Ripple

Chapter Thirty

That night, I park my car in the usual spot, noticing the Jeep parked next to a tree.

It’s Erik’s. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat of his darkened car, watching me. Shadows hang over his eyes, making them impossible to see.

He matches my stare, and I sit, teeth gritted, hands gripping the wheel so hard it’s painful. Long moments tick past as we look at each other, neither of us moving. What is he doing here? He was supposed to give me space. I know he was scared, but it’s just two days. I wasn’t leaving him. I just wanted a little time to think.

I watch him through the shadows as he unbuckles his seat belt. I don’t get out of the car as he slides out of his bucket seat and walks to my door. I unroll the window.

“Hi,” he says, looking sheepish.

“Why are you here?” My voice comes out a little angry. I lower it. “I thought you were going to give me a couple of days.”

He looks down at the key ring dangling from a finger. “I know, but I just got a little worried you were pulling away.”

“Erik. Seriously. I need some space.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” It’s hard not to shout it.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come up here, but before I knew it I was driving up the gravel road.”

I set a hand on his. “Please. Just give me a couple of days. I swear it will all work out. Okay?”

“Sure.” He leans in and gives me a long, lingering kiss, and I feel my body react to it. As he walks away, I can’t help but wonder if that’s what he intended. If maybe he thought the kiss would make me change my mind, want him to stay with me. I sit in my car and watch him back up. I don’t move until his headlights have disappeared down the gravel road.

In fact, I don’t move for a long time, my eyes fixated on the spot where I last saw his red taillights glow.

Erik is taking this all really hard. I get it, I do, but I don’t like it.

I finally unsnap my seat belt and get out of the car. It’s colder than I realized. I reach back into my Toyota and grab a black quilted jacket with a fur-lined hood. Then I put it on and zip it up to my chin. I shove my hands in the pockets and walk to the tree line, entering the shadowed darkness under the canopy. My sneakers sink in the thick pine-needle walkway, and the ferns I brush up against dampen my jeans. I take in several deep breaths through my nose, relishing the sweet smell of the damp forest.

I walk slowly today, in no hurry to get to the lake. The urge to sing is building, bubbling up to the surface as I make the trek through the woods.

The hunger for the water is just as strong as it’s ever been.

The darkness seems thicker than usual somehow. Like the misting rain and the velvet sky have melded together into a big blanket. By the time I step into the clearing beside the lake, the urge to sing has grown enough that I shiver in anticipation.

I shed my clothing and step into the familiar waters, quickly diving under the surface. I stay underwater even longer than normal, until my lungs scream for oxygen. The icy water wraps around my skin, but I don’t feel cold. I feel as though I’m sitting in a warm bath, every muscle relaxing in the water.

I finally come up for air, and my face barely breaks the surface when the song bursts free, my voice loud and clear as I let loose with a melody more haunting than the one that I’ve sung every night these last few weeks.

I’m only a half lap in when the song dies, and something doesn’t feel right.

I jerk upright, glance across the lake at my tree. My clothes still dangle there, but Erik’s not standing next to them. I blink, then spin around and scan the shore and the tree line.

No Erik.

And then something clicks into place. It feels like when I killed Steven. Like the desire to sing hasn’t just disappeared, but like some deep need has been met. It’s the same strange high that drove me to laugh and splash, feeling weirdly euphoric, while Steven floated facedown, just a few dozen yards from me.

Sudden, rushing panic courses through me. The silence buzzes in my ears as my stomach begins to flip over and over and over.

I twist around, then around again, desperate to figure out where he is. Whoever he is.

And that’s when I see the body.

“No!” I scream, the sound more like a wildcat’s scream than my voice. I throw everything into swimming toward the body floating hardly twenty feet from me, facedown, innocent as driftwood. I don’t even stop to see who it is. I just flip the body over and yank on the collar of the shirt, dragging him behind me as I kick, gaining momentum until the water streams by faster than ever. My feet find the ground, and I struggle to get him up onto the shore. For the first time, I look down at the pale face and am met with my worst nightmare.

Cole.

Nooo. An animal scream wrenches from my throat. Not Cole. Anyone but Cole.

Oh God, no. How did it come to this? I did everything in my power to keep him away from the lake, away from me. I can’t have killed him. I can’t go through the pain of killing someone again.

Cole’s once beautiful hazel eyes are glassy and lifeless, staring upward. His dark curls are plastered to his forehead and temples. His skin is ashy, clammy. He’s not breathing.

I pound on his chest without even thinking. Pinching his nose, I force air into his lungs. It’s exactly like those desperate moments with Steven, when I tried to bring him back, before I realized that the life had already left his once strong body.

This can’t happen. Not again. I won’t let it. I can’t do this, not to Cole, not to the only person who’s tried to get to know me, the real me, in the last two years.

Though I’m breathless myself, I don’t stop. I push against his chest several more times. Just as I lean over to force more air into his lungs, water slides between his lips. And suddenly, he’s coughing.

I jump up and step back, watching as he rolls onto his side, hacking hard, coughing up water. He’s curled over in a fetal position, gasping for breath.

Before I understand what I’m doing, I’m backing up, sliding my clothes off the branch behind me and retreating into the shadows. He pulls his knees underneath him and kneels, still coughing, one hand gripping his stomach, the other sinking into the rocky, muddy shore.

Once the coughing slows, and I know he’s going to be okay, I slip further into the shadows. I disappear, my bare feet picking up a sprint. I dodge tree limbs and roots and rocks, bursting into a frantic run, wishing I could leave the truth behind as easily as I leave Cole hacking up lake water.

The gravel bites into my bare feet, punishing me for my mistakes.

I almost killed.

Sickening dread swirls in my stomach, nearly making me vomit as I reach my car.

I almost killed.

I yank the door open and fall into the seat. Then I curl up into a ball and close my eyes, rocking back and forth.

I almost killed.