Page 6 of Waysider
She was straightening just as Cal reached them. “Cass, get the fuck down from there,” she heard her brother say.
“Look, whatever brought you here, we can figure it out,” Cass said to the stranger, keeping her focus on him. At this proximity, she could make out more details now. She could see the faint gleam on his cheeks, evidence that tears had recently run down them.
The boy finally spoke.
But his voice was hushed, almost a whimper, and Cass couldn’t catch the words. Her eyebrows knitted together. She edged even closer, darting a glance down at her feet and the icy river far below. A small thrill went through her, tinged with fear. Cass exhaled and lifted her head, fixing her attention back on the boy. “Hey, man, what did you say?”
He looked at her, then. The pain in his eyes was as bright as the moon above them, and a breeze made his brown hair lift, revealing a forehead that gleamed with perspiration. The boy’s mouth moved again, and this time, Cass heard him perfectly.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
The guilt in his face made Cass’s heart quicken, and she started to take a cautious step back. “What are you—”
It all happened in two seconds.
Cass heard Cal shout her name. Sensed a blur of movement in the corner of her eye. But all she could see was the boy. His damp fingers grabbing at her, wrenching her toward that perilous edge. It felt like they tilted in slow motion. There was barely any time to scream, much less fight him, and suddenly Cass was falling.
As air streamed past, whipping her hair around her face, Cass discovered the boy was still tangled up with her. His grip and his weight were like iron, making them hurtle even faster toward the river. Cass tried to yank free, dimly aware that she was still screaming. She had to break away, had to make sure she didn’t hit the surface at an angle that would break her—
Too late.
One moment, they were plummeting, and the next, they were surrounded by wet darkness. The water wasn’t frozen, but it was unimaginably cold. The sort of cold that felt like a thousand needles and the hottest of flames. It closed around Cass’s head and, for an instant, her mind went blank with shock. It restarted a second later, and she swam instinctively for the surface. She could see chunks of ice floating by like serene clouds. God it was cold, it was so cold, she had to get out, had to get warm.
Hands pulled her back down.
Bubbles streamed all around Cass as she screamed. She kicked at the boy. Once again, he moved quicker than she anticipated, or maybe she was still slow with shock. He clamped Cass’s arms down. She kept struggling, but his grip was too strong. Why was he doing this? Why was this happening to her? Fury and anguish tore through Cass. She caught a glimpse of the boy’s face in the depths, and for the first time in her life, she felt pure, black hatred.
He still hadn’t let go, and they were so far from the surface now that not even the moon could reach them. Cass’s thoughts came more faintly now. She told herself that she only had to hold on long enough for Cal to find her. She knew he was coming, because Cal always came. She just needed to hold on a little longer… a little longer…
Colorful spots filled her vision. In some distant part of herself, Cass realized she was out of time. She had to inhale, her body insisted. There was no other option.
A moment later, it felt like her insides lit on fire. The river rushed gleefully into her mouth, her throat, her chest. The water was in her lungs now, and Cass had never known pain like this. She began to convulse. Oh, God, it hurt, it hurt. Cass wanted to cry and scream, but there was only the pain. Help me. Somebody help me. Cal, where are you? Cal…
Her frantic movements became sluggish. A moment later, they stopped completely. Darkness began to crowd in, and the agony slowly faded. All the noise in her head went quiet, and the boy wasn’t even holding onto her anymore.
That was the moment Cassandra Ryan realized the truth—she was going to die.
And then she did.
CHAPTER THREE
December 2nd, 1984
Deadwood, Oregon
Lane County Security Hospital
4:56 p.m.
The silence in Patrick Doyle’s cell felt bloated. Like a corpse that had been left in the sun too long. Cass swore she could even smell it—a faint, fetid stench. It had to be her imagination, because everything about Patrick was tidy and clean.
Everything except the way he was looking at her.
As if she were on his metal table, manacled and naked, her entire body splayed before him.
In her peripheral vision, Cass could see that Cal was completely stiff. She was sitting now, since she’d gotten tired of standing halfway through her recount of that night, and her spine was so rigid that it didn’t touch the back of the chair. Cass forced herself to continue, knowing the sooner she did, the sooner she could get what she wanted and get the fuck out of there.
“A nurse told me I was technically dead for four minutes. Maybe longer,” she said.
