Take the Fall by Emily Hainsworth
EPIGRAPH
None of them knew just how she fell
Down, down, through the air—
and now she’ll never tell.
A scream and a gasp, and then she was gone
From the grass, from the earth,
from this side of the dawn.
PROLOGUE
DON’T THINK, JUST RUN.
Shadows explode across my vision, leaping out at me like specters in a funhouse. My legs can’t keep up with my racing heart. They don’t even know where to run. There’s a snatch of light between the trees, a hint of stars in the sky, and I fix my eyes on these faint promises of— Someone help me—please.
I trip, land on my face. Pain shoots through my lip; there’s blood in my mouth. The air leaves my lungs and I just want to lie still, cry, but then a stiff, unforgiving hand wraps around my ankle.
I scream.
It’s the twisting hold of a root—not the hands that grabbed me, forced me to the ground. But the memory floods tears down my cheeks. I jerk my foot free, grasping a tree trunk with one hand, plunging the other into a bush. Terror pulls me to my feet. There’s no air left to breathe. I trip over rocks and plants I should have memorized, my body drained, threatening to give in.
Don’t stop now.
Don’t look back.
My knees threaten to buckle. Small creatures shuffle beneath the brush. An owl calls overhead. There’s the rush of water, faint, but always there. Then a different noise—and I drop to the earth, flattening myself until my heart hammers like a drum into the leaves.
Because it sounded like a voice.
My head throbs. My ribs scream.
I close my eyes and count.
One.
Two.
Three.
I don’t see anyone when I scramble up, but I’m not waiting to figure out where they went. A horn honks faintly in the distance and I rush toward the sound. A minute later my feet thump over a stretch of familiar ground—my heart carries me up the path. I’m going to make it. Home.
I burst free of the woods, toward the lights above the Black River Diner, gleaming like a blue neon beacon in the dark. I stumble across First Avenue, afraid to take my eyes off the two figures in the window. The sign says Closed, but I yank the door open so hard the bells above it fall to the floor in a broken jingle. I stand gasping in the security of glaring fluorescent light.
Aunt Dina runs a mop over the checkered linoleum. My mom’s behind the register, still laughing at some joke. Her smile fades when she sees me, like she’s not sure who I am, and a sob escapes my lips. Minutes ago I was desperate just to see her face again, and now—the thought of telling her— What just happened to me?
The color drains from her face.
The mop clatters to the floor.
Five minutes later the diner is crawling with cops. The only time I’ve seen anything like it was when we held a community pie-eating contest to benefit the Officers’ Foundation. The deputies wore lobster bibs and poked fun at one another. Now a tense group forms a circle around me and I still feel like I’m running. Blood roars in my ears. I’m aware of Sheriff Wood asking questions. My mom a notch below hysterical. Dina pacing. Deputy Rashid opening and closing the release on his holster. My cheeks are wet, filthy. Tears mixed with dirt mixed with fear. My ribs ache with every sob. My arms sting.
“What happened, Sonia?”
“Who did this?”
“You were attacked? In the woods?”
I can’t stop crying long enough to answer every question.
Another call comes in. The sheriff and all but one of the deputies abruptly leave. My uncle shows up. I lie down in a booth. Mom covers me with a blanket. There’s some argument about calling a doctor—which I don’t need. I’m scraped and bruised, scared to death, but nothing more than that. Deputy Robson gets a call and everyone goes quiet.
People move in the door, then out.
Voices thrum around me.
All I hear is my heart.
Until I realize my name isn’t the only one being whispered.
Gretchen. My best friend.
My head is fogged, my arms are lead. I want to sit up, tell them to let her know I’m okay, I made it out. But something’s off. I can’t get hold of my own thoughts. It takes all the energy I have to lie in this booth and blink. And then I hear: “Gretchen Meyer—missing.”
No.
I grasp the edge of the table, heave myself upright. “What did you just say?”
Everyone stares as if they’d forgotten I was there. My mom slides into the booth, wraps her arms around me, but no one’s answering my question.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, dial her number, but it goes straight to voicemail. Of course it does. I need her to pick up. My mind weighs possibilities until it’s spinning out of control. Maybe somehow, I’ll get a text. Maybe she’ll be okay.
Hours pass in silence.
The sky brightens, flooding the diner with morning light.
I’m still staring at my phone when the sheriff tells me, “Gretchen’s dead.”
ONE
“I HEARD THEY HAD BREAKUP sex, then he killed her in a jealous rage.”
“You can’t have breakup sex after you’re already broken up.”
“Of course you can, that’s the whole—”