Ripple Effect: A Novel (3 page)

Bandit padded beside me as I strolled through the field of glorious colors and specks of magic. I didn’t know how much time had passed, but it seemed like only hours that I had been away. Neither day nor night existed here; I seemed stuck between the two. Aging had no laws where I stood and time seemed to be in a standstill nightmare.

“What’s on your mind?” Kelly asked. He moved beside me, hands brushing through the soft leaves of the vibrant foliage, sensing my frustration.

Of course my mind was still circling around that stupid party that ruined the lives of everyone I ever loved! My jaw clenched. “Sabrina did this, Kelly, I know it. She ruins everything!”

Remaining quiet, Kelly observed the fields of glorious color. I wondered what went on his head.

“What does
initiation
mean?” My heart clenched. “I don’t like the sounds of it––at all.”

Kelly gave me a saddened look. “Hazel was used for
it.
”

“Who uses rape as an initiation?” Disgusting and bitter, a taste filled my mouth at the use of that vile word.
Rape.
Chills coursed my skin and I wrapped my arms around myself.

“A very sick and twisted man,” Kelly replied gravely. When I looked at him, I saw that he stared up the limitless stars, his jaw tense, and a sickened color filling his already light complexion. Blue inquisitive eyes looked at me suddenly, and his head turned slightly. “I’m sorry about Hazel, Cecily.”

My cheeks burned as self-hatred and anger hit. Ignoring his worried glance, I collapsed down in the field, the white dress billowing around me, and covered my reddening face with my hands. Sparkles of sweet smelling pollen lifted into the air. “I can’t do anything to help them. I’m dead.”

Silent, Kelly sat beside me. I glanced at him with expectation––like, perhaps, him making this go away and me waking up from this horrible nightmare––and he returned a different look, one filled with the truth:
You are dead.

Eyes stinging, I stared down at my palms and touched the lifeline that etched across the tender flesh. “How is it possible to be dead and have life lines?”

After picking a dark purple leaf, Kelly tucked it behind my ear softly. “I’ve wondered the same thing for quite some time now.” Smiling, he offered me his hand in silence and I held it tightly as we stared at the sunset in the west. I kept the other hand on my dog’s back.

“Kelly,” I said, “how long have you been here?”

“For as long as you have.”

“You died when I died?” My eyebrow rose inquisitively.

“No.” Kelly laughed. Pausing for just a second, I saw a flash of emotion zip across his blue eyes, like a spark, when he looked at me. “I was sent here to be your guide. I am here to help you find your way home.”

Staring at him, I tilted my head to the side. “Who sent you here, Kelly?”

Kelly looked up at the endless stars. “That’s for you to discern.”

Everything was a mystery around here. Wherever
here
was.

I patted Bandit on the head and scratched behind his large floppy ears, warm, I might add. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he panted in content. After a minute he rested down on his paws, nose just inches away from vibrant green grass, and sighed. I agreed.

“Have you seen Papa?” I asked Bandit. “Have you, boy?”

Bandit moved his head in my direction and looked up at me through those adorable puppy eyes. No response from my black and brown Beagle, just another sigh.

“My dog’s not talking.” I sighed. “He’s too real for this to be death.”

Smiling, he glanced at me. That spark returned to his eyes. “There are many things, you’ll find, that are
too real
for the preconceived notions of death.” His hand brushed against mine discretely.

Blushing, my chin tilted down and I bit my lip. My stomach fluttered.

I patted Bandit on the back and glanced over my shoulder. “I want to climb that mountain.” Clouds floated lightly on the snow covered peak. “I want to smell the pine needles on the trees.”

“There are no limits as to what you can do here,” he said.

“Can I fly?”

Kelly nudged his head toward the peak; brown hair swept across his forehead. “Give it a try.”

After standing up, I flapped my arms in my attempt to fly. Kelly laughed loudly. Determination filled me as I tried once again, this time running as I flapped my featherless arms. Nothing happened and I felt like Kelly had lied to me.

“Epic fail,” I stated under my breath. My eyebrow accusingly shot up as I stared at Kelly. “You’re a liar pants.”

Kelly laughed again, a sound I had come to love. “No, I don’t think that I would lie to you. Perhaps you’re not trying hard enough.”

My eye twitched. “You’re kidding me. You think I am not
trying hard enough?
”

His eyebrow raised in response, answer enough.

“You’re wrong! I will fly––like a fighter jet! My arms are aerodynamically shaped wings that will help me glide smoothly through the air. I am fast as the speed of light and as quiet as an autumn breeze.”

“Let’s see it,” Kelly responded, a curious smile filling his face.

Closing my eyes, I exhaled and relaxed my shoulders as a vision of a jet filled my mind. I would fly to that peak no matter what. When I opened my eyes, I was gliding in the air. My laughter rang through the air as I soared through the clouds. Beside me flew Bandit, his ears flopping in the wind, and Kelly, who leisurely leaned on his side as he glided along with me.

I did a double take at Kelly. Wasn’t he just a devilishly handsome little show off?

Rolling my eyes, I looked below us at the quilt of vibrant colors. On top of the colorful ridge hid a small pond, the color of turquoise, beside a grove of purple trees. It was something I hadn’t seen yet. Glacial water cascaded down the mountain peak into the body of water. I wasn’t sure if I imagined it or if it was truly there, but it was beautiful.

Above me were the stars in the night sky. Suddenly I felt like an astronaut floating through deep space. Imagining myself in a space suit, I pretended that I had a rocket pack on. My arms moved slowly and stiffly, as if I wore a big and white fluffy suit designed for space exploration.

“Roger, we have a problem.” Kelly laughed.

I didn’t consider that sentence playful. Last thing that I needed was another problem. “Roger, you suck at telling jokes.”

“I’m serious. Look!” He pointed ahead.

I pummeled toward the ground, landing harshly in the snow covered peak. “Dude, you could have warned me earlier!” I yelled half-serious at Kelly while pulling myself out of the hole I was buried in, before smoothing out my dress.

Kelly held my arms and pulled me up to standing. “I was having too much fun observing you. Your imagination is extraordinary.”

“Hence the artist, silly.” I brushed the snow off my head and shoulders, his too. “Where’s my dog?” I looked around me for that little mongrel.

Bandit barked from behind me. He shook his body free of snow.

Kelly and I laughed as we watched him.

The snow around me wasn’t cold. I expected myself to be overcome with chills and shivers, but I wasn’t. The snow was soft and white, yet surprisingly warm, like the feathers found in extravagant down comforters. Scooping up a handful of the odd snow, I shaped it into a ball before throwing it at Kelly. After pegging his shoulder, the odd snow
dispersed quickly into thin air and I laughed.

A teasing smile stretched across Kelly’s face as he scooped up a handful of snow. He threw it at me in an act of payback, grinning. We continued our snow fight until I finally tackled him into a snow bank. We laughed, rolling down the hill together and into a grove of tall trunks and soft beds lined with fragrant pine needles. Bandit barked and hopped around, the only way he could participate in the fun.

I sat on my hip and propped an arm over Kelly to hold myself up. I smiled down at him, as if he was something so special in my life––or afterlife. Kelly was so amazingly attractive. I had been so obsessed with myself that I had hardly noticed his features. His skin looked smooth and young, and his brown hair was short, suave, and seemed to be perma-styled in place. I touched his face softly with my free hand as I admired him.

Calmness filled the space. Above us spanned a canopy of pine branches, interlaced with wisps of white clouds. Light slivered through the trunks and into the dim forest, illuminating the tiny specks of magic dust.

Running his hand through my auburn hair, Kelly returned the act of admiration. My eyes met his once more and I smiled seriously.
How does such a wonderful person die at such a young age? And why is such a wonderful person escorting me, a wretch, through the afterlife? Why in the afterworld does he keep looking at me like he adores me?
I wasn’t adorable in any way. Just horrible, that’s all.

But I couldn’t deny the feelings that swept through me when I looked at him. “Is there such thing as love after death?” I whispered, sweeping my hand along the side of his face.

Kelly seemed completely lost as well, but smiled and gently touched my chin. “I’ve never felt like this before, Cecily.”

Chills washed over me from his touch. “We’re dead, Kelly. Is this feeling even possible?”

His hand dropped. “I don’t know.”

I pushed myself up and headed back to the peak as I evaluated my feelings.
Can love after death be real?

Before me stretched a land of clouds, vast and never ending. I could see the sunset in the west, painting the clouds pink in color. Above us, the night sky held stars of wonder. I felt like this was some sort of
heaven
, though to me . . . a holding cell.

Kelly stood next to me now. He observed me closely, bemused by my young beauty and dazzling charm.

“How old were you when you died?” I asked him, still staring out over the clouds.

“Eighteen,” he replied quietly. “I died for my country during World War II.”

I glanced at him sadly. “That’s so young.”

Kelly shrugged. “At least it was for a noble cause.”

Glancing down at the ground, I felt remorseful. My cause of death was far from noble.

“I didn’t mean––,” Kelly stated quickly, regretting the way he phrased it. He touched my arm softly.

“Do you think I committed suicide?”

He looked down at Bandit. “The only way we can find out is if we revisit the scene where you died.”

As I bit my lip, I stared directly into his understanding eyes. My eyebrow creased as hesitance filled me. “I don’t know if I am ready to face it yet, Kelly.”

“Would you like to check on your family then?”

I could handle that, though I knew it would still hurt.

Apparently, a couple weeks had passed since I had left. There had been a few visitors in the cemetery, coming to say a word or two to the granite slab my name was written on. Naturally, things appeared stormy and gray, just as it usually did in the fall season.

Daphne and Jema were there, but not my mother or sister. This concerned me. Why weren’t they there?

“Where is my family?” I asked. We sat on the dying grass a few yards from the wall of plaques, next to a large onyx headstone that said
Drake
.

Kelly watched Daphne and Jema. Daphne stood taller than all the girls in the group, definitely the most prominent in leadership, and very passionate. She held her head high, her green eyes blinking away her pain and hurt, and behind her flowing orange hair trailed down the black blazer she wore with a long black skirt. Jema had always been the empathic one of the group, but never scared to state the truth. She and Adie were two peas in pod, so my mother always stated. Her brown hair twisted into a messy bun with her bangs swept into her face to hide her red-rimmed blue eyes. She wore a gray pea coat. Arms linked, they moved toward the plaques.

After standing up, I paused to look at Kelly before taking a step forward. “Are you coming?”

Kelly shook his head. “I think this might be personal . . . for your ears only.”

Nervously, I went to where my plaque had been placed. I stood behind Daphne and Jema as they touched the plaque with gloved hands. It was colder than I thought—felt.

“Do you think that she can hear us?” Jema dropped her hand to her side.

Daphne looked up at the gray sky. Freckles dotted her complexion. “All we can do is pray that she does.”

Jema and Daphne took each other’s hands. They nodded to each other before bowing their heads in prayer.

“Cecily . . . if you can hear us we have a favor to ask of you. We know that you have always been your sister’s keeper, though you are the baby of the family. Well, little sis, we need you to watch over your sister once again,” Jema said.

Daphne cleared her throat. “Cecily, your sister is sick. This time, we fear that she won’t make it. If there are any strings you can pull in heaven, this is the time to do it. Please don’t let Adie be taken away from us.
We’ve already lost you.
”

My mouth became dry and I blinked a thousand times to ward off emotion. I knew she was sick again, that she had relapsed. “I’ll try my best,” I promised.

*              *              *

Adie sat in her room and stared out the window at the night. She wasn’t looking good. Large purple bags had developed under her eyes and her cheeks had hollowed out. Her skeletal limbs became even thinner, how––I did not know. Adie’s brown hair looked frail and thin, and her pale skin seemed almost transparent.

Though broken, Adie looked angry. She still had life in her. Pictures of the two of us were spread across her bed.

My sister curled into a ball and leaned against the wall. Tears welled in her eyes.

“Who did this to you, Cecily?” She dropped her head on her bony knees.

I sat next to her and touched her thin arm.

Adie looked around with paranoia. “Who killed you? Why did you run?”

“Hazel told you, then,” I said. “I can’t answer your question, Adie. I don’t even know what happened. I don’t know who those men were or what they wanted with me. I still am not sure if I killed myself or not.”

Adie couldn’t hear me. She picked up a picture of the two of us laughing. Tears streamed down her face and landed on her brown comforter—adding to the hundreds of dark marks from the hundreds of tears she’d cried.

“You aren’t the selfish type, sis. You wouldn’t do this to us on purpose, would you?”

I shook my head. “No, Adie, I wouldn’t. I didn’t mean it, I promise.”

“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!”