Page 42 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

“You’re trained to be a slave. Whether you’ve been violated yet or not, there are commands embedded in your brain. It’s why Monarch is sought after. They get you hooked on drugs, they embed these triggers into your mind, and they break you.” She flicks her ashes into a white Styrofoam cup, as I sit processing her words.

Things begin to come to light.

“Ripley … he was trying to figure out my triggers, wasn’t he?” I shake my head at what sounds crazy in my mind—something out of a sci-fi movie, but I can’t deny the truth. “He said he was pushing my boundaries. But he was trying to find out what would set me off.”

“Is there anything you thought was strange? Something that was inexplicable, the way you reacted to it?”

I know exactly what I thought was strange. “He … came in smelling of bleach. I panicked and wanted nothing to do with him. Broke into a cold sweat. Ran to the bathroom and threw up.”

“You may not even remember why the smell of bleach does that. And I’m not a psychologist, so I can’t help you there. But if I had to guess, something very bad is associated with that scent.”

I sit fidgeting, allowing memories, broken images of my childhood to pass through my mind. “I don’t feel broken, though. I don’t feel sick.”

“Some of us are given more triggers than others. The very things I once loved were turned into frightening flashbacks. I fight them every day. Every hour. Every minute.” She sniffs and takes another drag of her smoke, blowing the plume to the side.

“So that’s what you meant when you said he can’t save me from everything.”

“Sometimes our minds are worse than the hell that surrounds us.”

It’s true. I don’t even know half of what’s locked inside of mine, just itching to escape with the right trigger. “Are you going to tell Ripley you saw me?”

She tips her head, putting out her cigarette in the cup. “Not telling him would be lying to the only man in the world I trust.”

“I can’t go back. I make him weaker. I give him a vulnerability.”

“Sometimes our weaknesses are what make us stronger than we realize.” She glides a finger across her butterfly tattoo. “He needs you, Dylan. You’re the only one who can save him.”

“Ripley doesn’t need me to save him from anything,” I counter back.

“He does. From himself.”

23

Ripley

I open the door to my office and pause at the silhouette slumped on the floor up against my desk.

“Hey,” she says, shielding the light with the back of her hand.

The creeping sensation of insanity crawls up my spine, and all I can do is stand there. Can’t move. Can’t say a word. My body is frozen, feet glued to the floor. Numbness and shock battle for domination inside every muscle, my blood turning cold inside my veins, as a tight fist of disbelief squeezes my lungs. “Dylan.”

“I um … was in the neighborhood?”

The seconds tick by, as I ponder whether or not I’ve lost my fucking mind, and that’s when I begin pacing like an animal locked in a cage for too long. No way she’s alive. Or maybe I’m the one who’s dead. Perhaps this is some warped reality, and I’m staring down a gunman who’s already taken the shot.

“You look pale. Are you okay?” she asks.

I stop pacing and screw my eyes shut, pinching the bridge of my nose, refusing to fall prey to another cruel illusion. The images that have ruined me for the past three weeks zip through my mind, ending on the explosion and flames. Part of me wants to throw her against the wall and ask where the hell she’s been. “Are you real?”

“Last I checked.”

At her response, I frown and shake my head. “No, you’re dead. You’re fucking dead. And I’m losing my mind.”

“I’m here, Ripley.” Her voice is much more serious now.

A tremble moves through my body and eyes still clamped, I choke back the destruction that another glimpse of her inflicts on me.

When I open my eyes again, though, she’s still there.