Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92371 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I open my eyes into tiny slits. “You … you don’t know?”
She slowly shakes her head.
I blink, expressionless, motionless, until my throat bobs in a hard swallow. “We were on our way home from dinner. You were leaving the next day. It was raining, and I hit the brakes.” I shake my head. “I didn’t hit them hard. We weren’t in any danger, but we skidded a little and you panicked, opened the door, and jumped out just before the bridge. I stopped the car and chased after you as you slid down the embankment, yelling for Chris.”
Our gazes meet, and I take a moment, unsure if I can tell her without losing myself again. Maybe it will feel like a story with different characters—fictional ones.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Murphy
Not every ending is a happily ever after.
It’s not your fault.
Eight Years Earlier …
Mud clumped to my dress shoes, so I discarded them before diving into the water after Alice. Who was Chris? Where was she going? It was dark, and the night sky mixed with rain seemed to swallow her whole. I blinked the water from my eyes as my arms and legs propelled me forward into the abyss, hoping to catch her.
“Chris!” she cried, slapping her hands against the surface.
I hooked my arm around her waist and used my other arm and legs to pull us toward the shore.
“Let go of me!” She wriggled in my hold, and several times she broke free and I had to chase her.
By the time I got her to the shore, she was crying uncontrollably. “Alice?” I tried to snap her out of whatever state she was in, but my attempts were futile.
She kicked and screamed as I carried her up the hill, slipping onto my knees every few steps as the rain continued to make a mudslide of the embankment.
“Get away! Don’t touch me!” She flailed her arms, hitting me in the face more than once.
When I released her, she fell to her butt and hugged her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth on the shoulder a few feet behind my car. I glanced around, hoping someone would stop and … I wasn’t sure. Help me? Help her?
Who was Chris? Did I need to call 9-1-1? And say what?
After stabbing my hands into my hair and shaking my head while watching this unrecognizable woman rock in the fetal position, I searched the front seat and pulled out her phone. When I squatted in front of her, she ignored me while chanting, “Don’t drown. Don’t drown.”
I softly peeled her index finger from her shin and used it to unlock her phone. Then I searched her contacts and found a woman named Krista Yates. I took a chance and called her.
“Hello?”
I plugged my opposite ear. “Hello?”
Again, she said, “Hello.”
“Is this Krista?”
“Yes.”
“Uh …” I stared at Alice. “Are you related to Alice?”
“I’m her mother. Who is this?” Her tone hardened.
“Uh … I’m a friend. She’s … unwell.”
“What? Where is she? Oh god. Is she in the hospital?”
“N-no, ma’am. But she’s sort of lost it. And she’s saying Chris’s name and chanting, ‘Don’t drown.’ And I don’t know what to do. When I try to touch her, she starts yelling and kicking and screaming.”
“Let—” The woman’s voice shattered with a sob. “Let me talk to her.”
I held the phone to Alice’s ear. After a few seconds, she stopped chanting but continued to rock back and forth. Then she nodded and her voice shook in an “o-okay” as she shivered.
I pressed the phone back to my ear. “Hello? Are you still there?”
“Text me your address. We’ll be there as soon as possible, but it’s going to be four or more hours. Can you take care of her?”
I didn’t know, but I nodded and said, “yes” anyway. Then I tossed the phone in the car, squinting against the rain. “Alice, your mom’s on her way. Okay?” I scooped an arm under her bent knees and wrapped my other arm around her back.
She shook, her sobs softening, and her fight dying. On the way home, she sat in the seat with her knees hugged to her chest, whispering, “Don’t die.”
I carried her into the house and wrapped her in a blanket on the sofa. Her eyes were blank. It was as if I wasn’t there; it was as if she wasn’t there.
For those four hours, I sat on the coffee table in front of her, waiting for the nightmare to end, but it didn’t.
She didn’t so much as flinch with the knock at the door. I opened it, and her mom rushed past me, red hair pulled into a messy bun, face streaked with tears.
A tall man in a hooded rain jacket offered a sad smile. “I’m Ryan, Alice’s dad. Thanks for calling us.”
“I’m Murphy,” I said with a nod as he stepped inside.