The Dead of Winter (Seasons of Jefferson: Book 2) (13 page)

Oh, there
she is.
My awareness heightens as I walk toward the bathroom. Being extra cautious of flying projectiles, I grab the blue hairbrush from the floor, carry it into the bathroom, and set it on the counter. “Are you decent?”

“That depends on what you mean.” Sarcasm drips from behind the shower curtain. I’ve never heard my girlfriend sound so cold and detached.

“I need to talk to you. Are you dressed?”

“Like a damn mummy. Probably not what you’re hoping for. Just go away, Caden. You don’t want to see me like this. I look like hell.” Her cruel, aggressive voice has me on edge.

“Peyton, that’s not possible. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, you haven’t seen the damage you caused, have you? Your beauty queen died two weeks ago when you deserted her in your smashed up, sinking truck. You killed her! The old Peyton is gone. You don’t want me. Not like this. And guess what else? I DON’T want you either. You’re dead to me. You hear me? Dead!”

I deserved that. I was the one behind the wheel. I just wish I could remember how I made it out of my truck, and she didn’t.
Her words slice through me, but I know I’m the only one who can help her through this.
Take it like a man. Don’t give up on her.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I tentatively reach out and slowly pull back the shower curtain that keeps her hidden from my view.

I brace myself as the curtain hangers glide across the plastic shower rod. Within seconds, the unknown is revealed. The hair stands up on my arms when I see her fully clothed body, nestled into the back corner of the tub. Clearly, she lost weight in the hospital. The bumps of her spine protrude through the knit fabric of her t-shirt. I need to see her face, but my only view is the top of the turban wrap. She’s tucked into a fetal position. My eyes are drawn to the bruises that line the pale skin of her bony arms. An image of an ad I once saw about anorexia, crosses my mind as I watch her holding her knees, curled tightly into a ball.

“Please look at me, babe.” She looks so tiny, so frail.
I need to fix her. I don’t want to break her, but I have to touch her.
Gently, I reach out toward her hand.

I barely sense the touch of her cold skin when Peyton rapidly draws back from beneath my fingertips. She snaps her head back and stabs me through the heart with her deadly glare. I’m startled by the quick attack on my senses and stumble back into the toilet.
Holy shit
. Grabbing hold of the tank, I steady my shaking legs, and fall down on the seat. I can’t hide the shock at the sight before me. S
o, this is what I did to her?
I pull my fingers through my hair, grabbing at my scalp.
Oh, grow a pair. Look at your girlfriend. You owe it to her to make her feel beautiful. Lie, Caden. Lie you bastard!
I finally dare to look up.

My eyes meet her blood, red stare. “So, this is what you wanted to see?” Peyton spits, throwing both bandaged hands up in the air. “I tried to hide from you, but NO! You just couldn’t stay away, could you? Get out! I want you to get out!” Peyton pulls her bandaged hand up to her mouth, smothering a gagging sound.

My heart stops momentarily, as I take in the damage I’ve done. Her face is still pale and swollen. The puffiness in her cheeks hides the roundness of her eyes.
My God, her eyes. What happened to them?
The blue of her irises has been smothered by her broken, draining blood vessels. Greenish blue bruising shades the bridge of her nose, traveling beneath her eyes. I follow the bruises to her hairline, where yellow iodine, stains the lining of her turban. The terrifying vision stops my heart. I open my mouth to speak, but I can’t find my voice. It’s impossible to hide my shock.

“See, you can’t even look at me. Get out! Get out now!” Peyton abruptly stands, screaming and pulling her hands to her head. “Damn it,” she shrieks, “My head! Ow, my head! Go! Please! I’m begging you! You’re making this worse. Can’t you see what this is doing to me? Move! Now!”

She struggles out of the bathtub, as I work my way off the toilet and stumble back toward the wall. I feel my way around the molding of the door as I hear the loud clack of the toilet seat. I close my eyes and back further into the hallway, running into something warm and soft. I jump when I feel hands wrap firmly around my shoulders. A familiar voice makes its way into my jumbled head.”

“Caden, it’s just me. What’s going on in there?” Jenna starts to say, before she’s interrupted by the sound of heaving and retching. She turns to me with her face twisted into a disgusted grimace, as a loud splattering wave meets the water below.

“Ewww, what happened in there? Did you make her sick?” Jenna is hesitant to throw out her half-hearted joke. By the concerned look on her face, I can tell she’s not sure that her timing is appropriate.

The sad thing is, it’s not really a joke.
I think she might be puking at the sight of me
. I grapple with the possibility. I reflect on the change in her face, as our eyes met for the first time since the accident.
I can’t believe she was covering her mouth to stop herself from throwing up. I make her sick. Oh my God, it’s me. I’m the one who’s making her sick.

Horror stricken, I answer Jenna’s question, “Yeah, I think I might have.”

“You think so?” Jenna’s contemplative expression tells me that she’s searching for a way to make me feel better. “Maybe she’s still on painkillers from the brain surgery. I mean, look how sick they make you.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s me.”

“Well then, I’m going in there to help her. Puking with stitches probably sucks. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Jenna disappears through the bathroom door. I hear her voice intermingled with the heaving sounds, “Peyton, it’s me, Jenna.”

There’s a momentary pause.

Silence.

“You too!?!”

Another wave of vomit empties into the toilet.

“Get!”
Splash.
“Out! Haven’t you guys done enough?”

A toilet brush flies through the door, followed by Jenna backing quickly through the doorway with her hands held high. “Let’s go.” She tugs on my good arm. “She needs more help than we can give her. A psychiatrist would probably work better. We’re not trained for this.” I stumble back, tripping into Mrs. Carter, who has made her way down the hallway to check on us.

“Are you leaving?”

Jenna answers for me. “We’re sorry. We’re making this worse. We don’t want to cause any more damage. She clearly needs more time.”

Mrs. Carter shakes her head knowingly. She grabs my hand and looks me in the eye.

“I know what she thinks, Caden. That you abandoned her in that river. She lost consciousness. There are huge gaps in her memory. We’ve talked to the doctors and several of the investigators.” She sets her hand on my shoulder. “Her dad and I both know it’s not your fault. You did everything you could under the circumstances. It looks like that damn Pistol Black caused this mess, not you.” She shakes her head, looking down at the floor. “One way or another, we’ll get Peyton back. I’ll call when I think she’s ready. Let’s pray it’s sooner, rather than later.”

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?
” Jenna pants as she slams the car door. No words come. I can’t think. I stare blankly at my frantic friend sitting in the driver’s seat. My brain tries to prime my body to respond. With intense effort, I finally get my head to shake. Still, no words. My lungs spasm dramatically, as I struggle to catch my breath.

When I woke up this morning, it never crossed my mind that my world would be shattering today. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to confront my fears, but in no way was I prepared for this. The face that used to bring me peace has been replaced by the haunting reality of one bad decision. My reckless driving didn’t just ruin my girl, it destroyed all of my friends. I can’t believe that a tiny twist of fate could tear apart everything we had. Everything we were looking forward to. Never in my wildest dreams, did I imagine that I would be looking death in the face today. And now, there’s no turning back. Everything in my world has gone cold. Dead, cold.

I’m lost in thought when Jenna sets her hand on my shoulder. “Calm down. It’s going to be okay. We just have to figure out what’s going on with her. I heard banging and screaming outside her window. It scared the crud out of me. What happened in there?”

I continue to shake my head. Still no words.

“Caden, answer me. Did she hurt you? Are you okay?”

Flying hairbrush. Shredded pictures. Broken trophies. Screaming. Puking. Red eyes. Bandages. Everywhere, bandages.
I stare forward, blankly, losing myself in the snowfall that pounds against the windshield. I wipe the sweat from my forehead.
Holy crap, I just got attacked by a vomiting mummy.
“That couldn’t have been her, Jenna.” I shake my head wildly. “There’s no way. It didn’t act like her. It didn’t look like her. There’s no frickin’ way that was her. I’m not buying it.”

“It was her, trust me. I recognized her voice.”

I half chuckle, half grunt at her attempt to make me smile. Only Jenna could make light of something that terrifying.
Maybe she really did die in the river. Is this her parents’ lame attempt at trying to replace Peyton? What kind of people would be so insensitive that they would find a substitute daughter like that? Are they crazy?
I need Jenna to help me make sense of this.
“Where do you think they got that thing?”

“Not following you. What thing?”

“That thing that they’re trying to pass off as Peyton.”

“Get ahold of yourself. Listen to what you’re saying. Whether you like it or not, that was Peyton.”

I rack my brain trying to make sense of the girl in that bathroom versus the one I used to know. Countless images float through my mind. Images of her laughing, smiling, holding me. My mind fixates on one of my favorite memories of fall. I reflect on the night we were building the homecoming float.

I was working across from Peyton. She was on one side of the flatbed truck, and I was on the other. She kept sneaking under the truck bed to steal my paint and brushes. I suspected it was her from all of the giggling. Not to mention, her cheeks flushed pink as she batted her eyelashes at me.

“Missing something?” she giggled, fanning herself with my four missing brushes. “Sorry, I was getting a little hot over here. I needed something to cool myself down.”

I remember laughing at her lame attempt at flirting. “Could you throw me at least one bottle of paint and one brush, so I can get something done over here? The advisor’s going to kick me out for loitering.”

“Well, I’m not so sure you’re good enough to catch my rockets. I wouldn’t want to hurt you. Maybe I should walk them around and HAND them to you.”

I still remember the cute wiggle in her walk as she approached me with those brushes. She held them tightly, not letting go until I gently pried them from her fingers. That was the first time I felt the electricity. “Well played, Peyton. Well played.”

What a stark contrast to the girl who just hurled a hairbrush at my head.
“Well, it sure as hell wasn’t
my
Peyton. My Peyton would have never acted like that.” I whip my head around to look at Jenna. I need to see her face when I tell her everything I just went through. When my eyes meet hers, I can read the concern etched across her face. “She chucked a hairbrush at me. She screamed at me. She told me she didn’t want me.” I watch her concern turn to anger, as my volume increases, unleashing each of Peyton’s blows. “She told me I killed her!
I
killed her!!!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, buddy. First of all,
you
did not
kill
her. She is very much alive, maybe a little dangerous, but alive. We just need to figure out what’s making her act like a lunatic. I think we need to remember that she endured a little more trauma than the rest of us. I mean, you were out cold. You didn’t really get to see how it all played out.”

“Well, why don’t you enlighten me? Nobody’s told me the whole story. This is exactly what I was talking about before. The secrets just add to the nightmare. Out with it. All of it!”

Jenna pauses for a second. I can tell she’s collecting her thoughts. They’ve all been so careful about protecting me from enduring more trauma. I’m sure she’s trying to find the right words to lessen my distress when I finally hear all of the gory details about what happened down river.

“Okay, I’m going to tell you what I saw, but I don’t think it’s going to make you feel any better. There were gunshots, a lot of them. We couldn’t tell where they were coming from. Within seconds, we watched your truck start to fishtail out of control. It was a blur for a second, and then I made out what looked like a red truck, flying into your passenger door. It wrapped around you and pulled you over the embankment. Brody pulled over fast. We jumped out, just in time to hear crunching metal and a loud splash. Brody and I ran to the edge. When we looked over, we saw your crushed truck submerged in the water. Kaitlyn wasn’t doing well, so I headed down the icy shale alone. It was hell getting to you. Not knowing if you made it terrified me, but knowing you needed my help, motivated me to keep going. I slipped and fell at least a half dozen times on the ice. Halfway down the mountain, I spotted you lying in the snow, covered in blood. I almost fainted. You were screaming bloody murder. Not for yourself, but for her. She was all that was on your mind. It was only minutes before you went silent. I was bending over the top of you, trying to find your pulse, when I heard the first scream for help. I looked toward the sound. That’s when I realized she was still alive. I could see Peyton’s hand struggling to curl around the top of the cab. She grasped all over, hitting the roof frantically. She couldn’t get out. She was pinned in there. By that time, Mason, Brody, and Kaitlyn were all down at the river trying to save her. I can’t imagine how scared she was.”