Inside Out

by Lia Riley

  He shrugs. “I want you to feel like you have your own things going on.”

  “I’ll figure my stuff out. There’s a million people in the city. Someone will want to hire me.”

  “They will.”

  “And I’m going to begin therapy. I promise this time. Before, I was scared.” My voice breaks, regret cuts me deep. So much time wasted rocking in corners, squandering the good moments.

  Bran clutches me to him, holds me hard enough that fear can’t blow me away. Life might carry on but we’re traveling the road together. “Talia—”

  “It’s like I thought therapy would be an admission that I’m crazy, but that’s the wrong way to look at it. I want to be my best self, Bran. For you. For me.” The world distills to his mouth hovering on mine, and every time he breathes I can feel it, fuck, I can taste it, like the first sweet wind of spring after a long, barren winter.

  “Captain.” His voice is gruff. “You are one of the sanest people I know.”

  “That’s not speaking highly for your circle of friends.”

  “I’m not retracing steps with you.” He kisses each of my cheeks. “You’re amazing. Deal with it.” He glances over my shoulder and frowns.

  “What?” I turn and my heart feels heavy. There’s a cloud. A big, fat, purple cloud.

  “Weather report said twenty percent chance of rain.”

  “Guess the odds aren’t ever in our favor.”

  “Maybe it’s a one-off.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  The card with the skeleton flashes in my head. The old woman’s raspy voice. Death.

  “Let’s get a move on. We’ll put up camp in a few more hours.”

  We scramble down rocks as the trail disappears; soon our pace slows as we pick our way from cairn to cairn, loose rock piles that previous hikers have built to help define the route. Clouds come in fast and the temperature drops. It’s not a question of if rain will fall. It’s a matter of when.

  We hit the first section that requires ropes and harnesses. Bran sets up a belay, gets me down with minimal fuss. He talks less and that makes me scared. What if he’s nervous? We look around. There are three different options to move forward. “Which way?”

  “You’ve got the map, correct?”

  “Yeah, right here.” I strip off my backpack and kneel, opening the zip. Nothing. “Weird. I must have stuck it inside instead.” I unclasp the locks. Within two minutes I have emptied the contents of my backpack. It’s not there. Shit.

  I thrust my hand through my hair. “I must have set it down when I repacked at the last second.”

  “I don’t remember seeing it left out.”

  “Me neither.” Something Bran said once niggles my subconscious. “Didn’t you say this place was cursed? Isn’t Tenaya Canyon the Bermuda Triangle of the Sierras?”

  “Just a legend.”

  “Well, maybe that legend took our map.”

  Death, she said, her voice a rasp.

  “Uh, I think your distraction lost the map.”

  “This isn’t my fault.” I’m half yelling.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “Okay, this is my fault.”

  “Just an accident. Nothing for it now.” His voice is tight. His fingers lock into a fist. “What’s done is done. Okay, let’s see.” He looks around us with a grim expression. “I’m going to have to scout. See if I can pick up the right trail.”

  Rain starts to sprinkle. The granite underfoot is polished smooth from the glacier. Once it gets wet, this place is going to be as slippery as an ice rink.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, I don’t know what to expect. This is a safe place. You can sit tight.”

  “Okay. I can do that.” Try not to cause any more problems.

  “We’ll be all right.” His face softens. “This is all part of the adventure, right?”

  “Totally.” We’re bug-fucked and it’s all my fault.

  “It might take a bit, but I’ll return soon as I get my bearings.” Bran gives me an absentminded kiss on the cheek and disappears down the middle rise. I wait. And wait. The drizzle stops, but the wind begins to bite as surrounding granite absorbs the cooling temperature. After twenty minutes I get up and pace. How long is this going to take? After an hour I tiptoe toward the edge, cup my hands to my mouth. “Bran?”

  Bran? Bran? Bran? Bran?

  My echo bounces around me, mocking.

  I inch forward. I’m not going to go far, obviously. Don’t want to get lost in the rocky labyrinth alone. I peer down the rise Bran scrambled. No sign of him. In the far-off distance, a glint of metal catches my eye. There is a rusted engine. Part of a prop. A plane crashed here. Some time ago from the look of the rust.

  Curse. Death.

  Stop it!

  “Bran?” I yell. Still no answer. I don’t get it though. This was clearly the wrong way. The burned-out plane rests on a small ledge. There is no other place to go. Bran couldn’t have gone down what looks to be a cliff edge, but I would have seen him if he came back up.

  Unless he fell.

  Panic grabs me with two cold fists, right in the gut. Okay. This has happened before. I remember being in Tasmania and freaking out that Bran had been swept off rocks near a stormy beach. He’d been perfectly fine. I’ll wait as per the plan. He’s got to come back. I’m sure he’s fine. Everything’s fine.

  I look at the rock cracks overhead, so tempting to count them, zone out into a headspace of order, but no. I jerk my gaze away. Not going there, got to focus on healthier coping mechanisms.

  Four hours later it’s almost completely dark. Rain returns, a smattering of sprinkles dot the rocks. No one has come by. Bran hasn’t returned. I can’t go back to the car, because I don’t have rope. I can’t go forward because I don’t know where to go.

  Everything’s fine, I say, my teeth chattering. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine.

  The phrase has grown more meaningless the longer I say it. I keep repeating the words, but it’s like something sinister. Everything sounds like, You are fucked. You should have listened to the old woman. You had a choice. You knew this didn’t feel right. Intuition kept poking and you ignored it. Look what’s happened. You should do something.

  I promised to sit still. I promised to wait. I trust Bran. I promised.

  Are you going to sit here until the end of time? It’s almost dark. Stop being a coward and find your man.

  I don’t know what to do. I’m scared, but less for myself than Bran. Is he okay? I put a bunch of rocks together in the shape of an arrow to point the direction of my planned route. This is pretty much the worst orienteering ever. I am not some sort of supergirl. I’m scared shitless. But I’ll do this. I’ve got to find Bran.

  I strap on my headlamp, and the light is laughably weak. Still, it’s enough to see right in front of me. I won’t be stupid. I won’t go far. But I can’t stay still any longer. If I go a little ways, maybe he’ll see my light. Maybe he’s not far. The ground tilts to a precarious degree and soon my quads are burning.

  “Bran!”

  Bran! Bran! Bran! Bran!

  Nothing.

  My weak light bounces off the rocks. Please. Please let him be safe. The temperature is falling fast. A misty chill gets under my thermal layer. I start to scramble back, but my foot slips. The drizzle turns to harder rain. I stop to throw on my jacket and waterproof pants. I can’t get back up the rock. Not without seriously risking a huge accident. I inch lower. Within ten minutes the pitch is so steep that I’m on my ass, scooting in slow inches. The pants don’t stop the cold. My butt is numb. At least there is one part of me that isn’t hurting. My stomach might never untie from this knot. My face is wet with tears and rain.

  What have I done? First, Pippa. Now Bran.

  I ruin everything.

  I throw back my head and unleash a scream. The void snatches it and nothing answers.

  Then comes a rumble, followed by a boom. The unexpected thunder sends me
hurdling belly down. The universe is laughing at me.

  I wrap my hands over my head, can’t stop whimpering.

  No. Get up. Keep going. I keep a pace banana slugs would jeer at. Whatever. Time is what I don’t lack. All I have is this endless night. Alone. Crawling in a canyon. Unable to find the person who matters to me more than anyone.

  My headlamp flickers. Dims. The batteries are going out. Oh, no. Oh, hell no.

  There’s an overhang ahead, against the mountain, away from the edge. I scoot over and it’s out of the wind. The ground is dry. I strip off my rain jacket and pants, teeth chattering hard enough they might break. My fingers are numb, so it takes me three tries to open the zipper on my backpack. I fumble out the sleeping bag and mat. I unroll the Therm-a-Rest and it fills with air. Bran has the tent.

  “Please let him be safe,” I say. To no one. To God. To Pippa.

  Maybe she listens.

  If not, I’d rather be the crazy girl talking to herself than sit in silence with my own thoughts. I turtle my head into the sleeping bag. My nose and cheeks burn as heat returns.

  “Hey, Pip,” I whisper. “I don’t know if you’re there, but if you are, I need you to help me cut a deal. Don’t let the death card be for Bran. Please. Have whoever it is who does these things take me instead. It’s my fault. I was careless. I got distracted and forgot the map. I’m so lost, Pip. I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what I’m doing. Every time I think I’ve figured my way out, it’s the wrong direction.”

  Thunder booms again. The universe is continuing to mock, or rumbling in agreement.

  “I’m sorry, Pippa. For what I did, with Tanner. You know that, but I needed to say it. And not just because I’m terrified. You were my best friend. You were everything. I’m what’s leftover and it sucks. I thought having Tanner would give me some of what made you. But instead it took you from me.” I wipe my nose, crying in earnest now. “I saw him recently. He looks good. I think we’re cool now, but you and me…how about us?”

  My hours in fight or flight have sent my adrenal system into a crash. Exhaustion hooks into my brain and begins to drag me down.

  Here.

  Pippa’s voice carries on the wind. Goose bumps break across my belly. Maybe it’s a dream. Maybe this canyon really is some Bermuda Triangle portal.

  Nothing else is said, but a sensation settles over me, a feeling of being held. Not a lover’s embrace but a sister’s. “I told you I’d live for both of us and I try,” I whisper. “I try my best, but I wreck everything.”

  Warmth spreads through my belly, slow and comforting like I’ve consumed a bowl of soup.

  “I love Bran, Pippa. I love him. It’s not a crush or puppy lust. Like this is it. I’m done for.” I go quiet because those words have another meaning. “If that card was right, if death is in my future. Please. Let it be me who is done for. Me for him, okay? Promise? Everyone loves you. You must have great connections up there. Me for him, got that? Me for him.”

  The thunder comes again. Fainter. Enough that I convince myself it is begrudging assent from the powers that be. I shove my head out of the bag, push myself to the edge of the overhang. Rain hits my face. “You hear that? Me for him!”

  My echo drowns in the torrent.

  I retreat back, grab my water, and take a sip. The swallow pulls the lump in my throat. The ache spreads through my neck. “If we make it out of this, I promise to stop letting the bad stuff define me. At the end of the day, that’s not what matters. I don’t want to look down anymore. I want to keep my head up, keep an eye on what’s to come. Because there are good things out there, and sometimes they happen when you least expect it. One day, you’re sleepwalking through life, and the next you meet someone who wakes you up. A person who makes you want to try to dig in for your best self. That’s Bran. He’s so close to being the guy he’s been fighting to become. He deserves a shot, because holy crap, he is amazing, someone who will do amazing things. The world needs more people like him. Heroes.”

  I fall asleep, cocooned in the down sleeping bag, mumbling to my dead sister. “Me for him. Me for him. Me for him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bran

  My forearms scream in protest on the final rise. I allow myself a respite and settle my forehead against the granite. I’m stuck on yet another cliff, the third one, and by far the trickiest to navigate. “You are a bloody idiot,” I mutter to myself. I hate that I left Talia alone. After she discovered she’d lost the map, there was no easy way back to the car. Moving forward seemed a safer option, and in trying to find a way out, I selected one of three possible routes. I chose unwisely and just like the guy in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, I paid a harsh penalty. The route took me down a near vertical ridgeline. At one point I stumbled across a large bone, bleached and weathered by the elements. Hopefully from a deer and not some poor lost bastard. I passed the wreckage of a long-ago plane crash and reached a ledge. Below I spotted what looked like a cairn, hundreds of meters in the distance. The way down was too crazy for Talia to manage. I figured I’d down-climb, get to the trail, and retrace my steps back up to her. Should have been easy.

  Except for the part where I messed up. Halfway down the climb I realized that while I could make it, it was going to be fucking slow going. I had to throw off my backpack. It dropped with a sickening thud. A reminder of what would happen if I lost a foothold. I’d gotten myself into a situation that could turn deadly with one false move. I tried not to think about mountain lions prowling the canyon, or falling, breaking an ankle then crossing paths with a big bloody bear. People think Australian animals are scary, but shit, imagine five hundred kilos of fur eating off your face. No way. Give me a bloody snake any day of the week.

  Sure, I’ve climbed a bit, but mostly on the You Yangs, hills outside of Melbourne, short routes on relatively small granite outcrops. This is a whole new game, but I try to remind myself the principles are the same—handhold to handhold, foothold to foothold. Took forever, but I made it through the worst before the rain fell. By dark, I was crouched on a ledge, legs quivering from nerves and exhaustion and grateful as hell for my rain gear. Night settled in, a dark without the mercy of the moon, and through the long hours one word pulsed in time to my heart.

  Talia.

  Talia.

  Talia.

  Dawn’s light is muted by the thick clouds. Did she stay still through the long night? “Please, hold tight, sweetheart,” I murmur. She won’t be able to go back the way we came, not without ropes. And I hope to God she doesn’t go forward, looking for me. Fear pours on my doubts, like petrol to a slow-burning fire. The resulting blaze sears my lungs.

  What if she gets into trouble and I’m not there?

  What happened in Antarctica, with Justine and the crane, I almost caused a disaster. What if my luck’s run out? No. Shit. Fuck. Talia’s okay. She has to be okay. I need to shake these charred thoughts off like ash. Sweat breaks over my body. I can’t afford damp hands, got to slow down my heart and settle myself. It takes a few deep breaths before my fingers stop trembling. I press my forehead against the rock.

  “I’m coming back to you,” I whisper to Talia, my lips against the earth. “Wait for me. Wait for me.”

  It’s time to focus. I’ve got climbing experience, but without rock chalk and proper shoes, it’s a trick. My foot slips on a hold. My hiking boots don’t have the right grip. I balance on one foot, precarious as fuck, and get off one boot, then the other. My bare feet settle onto the stone and I feel hope return to my bones. Taking it old school, I can do this. She’s just ahead. She’s going to be less than enthusiastic about how we have to get down, but we’ll manage.

  “Please let her be there.” I say the words aloud. To whom? I don’t know. Whoever’s listening.

  I yank myself over the top and…nothing. A chill races through my veins, turning my vital organs to ice. “Shit.” I quicken my pace up the trail. Fucking hell, I even have the cell phone. She’s been out here all nigh
t. Anything could have happened. A fall. An animal. Hypothermia. No. Stop. I got her into danger and I’ll bloody well get her out. Each time I turn a corner I hold my breath, maybe this time, and her continued absence settles over me like a mantle of lead. The harder it crushes, the faster I hike, near at a run as much as the terrain allows. I trip on a loose rock and skitter back as it bounces off the ledge, plummets into air. Talia’s terrified of heights, gets vertigo looking out a second-story window. I wanted to take her out here to get her out of her head, show her fear can be conquered, as long as we’re together.

  Together doesn’t include leaving her alone. Fear sinks its roots into my gut, all thorns and no blossom. “Talia,” I yell, turning the next corner, rising fear making it hard to swallow. “Tal—oof.” Something hits me hard in the ribs. I drop to my knees, but am tackled to the ground. Warm, soft curves press up against me.

  “You—”

  That’s as far as I get before she cuts me off with a hard kiss. A pointy rock gouges the back of my skull. Her hair falls around us like a curtain.

  “G’day,” I whisper.

  “You don’t look like a ghost.” Talia splays her hands across my chest.

  “I don’t suppose I do.”

  “You aren’t dead.” Her voice quavers on the last word.

  “Not unless this is heaven.” I wind her tresses around my hand and drag her close. Her lips are soft and taste like salt. Guilt hacks into my belly like a spade. “I should never have left you.”

  Tears glisten from the edges of her eyelashes. “I should never have let you go.”

  “We need to stick together,” I whisper, meaning each word more than she can know.

  “Always.”

  I lace my fingers with hers and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Me and you.”