I’m here. I’ve always been here. Even when you couldn’t see me.
A mix of dirt and leaves and pine needles covers my neck. Now my mouth. I push my tongue forward to protect my throat. Over my nose now, the filth comes. It’s about to cover my eyes.
The siren grows louder.
I don’t blink. I don’t breathe. I am dead. I am dead, I am dead, I am dead.
Courage, says Moon.
I feel it hit my eyeballs, but still I do not blink.
It covers my ears, and sound goes away.
Blackness now and nothing more. But I know the moon is there, even if I can’t see him.
Slowly, carefully, I close my eyes, letting my tears wash away the grit. Slowly, carefully, I use my tongue to create a pocket around my mouth so I can breathe. There isn’t much air, but there is some.
My resolution is to wait as long as I possibly can. I am dead.
Sirens again. Loud enough I can hear them inside my tomb. It’s time, but I don’t know where to start. Nothing wants to move. I ask my arms first, then my legs. No response.
Come on! I yell at them. Move!
My body has gotten too good at playing dead.
Kick! I tell my legs. Kick hard!
My left leg moves. Then my right. Things are starting to happen. Even my arms, but them only a little bit. I try to sit up.
Something grabs my leg. It’s a hand. The terror of being touched pushes me to fight harder. My hand punches through and it’s grabbed too, and now I’m being touched all over. There are voices, but they’re distant, like a radio stuck between channels. I struggle against the voices and hands.
One moment I am underground and the next moment I’m above it. I can barely see, everything is bleary and painful with dirt. It’s not night anymore, but it isn’t really morning yet either. Two cops are kneeling on either side of me. I think of the other cop, the dead cop, probably a friend of theirs, and I know I have to warn them.
“He’s out there!” The words come out garbled. I spit out some leaves and dirt and try again. “His name is Jerry T. Balls.”
“Ruth, we know. We know who you are. We have you.”
“He killed a cop. He’s out there. His truck was right by those trees over there.”
“Please try to relax for us, Ruth.”
“His name is Jerry T. Balls.”
One of the cops stands and begins talking into his radio. I can’t quite make out what he’s saying. Everything is confused, a blur I can’t quite get straight.
Then a new face enters my view, a different sort of face. It’s a man. About twenty. He has scruffy facial hair, and he’s wearing a uniform with a patch name tag that says Sean in cursive.
“Is this her?” he asks. Nobody answers the obvious question. Sean’s eyes go to mine. “I’m so sorry I didn’t go out into the woods. I was pretty sure I heard somebody yelling for help.”
I shake my head as tears flood my eyes and emotion closes my throat.
“I’m so, so sorry.”
“He would have killed you,” I say, but it comes out in choking sobs. I don’t think he understood me. Whether he can make out my words or not, he seems to understand my expression, because he reaches out and grabs my arm.
“Oh man, I’m just so sorry.”
The kneeling cop says, “Hey, you called 911. You saved her.”
I reach out and put my hand over Sean’s. I try very hard to be clear. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t say anything. I think he may be crying. But he squeezes my hand. I focus in on that pressure and close my eyes.
“Keep doing that,” the cop says to Sean. “It’s helping.”
I open my eyes to what seems like a hundred people in fluorescent vests hovering over me. Above and beyond them, morning has taken hold. A golden light fills the mist, creating a soft glow over everything. It’s strange, though, because the light isn’t just gold—other colors dance through the fog. Blue and red and a deeper amber. It’s subtle, though, so much so that I’m not sure if it’s real.
I’m still on the ground. Someone is holding my hand—it’s Sean. He hasn’t left me, and I give him a squeeze of thanks, which he returns, but a swarm of EMTs are taking over. “Sir,” one of them says. “You’re going to need to step aside, sir.”
Sean fades away, now outside my field of vision. There’s a momentary feeling of panic when he leaves, but it’s overwhelmed by hands and equipment and voices and sounds, until I’m not feeling anything at all. It’s like I’m still underground, still dead within my tomb.
The EMTs say soothing things, but I don’t listen or care. I can see their faces, but they mean nothing to me. People put an oxygen mask over my mouth, but I don’t care about that, either. They come along with a board and put me on it, put my neck into a brace. That’s okay. But then they try to strap me down and a new panic takes over. The ropes take me right back to Wolfman and I see him before me. I see him so clearly I think he’s really there.
“No ropes! Don’t tie me up!”
“It’s okay,” an EMT says. “These are straps, not ropes. They’re for your safety.”