Page 24 of Whispers of You
Wren’s body lay crumpled at an unnatural angle, her torso twisted as if she’d been trying to protect herself. And the blood…so much of it. I swore it was everywhere. Too much for someone to still be breathing.
That thought jerked me into action. I sank to my knees, the bones hitting the tile with a crack.
“Wren. Can you hear me?”
The first-aid class I’d taken to go on search and rescue calls with my dad came back to me in fits and starts. I pressed my fingers to her neck as I leaned down.
No breath tickled my face. How often had I felt Wren’s soft exhales against my skin as she cuddled close? All I wanted was one of those right now. But there was nothing.
I strained to feel the flutter of movement against my fingertips. I felt a staggered, faint beat, each too far apart for anything good.
Sirens sounded as I rolled Wren to her back, but they weren’t close enough. I prayed I was making the right call. I had no idea what damage had been done to her chest. A bullet? A stab wound? I could make it worse with CPR, but she wouldn’t make it either way if she wasn’t breathing.
I tipped her head back and gave two quick rescue breaths before positioning my hands over her chest and plunging down. She wasn’t short, but Wren had always seemed delicate, her wrists so tiny her bones seemed easily breakable. I could hurt her. And that was the last thing I ever wanted to do. Still, I forced myself to press on.
As I continued the rhythm, I stared down at her, my heart outside my body. I searched for any signs of life, but I didn’t see a damn one.
My fist slammed into the bag at an angle that had pain searing through me. I stumbled backward, falling to the floor, my body shaking in violent waves. The memories were too raw and real to escape.
An anguished sound tore free from my throat. I could still feel her heart beneath my hands, willing it to beat again. I would’ve made a deal with the devil for Wren to live. And I guessed I had in a way.
Because Wren had gotten her miracle. And when she healed and was whole, I did the only thing I could, the onlyrightthing. I walked away so she could find someone worthy of her.
6
WREN
Pushingopen one of the French doors, I stepped out onto the deck. My slippers padded against the wood boards as I wrapped the blanket tighter around myself, my hand trembling with the movement. Shadow moved quietly at my side, the silver in her Husky coloring catching the moonlight as she raised her head to sniff the air.
“Don’t go running after any critters.”
She let out a huff of air as if to say,“You never want me to have any fun.”
I lowered myself into the half-moon-style chair, slipping my feet out of my slippers and curling my legs under me. Shadow circled and then lay down on her dog bed as I wrapped my hands around my mug of tea.
Breathing deeply, I took in my little corner of the lake. It was remote. In winter, I had to plow the driveway if I had any hope of getting out, but it was peaceful—my small cabin built on a tiny piece of land that jutted into the water.
It made me feel as if I lived on my own private island. There were no prying eyes, no searching questions from nosy tourists. Cedar Ridge had always been known for its majestic landscapes and as the perfect escape. But after that night, it was known for a whole other reason.
Two guys had shown up last year, looking to get interviews for a podcast they were making for the tenth anniversary of the shootings.Anniversary.They weren’t the only ones to use the word, but I hated it. Anniversaries were for happy things, not darkness like that night.
The two guys in their early twenties had walked right up to my door and told me they were going to be the ones to figure out if there really was a third shooter. One who got away. All I had to do was rip open my traumatized psyche and tell them every detail about that night.
Just the memory had me gripping my mug tighter. Like I hadn’t tried to remember. I’d replayed those words—the last thing I’d heard before the world went dark—over and over in my head.“Where the hell is Holt? We need them both.”But it sounded different every time. Sometimes, male. Other times, female. Old, then young. Occasionally, it was Randy or Paul.
It was a special kind of torture when I heard it in the tones of people I knew—those I loved. I woke up at night in a cold sweat, shaking.
Most people thought I had imagined the third person. None of the other survivors had seen anyone else. Only Paul and Randy. And they had sworn they’d done it alone. That they’d been on a mission to make all those who had supposedly wronged them pay.
Some days, I wondered if the third person had only been in my mind. But those words were burned into my memory and haunted my dreams.
The cops had interviewed me, time and time again. The town had been on edge, thinking someone could strike at any moment. Parents didn’t let their children walk to school, didn’t leave them with babysitters. People only went out in groups.
But days turned to weeks, and nothing happened. Finally, one of the state police suggested that, in my altered state, I’d onlythoughtsomeone else had been there. I’d fought it at first, but it wasn’t long before I gave in and agreed.
The town wanted to go back to normal. To pretend that the ugly business had never happened. That they were safe.
It wasn’t that easy for those of us marked by that night. We bore the scars in every way. We felt them every time we moved, from the ghosts haunting us to the need to be wary of everyone around us.
