Howling winds darted through the rapids’ channel, echoing their ghostly calls at my back. “I’m sorry, Sarah. I don’t know what else I can do,” I muttered, feeling like a failure, like I was leaving Sarah’s soul in eternal turmoil.
Pushing through the ring of trees, I made my way back to the gravel lot, anxious to get to the farm before anyone could see me in these clothes. Gran would probably have a heart attack if she saw me looking just like Sarah.
Like a limb come to life, a hand swept out from amidst the dense trees, stopping me in my tracks. Powerful fingers clamped over my mouth before I had a chance to scream. I was pulled roughly aside and up against a body twice as wide as Dad’s. Immediately, I tried lashing out, first going for the shins and then the groin, but my assailant had me pinned so tight I could barely move. Rocketing my head back, I connected with the assailant’s face, sending stars blinking random patterns in front of my eyes. A low growl was my only reward; the attacker’s grip never loosened.
A raspy voice snarled into my ear. “Do you think this is some kind of joke? Do you think for one second I would believe you were her? That she’d come back to life?” A laugh, low and threatening rumbled from behind me. “You fight just like her. Too bad you’re as stupid as her, too.”
All reason fled from my mind. All my plans, every practiced speech, vanished from memory as I struggled to draw breaths through the massive hands that covered my mouth and nose. Dave. Dave was here. How long? Was he watching me? Planning an attack? I squirmed in his arms, to no avail. Baring my teeth, I bit down on the flesh of his palm, trapping the tender skin between his thumb and finger with tenacity. Swearing, he released his grip, pushing me to the ground with force and ripping his hand from my teeth.
Rubbing his hand, Dave stepped on the hem of my skirt, towering over my sprawled body. “Where did you get it? How did you know about the ring?” He loomed over me smug in his polo and designer jeans, his ice blue eyes glaring down at me with disdain.
Feigning dignity, I pushed his foot aside and stood to brush my skirt free of pine needles. Drawing myself up to full height, I answered with equal coldness in my tone. “I know lots of things. Things more important than a stupid ring.”
Dave seemed to flinch at my dismissal of his mother’s ring. “Yeah, well, that ring was my mother’s. It should have been returned to me a long time ago.” He paused, going over what I said. “You should know better than to try and play games with adults. If I were your father, I’d teach you a lesson.”
I could read the threat behind his words. “My Dad is more of a man that you’ll ever be. My Dad would never hit a girl. Or threaten a girl. Or kill a girl.” There. The words were out of my mouth and hanging in the air as big and obvious as an old man’s toupee.
Dave’s eyes narrowed. “You better watch what you’re saying. Little towns like this don’t like a know-it-all city girl coming in and stirring things up. Maybe you forgot – I’m mayor of this town, and the people adore me, revere me. You and your dad should just finish off your vacation here and go on back home.”
His cocky attitude sent fire coursing through my veins. He’s fooling himself if he thinks I’ll roll over and take his macho bull like Sarah. I know what happened. I just need him to say it!
“You deserve to pay for what you did. You treated Sarah like garbage, using her like your own personal punching bag. And all these years you’ve fooled my grandparents into thinking you were such a great guy. But, I know, and my dad knows. He’s known since he was eight years old who you really are.” Edging back into the outstretched limbs, I fought for control, aching to run. But I couldn’t leave without hearing a confession first.
Dave’s expression faltered for just a second, his face contorting with the effort to control the rage I knew that lay hidden just beneath the surface.
Taking a few steps toward the rapids, I pushed once more, dredging up the past in all its tainted, horrific glory. “I know about the fair. How you tried assaulting her, right there on the ground, just because she talked to another boy. I know about the bruises and the guilt, how you used your dead mother to keep bringing her back, to make excuses for your sick behavior. And I know about that night. At the rapids. I know how you waited for her, tracking her like prey, waiting for the moment to push her to her death because you couldn’t stand seeing her with anyone else; couldn’t handle the fact that she wanted to leave you behind.” I was gasping now, throwing out the evidence as though I were talking about Sarah, when I was really talking about me.
In my wildest dreams, while I had planned this confrontation and plotted my every move, there were times I envisioned an ending where Dave, when faced with the truth, would crumple to the ground and cry out for forgiveness. We’d simply drive to town and Dave would turn himself in, begging to be sentenced like the criminal he was.
But I knew better than that. So that’s why I was ready the moment he lunged, growling and snarling like a wounded animal.
Darting to the side, I dove from the shelter of the trees and scrambled across the grass to the first of many jagged boulders that made up the rocky wall and contained the rolling rapids.
My pulse jumped, clogging my throat and making it difficult to breathe. I waited for that extra surge of adrenaline to kick in, the magical rush of speed and power I would need to beat Dave across the rocks, but fear was more crippling than helpful; the closer I got to the rapids, the shakier my hands gripped the rocks and the more my feet stumbled and tripped.
Dave burst from the trees, like a hawk, his eyes searching me out. His large, agile body scaled the wall with ease; I could hear him closing the gap between us with minimal effort. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did I meet him here of all places? I do not want to go for another swim!
A pile of dried driftwood sat in what looked like an attempt at a bonfire ring, its bleached, pale color standing out against the dark rock. I leapt over the obstacle, crash landing in an awkward heap as my right foot landed in a fracture between the two rocks and the other a little higher on the shelf I had intended to reach.
Dave was on me in an instant, pulling me up by the hair, disregarding the fact that my ankle was twisted and jammed in the crevice. I felt it swelling in response as fire coursed through my foot and up my thigh the moment I put any pressure on it. A sudden blast to my face followed by a flash of white light knocked me to my knees, just inches from the swirling, choppy waters. Swells of the brown, white-capped rapids sent droplets of water showering my cheeks, an icy relief to the jarring, teeth rattling pounding from Dave’s fist.
Amazed, I couldn’t believe I was still coherent; that I’d survived the punch of a grown man. The familiar metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, and I coughed and spat the bright red fluid into the water. The water swallowed up the red, sending it under the merciless waves never to be seen again. The thought jolted me from my temporary paralysis, the smell of river water permeating my nostrils, causing my stomach to churn and coil. I was not going under again. I crawled backwards, trying to distance myself from the water, but Dave’s massive legs straddled my kneeling form, blocking my retreat.
“I told you to leave things alone. It’s been four decades. No one, not even your grandparents, wants to hear about Sarah any more.”
I spat another mouthful of blood onto the rocks, leaving a red stringy splotch in the shape of a mottled heart. “I… disagree,” I managed to gasp out, my tongue pushing against my teeth to make sure they were still there. “Sarah wants them to know. She wants revenge.” My body tensed, waiting for Dave to strike. Instead, he just laughed, the same chilling laugh that haunted my dreams, making me feel like he knew something I didn’t.
“She got what she deserved. Stupid tramp. You think you know everything?” He snorted and moved to squat down in front of me. “You’re just like her. Trying to be too big for your britches and look where it gets you. Too bad history has a bad habit of repeating itself.”
The pain from my ankle had dwindled down to a nagging, dul
l throb. My heart fluttered, the fury at Dave’s insolence restoring some of the anger that fueled my initial escape. I was nervous, but there wasn’t any more time. Rocking back on my heels, I shot forward, throwing my arms around his tree trunk calves and pulling with all of my might. Caught off-guard, he fell back, the weight of his body taking the two of us down, dangerously close to the edge. Water rose up and seeped into Dave’s shirt, turning the blue, almost black. Rolling away from him, I hobbled to a stand, taking off for the safety of the underbelly of the bridge.
Dave lay still for a moment, stunned by the impact of his head meeting the unforgiving rock. A trickle of blood trailed down from his temple, cutting a jagged path across his cheek and dropping to stain the sleeve of his polo. Enraged, he staggered to his feet. “Sarah! I’m going to kill you! Sarah!”
Confused, I stopped mid-stride. He’s crossed over. There’s no stopping now until one of you is dead. Remembering the crazed look the night we wrestled under the bridge, his eyes devoid of any emotion, I knew I had just pushed him to the brink, and then a little further. Whether he thought I was Sarah or not, he was coming for me. And I knew the result would be worse than a couple of punches.
The concrete pillars beneath the bridge were sturdy and eerily familiar. Instead of going for the arch, I limped up the concrete slope, intending to reach the highway, but my ankle made the incline nearly impossible to scale. Falling to my knees, I crawled up the rough wall as bits of gravel mercilessly dug into my skin.
Close to the top, the overgrown weeds and cattails gave me the leverage I needed to pull myself up.
I did it! I made it! The sight of the highway and its stretch of open road brought tears to my eyes. The air felt different up here; somehow, it was lighter and I could breathe again. A car – a car! – was turning into the gravel lot, its tires squealing in protest at the sharp turn and rapid speed. Whoever was driving seemed to spot me and slam on the brakes, the tires catching in the gravel and spewing bits of rocks in response. At the same moment, the door opened, revealing the driver to be Dad.
Dave emerged from the weeds and stumbled out into the road, like some sort of modern day Swamp Thing – wet, wild, and angry.
Dad started to run then, seeing the fear take shape in the silent “O” of my mouth. I held out my arms as Dave approached, backing up slowly until the waist-high wall was the only thing keeping me from going over the bridge and into the water below.
Dave never saw Dad; he only had eyes for me. Soulless, heartless, vacant… It was like stepping back in time and facing the monster again, but now, I was outmatched by about a hundred and fifty pounds.
Seeing Dad only sapped the energy I had left, the fight in me gone. I wanted him to make it all go away – to rescue me once again. But there might as well have been the Grand Canyon separating the two of us, because Dave was there, only a few feet away.
“You were supposed to be dead,” Dave mumbled, staggering forward, a crazed expression making his face unrecognizable. “You were supposed to be dead!” Wrapping his arms around me, Dave lifted me from the ground, my feet scrabbling against the loose gravel as if I was some Scooby Doo cartoon, running in mid-air.
Finally, I found my voice and let loose with a piercing scream that bounced and echoed from underneath the bridge and around the rocks with amazing clarity. Even though it was me who screamed, goose-bumps popped out on my skin. The echo made it sound like a cluster of screams, as though all the wounded ghosts and troubled souls screamed with me in their pain.
Struggling in his grasp, I brought my knee up in a sharp right angle, connecting with Dave’s groin.
He bent at the waist and expelled a blast of breath, but didn’t let go. I sat there, my feet dangling in the air, half bent over the bridge wall when another sound echoed through the air.
Click!
Twisting in Dave’s grasp, I craned my neck to see where the sound came from. Dave seemed to snap from his trance, too, and stiffened to a corpse-like posture.
“Put her down, Dave.” Dad’s voice, strong and sure, broke through the chaos without even a hint of a waiver. “Put her down or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
My eyes went to Dave’s face, waiting for him to show some sort of resignation or acknowledgement. His grip remained strong even though his body had stilled, but his eyes remained expressionless. The concrete wall dug into my back, scraping a patch of fresh skin away and leaving a raw, stinging sensation to add to the pain slowly taking over my body.
Dave looked down at me, his eyes traveling over my face, my hair, the rumpled blouse and skirt. Confusion and pain filled his eyes and the transformation I had only dreamed about, the one where Dave gives himself up willingly, unfolded before my eyes.
Releasing me into a heap on the ground, Dave collapsed like a house of cards, folding in on himself in a sudden onslaught of agony.
“Why did you leave me?” he whispered. He looked at me without seeing me, the haunted feeling I had felt any time someone mentioned Sarah, written all over his face.
Slowly, I inched away, scooting myself across the road in movements so small so as not to snap Dave from his wave of grief.
Dad approached warily, keeping the long barreled shotgun trained on Dave. “Kate? Are you OK?”
Wincing, I managed to stand and limp to him, my twisted ankle now doubled in size. “I’m OK, now,” I said, leaning onto his arm for support.
“Can you get to the car?” he asked, holding me close. When I nodded, he continued, “Take the car to the farm and call the police. Stay there with Gran until I come home.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he shook his head. “I mean it. Stay there.” His gaze bored into my skull, taking in my appearance without asking a single question. How will I ever explain?
Hobbling to the car took me a full ten minutes. Covered in sweat, I winced at the numerous bloodstains dotting my shirt like a connect-the-dots puzzle. I knew I was a mess. The idea that Gran would see me this way upset me more than anything Dave had ever done. I didn’t want to cause her more grief. And I didn’t want to leave Dad alone with Dave, who was bigger and stronger – and a complete lunatic.
Somehow, I managed to drive away, watching Dad in the rearview mirror the entire time, his stance never moving, like a television program on pause. The only reason I continued driving was the sight of the shotgun secure in Dad’s hands.
It was the last time I ever saw Dave Slater alive.
Chapter Fifteen
Closure
It was hard for me to believe that Dave Slater had killed himself. Confident, domineering, charming Dave Slater finally gave in to the dark side. I thought this would make everything easier, Dave ending the quest I had undertaken, but it only made it that much harder.
Small towns love gossip, and plenty of stories surfaced on what happened out at the Rapid River bridge. Most people refused to believe Dave was a murderer and that he’d been attempting to kill me as my Dad arrived at the scene. I was cast as the slutty city girl who seduced Dave into meeting me, and the obvious conclusion was that Dad killed Dave in a violent rage upon discovering our dirty little secret.
The only two people who really knew what happened – innocent people, I might add – were subjected to hours of questions by the local police. It wasn’t until a full investigation took place, that Dad was cleared and the town went back to whispering behind closed doors. A search warrant of Dave’s place out by Slater’s store turned up sufficient evidence that turned all eyes away from the Christenson family and eventually reopened a cold case from about forty years ago. Fortunately for me, I wouldn’t have to explain the way I had come up with my suspicions of Dave murdering Sarah; he’d kept a nice, tidy, obsessively detailed journal about his and Sarah’s relationship – way past the day she died. Creepy, but helpful.
I hid out at the farm and managed to steer clear of town. I was tired of the stares and pointing fingers. And though the police were temporarily satisfied, Gran and Dad were not. Each night, we stared at each
other over the dinner table, daring one another to ask the first question; the only person who actually ate anything was Grandpa, who knew little of what went on the night Dave died. I knew they thought I had an unhealthy obsession with Sarah, and that reenacting the night she died was just some sick, twisted teenage thing to add more drama.
I’ll never forget Gran’s face when I walked in wearing the clothes I bought to look like Sarah. The vast emotions that crossed her face were heartbreaking. For a split second, I knew she thought I was Sarah’s ghost. Whether she was happy for the reunion or scared beyond her wits was beyond me; I had rushed to the phone and dialed the police before any words were spoken between us.
After that, her face was simply full of disappointment – and hurt. From across the kitchen, the way her eyes accused me of betrayal struck a chord deep within. I knew then, she might never understand. And why should she? Would there ever be an excuse worthy of explaining why I’d dressed up as her dead daughter, prancing around trying to solve mysteries like some Nancy Drew wannabe?
I was trying to come to grips with the fact that no one might ever know what really happened; the irony of living with secrets, just as Sarah did, was killing me.
And then one night, as I lay amidst the folds of the worn quilt on my bed, running my finger over the crooked letters on the dresser, the distinct feeling of being watched came over me. I rolled over, and there Dad stood, leaning against the doorjamb.
“You can tell me anything, you know,” he started as he moved into the room and perched lightly on the edge of the bed, so lightly it looked as though he was scared I might up and run away. “I love you, and I wouldn’t judge you. There’s something eating away at you. I can see it pulling you, testing you – whether or not you should tell. It would help if you could talk to someone. It doesn’t have to be me.”
I leaned back, looking mildly offended. “Look, I’m not going to talk to a shrink, OK? I did what I did for a reason. I don’t expect you all to understand. I’m not obsessed with Sarah, or death; I’m not into ruining lives just for kicks. Despite what everyone thinks, I tried to do the right thing. I wanted to help Sarah, and you all are assuming my actions were for selfish reasons. I knew she was murdered, Dad. And I knew Dave did it. Simple as that.” Except it wasn’t that simple.
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