Ripple Effect: A Novel Page 4

  “Mom said you were depressed, that you were doing drugs when you died. She said you were having nightmares because you were being attacked by someone. She read it in your journal.”

  Adie reached through me and picked up another picture. This one was of me with my Papa. Just a young girl then, maybe ten years old, I wore a miner’s helmet and was

  digging a hole in the back yard. I claimed to be looking for treasures, just like Papa did.

  I missed my Papa so much. Warm tears trailed down my face as I thought about his strong hugs and soft touch. It was cruel for the Reaper to take him from us.

  “You’ve abandoned me, little sister. Just like Papa did. Why did you do it?”

  “I’m sorry, Adie.” My heart sunk. “I didn’t mean––”

  Turning her back on me, she rolled onto her pillows and pulled a purple quilt close to her, one of my quilts to be exact.

  “I’m dying, Cecily.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “And when I die, you know that Mom will lose all hope in life.”

  What could I possible say to such a horrible truth besides, “I’m sorry I let you down, Adie. Someday . . . I hope you find it in you to love me again.”

  Adie turned away from me. As she sobbed her shoulders shook and trembled.

  * * *

  In the church ran a row of candles. I had seen them a thousand times before but had never lit one for anyone. On occasion, my mother would come here late at night and light candles for her family, even the deceased. Well, tonight was one of those nights, it seemed.

  My mother quietly lit four candles; for me, Adie, Papa, and herself. She knelt before the candles and prayed to the heavenly hosts above. I knew what she prayed for . . . and it had to do with Adie.

  I was seven when my sister was diagnosed with chronic lymphocytic leukemia. Adie was only ten and it was an extremely rare case to see.

  Chronic lymphocytic leukemia in Adie was a cancer of the white blood cells—and extremely rare. The white blood cells were being vessel hogs and smothered the red blood cells to death. And those red blood cells, well they exchanged vital nutrients and gases in the body.

  Adie went downhill fast after diagnoses. She needed a bone marrow transplant. Both of my parents were tested for compatibility, but neither of them matched Adie. I was young and my parents felt wary of testing me for compatibility. As a determined child, I insisted that I be checked. Adie was my big sister and my best friend. I would gladly give my life to save hers at the age of seven.

  One operation wasn’t enough. By the time that ten years had passed, we had gone through another three operations. We felt confident that the last one would do it, that it would lead her safely to remission. Even the doctors had hope. But we were wrong. And with me being dead, Adie’s chances of survival were slim.

  My mother finished her silent prayer and lifted her head. She glanced up at the stained glass windows with hope, or so I assumed. She was always so strong. Rubbing her face, she sighed loudly and tiredly. It seemed that she wasn’t sleeping again––who could blame her. She had one child left and she was slowly dying.

  She stood up and left the small chapel. The old silver sedan that we drove around waited for her. I sat in the front seat as she drove herself home, observing the outskirts of the mining town that we lived in as we went. A diner with cursive florescent letters sat on the edge of the two lane road. The small grocery market, with its slanted roof with wooden shingles and large windows set into the aged white brick, sat across from that. Behind us stood the church that was getting further and further away, established in 1887. It still looked as white as ever—a beacon to the townsfolk.

  The epicenter of development was nowhere near us. It was downtown, where strip malls had been put in and one huge department store––Sears or something. Between here and there stood the hospital, rebuilt just years ago, and decked out with high tech gear. It was taller than a mountain, or close enough, I guess. Parts of our town were flashy, like mansion hill, but the population remained at negative fifty it was so small. Seriously, our “city” was a grain of salt when compared to New York City.

  But our history was monumental, with old colonial houses everywhere and the occult remains of Colonial America. The original town hall in the heart of downtown—the size of Hazel’s mini-mansion—still housed our town’s soul, even though it smelled moldy and old inside. Historical tidbits like cannons, mine carts, and water wells were all over the place.

  Where we were, on the outskirts of town, there were just old buildings run locally by the people. A vet, a florist, the butcher, and a few farmers; people like that. The houses out here seemed identical to most, but to my father they were a dream come true. Three bedrooms, one bathroom, a living room, and a decent kitchen . . . more than he had ever hoped for.

  After parking in the driveway, my mother opened the squeaky door of the old car while I stared at the abandoned and dark car port on the side of the house. We never used it because that’s where Papa parked his truck. It hurt my mom too much to be back there . . . too many memories for her.

  Her feet hit the cold cement as a cool breeze, mixed with her floral perfume, filled the cab. It smacked me in the face and I shook away the longing that I had to hug my mother. Instead, I stared at the yellowing grass and wilting plants in the yard, wearing down for the winter. A large tree, far taller than the house, stood in the front yard. The trunk was strong and thick, the branches filled with yellowing leaves.

  We used to rake all the leaves into a giant pile every fall and jump into them. I could almost see Adie and myself doing cartwheels into the crinkly leaves. Mother took pictures, and Papa laughed as he leaned on the rake for support. I would climb the tree and jump from the lowest branches into the pile—and my mother cringed every time.

  The weather became colder as winter approached. Rogue leaves blew through the dark streets, dancing and twirling in the invisible wind. My mother watched the leaves for a moment before heading toward the house. She stuck to the cement path, up the three wooden steps that led onto the wooden porch with a swinging bench. A window with white shutters held the glow of a fire, though clouded by white curtains. She stepped inside the warm house. I stared up at the simple glass porch light, dimly lit, before following her inside.

  Adie had made it down the L-shaped flight of wooden stairs and now sat by the fireplace. The mantel was white and the wall dark red. A rock perch jutted from the fireplace and she leaned on the edge of it. She had started a fire, just as I assumed, and stared absentmindedly into the dancing flames. Her eyes were mesmerized by the movement of the fire across the logs.

  “Hello, darling,” my mother said quietly. I missed the soothing sound of her voice. “I’m surprised you are awake.”

  Adie didn’t respond. She just stared.

  “Are you hungry? Can I get you some warm lemon water?”

  For some reason, my sister loved warm lemon water. I thought it was disgusting.

  Adie looked up at my mom with exhausted eyes. “Do you think Cecily committed suicide?” Her voice was quiet.

  My mom pursed her lips as emotion swept through her. She removed her wool scarf and black twill coat before hanging them on the wooden coat rack by the stairs. “Adie, Cecily is gone now. It doesn’t matter. We can’t change that fact . . . and we will never really know the truth.”

  Adie glared at her mom. “I don’t think she did! Everyone says she did, but I don’t think so.” She turned toward the fire. “Hazel says she was attacked. You need to defend your daughter!”

  My mom pushed her forehead into her palm, exhausted. “Hazel’s gone off the deep end, honey. She isn’t well.”

  “Mom, there are three girls missing. They were seniors last year. Jema and Daphne agree with me when I say they’ve been kidnapped . . .”

  Face stern now, my mother stared at my sister—the type of stare that always said we were in trouble. “Adie Wolf—” She tried to breathe, to remain calm as she stepped forward. “What makes
you think of such things, Adie?”

  Adie pulled the white sleeves of her shirt over her thumbs and brought them to her thin lips as she stared back at the fire. “Hazel’s scared,” she muttered.

  Covering her face, my mother tried her hardest to bite back the tears that swelled in her tired eyes. I could see a shudder of emotion run through her, barely holding on to her sanity.

  Adie looked back at Mom. “Cecily wouldn’t commit suicide unless she had to.”

  Silence filled the room, the type that held doubt and anger. I stared at the shadows that filled the corners and edges of the room, regretting that my mother and sister chose to sit in such dark and gloomy conditions. If I could, I’d flip the switch. The delicate lamp shades would fill with precious light, softly illuminating the pictures on the tables and walls. That’s how it used to be.

  Mom held a chillingly calm tone. “If girls were taken and kidnapped, Cecily would have been taken and we wouldn’t have Cecily’s remains.”

  “She didn’t kill herself!” Adie’s breathing increased as she became more upset. She looked paler now and her lips were going blue with apprehension.

  Mom’s lips pursed. “Cecily committed suicide, Adie! There is no conspiracy to it! She jumped off a cliff to her death, do you understand this? She even says it in her journal!”

  Whimpers escaped Adie as she stared back at the fire. Silver streaks rushed down her hollow cheeks. I could feel her pain, the stabbing shooting through her being. She knew that something bad was happening, but no would believe her.

  I stared at my mom with disappointment. She wouldn’t even listen to her daughter, just to hear her out. Hazel was scared and everyone saw it, but Mom didn’t care.

  With tears in her own eyes, Mom sat next to Adie and wrapped her arms tightly around her slim frame. “I understand that you are upset.” She kissed the side of her head. “I understand, baby. It’s a natural reaction when we lose the people we love.”

  I sat on the carpeted floor next to my sister. The doorbell rang, sending seven chimes through the house.

  “Who could be here at this hour?” My mother rose to her feet.

  Adie tried to stand up, but was too weak. “It’s Jema and Daphne. They are going to sleep over tonight.” She wiped the tears from her face quickly, as to hide her weakness.

  My mother answered the door. After welcoming the girls, she hugged them tightly. “You are so sweet to come over,” my mother said quietly.

  “We love Adie. We are her best friends,” Jema reminded my mom, her blue eyes twinkling.

  I moved out of the way so that the girls could huddle around the fire together. A smile filled my face as I watched them talk and laugh. At least my family wasn’t alone.

  After Mom left to gather food, Adie began explaining the discussion she had with my mom to the girls. Her voice was low. It was like overhearing the planning of a covert operation. It was just them talking about the conspiracy theories about the missing girls that floated around town. Three missing girls, a psycho Hazel, and a troubled teenager that had committed suicide; I’d heard it all now. What else, a serial killer? I laughed. Not in our small city––impossible!

  I patted their heads, knowing that I would disappear soon. “Love you, too,” I whispered over their talking. “I miss you lots.”

  In the corner of the dimly lit room was a painting, propped against the wall. Adie had brought it downstairs at some time. It was the painting of the red lily, not yet finished.

  Chapter 6

  The glacier pond glistened in the combined light from the sunrise and sunset. Turquoise waters flowed effortlessly through a tranquil stream and into the small body of water. Trickling noises brought serenity to the small space where we sat. The air smelled like rain and had a refreshing hint of moisture to it.

  Kelly and I were lying on soft emerald grass beneath a grove of purple trees with ash-gray trunks and branches. We laid in close proximity, our arms touching comfortably and our heads angled toward each other. Bandit lay beside me, snoring lightly as he slept.

  Anxiety had become a constant companion since I found out that my sister’s life was in jeopardy, and that multiple teenagers were playing puppets with the evil puppet master. But right then . . . I felt semi-okay.

  “Do you like it here?” Kelly picked a blade of vibrant grass and examined it closely.

  “Yes . . . I do. But I don’t belong here, Kelly. I should be walking among the living, not stuck here in holding. I still don’t even know if this is real . . .”

  Kelly dropped the blade of grass and stroked my hand with his warm finger. “Do you believe that I am real?”

  I glanced at Kelly, rather bothered. “I don’t know. I swear that this is just a dream and that I will wake up soon. Right now, you are real to me. But in the real world, I fear that you are just an apparition.” My forehead creased. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  Leaning onto his elbow, he looked down at me. I stared at his face, his half-lidded eyes, and the smoothness of his light skin. Softly, he ran his finger along my forearm, leaving a trail of bumps. “Is this real?”

  A small gasp escaped me as Kelly lightly brought his lips to mine.

  My eyes closed as I allowed the kiss to happen. It was pure and innocent, filled with sweetness––a mixture of vanilla bean and milk chocolate. Lingering on my lips was a spark. His kiss was something so desirable––a feeling that I craved. Something that sparked my heart and made it beat funny.

  If I hadn’t encountered the creep at the party, Kelly would have been my first kiss . . . but only because I had died.

  Kelly touched my face softly as he smiled down at me, his blue eyes squinting with kindness, adoring.

  “You feel so real,” I whispered. Slowly, my fingertips touched my lips as my heart calmed down from the sweet surprise.

  “I’ve never kissed a young lady,” Kelly informed me. “I was too shy, and died at such a young age.”

  “Is this even possible?” I gazed hesitantly into his eyes.

  His smile could chase away any darkened feeling. “It just happened, didn’t it?”

  A small laugh escaped me. “Are you sure I’m not dreaming?”

  Kelly shrugged before lying down again on the plush grass. His warm hand wrapped around mine and held it tightly. “If you are, then this has got to be the best dream you’ve ever had,” he replied, glancing at me over his shoulder.

  Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to enjoy the moment; the cool air, soft grass, and the sound of the water in the background. It was all great and wonderful until a question nagged my brain. “Kelly, where were you stationed during the war?” My eyes opened and I stared at him.

  Exhaling loudly, Kelly stared up at the purple leaves as he thought. “I can’t remember. There was a body of water involved, perhaps a ship. I can’t remember if it was a ferry, or a U-boat. Perhaps it was a destroyer or an air craft carrier. Honestly, I couldn’t tell you.”

  “You were a member of the Navy?”

  Kelly nodded lopsidedly. “I believe so.”

  Moving to my side, I leaned on a propped elbow and rested my head in my hand, looking at the side profile of Kelly’s face. He had a very straight nose and tempting full lips that I wanted to kiss once again.

  “I feel like I have been searching for centuries for what really happened to me.” Kelly’s lips pursed slightly and his eyes narrowed as he stared up at the royal canopy. This mystery seemed to pain him more than he showed.

  “I know the feeling,” I remarked, tracing the angles of his face with my eyes.

  Kelly gave me a sorrowful smile. “Speaking of . . . do you want to see how you died? Aren’t you curious?”

  “No,” I replied sternly.

  Kelly rolled his eyes at my stubbornness. “I would die to know what happened to me.”

  I laughed. “You’re already dead, remember?”

  He made a face. “I would die again to know what happened to me.”

  “Yes, of course.”
Only he would do such a noble thing.

  “So, you understand why I ask about your hesitance to find out how you died?”

  I shot Kelly a look of discomfort. “It’s not the same.”

  “Death is death,” Kelly pointed out.

  Aggravated by him, I leaned onto my elbow and scowled. “You died of a noble cause, remember? And me—I—I—might have committed suicide. That isn’t so noble, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Kelly rubbed my arm soothingly. “Cecily, the thing that binds you now is your own conscience. If you say you aren’t noble or good enough for happiness, you only condemn yourself to an afterlife of torture.”

  “You’re telling me that the great judge in the sky will not be judging me?”

  “The only judge will be you. The desires of your heart will guide you to where you want to be. Only you can exalt yourself to glory or punish yourself in Hell.”

  My hand reached forward and rested on his chest. “What if I desire to be with you?” My hazel eyes met his, crystal blue, and the corner of my lip lifted shyly.

  Kelly smiled broadly, his eyes twinkling. “Then, your will shall be done.”

  I brought my face closer to his. Stopping just before my lips reached his, I asked, “You won’t disappear on me, will you?”

  He shook his head before kissing me. “Never,” he whispered.

  Gulping, I glanced at Bandit. He panted, sitting on the ground beside me. My nerves fired as I thought about the thing that would set me free. “Kelly . . . show me how I died.”

  Chapter 7

  Darkness filled the old hiking trail.

  I had hiked it a million times with my Papa and had found it to be a place of comfort, regardless of my upset. Those trails would always be remembered as refreshing and bright, shaded by glorious trees with luscious green leaves. Wildflowers would grow during late spring into early autumn. Quietness seemed to always fill the space, a very refreshing quiet that soothed one’s mind. And a breeze, as crisp and pure as anything, always floated down the canyon.