When the Cradle Falls
Chapter Five: Below the Waves
This was not the girl that would go to college to become a doctor. This was not the girl that carved hours out of each day to tutor middle schoolers in basic math. This was not the girl.
This was not Alice Mercer.
At least, not anymore.
It had been weeks upon weeks since a twister had blown through Broken Bow and snapped and shattered everything Alice had-not that she could've called it her own in the first place. The careful mask of a life she willingly paraded was gone.
This twister that blew through had been of the figurative kind. It had been a boy. But not just a boy; Alice couldn't make that claim anymore.
Dean Winchester had unrooted something very deep within Alice's foundation, and planted something in its place.
This new thing that he left behind knocked Alice clean off her feet; it caused her to see the world through much darker shades, nearly black, since she had already seen the world with tinges of a deep cobalt. Her waking hours were spent plunged at the bottom of arctic waters, so swallowed up, no sunlight could permeate her location.
A blurrier, icier vision lent itself to parallel patterns of thought. Drowning became a prime slice of cognitive real estate that spread itself like slime across Alice's mind. She would walk the halls of school, feeling as though damp cotton was shoved in her ears, thick gauze shoved down her throat, an accidental bump feeling like a bullet going half as fast as if underwater, but hurting twice as bad.
The few popular friends she'd cultivated when he had been here were back to acting like she didn't exist in their eyes. And the few acquaintances she'd had before he came didn't recognize her anymore. There just wasn't enough room to care about that anymore.
The yellow house on the street named after a tree was soon inhabited by three spirits. After one massive fight, the remaining weeks were followed by absolute silence. Jim Mercer hid behind any print he could find, staying out and working longer and longer. Sherry Mercer allotted herself to an even more inefficient mode of being a housewife, spending more time with her vices. Alice Mercer imploded any chances she had at an academic future, mind whirring about nothing.
It was in this catatonic state, Alice found herself at the shore of the river that ran through the town, one early morning, instead of school. The pebbled shore was deeply embedded in a pine forest that was a sanctuary of the park district.
As if waking up from a fever dream, Alice shed the heavy black trench coat, letting it fall onto the uneven ground. She wore a chunky cable-knit sweater, jeans that were far too tight, and an old pair of heavy work boots. Her face had an ashen pallor. It had been that way for weeks.
Edging near where the water met the shore, Alice kept stepping until the boots were nearly up to her ankle. The water here was glassy, calm, and shallow. That further muddled her scrambled mind. Surely, going to the murky reservoir on the edge of town would have been more effective.
But instead, some sunken part of her mind had taken her here, giving her a spark of hope that died almost immediately.
It had been easy to turn to religion for comfort when the most complicated part of Alice's life was a difficult essay she had to write. However, now the prayers she sent up felt hollow and empty. She still believed, but just couldn't find any solace in it. The loving God she once knew had turned cold, and she wondered if He had always been like that. It wasn't as if she were asking for a miracle to fix her life, but just some strength to fill her sapped reserves.
But there was just silence, barely an echo of her pleas, piety slowly lessening.
Truly alone, there was no mercy for her.
To satiate the hopelessness, Alice once again turned to her fixation on drowning. She wanted to know what it felt like to be completely enveloped in something, something much more powerful than what was already dragging her down.
Ceremonially, Alice trudged forward in what felt like sludge. The waterlogged boots became heavy and caused her feet and ankles to shiver. Fighting to the center of the river, it only came up to her chest, but felt the chill right down to the marrow in her bones.
The pull of the river was so slight, that Alice could stand solidly and not be rushed away.
Before she could kneel so her head would go under the water, there was a shout from the shore.
"Hey! Hey what are you doing?"
Her eyes honed in on an old man in rubber boots and overalls, a fishing pole in one hand, other arm waving at her from the shore. She stared at him for a moment, but continued to stand, not ready to kneel yet.
"Get out of there! You know how cold it is?" Alice didn't seem to register what he was saying. "Oh for the love of God," the man muttered. He dropped the pole at the shore and dipped into the frigid water, wading after her.
It was only when the man began to tug on her arm that Alice animated. "No," she said. "No."
"Miss, you're gonna freeze if you stay out here much longer."
"Just let me do this," Alice whispered.
"Do what?" He paused and took in her state. "You came out here to kill yourself, didn't you, Miss? I'm sorry, but I'm not going to stand here and let you do that." He reached down and grunted, throwing a soaking wet Alice over his shoulder. She didn't fight back, allowing the man to haul her back to the shore.
He dropped her down next to the pole and retrieved the jacket she left on the shore. He draped it over her. "I better not see your face on the news, ever," the fisherman warned her.
"I just want it to end, before it can start."
Getting down in her face, the man grabbed her by the shoulders. "I don't know what that means, but you better stop talking like that." He removed his hands and motioned to himself. "See me? I've been beaten down by life, fallen more times than I can count. You don't get an easy way out. It's just such a waste if you kill yourself, Miss. See, life is the messiest thing ever, but it's also the most beautiful. And I can tell you from experience, for every heartache, there's a sunny day. You are a beautiful young woman with so much potential, and I'm telling you, you need to take a good long look in the mirror until you see that."
"My parents won't even look at me."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen."
"No one like that is worth losing your life over, Miss. Here, let me drive you home."
"I can't go back there," Alice said numbly.
"You can and you will. You're gonna stick it out, and then as soon as you can, you're gonna leave if you have to and go make your own way in the world. You understand me?"
"I can't live the way I want. It's not worth it."
"Every life is worth saving, Miss. You find people who believe that. And you make yourself believe it."
Alice followed the fisherman to his pickup, where she slowly began to shake from the chill of the river, her sopping clothes trapping the sensation.
The fisherman blasted the heat and handed Alice a thermos of bitter, burning coffee. "I don't care if you don't like the taste, you drink that."
The car slowly heated up, and Alice started to shiver violently, involuntarily. The fisherman glanced at her as he drove.
"Please don't take me to the hospital."
"Miss, you're shivering and your mouth is blue. You're sick." That phrase caused a ripple in her stomach.
"I'm not sick," she insisted. "Just take me home. I promise I won't try this again."
The fisherman ignored her changing requests. "You know, it's a blessing that I actually decided to go out today. No one goes near that bank when it's this cold. Anyways, I was going to stay in today, but the wife insisted I get out before the river entirely freezes over. I think it's a miracle I found you when I did."
"I just wanna go home," Alice muttered, retreating even deeper within herself.
The fisherman frowned deeply, and studied her at the light they were at. He sighed deeply. "Fine. I will take you home, if you promise to get help if you need it. I'm taking you home because I can tell you're tough, and you can get through this."
She didn't respond.
"Where do you live, Miss?"
She told him, and a few minutes later, one of the spirits returned to the yellow house on the street named after a tree.
The fisherman pulled up the the house and watched Alice carefully. "This it?"
She nodded. "Yes." She moved to open the door, but the fisherman stopped her.
"You promise me you won't ever do something like that again."
"I promise," she said.
He squinted his eyes at her face for a few moments. "Alright. I believe you. Miss, you go live. God bless you."
The walk to the front door was slower than the amount of time it took Alice to reach the center of the river. She was still shivering terribly, mind still believing she was standing in the frigid water.
Passing over the threshold of the house felt like passing through a membrane, a veil, into a different dimension. Here, Alice was expected to be someone different than what she actually was.
She showered, the hot water feeling as though it was sharp and frigid from the river.
The rest of the day, Alice stayed tucked in her room. Sherry was the same, in her respective room, and never even noticed Alice come in, or if she did, didn't say anything.
Like it had been, Sherry made a rather unappealing meal for dinner, while Jim stayed tucked behind the New York Times, studiously reading every black letter.
It was at the end of the meal that the flesh returned to those spirits.
"Mom? Dad?" Alice spoke.
The newspaper fluttered from Jim's surprised hands, fork and knife clattering the the plate from Sherry's. They stared at her with wide, surprised eyes.
"There's something you two should know."