Ripples

by DL Fowler

  I reach for his joy stick to prime it for another round, but he pushes me off and rolls over. Within a minute he’s asleep.

  Chapter Two

  Amy

  Still aching from Bryce … no sleep. The kitchen window down below lets in light. That's how I know it's morning. Grab fresh clothes … slip down the ladder. Bryce and Tess asleep. He beds her after he’s done with me. Don’t know how she can like it when he touches her. When he comes into me … wish I was dead. Why can’t he just fall off the damn ladder one of these times … break his neck?

  I close the door behind me … nice and easy so it doesn’t make noise. Tiptoe through the pine trees between the shack and the water … pick up pieces of kindling along the way. The mist on the lake … so thick, hard to see through it. Have to squint to see the man’s cabin … not a single lantern lit … must be asleep. Peek over my shoulder … hold my breath ... Bryce might’ve followed me.

  Good … he's not there.

  Take off the sweatshirt I sleep in … slide into the dark water. Goose bumps crawl over me. I shiver. Bryce says the water’s a good place to get away from killer snakes. Says if you see one, get to the water … but don’t move too fast. Snakes give me the willies. Slithering … scaly … beady eyes. Bryce’s eyes are beady.

  Try to rub off the goose bumps. Slide my hands down to my belly and stop. Swallow salty tears. Reach all the way down. Both hands churn ... like I’m scrubbing laundry on a washboard. Rub harder… faster. Fingers ache … soreness down there gets worse. Washing won't get rid of Bryce. Never does. Drop to my knees … tears roll down my cheeks … bite my lip … can’t let them hear me.

  Once I stop crying I get up … wade back to shore … get dressed. But even in fresh clothes … I’m still dirty ….

  On the way back, I snap off Manzanita branches ... some dead, low hanging limbs. Break ’em down … add ’em to my stack. It’ll please Bryce to see chores getting done this early. The firewood’ll hide my damp clothes … maybe he won’t notice the wet hair. If he does … there’ll be hell to pay.

  I slip back inside … peek around. Bryce isn’t up yet, but Tess snaps at me. “You and me, we’re headed to town. Need to pick up some things while Bryce’s catching up on his beauty sleep. Better make it snappy. You know how he gets if we're gone too long.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Will he want breakfast?”

  “After all his drinking last night? Don’t bother. Just stoke the fire and set up the coffee pot. But be quick. The faster we get going, the sooner we get back.”

  I shove a log and some sticks into the stove. Puff on the coals until the flames start up. Barely catch my breath before Tess growls, “Don’t take all day. I’ll be out in the pickup.”

  Bryce

  Damn woman. Wakes me up racing that stupid pickup engine. She makes enough noise she could raise the dead. When’s she gonna figure out how to start the thing up right. Shit. It’s only 8:20 in the goddamn morning. She and the girl better be back by 9:30. Go straight there. Do their business. Come straight home.

  I roll over. Shit. Everything aches, and my gut’s doin’ flips. Last night’s dinner’s backin’ up into my throat, about to make me puke. If I can’t get back to sleep, I’ll give her what for when she gets back. Hell, now I gotta piss.

  Jump outta bed and run outside to take a leak. When I’m done, I come back in and stumble over to the stove. Pour a mug of coffee. Those whores didn’t leave me any damn breakfast? Shit. What’m I gonna do with them good for nothin’ bitches?

  Turn around and shut my eyes. Fuckin’ headache. Damn head’s gonna explode.

  Snatch a piece of stale bread off the table, guzzle down the coffee, tromp off to bed.

  Amy

  Bryce says it’s less than twenty miles to town … no reason it should take more than half an hour. The road winds like a snake … both sides covered with big, bushy trees. Tess calls them live oaks. Thick branches hanging over the road. Not many cars … but sometimes you get stuck behind a semi. Tess says they low-gear it down the mountain. Hold up traffic.

  Like now.

  She honks. “What’s wrong with him? Thinks he owns the whole road. We just passed a frickin’ turn out.”

  “He … he can’t hear—”

  “Shut up. Bryce isn't going to be happy if ….”

  Tess jerks the steering wheel left and presses her right foot all the way down.

  God—she’s trying to pass it. Wanna scream ... maybe he’s a murderer.

  The pickup makes a whiney sound. Tess stares straight ahead … knuckles same color as cold ashes. I peek out the back window at a cloud of white smoke.

  Tess gains on the rig … a big black car barrels around the curve below … it’s headed straight at us. Can she make it around the truck? My fingers dig into the seat. She tries to make the pickup go faster. I wanna yell … stop. But the word gets stuck in my throat. Shove my hand in my pocket. Feel for one of my crinkly red candy wrappers. Not there.

  Now, the pickup’s nose-to-nose with the rig. I stare up at the trucker. His face is twisted … big round eyes. He can’t be a murderer … they don’t get scared.

  A loud clatter from the semi … wheezing … screeching. The trucker’s going slower. The black car … horn’s blaring … swerves to the side of the road … kicks up a cloud of dust.

  Tess yanks the pickup hard right … cuts in front of the rig … a loud clunk. The pickup jerks … rocks … skids sideways. Tess straightens it out … back in the right lane.

  I look out the rear window. The semi’s tires are smoking, its trailer’s swinging around, stretching all the way across the road, tipping. Shut my eyes … cover my ears. No … it’s not real.

  Candy wrappers—wish I had one. Bright red, crinkly candy wrapper.

  Jacob

  I kick off the sheets and sit up. Damn. No fishing this morning. I have to go to town to restock the pantry and fridge. Someone keeps raiding them.

  The first thing that went missing was a shotgun I had set out for the excavation crew—in case coyotes started hanging around. I figured one of the guys just helped himself to it.

  Next there was some small scale pilfering—food from the outdoor kitchen’s mini-fridge. The outdoor kitchen went in just after they poured the cabin’s foundation. It was nice to have a place to fix hot meals for the crews. When the world knows you’re worth billions, it’s smart to throw out a few scraps, give away a little. Otherwise, some wise guy will come along and decide he’s justified in helping himself.

  Once the cabin was finished, I moved the food inside. The sneaky bastard struck whenever I wasn’t around, and it wasn’t just food. A few paperbacks disappeared from my library. That’s when I ruled out the guys on the construction crew. Whoever it was, they had time on their hands to hang around and watch me.

  A padlock on the fridge didn’t stop the thief. Of course, that’s not the reason for the lock; it was just a test, a kind of game. To be the best you have to beat the best. I had to find out—just how good is this bandit? So, I set out some bait—a crossbow and arrows perched on the top shelf in my office.

  Got the contraption as a white elephant gift at a company party—a tasteless joke by a jerk securities trader named Conroy. I eventually canned him; the sleaze-bag couldn’t tell the difference between psychological warfare and the physical kind. Even though the gag-gift was expensive, no one dared take it from me on their turn to claim any gift they wanted. Survival rule number one—never challenge the boss. The gift I didn’t want became a trophy—a symbol of power.

  Within a week of setting out the crossbow and quiver full of arrows in plain sight, the bandit relieved me of the damned things. I stepped up my game by installing deadbolts. He countered by slipping in at night—while I was asleep. I can only imagine how much bigger my war chest would be if my staff had been as bold and resourceful as this bandit.

  Anyway, these trips to town have to get done early. Too many people around later i
n the day.

  Just as I settle into the driver’s seat of the Jeep Rubicon, my cell phone rings. I glance at the screen—it's the latest private investigator I hired. One of the few calls I’ll take. Most go straight to voicemail.

  “Talk to me.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Chandler.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Now, don’t get excited. I might have a new lead. Of course, it could be a dead-end like all the others. I’m just giving you a heads-up like you’ve said.”

  “Okay, but let me manage my own expectations.”

  “We turned up a report—had gotten buried in a local sheriff’s files. Apparently, around the time Celine went missing, there was a suspicious acting couple panhandling for gas money at a truck stop near Yreka—they had two little girls. One fit your granddaughter’s description.”

  The photo of Celine I keep in the dashboard tray stares up at me. “She didn’t go missing. She was kidnapped.”

  “Mr. Chandler, we’re doing everything we can. Hopefully, the trail isn’t so cold we won’t be able to track her down.”

  “Is that all you have?”

  “Oh, there is one more thing. Just got an updated sketch of what she would look like today. Should I send over a copy?”

  “I’ve told you before, I don’t want to imprint some artist’s rendering on my brain. It could be all wrong. Besides, I don’t need drawings. I’ll recognize her when I see her. Anything else?”

  “You’ll know what I know, when I know it.”

  “Fine … and, Sam?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  The Jeep engine hums for several minutes as I study Celine’s picture, pinching it between my thumb and forefinger. A lump forms in my throat as I replay the day she slipped away from me. Before that happened, I’d always been the one in control, dishing out the consequences; never suffered even a twinge of pain or guilt, no matter how much it cost anybody. I slide the picture back into its place and head to town.

  Halfway down the mountain, cars are lined up behind the wreckage of a jackknifed semi. It’s splayed across the highway, blocking both shoulders. There is only enough clearance on the uphill side to walk along the edge of an embankment that’s thick with live oak trees and scrub. Live oaks get so dense you could lose a bicycle in them. As kids, when someone’s bike went missing, we’d always check the trees to see if it was hidden up there as a prank.

  I park, jump out, and head for two men who are climbing down from atop the tractor that has flipped over on its side.

  “Is he okay?” I ask.

  One of the men shakes his head.

  The force of the tractor slamming onto the pavement must have hammered the driver’s head against the doorframe or the pavement, killing him.

  Near the downhill end of the trailer, another man’s consoling two women. One woman is clutching her forehead. The other is bent over, head buried in both hands, shoulders convulsing.

  “Has anyone called for help?” I call out.

  The man turns to me. “911 operator said the nearest unit was almost half-hour out when we called it in. They’re due any minute.”

  On the other side of the trailer, a black Yukon is crumpled like an accordion, its hood buried in hemorrhaging cargo. The driver had no choice—it was either crashing into the jackknifed trailer or the trees. The result would have been the same—occupants compacted into the interior. Crimson-stained shards crunch under my feet as I edge closer to get a better look.

  I turn, stare downhill—sirens, flashing lights. EMT. Fire engine. Sheriff’s cruiser. They’re too late, always too late.

  I look away. Something’s up in the trees … pink … a shoe … a small body tangled in the branches.

  Celine’s image pops into my head. She’s on the ground cowering. Now she’s gone. A sharp pain starts behind my ear, arcs to the top my head—again and again—like a short circuit. My breakfast backs up. I bend over and throw up. Everything starts spinning.

  Chapter Three

  Amy

  In town, a building—windows covered with boards … doors chained and locked. Tess parks the pickup behind it. Doesn’t want people to see the truck—not ‘registered’ … or something.

  Before we get out, she tells me the rules. Stay close. Don’t talk to strangers. She says the rules again while we're walking to the store. This time she adds a new one … keep my mouth shut about passing the truck up on the highway. Must not want anybody to know she was mean … scared the truck driver.

  In the store she buys beer, ice and cigarettes—gets me candy in a red wrapper. Not supposed to tell Bryce I got candy. When she’s paying for the stuff a woman comes up behind me. Her little girl says, “Hi. My name’s Alexis.”

  Shuffle my feet.

  “What’s your name?” she asks.

  Tess grabs my arm.

  “Mommy, why won’t she talk?”

  The woman whispers to the kid, but I can hear. “Honey, some children can’t talk.”

  “Mommy, why can’t she talk?”

  Tess lets go of my arm … digs into her pockets for money.

  Wanna say to the little girl it’s the rules. You’re not supposed to talk to strangers. They can hurt. The woman tells her, “Some children are born that way. But sometimes people get hurt real bad or get very sick and aren’t able to talk anymore.”

  I stare at the girl. My stomach twists in knots. Wanna tell her nothing’s wrong with me. “I … I….”

  Tess yanks me. “We better get up the hill. Bryce’ll be pissed.”

  Wanna say to Tess, we’re out of food. Need to get food. But she’ll thump me on the head. So, I keep quiet.

  Outside, Tess looks around to be sure no one’s watching … pushes me into the alley … pins me against the side of the store … her eyes dark … teeth clenched. “Do I have to watch you every second? You know the rules. What the hell are you doing talking to strangers?” She bites her lip. “You want to go back on that chain? If Bryce hears about this you’re going to. You should thank your lucky stars I’m not telling him—not this time, anyway.”

  We walk to the pickup. I take a lick of my candy, wrap it back up, stuff it in my pocket. Don’t know why the woman said something’s wrong with me. Why doesn’t her girl follow the rules?

  Headed back up the mountain, I’m still trying to figure out why the girl broke the rules. Tess stomps down on the brakes. Traffic’s stopped.

  She turns off the motor. “Hell, all I need is for some cop to come by and see my expired plates. No license—no insurance.”

  No idea what she’s talking about.

  Tess grips the steering wheel like she wants to rip it off. “We gotta let Bryce know I’m stuck behind a wreck. Damn trucker turned over his rig, sprawled across the highway.”

  Is it the truck driver Tess scared? Shut my eyes. Pound on my head … both hands … over and over. Don’t wanna think about it. Reach in my pocket. Feel the candy in its crinkly, red wrapper. I turn … look at her.

  She stares straight ahead. “If you start hoofing it right now and don’t dog it, you can be back up the mountain in maybe three, four hours—just in case I’m stuck down here forever. Tell Bryce there’s a wreck and I can’t get through. I’ll have to go back and get more ice. It’ll all be melted if I have to sit here half a day.”

  My heart jumps. He’ll be pissed no matter what. Everything’s always my fault.

  “If they clear this thing up sooner, I’ll pick you up on my way. Remember the rules. Don’t talk to anyone. And don’t tell Bryce about the damn truck driver. It’s the guy’s own fault. Didn’t pull over when he should’ve. Blocking traffic—it’s just not right. Besides, what kind of a trucker can’t keep his rig upright. Sheesh.”

  A car’s honking in my head … wanna tell it to stop.

  I get out of the pickup … try not to make any noise ... see a big black car up ahead … smas
hed into the trailer. A woman’s holding her forehead. Another bent over, hands covering her face. A man talking to them.

  I walk along the ditch past the black car. Something crunches under my feet. Pieces of glass—dark red, slippery. Try to keep away from crunching glass … stay close to the big bushy trees. Hope no one sees me. Sirens blare. Cover my ears.

  Something wet drips on my head. I stop. Look up. Maybe a bird crapped. Trees are thick with branches, leaves. Reminds me of ripples covering the lake.

  Don’t see any birds, but there’s a pink shoe up in the tree. A kid … one leg swung over a branch … no foot. Watch a drop … red … hurts my eyes … lands near my feet. I yank the candy out of my pocket … tear off its crinkly red wrapper … throw the candy away … hold the wrapper up to my eye … study the kid in the tree. Could be a girl … curly hair … face all bloody—like when Tess guts Bryce’s deer, rabbits, and stuff. My stomach gurgles. Throat tightens. Things start spinning. Say to myself … this isn’t real.

  In front of me a man stops … drops to his knees. I peek around the candy wrapper. He’s puking. Straightens up. Doesn’t see me. He runs uphill, away from the wreck.

  I better keep moving. Tess’ll make trouble if I’m still here when she comes by. She’s a snitch—even makes stuff up. Told me she once had a rich boyfriend … good job. How’d she wind up with a creep like Bryce? It doesn’t matter that she lies … Bryce believes her. He shouldn’t, though.

  Above the wreck … cars headed down the mountain, stopped … more people hanging around. I walk faster. Someone might try talking to me. One of the cars turns around, comes right at me. I jump out of the way. Tumble into the ditch. Land in a heap.

  Roll over … up on the road a shiny red car—stopped. Dark windows. Can’t see inside. Reach in my pocket … candy wrapper is still there.

  The window comes down. I look down. Don’t want them to see me.