Rippler (22 page)

My brain retrieved images from childhood. Maggie. Mom. Blood-marked asphalt. Things I didn’t want to remember. I tried to refocus on my surroundings. A last pistachio orchard flew past and I reached the grassy-brown beginnings of the foothills. I ghosted past the rows of up-ended slate, tousled to earth’s surface in some primeval earthquake. Leaning at drunken angles and covered with red lichen, they resembled blood-smeared tombstones. Something shiver-y ran through my invisible form; I could focus on the outside world all I wanted, but death grinned at me there as well.

Running slowly wasn’t soothing me, but I wasn’t ready to solidify and try conventional running. Ahead, the road twisted and cars slowed. I tried one last distraction: how fast could I move? I passed a mini-van on a hairpin curve. I set my sights on a BMW driving way too fast and found myself flying past. A sense of calm grew inside me as I focused on passing every car, every truck. I had no idea how fast I was going, but it felt right. I felt like Sam again.

Like Sam.

But who was I? Who was Samantha Ruiz, daughter of Kathryn Elisabeth? Why was I

important to Helga and Hans’s father, and who was he? Would Mickie know? Helga was

getting Dr. Pfeffer’s mail now—that was an important connection, surely.

I knew this much: I wasn’t the same girl I’d been at the beginning of the day. I’d

followed
the flashlight man
for one simple reason: because I wanted to know the truth.

Well, I knew it now.

Hans and Helga’s
Father
had wanted me dead once. That was bad. Now he wanted me alive. Was that better or worse?

As I flew along the narrow highway back to my home, I knew this much: never again

would I be a passive observer of my own life. Today changed everything. I would figure out the connection between Pfeffer and the black book and Hans and Helga and my mother’s death.

I reveled in my speed, laughing to myself.
Catch me now!
I thought. Then I sobered, recalling how I’d been unable to calm enough to ripple back at the lab.

That couldn’t happen again.

I would learn to control this ability and use it whenever and under whatever

circumstances I might need in the future: for the day when Hans and Helga’s father “chose to act,” whatever that meant.

And Will would help me.

A rush of warmth and gratitude flooded through me.

Gathering the thought of my friend tight to myself, I pulled down the stretch of road leading to my home.

Chapter Seventeen

CONFESSION

I showered fast, not even taking the time to apply cover-up to the ugly bruise on my cheek; the cut I ignored as well. It could wait. I threw on a fresh pair of sweats and my running shoes to run to Will’s. I could have driven, but I knew that running would help me feel strong enough to do what I needed to do.

I needed to tell Mickie and Will what I’d just learned. But as I ran, a fresh thought overtook me.

This new information could drive Will out of my life forever. Whatever Mickie made of it, how could she fail to see this as a threat to Will’s safety, and to her own?

Tears pricked the back of my eyes.
It’s not fair!

If I didn’t tell them, Will would stay and life would continue as normal. That was all I wanted: for things to be normal.

But nothing could be normal for me ever again. And hiding the truth from Will and

Mickie could prove deadly. Hans and Helga’s father might want
me
alive, but how would he feel about Dr. Pfeffer’s former assistant?

Either Hans or Helga could have participated in Pfeffer’s death. Hiding what I knew? It could be a death sentence for Will and Mickie.

Telling what I knew?

I couldn’t breathe. How could I live without Will?

I pulled off to the side of the road, stuck between nausea and tears, and crumpled to the ground, digging my fingers into the cold, dry dust. My breath came in short starts as the sobbing began. I let the day wash through me, tears stinging the cuts on my face, a chill wind gusting past. The crying came as a relief; I didn’t think, didn’t plan, just grieved. And then the time for crying passed, and I knew what I had to do.

I rose and turned to the Baker’s cabin. No more hiding from the truth, no matter how dark. If I loved Will, I had to let him know. If he wanted to leave, I had to let him go.

I pounded on the door.

“Sam?” Mickie greeted me like I was an extra phonebook that just showed up on the

front porch.

Will called from the kitchen sink, his back to me. “What’s going on? Need help polishing off your birthday cake?”

“Um, no,” I said. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” said Mickie, as she reached to open the door wider. “Sorry, Sam, I had to get up way too early. I’m not at my best today.”

“You don’t have a best,” said Will, drying his hands on a worn towel.

“Shut up,” replied his sister. “Let Sam talk.”

“Oh, man! What happened to your face?” Will looked at my bruises and the tiny cut

along my cheek. “You lose a fight with the road?”

“Not exactly,” I said. I took an extra deep breath and started talking before I had time to change my mind. “Um, okay. So I want to know, what would you do if you found out that the researcher in Pfeffer’s old lab had been party to the deaths of my mom and Maggie?”

“Come again?” said Will.

“What are you talking about?” asked Mickie.

I described encountering the “flashlight man” and how I’d hitched a ride to U.C. Merced.

I smoothed some of the details about Helga’s blood-thirsty games, but I had to admit my story sounded bad even without those details.

Mickie got quiet and let Will ask all the questions before I had even gotten to the part where they strapped me down. I hoped it was a good sign that she wasn’t walking around packing things into boxes.

“Let me see if I got this straight,” said Will. “Pfeffer’s replacement at the University has a brother who tried to kill you, Sam, and knows that you’re alive after all, and this same dude has a Dad who wants your genes?”

I nodded. Mick’s face looked paler than I’d ever seen it. I started wishing she’d do something, even haul out the boxes, instead of just sitting there with no expression on her face, staring out the back window.

We were all silent for a couple of minutes.

“Pfeffer said Las Abuelitas was safe,” whispered Mickie, at last.

“No, Mick, he said to
try
Las Abs. He didn’t say what we should try it for. He never said it was safe here,” said Will.

“I’m not going to argue the point with you. Pfeffer meant for us to live here,” said Mickie. “That’s why he paid our rent. Why would he send us somewhere that wasn’t safe?”

Will shrugged. “Maybe he meant for us to find Sam here. Maybe he knew about her.”

“Okay, I don’t even want to think about the implications of what you just said.” Mickie shook her head slowly. “Everything I’ve done to keep Will safe . . .”

I’d seen Mickie angry before. I knew Will considered her volatility humorous at times.

But this wasn’t funny. She had a look I’d seen before at the zoo, the look of a caged animal desperate to escape.

“I’m taking Sam home,” said Will to his distressed sister. He looked at the cut on my face again. “And you need to get that looked at.”

“No!” said Mickie. She pulled one hand through her hair like she wanted to tear it all out.

“No, Sam, no doctors. No records. Whoever’s down there at UCM still thinks you were just some random student, but the first place they’ll check to discover your true identity will be urgent care facilities, emergency rooms.”

Her logic was impressive, especially considering she looked half-crazed at the moment.

“You
are
sure they didn’t guess your true identity?” asked Mickie.

“I’m sure,” I said. “I told them I was a student. They believed that, at least.”

Mickie came closer, looking at the injuries on my face. “A butterfly bandage,” she

murmured, turning to rummage through a kitchen drawer. She carefully applied ointment and an odd-shaped bandage to the gash on my cheek.

I winced but held still.

“Leave that on for the next week,” said Mickie.

I nodded.

“Come on,” said Will. “I’m getting you home.”

“Okay,” I said. “Bye, Mickie. I’m sorry for all this.”

“What?” she asked. “No, no it’s not your fault. Better to know where we stand. Much better. You can’t protect yourself from the enemy you don’t know exists.”

She crossed to her computer and began muttering and typing, seeming to forget me.

“Let’s go,” said Will.

I followed him out to his sister’s Jeep.

“What will you do?” I asked, miserable.

Will shook his head. “Don’t honestly know.”

My heart sank. I tried to speak, but the words caught as my throat constricted. I blinked back tears.

“Hey, you know my sister. She’s all smoke and steam. She’ll get used to the idea.”

I forced myself to talk as we drove down the highway. “What if she doesn’t? What if she wants you to move?”

“I’ll just say no.” Will laughed, but it sounded hollow, like he was trying to convince me of something he wasn’t sure of at all.

“What if she convinces you?”

Will down-shifted to bring the Jeep into my driveway. “We’ll cross that bridge when it . .

. does whatever bridges do. Geez, Sam, I don’t know what to tell you. You know my sister. I just have to convince her that it’s safe here.”

“If you can,” I said, my voice a whisper.

He smiled, reached over to touch the back of my hand, then pulled back like he changed his mind. “I’ll be in touch, Sam.”

He put the car into reverse, and I reached for the door handle. He smiled at me, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He looked a million miles away already and I wanted to reach over and grab him and not let go and tell him how I didn’t think I could live without him even though I knew he just wanted to be friends and didn’t that count for something and couldn’t he pick me over his sister since I needed him more than she did?

But I just said, “Bye, then,” and got out of the car.

A thin drizzle began. My feet felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each as I shuffled to my front door. Upon reaching it, I heard a squeal of brakes and turned to see my Dad slamming on the brakes to avoid hitting Will. I shuddered and ran inside to lick my wounds.

Chapter Eighteen

ACCIDENT

After telling Dad and Sylvia that I’d fallen while running, I climbed in bed and pulled the covers over my head. But then it got stuffy under my blankets and I worried I’d asphyxiate. I crawled out of bed and tried cleaning my room. Folding and hanging clothes proved too monotonous to shut my brain down. It whispered hateful things to me.

Will’s leaving.

You saw how scared Mickie looked.

Will’s gone.

How would I survive if that were true?

I found a favorite running sock—my good luck sock—in the back of my closet. It had

been missing when our team ran our fun-meet. We lost, and it was my fault because I hadn’t cleaned out my closet. The layers of things that were my fault started piling up.

Stop thinking about it
, I said to myself, stuffing shirts into the laundry basket. But it didn’t help. If I hadn’t followed Hans today, none of us would be in panic mode right now.

Mickie and Will wouldn’t have a care in the world about living here.
If you weren’t still alive,
they’d be perfectly safe.
The thought hit me like an icy blast.

It was true.

I redoubled my efforts on my room, determined to drive the thoughts away. I snapped my sheets taut and plumped my pillows. I shook my duvet and settled it across the bed. The first tear hit as I began smoothing my duvet where it lumped at the bottom of the bed.

Stop crying!

I tugged at the comforter, smacking it to make it lie flat. But a bulgy lump remained and the tears came faster. I fell in a coiled heap at the foot of my bed, leaning my head upon the bed, my fist pounding at the bump under the covers.

Something jingled. I looked up and flipped back the duvet. Another jacket of Will’s.

With coins in the pocket—two dollars in quarters. I remembered the cold morning he’d loaned me this jacket, joking with me that those quarters better still be zipped inside or his running gear wasn’t getting washed.

Because Will and Mick didn’t live in a normal house with a mom and a dad and a washer and a dryer. And now, thanks to me, they’d be scared every day they remained in Las Abs.

Closing my eyes tight, I tugged at Will’s jacket and held it to my face, breathing in the smell of sweat and mown grass and some indefinable scent that was Will. And I cried ‘til my eyes hurt.

An hour later, Sylvia tapped on my door letting me know dinner was ready. She stuck her head in, and I muttered something about my stomach feeling off and crawled into bed looking convincing enough that she felt my forehead, frowned and finally said to holler if I needed anything, closing the door behind her.

I need something, but you can’t get it for me
, I thought. I needed Will to call and tell me his sister had decided staying in town was as safe as any other option. I let another hour pass before I texted, knowing full well Mick might be the first one to see what I sent. I figured

“How’s it going?” was neutral enough.

I waited.

A minute passed.

Nothing.

Another minute. Ten.

Still nothing.

I flipped my phone on and saw a message about my text being undeliverable. I’d

probably punched in the wrong number or something. I tried again, this time watching the screen for the “text message sent” indicator. Instead, the undeliverable message showed again.

I tried a third time, my heart sinking, already knowing I’d see “undelivered” once more.

Why was their phone not working?

As I sat up, Will’s jacket slid away and to the ground. I reached for it, as solid tangible proof that things were just fine, that a dead phone number meant nothing worse than . . . than what? I ran my arms inside the jacket, slid my feet into a pair of shoes and ran to my bathroom. I had to get back to Will and Mickie’s.