.
“I'm going to check on some things with the guys at the station,” I tell Emma, “and I'm going to give you some time alone with Ramsey, but I will be back.”