Waterfall Effect

by K. K. Allen

  My lungs balloon with air as I look around at the bridge and at the waterfall below me. He’s right. As soon as I stepped out into nature again, I felt it all. It was as if nothing had changed.

  “Then where were you when I woke up?” My voice quivers. I can’t believe I’m asking him the question that’s been twisting my heart since the day I came out of my coma.

  “What? I was there. I never left your side until you forced me away.” He swivels to face me, his knee bending and resting against the wood. “I was there when they put you in that ambulance. I rushed to the hospital behind them. I called your aunt Cyndi to tell her where you were and what happened. I lied to the hospital and said you were my cousin just so they would let me stay with you, and I stayed until Cyndi arrived with that Scott kid and they told the nurses I was lying. I was there. I never left. Not even for a minute. Not until Scott came out of your room and told me you wouldn’t see me.”

  “Scott said you left.” I swallow, confused and trying to make sense of what he is saying. My memories are all a blur, but the pain feels far too fresh, a wound reopened.

  He must catch the confusion in my expression because he shakes his head, eyes brewing with the storm that’s always ready to blow in. “I’ll never lie to you, Aurora. Just like you’d never lie to me.”

  I stand, and he stands too. Looking around again, I suddenly feel off balance. This bridge, these woods. It all used to be so familiar. My home away from home. And now I’m a stranger.

  “I think I should go back to the cottage.”

  He steps toward me but I back away, knowing there’s nothing that can help us now. I don’t stay and wait for him to think of something more to say. I turn and start back down the hill along the river.

  “Where are you going?”

  I keep walking.

  “Aurora, you can’t walk through these woods alone.”

  I flip around, heat raging like an inferno through me, blazing through my eyes. “Why not?”

  He lets out a breath before opening a mouth to speak. “It’s not safe.”

  “Isn’t it? What’s there to be afraid of now?”

  “Don’t be stupid. We’re in the middle of the fucking Appalachians. It’s never safe to be out here alone. You know that.”

  My jaw clenches, and then I take four long strides toward him until I’m under his nose. “You think these woods scare me after what happened? I may not remember those three days, but I know I was strong enough to survive them.”

  I turn around, swallowing against the lump in my throat. “Goodbye, Jaxon.”

  Two years had gone by since our kiss—two years since she walked away from Hollow Falls in tears and I was told by her father that she was never coming back. I should have felt relief. The kiss was wrong. My feelings for Aurora were wrong. But it was loss that filled my chest, leaving an ache I tried to bury instead of confront.

  She was gone, but she was everywhere.

  When I finally saw Aurora again, it was by accident. It was nearing midnight, and I was standing at the bridge overlooking Hollow Falls when I heard the first crunch of leaves as someone approached. I sensed it was her before I saw her. It was like I’d been standing in this same spot for two years, waiting for this moment.

  We both carried giant flashlights to guide our way, and we shone them on each other from opposite sides of the bridge. My heart trembled at what I saw. Aurora’s eyes streamed with fresh tears, and her attire was completely inappropriate for nighttime in the woods—tiny shorts and a pale pink tank top that somehow hid nothing and too much at the same time.

  I was twenty-one. She was seventeen. And although she was still too young, I could no longer pretend I wasn’t attracted to her. Especially when I dropped my gaze to find her nipples brilliantly hard, thanks to the windy summer evening. My thoughts roared with imagery of what Aurora June would look like with her clothes on the ground, her legs wrapped around my waist, and her supple flesh in my mouth. Even after the hideous way I had treated her two years earlier, my mind was filled with years of caged lust.

  She was standing in front of me again, invading my space, and I wanted, in every way imaginable, to invade hers.

  The bridge at Hollow Falls had become my sanctuary. At all hours of the day, I’d find myself in the same exact spot, dreaming of a future that felt so far out of reach.

  I’d been stuck in Balsam Grove my entire life, tending to the cottages since I was ten years old. My parents had always planned for me to take over the properties when I was old enough. They would retire, move to their dream home in the Canadian Rockies, and leave their estate to me. When I was younger, this all sounded like a dream. It sounded easy.

  But things changed when I found my passion for painting. I dreamed of traveling the world with nothing but a backpack, some canvases, and my paints. My parents, on the other hand, felt art was a distraction from my future. And so the arguments commenced, along with the resentment. The older I got, the more Balsam Grove felt like a prison.

  When Aurora arrived in the woods that night, I was concocting a plan for my escape. I’d submitted my art to a professional workshop led by one of my favorite artists, Dante Addario, where we would paint and sell our work around the world.

  What I didn’t realize at the time was that the girl standing in front of me with the sad eyes and crumbling expression would change everything I knew about my world—for better, for worse, forever.

  She hesitated to approach, like I might shun her the way I did when she was fifteen. But there she was, standing in front of me on the same bridge that towered over us two summers before, a puppy nipping at her heels. I felt a pang of relief in my chest. We had another chance. I couldn’t let her leave again.

  I called out her name like it belonged with the night. “Aurora, don’t go.”

  She stopped and turned, then searched around me with her light.

  “It’s just me. Jaxon,” I confirmed, not wanting her to think I was a stranger in the woods.

  “I know who you are.”

  She continued her turn. My heart fell.

  “Wait,” I called out, this time louder. “I heard about your mom. I’m so sorry.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to say. Death wasn’t something I’d had any experience with, but she turned again and raised her flashlight to me. I started walking, not knowing if she would stay or go. She started walking too, and we met in the middle.

  In that moment of silence, we were nothing but two spotlights in the dark, converging at the center of the bridge.

  “I was going to come by and see you. I just didn’t know if you wanted to see me.”

  “It’s fine. I’ve only been back a few weeks—”

  “I should have come by.”

  Her agreement shone through her silence, making me feel like an even bigger prick than I already did. “Is that a new dog? A husky?”

  Despite the pain I’m sure Aurora felt, she managed a smile as she stared down at the black and white furball on a leash. “Her name’s Lacey. I thought she might want to check out the woods.”

  “It’s late—”

  Aurora’s heavy sigh cut me off. “Don’t give me a lecture about being out here alone. Please, Jaxon. Not tonight.”

  I dropped it. I wouldn’t tell her the gruesome reality that had become Balsam Grove—that six girls had entered these woods and never returned home—but she would learn.

  “You still come out here?” She shone her light over the edge of the bridge.

  “Almost every day.”

  We sat, setting our flashlights on either side of us, and I stared at her silhouette in the darkness.

  “Are you still working for your dad?” she asked.

  I laughed. “My father wants to give it another year and then hand over the keys and move far away from this place. He wants me to sign paperwork and commit to taking over by the end of next summer.”

  “That’s great, Jaxon.”


  “Is it?”

  A sigh fell from her lips. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not what you want.”

  My chest burned. Aurora knew about my art, but she didn’t know how important it had become to me over the past years. She didn’t know about my plan to leave Balsam Grove.

  “Things have changed a lot,” I confirmed. I knew I was being vague, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her my plans.

  “Yeah, it has.” Her voice was so sad, so lost. I wanted to hold her, but I knew part of her sadness had to do with me, with the way I’d treated her. She was my best friend, though I’d never told her that. How could I? Being four years her senior, I was embarrassed.

  More silence snaked between us before she spoke again. “You’re still painting?”

  “I am. Are you?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Aurora—” I started. It was a warning, another lecture, and she could hear it coming from a mile away. Painting connected us from the first summer we met, and its threads were still deeply buried. We were tethered, no matter the distance, no matter the time apart. That connection was once so innocent, but after seeing her again, even in the darkness, I knew all innocence was lost.

  Aurora shifted. I could feel her bare skin slide against my jeans, and I wished I had worn shorts too so I could feel her, skin-to-skin.

  “My dad threw everything away.” Her voice cracked.

  Her words caught me by surprise. “Threw what away?”

  She couldn’t be referring to her paintings. Art was everything to Aurora, and her parents had always embraced that. Philosophy and art. Their family thrived on those things.

  “Everything, Jax.” Her voice quivers. “My canvases from two summers ago are gone. And everything I brought from my mom’s—all my tools, too. Everything.”

  Still, I was confused. “Maybe your father put everything in storage—”

  She let out an exasperated breath that I could feel swirl with the next gust of wind. “No, Jax. They’re all gone. They came this morning with the rest of my stuff from back home and my dad completely flipped out. He told me he destroyed them. H-he screamed at me.” She pinched her eyes shut to keep herself from crying. “He said he hated me for painting them.”

  “What? Why?” I couldn’t help myself. I placed a hand on her knee and squeezed, hoping to provide some comfort when she needed so much more. Her father had always been a little off, but tossing her art? That crossed the line.

  “I thought everyone knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  There was a long pause. Aurora’s body started to shake. “Some of my paintings were in an art show at school. M-my mom was on her way to my show when she crashed.” She blinked up at me, fresh tears spilling from her lids and down her cheeks. “She died because of me. Because of my art.” Her voice cracked again before she let out a sob. "And my dad hates me for it.”

  “He said that?” I asked incredulously.

  She nodded. “He says my art is the work of the devil inside me.”

  Darkness unleashed through me like a wild fire I had no hope of containing. “Jesus, Aurora. He’s delusional.” My arm moved around her shoulders, squeezing and letting her cry. “I’m sorry. He’s probably grieving, but that gives him no right to say those things to you. Or to touch your stuff.”

  She sniffled. “He’s upset and dealing with this the best way he knows how.”

  I didn’t want to tell Aurora what I knew about Henry June. That in the two years she’d been away, he’d garnered a reputation for himself as the town drunk. That he’d gotten into more trouble than I could keep track of. And this talk of the devil wasn’t the first instance I’d heard of something like that coming from his mouth.

  I gave her shoulder another squeeze. “Are you going to be okay?”

  More silence invaded the next two seconds, stretching time and filling it with doubt. “Just let it go, Jax. Okay?”

  As much as I hated the idea of letting the subject go that night, I would have done anything she asked of me. But I couldn’t let it go forever. Not until Aurora found her smile again.

  She walks away from our spot at the bridge with determination, blazing a trail behind her, and I follow closely behind. Not even a minute later Aurora freezes in her tracks. The movement chills the air, and my steps falter behind her.

  Suddenly, a squirrel shoots up the tree in front of us. As it takes off along a branch, rustling its leaves, my gaze falls back down to the familiar initials and tally engravings that mark Henry June’s seventh victim.

  Aurora’s shoulders begin to shake. Her lip trembles, and a crease appears between her brows. Without thinking, I move toward her and put my hands on her shoulders, but she jerks away. Then she stomps off in the same direction she started, without a word.

  I follow her the entire way home, keeping my distance but also keeping my eye on her. When Aurora nears the bottom step of her porch, she whips her head around, strands from her ponytail flying between her lips and sticking there, but she doesn’t move a strand. “You didn’t have to follow me home.”

  I step a few feet to the side of the house and lift the package I arrived with earlier, handing it to her when I get close. She looks down at it, her face telling me she completely forgot about the gift I brought with me.

  “Whatever this is, I can’t accept it.” She lifts her chin high and crosses her arms in defiance.

  “You know what it is, Aurora.”

  “I can’t take that, Jaxon. Did you hear anything I told you earlier? I’m a lost cause.”

  Grinding my teeth, I step around her, lifting the package up the stairs and leaning it against the sliding glass door. “I heard everything. All the more reason for you to take it.”

  When I turn, she still hasn’t moved from her spot. There’s something about the way she stands there with the sun beaming down on her rigid stance and tight jaw that injects my veins with a dosage of her. Of my past. Of the one who’s never stopped consuming my present.

  Aurora lost some of her memories, and she left me with some I wish I could forget.

  “If it helps, don’t consider it a gift.” I slip past her again, hopping off the last step and stepping forward.

  “Then how much do I owe you?” she snaps back.

  “Bill you later.”

  I don’t look back. If I do, she’ll see how easily she still gets under my skin—but not in a way that makes me want to yell at her. No, I want to pick her up and press her back against that sliding glass, press my mouth to hers, and drive into her until she has no other choice but to use my strength to keep her upright.

  I flip her a wave over my head and shove my hands in my pockets before whistling for Lacey to follow.

  “Go on, girl.” Aurora’s gentle as she speaks to her. “Go keep your daddy safe. He’s going to need it.”

  My chuckle cannot be contained. She may be mad now, but she won’t stay that way for long.

  It’s been three days since I’ve seen him. Three days since our trip to Hollow Falls. Three days of staring blindly at a gift that would have once thrilled me.

  What am I supposed to do with these?

  The canvas is as blank as I am, mocking me. Beside it lie five tubes of paint, a scraper, three brushes—all different sizes—and a wood palette to mix my colors.

  He just wants to help, Aurora. He’s always just wanted to help.

  But he knows how I feel about painting. I’ve told him what it does to me. How I’ve tried and failed. And still, he handed me the wrapped canvas like I’d know what to do with it.

  There was a time I wouldn’t have questioned my next move. I would have gone straight to work, painting whatever landscape swept the distance in front of me. Minutes would have turned to hours and hours to days, and I wouldn’t have noticed the change. Inspiration was everywhere, especially with Jaxon as my mentor.

  Sometimes tragedy strikes us in the most unusual of ways. When
my mom died, I got my first taste of how cold the darkness could be, but art helped me through it. Well—art, Lacey, and Jaxon. My lifelines. Everything changed when I woke up in the hospital. I became so far removed from who I used to be and started living in a parallel universe—no light, no guide, no explanation…no end goal.

  For so long, I was okay with the numbness. The darkness. In a way, it was all I knew. It was my way of shutting out a past that would otherwise haunt me.

  I’m still staring at the blank canvas hours later when there’s a knock at the door. Sighing, I lift myself from the stool and peer out the glass at the entryway. I see Claire standing there, wearing a bright smile, tight jean shorts, and a low-cut black tank top that showcases her perfectly rounded belly. If I’m ever pregnant, I want to have a body like Claire’s. Curvy in all the right places, and somehow still thin despite her habit of sneaking pastries from the glass case when she thinks no one is looking.

  Twisting the knob, I pull open the door and grin. That’s when I get a better look at the whole ensemble. Silver, bohemian style earrings dangle from her ears, a matching bracelet wraps her wrist, and her cherry red hair is freshly cut, giving her bob a sharper angle in the front.

  “Look who’s trying to get laid tonight,” I tease.

  Claire raises her eyebrows and points at her belly. “Girl, have you seen this sexy belly? Danny has no problem getting it up when I give him the come-hither finger.”

  “Come-hither finger?” I laugh, watching as she sticks her pointer finger up toward her, bending and straightening to demonstrate. But it’s the extra eye wiggle that has me laughing.

  “Okay, I get it. Your belly is sexy, but I was commenting on your outfit. Aren’t you closing the café tonight?”