Bone Deep

by O'Brien, Kim;

  “I never told anyone about the game Emily and I played. We promised each other it would be our secret.”

  He falls silent but I know that he will never tell anyone else. Even if he were tortured. There is something strong and infinitely patient about him. “Is there any chance she was playing the game again?”

  I look up. “No. Of course not.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I made up the stories. Always. I think that’s what she always liked about me. I dreamed them up, but I never would have acted them out without her.”

  “What if someone else—say, a man—played your part?”

  “Impossible.” But is it? What if she was playing the game at night, here in the park, and something bad happened? She got hurt or… killed. The person she was playing the game with might not have come forward because he was afraid he’d get blamed. My stomach turns at the thought of her lying broken, like I was, in some lost, dark tunnel.

  “From what you’ve said, Emily liked taking risks and was an adrenaline junkie. But if she were doing that, why couldn’t the search dogs track her?”

  Part of me still can’t accept that Emily was playing the game without me, but Jalen has a good point. “I don’t know. The dogs kept bringing the police to the base of the cliffs.”

  Jalen’s brow furrows. “The police have searched there. I’ve searched here. There’s no trace.”

  Yet something about the ruins feels right. The small, dark chambers, and the twisting passages and niches would be perfect for playing hide-and-seek, especially at night. I close my eyes, thinking hard, trying to imagine what could have happened and knowing I have no idea. Jalen’s right. Every inch of the ruins has been searched multiple times. I have to accept that she isn’t here. But then my eyes snap open.

  “The police looked everywhere in the ruins, but what about the cliffs above them?”

  “The ladders end at the shelf of the ruins.”

  “But what’s above the ruins?”

  “Just limestone.”

  “Isn’t there a small gap between the roof of the ruins and the rise of the cliffs?”

  “There is,” Jalen concedes.

  “Is there a way of getting up on top of the ruins?”

  Jalen hesitates. “Just some old stone steps, but they’re in bad shape. Nobody uses them anymore.”

  “I want to see them.”

  “They aren’t safe.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I climb to my feet. “Don’t you see? A place like that is exactly where she’d go.”

  “They’re not safe,” Jalen repeats.

  I feel the rush—half-fear, half-excitement. Just like when Emily and I played the danger game. I had forgotten that electric tingle that shoots through me now, unleashing something in me I didn’t know still existed. “Show me or I’ll look for it myself.”

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Paige

  We argue all the way back to the cliffs, through the ruins and to the corner of the parapet wall where the ruins intersect the cliffs. Ironically, I realize it’s probably the longest conversation we’ve exchanged since I arrived.

  Searching the planes of sand-colored limestone, I don’t see the stone staircase at first, but then I notice an irregularity in the wall, a series of creases in the stone that must be what Jalen calls steps. My heart sinks. We’re going to need ropes if we want to climb them.

  “Now you’ve seen them,” Jalen says. “Let’s go.”

  The bossy note in his voice makes my head come up. I study the steps, following the chipped risers until they end at the slab of rock over us. “I think we can do it.”

  Jalen puts his hands on his hips. “Look at the drop if you slip.”

  The ground dips a dizzying hundred feet straight below us, making the concrete path look like a squiggle in the dirt. “I’ve climbed worse.”

  And then, before I let myself think too much about it, I step onto the parapet wall and slide my leg over the edge. Before I can reach the first step, Jalen clamps his arms around my waist and lifts me into the air. Settling me on my feet, he looks at me. “No.” His eyes blaze.

  I hit his arms until he release me. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  He lets go, but doesn’t back away, making it clear that he has a good six inches and a lot more muscle than I do. “You’re not going up there.”

  Our eyes lock. “You can’t stop me.”

  He doesn’t blink. “I just did.”

  And he’ll do it again if I try to climb. I fold my arms. “I’ll just wait then. Until you’re not here.”

  “I’ll tell your father.”

  “What—we’re five? I didn’t think you were a tattletale.”

  “I didn’t think you were an idiot.”

  We glare at each other. Jalen folds his arms, mirroring me and physically blocking me from the edge of the cliffs. A dribble of sweat rolls down my face, and I push it impatiently away. All we’re doing is wasting time, going around and around in circles

  I release my breath in exasperation. “Just walk away, then. If you won’t help me, at least get out of my way.”

  Jalen’s nostrils flare. “I want to help you,” he says, “but this is just crazy. I’ve been up there. There’s nothing but a rock ledge.”

  “Fine.” I start to step onto the parapet, but his fingers on my arm stop me. I turn slowly. “You know I’m going up there. There’s no way you can stop me.”

  The muscles around his eyes tighten. He’s mad. Good.

  “If we do this,” he says, “and I mean if, I go first. You watch where I put my hands and feet and then you copy me exactly, and if I get out there and say it isn’t safe, then you have to accept that.”

  I nod, impatient even as I’m suddenly worried for him.

  He mutters something under his breath—probably cursing me out—and then steps up onto the parapet wall. Sliding his long leg onto the side of the cliff, he feels for the first step. He tests it and then in one smooth move puts his weight onto it. He’s on the wall now, and my heart pretty much stops, seeing him pressed against an almost-vertical rock. He moves his left leg next, finds the foothold, and pushes himself upward, grabbing a rock above him.

  He climbs slowly, but with a grace and strength that makes it look easy. Within minutes, he’s at the top and looking down at me from the jut of the ledge. “Did you see where I put my hands and feet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay then,” he says.

  It’s my turn. My hands tingle and my heart starts to race.

  I wipe my sweaty palms on the pockets of my shorts and close my eyes, visualizing myself scaling the wall of the cliffs. The fear of falling is there, but I push it to a corner of my mind. I wasn’t lying before. Emily and I have climbed worse.

  I feel for the first foothold and then step off the wall onto the side of the cliff. For a few seconds I don’t move, just let myself absorb the feeling of great height, the crust on the rock, the slickness of the sweat running down my legs. I press my face against the limestone, breathing in the sun-bleached smell of the rocks. And then I feel for the next step.

  My fingers clamp like steel onto it. The sky feels like an invisible hand on my back, inviting me to turn around and look. Or better yet, it taunts, lean back into my palm. I’ll hold you. Panting, I pause, and then without thinking about it, I look down.

  My stomach drops. It’s crazy. I’m standing on a stone step that, at best, is maybe three inches wide, and the ground is a million miles below me. I freeze, splayed against the wall.

  “Move your right leg up about two feet,” Jalen says. “There’s a step a little to your left.”

  My muscles shake, but somehow I find the willpower to move my leg onto the jut of rock. My hands are really wet with sweat now, and I wipe my fingers before reaching for my next hold. Just that simple motion, the swing of my arm, makes me realize how precarious my balance is. How one false step could make me fall.

  “Now take your left hand and reach up.
It’s about two feet right above you.”

  “You’re bossy,” I snap.

  He keeps coaching me and I keep telling him that I don’t need his help, but then suddenly his hand locks onto my arm just behind my wrist. He’s lying on his belly, leaning as far as he can over the edge. His dark face frowns in concentration as he drags us both backward.

  The relief to be alive—to have climbed up here safely—is so intense that I want to laugh. But then I look at Jalen’s face, just inches from my own, so serious, and the feeling dies. Sweat beads on his forehead like diamonds, and his brows are thick and shiny black. Our eyes meet and everything stops.

  His fingers stay wrapped around my arms, holding me, connecting us. Every second is somehow better, but also harder because the longing inside me only gets worse.

  The moment stretches out, just like before in the chamber, when I thought he might kiss me. I sense him wanting me, yet struggling with himself. Before I chicken out, I shift closer, touch his face, trace the sharpness of his cheekbone with my thumb, and then slide my hand over his silky hair, pulled back in a tight ponytail. He closes his eyes, but cannot stop the small groan that escapes his lips.

  Following an instinct I didn’t even know I had, I close my eyes and kiss him.

  It is the bolt of electricity that Emily said it was, and it’s also something stronger, something that isn’t gone in a flash. I move my lips against his, savoring the warmth and shape of them.

  His arms go around me, lifting me onto his chest, and then he kisses me urgently, completely, as if everything he’s kept bottled up inside himself has finally overflowed. He tastes like me, only better, stronger, and the smell of his sweat is exciting, deep and rich like the earth.

  And then suddenly he pulls back. “I can’t do this.” He shakes his head, and the muscles in his arms ripple, as if in protest. But against what? Me? Himself? “I just can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

  At first I can hardly focus on what he’s saying—my whole body feels strange, shocked, shaky.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeats. His black eyes are intense, his facial muscles so tight his cheekbones stand out, almost skeletal. Obviously kissing me didn’t have the same reaction for him as it did me.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, although it isn’t. My body still feels different where he’s touched it, and his taste is still in my mouth. Pride makes me turn away.

  “I’m sorry,” Jalen repeats for the third humiliating time.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I try for a smile and end up with something that feels like a grimace. “I’m not going to run to my father and say you attacked me.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but he doesn’t laugh.

  “It’s not that I don’t like you,” he says. “It’s just better if we don’t… I mean, we should stay friends.”

  Friends? How could he say that after the way he kissed me? I wave my hand as if his words mean nothing. As if they don’t hurt when every humiliating one stings. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Rising to my feet, I glance around at the wall of limestone on one side of us and the open sky on the other. For a moment I picture myself throwing myself off the edge. I wouldn’t do it, but it’s the only action big enough to describe the despair and humiliation I feel.

  “I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

  I cringe because that kiss was the best of my life and he regrets it. “Seriously, Jalen. It’s no big deal.”

  I turn my back to him, in case the truth—that I will never think of him as just a friend—is visible on my face. Bending forward against the pitch, I follow the stone ledge higher, tracking the cracks and trying to move past what just happened, but I can’t. It makes no sense. He kissed me back, and I definitely didn’t imagine that.

  On my left, the great wall of limestone stretches skyward and on my left is a sheer drop. Jalen was right—the views here are stunning, but this shelf is exposed and narrow. What was I expecting, anyway? A hidden cave? Emily’s body?

  I don’t even want to think about climbing back down. Staying as close to the cliff wall as possible, I study the cracks and pores. Mostly though, I am thinking about Jalen, sulking, somewhere behind me, after the disappointing experience of kissing me. I put my palms on the warm limestone and close my eyes.

  How do you turn it off—the feelings you have for someone who doesn’t feel the same way?

  The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me, and for the first time I have a clue how Aaron Dunning must have felt. It’s even more depressing because I realize that being attracted to someone isn’t something you can force. It’s either there or it isn’t. I could be with Aaron for a hundred years, and he could never make me feel the way I do when Jalen kisses me.

  But obviously he doesn’t feel the same.

  It takes a lot of concentration not to look at Jalen. Only once do I slip and see him staring out over the valley with his face tight and fierce, like he’s been slapped hard but doesn’t want to admit it hurts.

  I’ve walked the length of the wall twice before I see it—the tiniest speck of pink almost lost in the shadow of one of the deeper cracks in the limestone. I step back for a better angle, but then lose sight of it completely.

  Walking back to the wall, I reach up as high as I can, but can’t quite reach the slip of pink in the small, black gap. Coming to stand next to me, Jalen silently studies the hole above us and then reaches his fingers inside. His mouth tightens, and even before he pulls his hand out, I know he’s found something.

  My heart beats harder, and a wave of heat passes through me. In Jalen’s hand is a woman’s white Nike sneaker with pink geometric lines across the side and heel. It’s Emily’s sneaker, of course. Who else’s could it be?

  Jalen looks at me. For once I can see the surprise and horror in his eyes. And then his dark brows push together in puzzlement as he reaches his fingers into the sneaker and pulls out a handful of dried corn kernels. Spilling them softly back into the shoe, he looks at me.

  “What the hell…” he says.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Paige

  Jalen goes for help. He’s faster than me and so he goes alone. After he’s safely down the side of the cliff, I return to the spot where we found Emily’s sneaker. Sinking to the ground, I pull my knees to my chest. Have you seen my sneakers? Emily asked as she leaned over my bed with her long, dusty hair falling forward. I was sleeping and when I woke up they were gone.

  Well, here they are, I think a little hysterically. But where are you, Emily?

  Close, close, the cliffs seem to whisper. I hug my knees tighter and order myself not to freak out. But the nightmare replays itself in my mind. It feels like I’m being watched. If I could only turn my head quickly enough, I would see Emily in the shadows of the cliffs.

  Come on, Paige, I tell myself. You’re not five years old anymore. Corn plants can’t plot murder, and these cliffs cannot whisper.

  But I’m afraid to look around. Emily’s Nike sits silently next to me like a gift I don’t want. The white laces are neatly knotted, and the multicolored kernels lie scattered inside. I want to pick them up and drop them one by one back into the sneaker for the dreams that aren’t going to come true for her.

  She isn’t going to Columbia to get a degree in linguistics. She isn’t going to write a book or fall in love. She’ll never get married or have kids or travel the world. She’ll never go skinny dipping, and she’ll never kiss a boy like I just kissed Jalen.

  Jalen. My fingers trace my lips where he kissed me. I close my eyes, trying to relive every exact detail. I felt his heart pound. And yet he pushed me away. Why?

  I open my eyes and they go automatically to the Nike. My eyes close. Oh, God. Emily.

  Time passes slowly, I don’t know how long before I hear my father’s voice call from below, “Paige, are you okay? I’m coming up now.”

  “Dad!” Rising, my legs shake, as I follow the slanting ledge to where the cliffs and ruins meet. I’m just in time to see my father’s hand
s, his forearms, and then his head appear as he pulls himself over the edge of the rock shelf.

  “Paige,” he says, dripping with sweat. I hear the relief in his voice, and then he’s hugging me hard. My nose smashes against the buttons of his polo shirt and his hat flips backward. He holds me for a long moment and then pulls back, the cowboy hat perched at an awkward angle. “When Jalen told me you were up here…” He shakes his head, presses his lips together as if his thought is too terrible to speak.

  “Dad—we found her sneaker.”

  “Duke,” Dr. Shum’s voice calls up, “I thought you were going to throw down the rope and make it easier for us.”

  My father throws down a safety harness and rope. He wraps it around himself and then stands well back from the edge. A moment later, Dr. Shum appears. His green park polo is sweat-ringed and dusty. Although dark glasses hide his eyes, his smile seems warm.

  “Glad to see you in one piece, Paige.” He mops his brow with a bandana he sticks back in his pocket.

  Jalen climbs up next and swings easily over the lip. He’s taller than either my father or Dr. Shum, but more muscular. His eyes seek me and then scan me as if he’s making sure I’m okay. I look away. I don’t want his comfort, not if all he wants to do is be friends.

  My father uncoils a rope from his shoulder and, with Jalen’s help, lowers it over the ledge. A few moments later, they pull Detective Torres over the lip. Sweating heavily, the detective eases himself out of the rope swing. After a long uneasy glance at the slant of the ridge and then at the unprotected drop, he sighs. “They don’t pay me enough.” Turning to me, he says, “Show me where you found the sneaker.”

  It doesn’t take long to lead the group to the highest point on the rock shelf. The detective removes his sunglasses and begins snapping pictures of the lone sneaker on the ground, the cliffs, and the nook where I first glimpsed the flash of pink.

  After the detective has shot at least a dozen pictures, he puts down the camera and takes out a pair of latex gloves. He’s too short to reach the opening in the cliffs, but accepts Jalen’s offer to boost him up.