Echoes (Book 1): Echoes

by Caplan, A. M.

  A small splash. That would be what she left behind. An ungraceful ripple in rushing water, a barely perceptible disturbance, swallowed whole and whisked away. Without a doubt, she was afraid of dying, but at this moment, under the weight of all these moments, she was sagging under the burden of living.

  With a whoosh, a gust of icy wind pushed off by a passing car gave her a nudge of encouragement. Even the air wanted to tip the scales, bullying her toward the edge of the rusty girder. Chips of paint whirled away on the wind like crusty brown snowflakes.

  It would probably hurt for a moment, being chewed up by the freezing river with its jagged border of ice like ugly broken teeth. But hurt, she had learned, was cumulative. What was one more little hurt on top of so many other hurts?

  Leaning forward, one freezing hand wrapped around the railing, she held the other hand out as far as it would reach. Palm flat and facing up, she weighed the resistance of the frigid air against the nothingness of empty space. When she closed her eyes the weights balanced, and she floated. It was simpler here in the middle of the bridge, above everything, where there was only the most basic of truths. You can hold on, or you can let go.

  “Hannah. No.”

  The voice, so close, startled her. She lost her grip.

  She thought she heard her name again as she fell.

  8

  The hurt was everywhere. She could feel it deep in the center of every bone and poking its way out from the inside of her skull. It needled its way up and down her spine and over every square inch of bare skin. The hurt and the cold. She was so cold she couldn’t manage to shiver, her entire body locked in ice and clenched as tightly as a fist. The very air inside her body felt solid, like a congealed, viscous fluid too thick for her lungs to push out.

  And if that wasn’t enough, suddenly the pain, this incredible pain beyond anything she’d ever experienced, somehow managed to get worse. Hannah was dropping into a pool of fire. She tried to scream but nothing came out of her raw throat.

  The burning was creeping slowly inward, chewing into her skin, eating away at her flesh. She couldn’t move, couldn’t thrash against the heat on the outside that fought an inch-by-inch battle against the razor-sharp frozenness inside her.

  She hadn’t expected it to be like this, not remotely. Didn’t anyone know this was what came after? Was this what dying had earned her? What the hell was wrong with her? It would have been better to suffer though life completely out of her mind than this. What a goddamn coward she was, to waste even a single day—no matter how miserable, no matter how painful—when this was what there was to look forward to. Was this it, an eternity of fire and ice fighting to see which could cause the most pain? This was her punishment for wasting so much perfectly good time not appreciating being alive.

  The fire sloshed around her wetly and Hannah grew aware of solid bounds against her body. Strange how insanely hot it felt, considering the distinct crack as she clove open the ice on the river with her body. Maybe she was in hell. She’d been pretty sure there wasn’t really hell; the joke was on her. Hannah had done some things she wasn’t especially proud of, but if she was in hell, the bar for admission must be pretty low.

  It had to be that she was still dying. Maybe the impact hadn’t killed her instantly. She remembered reading, somewhere far away, in another lifetime, that after the intense coldness the late stages of hypothermia felt like gentle warmth, followed by peaceful drifting off to sleep. But this was anything but peaceful; this was more like being inside a volcano.

  It hurt so badly, still hurt in the most unimaginable way, but suddenly a little part of her could take it. The pain abated enough for her to take a full breath, and she wasn’t so locked in ice. Here it was then; this must be the dying part, the growing warm and drifting off. She was so very scared. In the place beyond the hurt, through the burning and freezing, she was coherent enough to be terrified at knowing she was going to die.

  But she didn’t fade away. The pain did, just a little more. It was still excruciating, but less so. With the abatement of the hurt, the world outside started to come back into focus. She could hear the slop of water and the sound of soft, even breathing.

  “Hannah, can you hear me?” a gravelly voice said, rumbly and deep like a big jungle cat. “Wake up, Hannah.” She struggled to open her eyes, able to force one to oblige just a crack; the other didn’t want to cooperate. Through the sliver all she could see was haze and a blurry figure. She let her eye fall shut again.

  “Hannah, you need to wake up. Open your eyes.”

  The words were more urgent, and there was a faint pressure against her face that felt like a hundred bees stinging her cheek. She forced her eye open again. Above her was the white, curved ceiling of her small bathroom. The solidness against her back was the old enamel of her ancient claw-foot tub, filled to overflowing with water. This was not what she had expected.

  She couldn’t get her head to move so she could look around. All the parts of her body were refusing to work together the way they were supposed to. Closing her eye again, she decided it was easier to sit here petrified.

  “Are you awake, Hannah?”

  The voice was close enough now for her to feel the movement of breath against her ear. With another squinting look—out of the corner of her eye at an angle that made her already painful head scream—she saw the owner of the low voice.

  There he was again, still following her, close enough for her to see in misty detail. His eyes were staring at her intently, a strange shade that reminded her of something—a star sapphire, or the silvery blue butterflies that drifted across her lawn in the summer.

  She had seen him enough times, though for the first time she could hear him, even feel the warmth from where his hand had touched her face, and she wondered what that meant. Hannah let her eye close again and sat in the blackness behind her lids, not knowing if when she opened them next everything would have changed yet again. It probably would, so she kept her eye closed, because she wasn’t prepared for that to happen again quite yet.

  There was silence for a moment, the only sound breathing and the soft slosh of water. The pain abated some more as well, and with that came a great sense of relief. Where before she hadn’t been so sure, Hannah was right now certain she was still alive, and she was extremely grateful for it.

  “Hannah, I know you can hear me. You need to open your eyes.”

  She was most certainly alive, but was she in her right mind? That was still in question, but it had been for so long it wasn’t really her prime concern at the moment. The pain was more urgent. Though marginally better, she still hurt absolutely everywhere, in a sickeningly throbbing way that turned her stomach.

  “Open your eyes, Hannah.” He sounded different; the words had an edge to them. She obliged, one eye mostly cooperating, the other glued shut. It hurt too much and suddenly she heaved from the pain, vomiting water and bile. Unable to move, her throat filled and she began to choke. Warm hands tipped her forward and her airway cleared.

  There was a pop and a sucking sound and the water began to drain from the tub. Her skin began to be exposed an inch at a time, but it felt like someone else’s skin, numb from the cold. She must have finally been thawed out enough to shiver, because she was quaking by the time the water level dropped to her backside. A blanket dropped over her and she felt herself being lifted up in a big, damp bundle, aching where his arms were under her.

  A moment later Hannah was buried under a mountain of blankets, the familiar feeling of flannel sheets beneath her. She had done something so incredibly stupid, yet somehow she was alive. Tears leaked in a steady stream down her face. Something wiped them away.

  “I think you will be okay,” the low voice said. “You will be fine. Rest, Hannah. You can rest. You are going to be okay.”

  “Are you real?” Her voice came out in a raspy whisper. She wanted to reach out a hand and feel that he was actually there, but her arm didn’t want to move.

  “Yes, Hannah, I
am real. Go to sleep.”

  “Will you still be here when I wake up?”

  “Yes, Hannah.”

  She forced her good eye open and kept it that way this time. He was still there, directly in front of her face, even larger and more solid than in her memories. He filled up the space in her small bedroom, and the mug in his hand looked like a child’s teacup. When he set it on the nightstand and sat carefully next to her on the edge of the bed. His weight dipped her mattress, tilting her toward him. She groaned at the movement.

  He must have thought she looked panicked because he put his hands up slowly, palms forward, leaning away from her.

  “No need to be frightened.”

  She didn’t feel afraid, every other sensation overshadowed by overwhelming thirst. He must have seen her eye flick toward the mug and he reached over to pick it up. She tried to take it, but her arm wouldn’t quite close the gap, making it halfway then dropping back to her side. He put a hand behind her head and brought the mug to her lips.

  The lukewarm liquid felt like fire in her throat, and she sputtered and choked. He wiped her chin with his shirt sleeve.

  “More,” she croaked before he could take the cup away. She drank greedily, though it burned, until the cup was empty and she gasped to catch her breath.

  He let go of her head and it sank back into the pillows. His eyes probed hers, his forehead furrowed.

  “Hannah, how do you feel?” he asked very quietly, returning the mug to the nightstand. “None of your injuries appear to be serious, but there is no way for me to know that for certain. Do you think you need to go to a hospital?”

  Her eye widened. “No. No, please don’t take me to a hospital. I think I’m okay.”

  He surveyed her face, lifting an eyebrow. “If you are sure?”

  She leaned back and closed her one working eye.

  “Going to the hospital would mean a lot of questions, and I’m in enough trouble already. Last time I was there…well anyway, when they find out what happened they’re going to think I jumped. I’d end up in an institution for sure this time, no doubt about it.” She turned her head a little toward her shoulder, the motion making her draw a painful breath. His expression tightened a little around the eyes but he nodded.

  However it may have looked to anybody else, Hannah was happy to be alive. The man she had driven herself nearly mad trying to locate and thought she had killed, twice, was not only alive but sitting on the side of her bed looking uncomfortable. Everything told her he was real, from the way she could feel his hip against her leg through the blankets to the outdoorsy smell she remembered from some dreamlike place.

  “You’re alive?” It was both a question and a statement.

  “Yes. It appears we both are. Are you sure you are not seriously hurt?”

  Hannah took a moment to analyze herself, top to bottom. She was sore, more sore than she could believe was possible, but her toes moved when she wanted them to and her fingers flexed. She rotated her arms with a groan and took in the mottled bruises that covered her skin.

  “You are very scraped up, all over that side. From the ice. It was jagged when you broke through and you had to come back up over it on the way out.”

  It felt like she had been dragged over a cheese grater, now that he mentioned it. She noticed the backs of his own hands, raw skin peeking out over the cuff of the plaid shirt.

  “You pulled me out?”

  He looked grim and nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you?” He spoke in a whisper. “I am fairly certain that I am the reason you went in.”

  Before she could speak again there was a knock on the door.

  “Miss Cirric. Are you in there? Hannah, it’s Sheriff Morgan,” a voice called from far away, outside the front door. There was a brief pause, then the brisk double knock came again.

  Her mysterious man got up from the bed swiftly and crossed to the bedroom door. He was far less lumbering than his size would have had her believe, and he moved noiselessly. The voice called out again.

  “Hannah. It’s Sheriff Morgan. I came to check on you and make sure you’re okay. Holler if you’re in there.”

  She rasped a reply, not able to make her scratchy voice loud enough to be heard. When she tried to roll over and get up, the movement sent a jolt of pain through her body.

  “You should answer the door.” He had her robe over his arm. Hannah nodded, because that was all she could manage. He picked her up as gently as he could and opened the bedroom door.

  “Can’t you answer it?” she asked him. She wasn’t sure she could stand up. He shook his head firmly.

  “Send him away.”

  The sheriff called out again. “Hannah, I’m gonna come in now, for your own safety. If you can hear me, I’m coming in the house to perform a welfare check.” She could hear the door rattle, and she hoped it was locked.

  “Tell him you are coming,” he hissed into her ear, carrying her down the stairs. He had to duck to miss the low ceiling above the last step.

  “I’m coming, Sheriff.” It was a weak attempt, but the rattling stopped for a second. “Just a minute,” she said, a little more loudly. She reeled dizzily when the man set her down and threw her robe around her.

  “Tell him no one else is here.” He looked at her, his eyes begging for acquiescence.

  “I don’t think I can. I’m going to fall over.” She wobbled a little, and not for effect. Her legs felt like Jello.

  “Send him away, and do not tell him what has happened.”

  “What if he—”

  “If you send him away, I will stay and explain everything. If not…”

  She nodded. He’d disappear again, she knew, if she didn’t do this the way he asked. Hannah took a deep breath and steadied herself as he slipped silently into the dining room as the door swung open.

  “Oh, Hannah, there you are.” The sheriff stopped short and took his hand off his holster. He ducked inside, shutting the door behind him against the cold and removed his stiff felt hat. “I just stopped by to check in on you.” He really looked at her for the first time and his brows dropped. She must look as rough as she felt. He paused for a moment then continued. “I was relieved to see you at the supermarket, out and about for a change. Then I ran into Dan from the Beer Barn down to the diner. He mentioned he’d tried to deliver you a couple boxes like he usually does.” Sheriff Morgan looked down at her like a disapproving father. “He said you had a broken front window that hadn’t been that way before and thought maybe it looked like there was some blood on it. He knocked and yelled in and didn’t get any answer.”

  He was looking at her suspiciously. She only nodded slightly, clutching the sides of her robe closed at her neck. Holding her arm up felt like trying to lift a cinder block.

  “Dan’s a fool,” the sheriff went on, “and didn’t think to call me right then. Instead he waited to tell me about it till he ran into me today. Course everybody knows Dan’s his own best customer so no surprise there. I tried calling but your number goes right to voicemail, says the box is full.”

  It probably was. God knows where her phone even was at this point.

  “Anyway, I thought I’d stop on by to check in on you.” He made to leave but stopped, turning back. “I don’t wanna pry, but it’s my job. What the hell happened to you?”

  She smiled, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. “I fell coming home. I haven’t been doing so well after . . . well, you know. I was finally feeling a little more like myself and decided to walk in for some groceries and overdid it. I got overwhelmed, I guess, and kind of freaked out. Then I made the mistake of going through Sheila’s line in the checkout, and she can be a little . . . um . . .”

  Sheriff Morgan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “I was cutting back through by the logging crossover since it’s quicker and ended up going ass over teacup down the bank. I’m a little out of balance these days, apparently.” She tried to look
sheepish, but it probably leaned closer to creepy, as twisted up and swollen as her face was feeling. “When I finally made it home I realized I forgot my bag with my keys and phone. I had to break a pane in the door to get in and managed to cut myself. On top of all that I think I’m coming down with a cold or something. It’s been a rough couple of days.”

  “Want me to run you over to St. Joe’s to get looked over?” Sheriff Morgan asked, looking down at the white bandage around her wrist she hadn’t noticed till then. He was putting his hat on, thank god.

  “No, I’m fine. Only thing really injured is my pride,” she said. Maybe slightly more than her pride. Her legs were done and were quavering from the effort of standing.

  He laughed, zipping up his coat and straightening the radio at his shoulder. She felt a twinge of guilt for lying to him. For all the threatening he did, it was all meant to help her, and in his defense, he’d put up with a lot from her. It wasn’t his fault she’d dogged him about finding the man based on some admittedly sketchy evidence, a man who was probably in the other room listening to every word they said. That, or was running away as fast as he could.

  For a moment she considered telling him, but just as quickly dismissed it. If the man had meant her harm he wouldn’t have pulled her out of the river. Now that he’d appeared, Hannah desperately wanted answers. The possibility of getting them outweighed the lie, at least that was what she told herself. The rest could be cleared up later.

  “Sorry to give you grief, Sheriff. I appreciate you looking out for me. I’m fine, really.”

  He had the door cracked open, letting the cold in, and she could see where the broken window had been neatly patched with a square of plywood, the jagged pieces gone. He nodded and slipped out the door but still didn’t close it. Hannah had a death grip on the back of the couch to keep herself upright.