Page 36 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

“Ain’tcha gonna make a call, honey?”

The rims of my eyes tingle with tears. I shake my head and wrap my arms around myself, exiting the station.

19

Ripley

My lids flip open to the bright light streaming in through my bedroom window and I raise a hand to shield it, noticing the line attached to my arm that leads to a merry-go-round of IV bags at the pole beside me.

“One’s morphine. The other, I guess, is saline.” Jörgen’s heavy accent draws my attention to the foot of the bed, where he sits on a chair. “Doctor Shanzer was here to stitch you up. Some of your cuts were deeper than I cared to deal with on my own.” Shanzer is the doc-on-call who doesn’t ask questions. Although I make it a point not to call her if I can help it, she has patched up a few nasty wounds over the years. “She gave you something for the burns as well.”

An ache in my head throbs, and when I place a hand to my forehead, a protrusion and small spikes of coarse thread tell me I better not probe too much. “How long have I been out?”

“Two days.”

More pillows than I’m accustomed to seat my body up off the single mattress on the floor, and I glance around the room.

“Where is she? Where’s Dylan?”

Jörgen’s gaze lowers from mine and his chest rises and falls with deep breaths. The grim expression on his face has my heart pounding. “There was an explosion. Pyro set the car to flames. Caught him running away when I carried you back. I’m certain Dylan was inside. I heard it from my phone.”

A thin veil of disbelief hangs on the air, as my head fails to comprehend his words at first. Everything’s a distant echo, pounding inside my eardrums.

Then it hits me. All at once. My head. My chest. Agony and grief penetrate the delicate fog that keeps me momentarily sane, bringing my surroundings back into focus—the sharp lines and colorless gloom that tell me I’m not dreaming.

Cold spikes of pain stab my heart. A tight fist of shock crushes my ribs and I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe.

“What d’you …” I shake my head, refusing to absorb his words. “No.”

Not Dylan. Not my Dylan.

“She didn’t make it.”

My mouth gapes to a silent protest, the words inside my head refusing to spit out. “Didn’t? The fuck?” The world spins too fast, and I can’t keep up. I clamp my eyes shut to reboot the last five minutes, while sickness twists in my gut.

This is another nightmare.

But when I open my eyes, it’s all still there.

“Dylan!” I yell out for her, my hands balling to fists at my temples. Every muscle in my body shakes with tension.

My mind torments me with guilt. The split-second decision I’d made that sealed Dylan’s fate.

Pyro circles me, slapping the stick of the prod against his palm. “That was Dorian who called. Wants me to let you go, but I can’t. You’re a liar. A traitor.” His voice at my ear clenches my jaw. “So let’s try your spine this time.”

“You don’t … have to do this, kid.” My body is giving out, every muscle wired and primed for the jolt of electricity, and I twitch with the anticipation of him setting the thing against my spine. “Trust me when I tell you. This life isn’t worth it.”

“I looked up to you, Ripley. Can you believe that shit? You.”

“He’ll use you. They all use you. We’re expendable.”

“Not if we’re loyal.” A sharp current sears my shoulder blade and I curl into it, muscles tight as the agony pulses through me.

“Quit fucking around. Dorian told you to let him go. So let him go.” Irritation bleeds into the bouncer’s voice as he shifts on his feet, crossing his arms. “I want out of this shithole. Stinks in here.”

“You saw how pissed Dorian was. You heard what he said. Does it make any sense that he’d suddenly have a change of heart, asshole?” Pyro’s standing behind me and when he comes around, he has the prod pointed at the guy. “Didn’t think so.” He spins back toward me. “Ripley’s known for taking his time. So I’ll take mine.”

A sharp grunt, followed by the crumpling of a body hitting the gravely concrete draws my attention back toward the bouncers. The distinct click of a gun piques my ears.