The Ruth Valley Missing

by Amber West

  This time, as I opened the door, the cold hit me again, but this time in silence. I stepped outside the small wooden house, trying to discern where I might be. I was in the woods, that much I knew. But was I even still in town?

  My only option was to pick a direction and start walking. Unsure of whether the torturers would return, I opted to follow the pathway that led away from the house, but from a distance, through the woods rather than on the actual path. Branches poked and grabbed at me, and the feeling of something crawling on my skin kept me swatting at the air the entire way. After a while, the path dumped into another one, diverging in two directions. Without knowing why I headed right.

  When I reached the street, I recognized my surroundings. I was a few blocks up from the Doc’s office. I tried to run, but the pain was too much. Willing my legs to keep moving and trying to ignore the occasional gush of warmth spilling from my side, I kept on toward the Doc’s. I made it there, feeling weaker with every minute that passed, only to find both the front and back doors locked.

  Great, I thought, the Doc would be the one person in town who locks his doors.

  I slammed the butt of the poker through the glass window next to the door, clearing enough of the glass to get my hand in to unlock and open it. Once in, I started gathering supplies. I kept trying to slow my breathing, attempting to artificially calm myself as I threw saline, gauze, pain killers, and a suture kit into a an old shopping bag I found lying around.

  I reluctantly sat as the room swayed. I taped large patches of gauze over the wound, a temporary fix until I could get a better look. I was trying to decide what my next move was; stay here and try to patch myself up for real before moving on, or keep running.

  Click.

  The sound of the front door set my heart racing faster. I jumped out of the office chair I was resting in and pressed my body against the wall. I looked around, realizing I had set the poker down by the door when I came inside. I couldn’t see any place to hide, or anything to use as a weapon.

  I held my breath, feeling like every exhale would betray my location. A beam of light shot down the hallway, the beam narrowing as someone drew closer. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying not to think about what was going to happen to me when I was inevitably found.

  “Police! Come out!”

  “Jack?!”

  Jack swung around the corner, gun and flashlight pointing at me. “James! Is there someone else here?”

  I shook my head, the lump in my throat leaving me unable to speak. Jack looked down at my blood soaked shirt, and placed his gun in its holster. He came around to my side, gently putting an arm around me. “Can you make it to the car?”

  We made it to the Jeep, and I laid in the passenger seat. Jack took off, speeding through the small town streets.

  “You’re not taking me to Doc Matthews house, are you?”

  “Yes. We don’t have a new doc yet.”

  “Take me to your house.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve said it yourself, he’s an old drunk. This late in the evening I doubt he is even in any condition to stand, let alone help me out. I’m better off without him.”

  Jack looked unsure, but took a quick turn, heading towards the familiar dead end.

  The pain of getting out of the Jeep overwhelmed me, and I collapsed forward into Jack, knocking him over. He sat on the grass in front of the house, holding me. Through tears I whispered, “Please, just get me inside.”

  Jack lifted me off the ground, and I let out a cry as I felt the skin around my freshly acquired burn pull. “Oh, James, I’m so sorry.”

  I shook my head and wrapped my arms tight around his neck. As he walked in the house he pressed his cheek against the top of my head. “Tell me what you need.”

  I kept my eyes squeezed shut, my head buried in his chest. “A mirror. Lots of light. And the bag I brought from the Doc’s office.”

  He carried me upstairs, and sat me down on the floor of his bathroom, the bag of supplies next to me. I opened my eyes, looking at the full length mirror along the inside of the door and started laying out the supplies, popping pain pills as I did. I unbuttoned my shirt, and slowly rolled my camisole up the length of my torso, kicking the wall across from me as it stuck to my skin, pulling at my wounds.

  Jack reached for my hand, balled up in a fist as I tried to fight past the pain. “What can I do now?”

  “Whiskey. Lots of whiskey.”

  ~~~

  I stared at the slices across my side, grateful at least they were clean cuts. The bleeding slowed, but the cuts were deep and needed stitching.

  I injected an anesthetic to numb the area, then after a shot of whiskey, I set about stitching my own wounds. At first, I felt only the tug of the “thread”, and while watching each stitch made me want to pass out, I wasn’t in terrible pain. Jack sat there in silence, his hand to his mouth. I wasn’t sure if it was there out of shock, awe, or nausea. Partway through the third gash, I plunged the needle in and stopped, punching the floor and kicking the wall.

  “What is it?” Jack kneeled next to me, a hand on my shoulder. I pushed him away, breathing heavily, then slowly spoke, grunting.

  “Not. Numb.”

  I kept my hand out, keeping him back until I got past the rush of pain I’d just inflicted on myself. I looked at the empty bottle of local anesthesia on the floor, then at the wound, the needle dangling from it.

  “Jack? Have you ever sewn anything?”

  He answered slowly, “Yes.”

  “I only need you to do a few stitches.”

  “James, I don’t know if I can—”

  I grabbed his hand and pulled him close, my hands shaking. “I need you to do this. I can’t keep my hands steady enough through the pain. I’ll talk you through it.”

  I laid flat on the floor. “You don’t want to go very deep, but you need to go far enough that the skin doesn’t break.”

  Jack was kneeling over me, looking unsure for the first time since we met. “You can do this. I trust you.”

  He took a deep breath and pushed the needle in and through the other side. I used every bit of strength I had to keep from moving away from the pain. I looked over at mirror to see the stitch, blinking away the tears. “Good. That’s it. Now do exactly that a few more times. Wait. Hold on.” I grabbed the bottle of whiskey, now wedged between me and the mirror and took a sip. “Ok. Go.”

  I held back a scream as the room seemed to rock back and forth. After a while, the pain lessened, and I heard Jack saying my name. I opened my eyes and looked up. Jack was staring down at me, his hand stroking my hair. “It’s done.”

  “See, I knew you could do it.” I slurred, grabbing the whiskey and taking another sip. “Help me up?”

  Jack pushed an arm behind me, pulling me into a sitting position, then moved his arm down around my hips to help me up. As he did, I felt a whole new pain hit, causing me to wince and stumble. Jack pulled his arm away. “What in the world...”

  He pulled further away, and I looked over my shoulder to see the reddened blister on the small of my back. A familiar looking fleur de lis.

  Chapter 28

  I pulled the oversized sweatpants on, careful to leave the waistband below my newly acquired brand, then pulled one of Jack’s t-shirts over my head, pulling it down slowly, away from the wounds. I leaned against the bed, trying to hoist myself up unsuccessfully, stopping as the motion pulled at my stitches.

  “Let me help.” Jack had entered the room, setting a glass of water on the dresser and rushing over to help me into the bed. I eased into the pillows as Jack pulled the comforter over me, the combination of pain meds and whiskey hitting me hard as I laid back.

  “Jack...”

  “Shhh. You need to sleep right now. We can talk about everything in the morning.” He leaned over me, kissed my forehead, then shut off the light as he left the room. The room spun as I started to fall asleep.

  Alone in the dark, eyes shut, I heard the whoosh of fabric an
d footsteps coming toward me. I tossed and turned as the sweet smell of burning flesh and lavender choked out the air around me, making it impossible for me to breathe. I tried to yell, but nothing would come out.

  “James.” I shot up from under the blankets. Jack was sitting next to me in the dark. “You were screaming. It’s just a bad dream.”

  I shook my head, my face wet with tears, my body soaked in sweat. “It’s not a dream. They’re real. They’re going to kill me.”

  “No one is going to hurt you. I won’t let that happen.” He crawled under the comforter, laying back into the pillows and pulled me close, laying my head on his chest. “I’ll be right here.”

  I curled up against him, shaking and sniffling. Slowly, the shaking subsided. With Jack’s arms around me, I drifted off.

  ~~~

  Awaking to the sound of running water, I hugged a pillow to my chest. I grabbed the bottle of pills from the nightstand, hoping to numb the pain that sleep kept at bay. Pangs of hunger gnawed at my stomach, but the pain of moving from the warm embrace of the bed outweighed my desire for food.

  I closed my eyes, only to open them again when I heard my name come softly from the doorway. Jack stood there, hair wet and disheveled, in jeans and a t-shirt.

  “I’m headed downstairs. I’ll bring up some breakfast if you’re up to it.”

  I blinked, the weight of my eyelids heavy, and nodded. Jack smiled and disappeared as I faded in and out, listening to the rhythmic sounds of pans and dishes clink below.

  When I opened my eyes again, I was greeted to a plate of eggs, toast, and juice on a tray. Jack sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for me to sit up before placing the tray in front of me.

  I started slowly, the vicodin in my system leaving me queasy, but gained momentum as I continued. I sipped my orange juice in silence, Jack sitting there, watching.

  “If I didn’t feel so miserable, I’d be a lot more self-conscious about you staring at me while I eat,” I joked.

  Jack gave me a partial smile. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “It’s ok. I’m a little more awake now.”

  Jack placed his hand on my leg. “Are you up to talking about what happened?”

  I chewed on a slice of toast, slowly and quietly. I didn’t know exactly how to start telling him what happened. I took a deep breath and hesitated. ”I’m not sure what happened. I was in the woods, being held. But I don’t know who they were or why.”

  “A house in the woods? There’s nothing out there, James.”

  “I was there, Jack. I don’t know where exactly, but I didn’t imagine it.” I paused, closing my eyes before continuing, “I know it sounds crazy, but I think Sister Marjorie was there.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  I put down my orange juice. “I can’t be certain. But I know...I know...that smell...I know it...” I faded out, the lump in my throat forming again, the tears following the heavily traveled path down my face.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. We don’t need to figure anything out right now.”

  I shook my head. “I’m just in a lot of pain. And tired.” I pushed the tray of food away from me, Jack picking it up and setting it on the floor. The vicodin was already taking its effect. “I’m gonna lay back down for a while.”

  “Of course. Rest.”

  Jack disappeared through the door, while I fell back asleep.

  Chapter 29

  It had been a couple of days since I left the bedroom at Jack’s let alone the house. The combination of vicodin and the fear of what was next kept me from venturing beyond the safety of the little room. Jack brought me meals, checked in on me, and made me feel safe. It was difficult to abandon that feeling.

  But here I was, standing on the porch, breathing in the early morning air, the cold freezing the wet hair piled on top of my head.

  “Geez, James, what are you doing out here?” Jack walked up behind me, throwing a coat over my bare arms and handing me a cup of coffee.

  “I needed to breathe some fresh air. Anyways,” I turned to face him, “you must be tired of waiting on me.”

  I meant to make a joke, but Jack looked at me with nothing but concern on his face. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t want you pushing yourself to get on your feet until you’re ready.”

  Jack sat on the front porch swing, patting the bench for me to join him. I grabbed my coffee and sat next to him. He threw an arm around me and pushed off, making the swing sway as I gingerly tucked my legs underneath me. He looked at me and asked, “What are you going to do now?”

  I had been thinking for some time about that question, and had yet to come up with a definitive answer. “I don’t know. I feel like I need to figure out what happened to me.”

  “But James, what if someone comes after you again?” I closed my eyes, feeling the pain of everything all over. “If they did this much the first time, I don’t want to think about what they might do next time.”

  “I know. But if they did it to me...” I stopped short as we watched a figure walk up the long wooded driveway to the porch. As the figure came close enough into view, the white and black collar made my heart stop.

  Father Mike.

  Jack shot up off the bench, but I grabbed his arm, pulling him back. He looked down at me and I whispered, “It’s fine.”

  Jack nodded, but refused to sit down, sliding my hand down into his. Father Mike walked up the steps, greeting us both. “I heard that you weren’t doing well, Jameson. Thought I would stop by and see how you are.”

  I felt Jack’s grip tighten. “Yeah, awful stomach bug she caught. Still reeling a bit from it.”

  I was surprised but grateful at Jack’s quick thinking. I wasn’t ready to share what happened with anyone. Particularly Father Mike.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  I spoke up. “Thank you, Mike. Can we offer you something to drink? Coffee, tea?”

  “Coffee would be great.”

  Jack was still squeezing my hand, now looking down at me, eyes narrowed. “Do you mind getting the Father some coffee, Jack?”

  He answered, motionless. “I’ll have to make a fresh pot.”

  “We’ll catch up while you make some more. I could use some myself.” I squeezed his hand back, trying to let him know that it was okay to leave me alone.

  “I’ll be right back,” he finally answered, his jaw clenched. As he headed inside, Father Mike sat down on the swing. He waited a moment before speaking.

  “So you’re doing well now, Jameson?”

  “Getting there.”

  He stared at me, a puzzled look on his face. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Actually, Father, I need to thank you.”

  “Thank me?”

  “Yes. You know that issue we discussed? About moral obligation?”

  “Yes,” he replied slowly.

  “I think you are right. I think that it would be unwise to take action solely based on a gut feeling. It’s important to have evidence of wrongdoing before moving forward.”

  “That seems wise.”

  “But at the same time, I think it is important to do everything you can to help your brother. So if you think harm could come to someone by not acting, then it’s on you to do what you can to find evidence so you can act. Don’t you think?”

  Father Mike stared at me, chewing on his bottom lip, his eye giving a slight twitch. As I adjusted in my seat, I felt a pull on one of my stitches and winced.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” Father Mike leaned in, placing a hand on my arm as I sat forward, breathing slowly past the pain.

  “You don’t get to ask that,” I said, yanking my arm away.

  He stepped back, brow furrowed, as Jack came out of the door. “Looks like I still had a cup in the pot.” Jack held the coffee out to Mike. “James, I’ve got a fresh pot brewing for you.”

  Mike straightened and held up his hand, refusing the cup. “Thank you, but I remembered I have somewhere I ne
ed to be. You’ll both forgive me.”

  “Of course,” I smiled.

  “I’ll see you both on Sunday?”

  Jack and I both nodded and Father Mike headed down the drive. Once out of view, I slumped in my seat, letting out a sigh. Jack sat down next to me. “What was that about, James?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  But I was starting to get some ideas.

  Chapter 30

  I sat in the diner, writing furiously in my notebook, stopping only to shovel in heaps of the special of the day, beef pot pie.

  “You’re quiet today. And hungry.” Emma motioned towards my empty dish. I looked up, feeling badly for saying barely a word since I entered.

  “Sorry, Emma. Still feeling a little out of it since I was sick.”

  She nodded, “At least you have your appetite, right?”

  I nodded. “Speaking of which, what do you recommend for dessert today?”

  “We have a real nice sweet potato pie. Freshly whipped cream on top.”

  “Bring it on.”

  Emma went off as I scanned through the town newsletter and continued making notes. Sunday there was a potluck dinner right after church, all the parishioners encouraged to stay, eat, and socialize. It was precisely what I needed.

  “You gonna be there?” Emma was back with my pie, leaning over my shoulder staring at the newsletter. I casually flipped my notebook over.

  “Maybe. If I’m feeling up to it.”

  Emma nodded, “I understand. I want you to come, but don’t push yourself. I miss havin’ you around. Don’t want you gettin’ sick again.”

  “Me neither.”

  Emma took a quick look around and sat for minute, leaning in. “I heard Jack took care of you while you were sick. So romantic!”

  “Probably more so if I wasn’t so miserable most of the time.” I thought about walking Jack through stitching me up and the bathroom rug covered in my blood. “Still romantic though, I guess.”