by Edward Lorn
Click, snap…
Marsha backed away from her son, her face different. All the raging anger she’d been using to belittle her child was gone, replaced by an expression of fear. Her profile told of confusion and terror. Mark knew if he asked her what had happened, she’d have no idea. She looked shell-shocked, PTSD at its worst.
Click, snap…
What Mark’s Nikon would not capture were the words coming from Jaleel Warner. The man sang a song Mark recognized at once—The Dastardly Bastard of Waverly Chasm, the local lyric Willy had emailed Mark. The tone of the voice was playful, childlike, as the tour guide spun like a ballerina. Mark felt his hackles raise, gooseflesh running up and down him in waves. He was able to keep his camera up, but just by force. Mark felt the need to capture the story. The oddity possessed him. He knew he was being unforgiving in his blatant picture taking, but the group would just have to deal with it. There was a story forming, and Mark would be the one to tell it.
Click, snap…
The final picture was of Lyle. The boy pitched forward away from the wall on a course that would surely direct him over the edge and into Waverly Chasm. Lyle’s eyes were spinning, rolling in his head like a slot machine just after the arm has been pulled. The sight caused Mark to pause. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, though he saw it with his own eyes.
Even as the camera processed that last photo, saving it to memory, Mark began to move, springing forward, not thinking, only reacting. He lurched, pushing past the stunned couple in front of him, using his size more than his strength to shove the two against the rock face.
The boy’s right leg extended.
Mark, already struggling for breath after five steps, his blood hammering in his temples with every heartbeat, stretched forward, arms out in front of him.
Lyle’s leg lifted, clearing the two-foot-high guard wire easily. He was going over. Mark was sure of it.
Mark tossed his entire weight forward, wanting, needing with every part of his being to find something on the boy to grab.
Like an Olympic diver, arms out at his sides, head tossed back toward the sky, Lyle began to drop.
Mark dug his fingers into Lyle’s outstretched forearm, pivoted back, and spun on one heel. Using his stomach as a counterweight, Mark hauled the boy back up and over the steel cable, tossing him into the rock face.
Everything unfolded in slow motion as the guard wire caught Mark just behind the knees.
The boy slid down the stony wall, landing in a crumpled heap next to his mother.
Mark’s vision flashed upward to a clear blue sky where birds played. His balance fled as he fell backward into the chasm.
Twirling, Mark was aware of light, then dark—chasm, followed by sky. Black. Blue.
Black.
Blue.
Then, only black.
14
“WATCHIN’ SOMEONE DIE, JUST, IS ne’er easy. Whether it be in pain, or in peace, the livin’ are left with the mem’ries the dead can’t carry with ‘em.”
Nana Penance’s words struck Justine McCarthy with a finality as solid as the rock face at her back. She’d watched helplessly, thrown aside by that wonderful man with more courage than a hundred armies, as he drifted away in the chasm below.
Afterward, Justine wailed uncontrollably, fat tears running down her cheeks. She felt hollow inside.
She could have done something. Nana Penance’s death had been expected, prolonged, and drawn out, but the big man had perished so suddenly. She couldn’t have stopped her grandmother’s passing, but that… that senseless loss of life might have been righted if she’d only acted.
Everything felt cold, even Trevor’s skin as she collapsed into his arms, crying into the crook of his neck. The world had gone frigid and uncaring. Justine could feel, in the pit of her stomach, an ache for the very fragility of life, the ease with which it could be snatched away.
She wept.
Trevor smoothed her hair, repeatedly whispering, “There was nothing anyone could do, baby” until his voice seemed to drone into a monotone, a requiem for the fallen.
There was nothing anyone could do, baby…
It wasn’t the first time he’d said those words.
When Nana Penance died, Justine had made two phone calls, both of them to Trevor. After getting the voicemail on his cell, she’d tried him at work. The conversation had been short. She was crying when he answered. He only asked where she was, then showed up at the hospital less than twenty minutes later.
“I ran over an old lady with a walker and blew through a speed trap to get here,” he’d joked. “No? I could—”
“She’s gone, Trevor.”
He pulled her in, held her, and erased the world around them. She never wanted to let him go. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was certain Nana Penance had died because Justine hadn’t held on tight enough. Never would she let go again.
15
JALEEEEEEEEEEEEL, THE ID SANG.
“HUH?” Jaleel moaned, fighting the drifting feeling. Someone was calling him. So persistent.
Wake up! the id screamed. His inner voice was harsher than normal, demanding.
Jaleel’s eyes snapped open. Glaring light caused him to squint. “Wha-huh? Where am—”
“Shhhh! Don’t say a word.” The figure in front of Jaleel raised a glimmering finger to its ethereal lips. The form wavered, folding in and out of itself. Jaleel could make out a head, shoulders, and two arms, but nothing else. The being disappeared at the torso, reminding Jaleel of the old Casper the Friendly Ghost cartoons.
The face was familiar. It should have been. He was looking at a see-through version of himself.
“They’ll hear you,” the vapor said. “Don’t want them to see you talking to yourself, now, do we?”
“I’m dead; aren’t I? I fell off the side, and I’m dead. Stone cold dead.”
“Shhhh!” the form hissed. “Whisper, if you absolutely have to talk.”
“Where am I?”
“Look around. Just don’t make it obvious that we’re talking.”
Jaleel steeled himself and surveyed the area. In front of him, at the guard wire, stood Donald. He remembered the little man vaguely, but had forgotten something important about him. Over to the left was—what was her name? Oh, yeah—Marsha, the cell phone kid’s mother. Under her kneeling form, the boy lay in a fetal position, his arms wrapped around his shins. Further up the pathway, Trevor was petting Justine’s hair in long motions, caressing her back with his other hand.
“What happened?”
“You went crazy. Hell, everyone went crazy. The fat guy with the camera went over the edge.” The figure whistled the sound of a dropping bomb. “Ker-splat!”
“Went over the side? He’s dead?”
“Yepper-rooney, Looney.” The form shifted as if blown by a breeze, then hummed a tune Jaleel found hauntingly familiar.
“Who are you?” Jaleel was starting to raise from his stupor enough to realize he wasn’t truly talking to himself.
“You don’t recognize me? You remember all these lay-abouts, and not me? I must say, silly goose, I’m hurt.” It shook its wispy head. Trails of pink and blue matter drifted away like so much sparkly dandruff.
“I can’t…” Jaleel slapped a palm to his forehead in frustration. “Wake up, brother. Just wake up.”
“Id, you stupid bastard. I’m Id! I’m you at your base level. B2, the elevator stops here, boss. Toot, toot!”
“Now I know I’ve lost it.” Jaleel shook his head in a feeble attempt to clear it.
“Look, you’re crazy. Nutso. Not playing with a full deck. Off your meds. Certifiably FUBARed. You following me? Or should I ask, are you following you?”
“But I’m not talking to myself.” Jaleel ran a hand over his tight black curls. “I mean… I can see you.”
“You see a delusional projection of your inner mind. Weird, huh?” Id smiled.
“But crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. It just don
’t work like that. There’s some other explanation.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” Id shimmered, sparkling bits exploding off its form like fireworks in a night sky. “Look, we don’t have time for this getting-to-know-yourself, twelve-step, hootenanny bullshit. You have to be very careful how you proceed with these guys. They aren’t gonna understand what just happened to you. After all, you were just pirouetting around spouting off poetry that just up and popped into your gray matter. So excuse me for saying, but I wouldn’t trust your ass as far as I can throw you. But throwing oneself can be a tricky venture if not—”
“Id!” Jaleel hissed, trying to get himself back on track. The thought made his head hurt.
“Right. Well, calm down. You do tend to get carried away from time to time, so you can only imagine I suffer from the same what-ails-you, as it were, respectfully.” Id floated to the left, cutting off Jaleel’s line of sight to everyone but the small man. “Truth is, there’s some bad voodoo in them thar hills, and you can’t trust anyone. Yeah, so you’re crazy. Call up Britney Spears, shave your head, and have a dinner date with the Mad Effing Hatter for all I care. But all that’s for later. Right now, I take over, and you listen to yourself for once. Clear?”
“Why should I listen to you, if you’re me? Wouldn’t that be like getting in a car with a drunk?”
“You’ll listen to me because I don’t want you dead. You die, and it’s bye-bye for Id. You dig? What you wanna do is act as normal as your effed-up little brain will allow. I know, I know, easier said than done. But I promise, I have the most honest intentions out of this entire gaggle of batshit crazy geese we’ve wound up with.”
Jaleel sighed. “What do I want me to do?”
“Good. Finally listening to reason. I knew, deep down, you weren’t so bad. Kinda take after me in a way.” Id waved, and more pinkish-blue sparkles scattered like fleeing fireflies. “So, this is what you’re gonna do…”
16
MARSHA LAKE KNELT BESIDE HER son, placing a hand against his cheek. She’d seen the look of sheer horror in his eyes after everything went black. When she came back into herself, Lyle had stared at her in terror. It was a moment she would never forget, or ever want to relive. Her only child, trembling, scared to death because she had… done something.
But what had she done?
She remembered the little guy calling Jaleel the N-word. Marsha recalled trying to tell Lyle to be quiet, that it wasn’t his place to say anything, just none of his business. And that was it. The next thing she knew, Lyle looked like a deer caught in headlights. She believed, in that instant, if Lyle had had the gear, he would have climbed the rock face just to get away from her.
What the hell did you do? She willed her mind to clear away the fog it currently resided in. She fought to pull her memories to the surface, but nothing worked. They were just gone.
Brrrrr… brrrrr… brrrrr…
The noise was sudden, too loud, but she had no idea where it was coming from. It seemed to be all around her—in the chasm, above her, coming from the couple at the wall, rising from the form of the tour guide as he talked to someone… someone who wasn’t there.
Jaleel stopped his monologue, meeting Marsha’s eye. “We need to find help,” the tour guide said, pushing himself to his feet.
“The… the camera guy… the big guy is…” Justine stammered, her voice full of emotions, face covered in renegade tears.
“I know.” The guide’s voice was somber. “That’s why we need to get help.”
“What the hell happened to you?” That was Trevor, voice calmer than he looked. He left his girlfriend to confront Jaleel. Marsha worried a fight might break out.
“I don’t remember,” Jaleel admitted. His face was honest, concerned. From what Marsha could gather, he was telling the truth.
Brrrrr… brrrrr… brrrrr…
What is that?
“You aren’t getting off that easy. My girl’s a wreck. We got a kid that wants to kill himself and a dead fat guy. What the fuck happened?” Trevor growled, his teeth clenched.
“Baby,” Justine pleaded, coming to her boyfriend’s side.
“I can’t remem—”
“Fuck you, man! You tell us—”
“He’s telling the truth,” Marsha finally said. Everyone stopped and looked down at her. Trevor’s eyes were filled with anger, Jaleel’s, curiosity. Justine only nodded.
Brrrrr… brrrrr… brrrrr…
“How do you know?” Trevor asked after a moment.
“Because I don’t remember anything, either. All I remember is darkness, a black area where my thoughts should be. It’s all gone, like it never happened. One minute, I was watching those two go back and forth.” Marsha pointed at Jaleel and Donald. “The next, I was looking at Lyle. And… he was…” She fought back a hard spot in her throat. “He was scared of me. After that, he tried to jump off the cliff. I wanted to help, would have done anything to save my child, I promise you that, but I couldn’t move. My arms and legs just wouldn’t function. Thank God, that man… that man…” She broke down, her body racked with sobs. She looked back on Lyle’s form.
Brrrrr… brrrrr… brrrrr…
Lyle’s eyes fluttered open. He put a hand to his temple and massaged the area. “Mom?”
“I’m right here.”
“Where am I?”
“We’re still on the trail, hon. Don’t worry. We’re gonna get help.” Marsha looked up at Jaleel, directing the next comment at the tour guide. “Help will be here soon.”
“Does anyone have a cell phone?” Jaleel asked.
Trevor sighed. “Yeah. You can use mine.” Trevor pulled a silver cell phone from his front pocket and handed it to Jaleel.
“Thanks.” Jaleel flipped open the phone. “Damn it! No signal.”
Marsha saw something in Jaleel’s eyes. A hint of dishonesty. She was a mother; she knew that look well. “What about your—” She started to point out the radio attached to Jaleel’s hip, but there was that damn noise again.
Brrrrr… brrrrr… brrrrr…
“Shit!” Marsha yelled, cursing herself for being so stupid. “It’s on vibrate!”
Trevor slapped his hands on his legs. “Now what is she talking about? She ain’t going crazy on us again, is she?”
“No, no, I’m not crazy.” Marsha went at Lyle, clamoring for his pockets. The boy tried to scurry away, still obviously scared of her, but she had to ignore it, if just for a moment.
“It’s been ringing,” Marsha told them as she pulled the phone from her son’s pocket. “It’s been on vibrate. I thought I was just hearing things.”
The screen read “Unknown Caller” in green letters. She slid the bar at the bottom, unlocking the device. Shoving it up to her ear, she yelled, “Sorry, but we’re in trouble. There’s been an accident, and we need help. I need to use this line to call the po—”
“Let me talk to Lyle.”
The voice was terribly familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. Something was blocking her memories again.
“Who is this?”
“Marsha, give the phone to Lyle.”
Her mouth went dry. She was left with ice in her veins. “Is this some kind of joke?”
The voice was loving, sugary-sweet. “Nobody’s jerking you around, sweetheart. Though I might let you grab my crotch another time. For now, give the phone to our son.”
Marsha felt lost. Everything was wrong. The norm had been disturbed, her entire way of looking at things changed. She had lain next to her dying husband, felt his hand loosen in her own, watched his life slip away. Yet his voice was on the phone. It just wasn’t possible.
But it’s him. I will never forget Paul’s voice.
Fourteen years ago, Marsha had been dragged along to the reunion of a high school she had never attended. Her best friend, Debra Trundell, needed Marsha present to help with her nerves. Debra, a natural introvert, rarely stepped out of the house to grocery shop, let alone to attend pa
rties. Marsha was surprised Debra would want to put herself through some awful gathering of people she probably didn’t even remember.
Marsha hated every minute of the reunion. She hadn’t known anyone, of course, so when Debra ran into a boy she used to date in the eleventh grade, Marsha had retreated to the bar. Let her have her fun, she thought. She’d just drink.
The open bar was tended by a tight-chested, thick-armed man wearing a blue suit. With a twinkle in his eye, he told her he was from Armenia. The more Marsha drank, the more handsome the man became. She tried not to stare, but it was damn near impossible. The guy was so hot, and she was so hypnotized, she didn’t notice another man had sat down next to her until he spoke.
“Doesn’t it always happen like this?”
Startled, she spilled her whiskey sour down the front of her dress. “Whush?” What she’d meant was “What?” but it didn’t come out like that.
“Life.” He looked at her over his drink, his smile distorting as it showed through liquid inside the glass. “It never goes as planned.”
She shrugged too hard, spilling more of her drink in the process. “Maybe you got planned to do somethin’ else?”
“How many have you had?”
“I’m not drunk. Just bushing.”
“Buzzing?”
“Yesh.”
“And I am so not worthy of your current attention.”
Marsha followed the man’s gaze to where the flat of her hand rested on his crotch. She couldn’t remember putting her hand there. More than likely, she’d been aiming for his thigh. Even that seemed odd, as she didn’t know him.
“Oh, muh gosh!” She felt her cheeks flush. “I’m sooooooooo sorry.”