Page 19 of Ripple Effect: Ep. 1

Hitting the wall behind me leaves me trapped, as he closes in and crouches in front of me. It’s while pressed into the concrete that I notice I’m trembling uncontrollably. My chest clamps down on my lungs, and I can hardly suck in a breath when he lifts my blade, twisting it in front of me.

He radiates danger, and his smoldering eyes, shadowed by the slightest hint of amusement, hold me in place. Gripping the sharp end of the knife, he holds the hilt of it out to me, and with a trembling hand, I reach for it. “Probably going to need this. Although if I were you, I’d retire the prostitution gig after tonight. What’s your name?” he asks.

“Dylan.”

“You from these streets, Dylan, or is this your first rodeo in the slums?”

“I’m from Englewood.” There’s no good reason why I’m telling him all of this, but the words fly out of my mouth before I have a chance to reel them in.

His eyebrow kicks up. “Englewood, huh? Then you’re no stranger to this shit.” He gestures to the man behind him as if a crime-filled neighborhood equates to the twisted amusements of a serial killer. His head nods toward me. “How old are you?”

“I’ll be … I’m eighteen.” I hesitate to tell him anything else about me.

“So young.” He shakes his head and huffs. “Here’s a tip from a bastard who’s done some pretty stupid shit in his life. Every decision you make affects every moment that follows, Dylan. It’s like a ripple effect. Choose wisely.” He rises up from his crouch and tugs a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with his Zippo. “Take these for example,” he says around a full inhale. “Fuckers’ll kill you.” He croaks and blows a plume of smoke, before glancing back at the mutilated man on the floor. “Would’ve snuffed him eventually, if I hadn’t.”

Just outside of the halo of blood lies the bag filled with cash. I’d never seen so much in my life. Randy once pulled a stack of cash, with a hundred on top, must’ve only been about two grand, but this had to be twenty times that, at least, maybe more. The stranger snatches it up and tosses me a few bills that float down by my feet. “Go on, Englewood. Consider this a catch and release.”

The man is the strangest human being I’ve ever met in my life. So odd it’s almost comical in a perverse, morbid way.

Spinning on his heel, he flicks the butt somewhere beyond, leaving me there alone.

Spared.

* * *

It takes me an hour to walk back to the Conservatory, and the air, even as mild as it is, penetrates my bones with an ache. Along the way, I contemplate why I haven’t stopped to call the cops, why I didn’t turn the psychopath over, but I know the answer. I can’t risk it. Going to the cops means throwing me, Layla, and Charlie back into the hands of Randy Westprick, and the odds of anyone believing me over him are slim.

Relief steals some of my anxiety as I round the fountain where I left Charlie and Layla, and I suck in two deep breaths, in my best effort to calm my rattled nerves. She’ll know something’s wrong. Charlie has a keen sense to know when something bad has happened, so I take a moment to settle down. Breathe.

I survived a serial killer.

A few years back, I read a story about a girl who survived a man who forced her best friend to swallow gasoline and made the girl watch as he lit her on fire from the inside out. He eventually let the girl go, and I sat wondering what the hell made her so special? What about her made him change his mind? What did she say to survive? It didn’t make sense to me.

Nothing I said to the man earlier seemed special or worthy of mercy. Why did he spare me? Why would he risk that I might possibly go to the police?

It’s a simple answer, though. He saw the fear in my eyes. The man knew he had me scared shitless. Those multi-colored eyes told me everything I needed to know—say a word, and I’d be lying on the dirty pavement with my stomach turned inside out.

A man like that fears nothing, especially a young girl who has nothing.

With a shaky exhale, I plop down beside a mound of blankets and stroke my hand over what I think is Charlie beneath. Too small. Far too small for both of their bodies.

My breath hitches with yet another wave of horror, as I pull back the covers, to nothing but cold pavement.

“Charlie!” I call out, not caring about whether or not security hears me. I snap to my feet, eyes scanning for movement. Maybe she went to the bathroom. Scouring the nearby bushes and gardens fails to calm the knots twisting in my stomach.

“Charlie! Layla!” My blood turns cold, while branches of ice crawl up my spine. A new fear takes hold.

Someone took them. That, or they ran off. Not likely. Charlie once followed me to school and sat by the gate to the playground for six hours until the final bell rang. Besides that, Layla was out cold when I left.

Maybe Randy found them.

I attempt to gather up our belongings.

No, no, no. Please, no.

My heart can’t take anymore panic, as it beats out a relentless pulse of dread. Nausea gurgles in my gut, and I rub my brow, refusing to accept that either one is gone. A cold sting hits my eyes as I search the streets, looking for Charlie’s bright white coat, that’d stick out like a ghost in the surrounding darkness, and her heavy paws that always clop along the pavement behind me as she follows me wherever I go. Blindly trusting in me, until the night I up and leave her.

She must’ve thought I abandoned her.