Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  The driveway was too narrow for Akash to complete a U-turn, so he put the car into reverse and backed onto the county road. He put the car into drive and followed the sheriff, who was now bolting far ahead of them, back toward Cottonwood.

  “What do you think is going on?!” asked Akash.

  “I don’t know,” said the agent, “but whatever it is, we’ve got to keep up with them. Give this bad boy those maximum electrons!”

  Akash put his foot to the floor, and the electric car made little additional noise but accelerated rapidly. Slowly, they began to close the gap between them and the sheriff.

  “You were wondering about Matthew Duncan,” continued the agent. “Well, if you want your questions answered, you need to keep up with the sheriff.”

  Akash intensely focused on the road, and the two men said very little as they followed the sheriff to Cottonwood. The gap between the two cars began to narrow, but the sheriff was far more familiar with the twists and turns in the road, and though Akash could close the gap along the straighter sections, around the turns, the sheriff would again increase it. They arrived in town still a few blocks behind the sheriff. At the intersection of Second and Main, the sheriff didn’t bother stopping but turned sharply toward the left, tires squealing and heading north on the highway back out of town. Akash didn’t bother stopping either, but took the corner far slower, allowing the sheriff to again increase the distance between them.

  “Where do you think he’s headed?” asked Akash. “He’s driving like a madman!”

  “I dunno,” replied the agent, “but wherever it is—there’s definitely a sense of urgency. I believe he wants to get to my escapee before I do.”

  About two miles out of Cottonwood, they passed a house sitting up on a small hill off to the right of the highway. About a quarter mile beyond the house, the agent and Akash watched the sheriff’s car slow down and pull off the highway into a small dirt parking lot.

  “Just pull in right next to him,” the agent said.

  As Akash parked the car, the sheriff and deputy were already out of theirs and moving rapidly up a steep embankment near the parking lot.

  The agent quickly got out of the car and headed toward the embankment. Akash got out but hesitated by the car. “Should I stay here or come with you?!” he asked.

  Without stopping or turning around, the agent yelled back, “That depends, Einstein—how badly do you want your questions answered?”

  Akash paused for a moment and then ran to the trunk of his car, quickly retrieving a small backpack and hurrying to catch up with the agent. The embankment led to a trail heading both north and south along the highway. Near the trail was a brown wooden sign with white lettering and an arrow pointing toward the right. The sign read Abyss Falls, 1.1 miles. When the agent and Akash arrived at the top of the embankment near the sign, the sheriff and Sparky were already a few hundred feet down the trail to their right.

  Agent Westmore was panting heavily, though Akash seemed barely winded. “That…sheriff,” gasped the agent, “moves pretty fast…for as fat as he is.”

  Akash stared at the agent struggling to get his breath. “He’s acclimatized—you come from sea level. He may be overweight, but his lungs are used to this altitude.”

  Though the agent continued to struggle for breath, the two kept moving down the trail in the same direction as Sparky and the sheriff. Off to their right and down the hill was the house they had passed on the highway. Suddenly, the agent stopped and looked down at a grassy area next to the trail. The grass was matted down as though something had been recently lying on top of it. He knelt down and studied the grass closely.

  Though Akash was already down the trail fifty feet or more ahead of the agent, he stopped and turned around. “What is it?” Akash asked.

  The agent paused before answering, still studying the area. “There’s blood on this grass,” he finally said. He glanced down the hill toward the house, then up the trail to where the sheriff and Sparky were increasing their lead, and finally back toward the house. “Someone may need to check out this house later on.” The agent turned and started moving down the trail, and Akash did the same.

  The trail began to get very rocky as it turned gently to the left, wrapping around a small mountain. Akash remained ahead of the agent as they moved along, breathing normally and purposely slowing his pace to allow the agent to keep up. After ten minutes or so, Akash stopped and waited for the agent to catch up.

  “You really didn’t come prepared for a hike, did you?” asked Akash, when the agent finally caught up with him. “Would you like some water?”

  The agent stood with his hands on his hips, sucking in great gulps of air. He wore a long sleeve white shirt, long pants, and his black shoes, which were now heavily covered with dust from the trail. His Glock 21 was holstered underneath his left arm. Akash was in shorts, a short-sleeve polo shirt, hiking boots, sunglasses, a baseball cap, and had a backpack slung over his right shoulder.

  The agent grimaced. “Yes, to the water,” he replied and then added, “and no, I wasn’t prepared…for a good many things.”

  Akash took a canteen from the backpack, and the agent took a long drink.

  “When I’m out in the field doing investigations, I always have supplies with me—water being the most important,” said Akash. “I’m surprised you don’t do the same.”

  The agent handed the canteen back and tapped his Glock. “This is usually the only supply I need—except, of course, for a steady stream of fast-food restaurants, gas stations, and the occasional liquor store.”

  “All of which will do you no good at all when you’re out here dealing with nature,” replied Akash as he put the canteen away. He glanced up the trail. “We’d better keep going.”

  They could no longer see the sheriff or Sparky on the trail ahead, so they both glanced frequently off the trail into the forest in the off chance the other two had somehow left the trail. The agent knew he was holding Akash back, but his heart pounded heavily in his chest, and there didn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the entire universe to quench the craving in his lungs. His feet throbbed with pain inside his now heavily marred and filthy shoes. With each rock he stepped up and over, his shoulder holster and gun flopped up and then down, slapping against the side of his body. He wanted to quit, to sit down, to rest. More than once, he thought of handing Akash the Glock 21 and telling him to go on ahead without him, but he knew the idea was preposterous.

  The agent suddenly realized that this wasn’t just another escapee he was rounding up. This was the escapee. This was something he had to complete. He had to! All the previous escapees, all the lonely and endless days, nights, weeks, and years on the road had led him to this moment. Most importantly, all the breadcrumbs of the prior week had led him to this steep and rocky trail near Cottonwood, Colorado—this was his vision quest.

  He swore to himself he wouldn’t stop again to fully catch his breath, though his lungs were burning; he swore he wouldn’t stop and beg Akash for more water, though his mouth was parched and dry. David Westmore swore he would keep going on—no matter how much his body protested—climbing toward Abyss Falls and whatever mystery his quest had in store.

  Ninety-Three

  The Abyss

  Abyss Falls were well-known to the ancient Native Americans who inhabited the area, revered by them as a sacred place of “the tall waters where the mists are born.” Being among the most spectacular in Colorado, the falls naturally became a popular tourist destination, though the moderately steep, rocky trail leading up to the falls discouraged all but the heartiest of tourists.

  In the late 1990s, there was a push by the State of Colorado to build an access road from the highway to the falls, with the argument being it would increase tourism in the area as well as solve the “problem” that certain disabled individuals were being excluded from enjoying the view of the falls. Though the argument might have had some validity, it was fervently fought by several members of the local com
munity—including the Yamamoto family and Old Blind Carl. Abyss Falls, they argued, would be ruined if a road and parking lot were built close to them. Old Blind Carl argued that as a blind and disabled individual, he would never be able to enjoy the view anyway, but a road next to them would ruin how they sounded and smelled. To him, they were the smell and sound of life itself, and there’d never been a lack of sighted volunteers in Cottonwood to assist him in navigating his way along Little Bear River to the falls. Though in recent years, with the declining population of young people, volunteers had become a bit more difficult to recruit. After several years of wrangling with the state, the road was not built, and so it remained a fact that tourists who wanted to enjoy the majesty of Abyss Falls would forever need to hike, bike, climb, or crawl to them.

  In addition to the mossy smells and thunderous roar, which Old Blind Carl so heartily enjoyed, visitors to the falls were treated to a spectacular view of the three hundred and twenty-five foot vertical plunge of water over the falls. At the bottom, the water crashed into a small pool filled with sharp and jagged water-blackened rocks, though the constant mist always obscured a completely clear view.

  Near the top of the falls were several excellent places for viewing, but by far the most popular was known by locals as “Flat Rock.” It was a rather unimaginative name for what was simply a large flat piece of granite, about twenty-feet wide by twenty-feet long, jutting out from near the trail very close to the top of the falls. It offered an excellent viewing platform, and many a postcard picture of Abyss Falls had been taken from Flat Rock.

  Over the years, there had been two recorded deaths of people plunging from Flat Rock to the shark-toothed rocks below. The first of them happened in 1931. A Grand Junction man by the name of Preston Spencer drove all the way to Cottonwood, had a meal in what was then called The Little Bear Tavern—now Ernie’s Diner—and then hiked up to the falls to carry out his plan. He had apparently lost everything of a material nature, including his house, his car, and his job. For some reason, before taking the fatal plunge, he had taken the time to carefully remove his socks and shoes—leaving them resting neatly on Flat Rock. He also left behind a beautiful wife and three children at the height of the Great Depression, along with a rather unusual suicide note—or as some called it—more of a short “suicide poem.” Preston Spencer’s widow asked the town if they would allow a very small plaque in memory of her husband to be installed near the trail by Abyss Falls and Flat Rock. Surprisingly, the Cottonwood town council eventually agreed, and the bronze plaque, though weathered, remained intact over the years. Engraved upon it were the dead man’s final words:

  “Nature shall wrap her loving wings,

  ‘round every emotion, be it fear or dream.

  Gentle soul, take care with each….”

  –P. Spencer 1901-1931

  The other recorded death at Abyss Falls was of a teenager from Cottonwood named Garrett Iverson. He fell off of Flat Rock a few days after his high school graduation in 1964 while drinking and celebrating with some friends. After that death, there was a short-lived movement in Cottonwood, spearheaded mainly by the dead teen’s family, to put a safety chain or railing of some sort around Flat Rock. Though the people of Cottonwood had great sympathy for the teen’s family, they were also filled with western Colorado practicality, and most were opposed to any such barrier. Many of Cottonwood’s citizens at that time privately expressed the sentiment, “if a person is so stupid as to fall off Flat Rock, then they got what they deserved.” This kind of thinking was not uncommon and remains very much a part of the ethos of small towns all over the West.

  Rebecca’s hands and mouth had been unbound shortly after she and Eddie had left his house and climbed up to the trail. Eddie told her to act natural and swore to her that if she made any sound or gave any sign to the chance passerby using the trail, he would immediately kill her and them. Eddie had flashed a large stainless steel hunting knife in Rebecca’s face as he told her this; she was certain he’d do exactly what he said. He then concealed the weapon in his shirt, grabbed her arm, and prodded her along the trail toward Abyss Falls. After her hands had been unbound, the first thing Rebecca noticed was that her ring was missing—verifying her worst suspicion. She rubbed her empty ring finger with her other hand, feeling another kind of emptiness inside.

  She walked slowly along the trail, causing Eddie to frequently prod her with a shove in the back. She tripped once over a rock and fell to the ground, her eyes having filled with tears from the horror she’d witnessed back inside the house. Eddie was quick to grab her by the arm and yank her back upright.

  “Keep moving!” he yelled.

  She made certain he hadn’t seen her teary eyes—he’d get no satisfaction from her in knowing the pain she was in.

  When they reached the junction where the trail joined with the one that followed along Little Bear River, Eddie grabbed Rebecca’s arm and stopped her. He spun her around and tried to look into her eyes, but she turned her face away.

  “It’s not too late to change things, Becky,” he said. “Sure, I got angry back at the house, but he was the one who broke in. Matt’s brainwashed you. We can work this out somehow. We can tell everyone that I saved you from him. He kidnapped you, and I saved you—it’s simple.”

  She wasn’t going to answer him, but his mentioning of her husband caused her to relive the vision of Matthew sprawled out in the middle of Eddie’s living room—his red blood spilling onto the filthy carpet. Her stomach and heart ached from the thought. The tears were just below the surface, but she held them back.

  When it was obvious that his pleading was having no effect, he turned her to the left and pushed her forward up the trail toward the falls. “Fine,” he said, “have it your way, but we’ll see how brave you are at the edge of Flat Rock.”

  Rebecca had resigned herself to her own death. In her mind, her husband, and seemingly her last hope for rescue, could even now be dead. Considering the wounds she’d witnessed, perhaps it would be best if he were. So now, even if it bought her more time and the opportunity for an escape, there was no way she would even pretend to concede to any of Eddie’s absurd plans. With Matthew gone, it seemed her fate would soon be the same. Oddly, a certain calm acceptance was settling in, as she was resolved that Eddie would never hurt her again.

  They had finally arrived at their destination, and Eddie grabbed her by the arm to stop her on the trail just in front of Flat Rock. Compared to the tremendous roar at the bottom of the falls, it was relatively quiet, and though the constant tumbling of water still dominated the sounds of the area, it was not as deafening as it would be at the bottom.

  “You’re a stupid bitch,” said Eddie, standing very close to her. She was turned to the side, facing directly toward Flat Rock, and his mouth was close to her ear. “A dumb, stupid bitch—you know that?”

  Rebecca remained silent. He barely existed to her now—another voice of the forest to compete with the sound of the falls. If he was expecting her to beg for mercy or show any reaction to his taunts at all, he would be disappointed. Though she barely cared, if disappointment was the last emotion she gave to him, it would be acceptable to her. She was gone now—her heart was dead ashes.

  Eddie wouldn’t give up. He reached around with his right hand and grabbed Rebecca by the chin, forcing her to face him. With her hands now free, she could easily have resisted but instead kept her hands placidly at her side.

  “Why did you go and throw all this away?” asked Eddie, leaning close to her. Rebecca averted his eyes, but she could still feel his hot breath in her face. He slapped her hard across the face. “Look at me, you bitch!” he screamed. She would never look into Eddie’s darkness again, no matter what he did to her. He had taken everything from her, except her free will.

  “Fine then, Becky,” Eddie said after a moment’s pause. “Have it your way.”

  He nudged her forward off the trail and onto Flat Rock. She thought for a moment of taking even this final s
atisfaction away from him— she considered running suddenly forward over the edge. The urge was strong, and she nearly bolted away, but at the last possible moment of decision, a sound—weak against the rushing water but still distinguishable—came from the trees behind them.

  Tweet...tweetatweet…tweet…tweetatweet!

  Eddie heard only a bird, if he’d heard it at all, but Rebecca heard something different—the meaning in a sound you can only hear with your heart. She heard:

  Faith…to the end…faith…to the end!

  The urge to rush forward and take her own life melted away—replaced by a new kind of calmness. She knew at that moment, he could only kill her body, but never, in all eternity, could he kill her spirit. Darkness was not a thing in itself, but only the absence of light. He was nothing but a void, and even at this moment of his ultimate selfishness, part of her somehow even pitied that emptiness—another wasted human life.

  “Walk,” he said coldly, giving her a nudge further out onto Flat Rock.

  She was ready to take another step, but it must not have been fast enough, as he suddenly pushed her from behind. “Move, you bitch!” he yelled. Rebecca tumbled to the ground at the center of Flat Rock. Eddie moved behind her and picked her up by her hair. “Get up!” he screamed. Pain shot through her scalp and neck.

  Pulling her by her hair, he moved the two of them out to the very edge of Flat Rock. In her lifetime of living in Cottonwood, she had never been this close to the edge before. Eddie released her hair, but she could feel his hand then grab her shirt in back.

  “I want you to look down,” Eddie whispered to her. “Go ahead, or are you afraid of dying?”

  Not wanting to do anything he asked her to do, but also not being able to stop herself, she glanced down to the chaos of mist, roaring water, and jagged rocks below.

  “As you fall, Becky,” Eddie said calmly, “you’ll be alive, and you’ll know the last thing to have touched you will be my hand pushing you. I want you to know that I had the final say and put the finishing touch on your life.”