The Waterfall

by Carla Neggers

  He had made sure Madison Swift was back with her mother. As she’d sneaked back from the woods, he’d noticed the kick in the girl’s step and wondered at its source. He doubted it was the beauty of the Vermont woods that had her in such a good mood. A boy? Friends? A fifteen-year-old could get into a lot of mischief on her own in the woods.

  The air was drier than yesterday, not as buggy, even close to the water. Sebastian went past a huge boulder almost as tall as he was, the path disappearing with the thin, eroded soil.

  He was near the falls now. A large, upward sloping boulder blocked his view, but below it, he could hear the water rushing over the series of slides, pools and cascades it had carved into a huge monolith of granite.

  The falls were beautiful, intimate, deceptively treacherous. Sebastian worked his way methodically up the steep hill, eased out to the edge of the granite wall. Above him, the brook started its precipitous, downward journey over, through and into the massive rock, shaping it into long, curving, picturesque slides and cascades that dropped into a series of three pools. The first was deep and unforgiving with its surrounding sheer rock wall. It was directly below him, impossible to reach except by a risky dive out over the protruding rock. But he could understand the appeal of its clear, cold water, the thrill of the dangers it presented.

  Water from the pool funneled over another slide that formed a second smaller, shallower pool farther down the falls, before cascading to a final large, shallow pool. The water in this last pool went from ankle-deep to, at most, three-feet deep this time of year; swimmers were in no danger of being swept up in the current or bashed against rock. A proper Vermont swimming hole. Below it, the brook reformed, quietly continuing downstream past the Wheaton farm.

  Sebastian caught himself. It was Lucy’s place now.

  He ducked past a scraggly hemlock, half its roots protruding out over the falls, and peered down, imagining his grandfather coming up here sixty years ago. With the snowmelt, the water would have been high, raging. Had Joshua Wheaton even noticed the power and beauty of the gushing waterfall? Was he that kind of man?

  Sebastian remembered wanting to be as brave and heroic as his grandfather. Now, he wondered if Joshua had gone over the falls because he’d screwed up, because he just didn’t know what else to do and was flat out of options.

  A noise…

  Rocks, sand, a movement. Sebastian reacted instinctively, but already he knew he was too late. He’d let his mind wander. Now, there was no time to adjust, no room to maneuver. Rocks, sand and dirt gave way on the steep hillside above him, cascading onto his narrow ledge. There wasn’t enough room for him and the small landslide coming at him.

  He grabbed for the hemlock, but a softball-size rock struck him on the back of his knees. He thought he heard a grunt, an exhale, above him. Then another rock hit him in the small of his back, throwing him completely off balance.

  His body pitched forward, and for a timeless moment he was suspended in air. He was the grandfather he never knew, about to tumble to certain death.

  Only his would be an ignoble death, Sebastian thought. Knocked off his feet while his mind was elsewhere.

  His training and experience took over, forced out all thought. He tucked his chin into his chest to protect his head and let his butt and shoulders take most of the fall. He hit rock, bounced, hit more rock, bounced again and hit water.

  He went in hard in a sprawling dive that stung, and the water was cold, cold, cold. His mind flashed on Plato, who’d done this sort of thing for a living and would have his own commentary if Sebastian survived.

  His momentum took him under. He tried not to suck in water. He smashed into the gravel bottom, scraped his face raw, banged his knees. He found his footing and pushed up through the water, gasped in the cool air.

  The landslide fell into the pool—small stones, pine needles, black soil. Sebastian didn’t wait for another rock to come flying at him. Painfully, as quickly as he could manage, he swam to the opposite bank of the deep pool. He felt along the vertical rock wall, barely able to see, until it gave way just above the next water slide. He hoisted himself onto the rock slide, blood pouring down his face, his head spinning, the thirty-foot drop to the next pool directly beneath him.

  If the water had been any higher, the current any stronger, he’d have gone over. Instead, the rock slide, smoothed and curved from the endless stream of water, came at him fast. He was passing out. He couldn’t stop himself.

  Grandpa.

  He collapsed, and the blackness took him.

  He knew he’d been unconscious only seconds. Long enough. He moved his shoulders, just a twitch, and pain erupted through his head. He ignored it. Water flowed under him. He eased up onto his hands and knees, scraped and cut and bruised from the fall.

  He remembered the grunt, the exhale of air as whoever was on the hill above him had hurled those rocks at him. It wasn’t kids. It wasn’t an accident, fate. It was deliberate, and it meant he was still in the open, in the line of fire. Anyone above him on the ledge could see him. A well-aimed rock could finish him off.

  He hadn’t actually seen anything. And his mind hadn’t been on the job, on the moment. It had been in the past, proof he should never have come back here. He should have sent Plato or Jim Charger or Happy Ford. On paper, he was still the damn boss even if Plato really had run things for the past year.

  He grabbed for handholds along the rock, cursing himself for his inattention. Lucy, memories. A toxic combination.

  He moved off into the shade and shadows, reached up with both hands and caught hold of the protruding roots of a thin pine. His head pulsed with pain. He had one chance. If he didn’t pull himself up the first time, he’d end up back down in the water. Either he or the skinny tree would give out. Maybe both.

  Ignoring the pain, the blood, his spinning head, he heaved himself up, pulling hard on the root. It gave way, and he quickly shot one hand out and grabbed a thicker section of root, hoisting himself up over the rock and onto dry, soft ground. He fell in the shade of the pine.

  His hands and arms were bloody and badly scraped. He could feel more blood dripping down his temples. His back was at least bruised.

  He swore viciously.

  Then he heard voices below him, from the shallow, pleasant swimming hole at the base of the falls. Kids. Tourists. Lucy. He couldn’t tell.

  He dropped his face onto the dried pine needles. Screw it. He wasn’t moving. The path on this side of the falls was seldom used. He’d take his chances. If someone found him and called the rescue squad, so be it. He’d think of some reason for being here besides removing dead bats from Lucy Swift’s bed.

  “I’ll be right back,” he heard a woman’s voice saying not too far away. Lucy. It was almost as if he’d imagined her voice, as if it weren’t real. “I know I heard something.”

  It was real. She hears something, Sebastian thought, and goes off to investigate by herself. No wonder someone had gotten away with shooting up her dining room.

  “Who’s the one lying here half-dead?” he muttered out loud.

  He sounded terrible. Half-dead was an under-statement.

  Above the rush of the waterfall and his own pain, he could hear more laughter, kids squealing. Adult voices. At least she hadn’t left Madison and J.T. on their own.

  “It was probably just a squirrel,” a man’s voice called up to her.

  “I know. I’m just curious.”

  Sebastian shivered, the water evaporating on his skin making him colder. He wondered if the cold was what had killed his grandfather. Joshua had gone into the falls in March, not mid-summer.

  A fat mosquito landed on his bloodied arm. Sebastian didn’t have the strength to swat it, but watched it crawl in the red ooze. He swore some more, under his breath this time.

  He could hear Lucy thrashing her way up the narrow, difficult path on his side of the falls. It would take her along the ledge above his head, about four feet up. If he stayed quiet, she might walk right pas
t him, assume her friend was right, that she’d heard a squirrel, and go back to the swimming hole.

  Which left the problem of how he’d get the hell back to his motel. His car was tucked out of sight down the dirt road. A long way off in his condition. He’d probably pass out a few times before he made it. In the meantime, whoever had created the little landslide and thrown rocks at him could return and finish him off. It wouldn’t take much, and he deserved it. On the other hand, what good would he be to Lucy?

  “You’re not much damn good now,” he muttered.

  Suddenly she was there, standing on the path above him. All she had to do was look down through the trees.

  He should have followed his instincts and stayed in Wyoming. Ridden his horse. Slept in his hammock. He hadn’t gambled in months, so that was out. He could play solitaire and read poetry.

  He sighed, even his eyeballs aching. “Hello, Lucy.”

  She jumped, although not as much as he’d have expected. Maybe she was getting used to having him around. “Sebastian? What are you—oh, Jesus.”

  Without hesitation, she slid down the hill on her butt—intentionally—and crouched next to him, the adventure travel expert at work. She had on shorts and a T-shirt. She hadn’t, mercifully, bothered with a swimsuit for her dip in the brook with the kids. The water was only up to her knees.

  Sebastian tried not to look as bloody and beaten as he was. He grinned. Or thought he did. “I could use some dry clothes.”

  “You could use an ambulance. What the hell happened?”

  “Landslide. I fell.”

  The pretty hazel eyes narrowed. He could see doubt. And fear. She touched a finger to a spot above his right eye. “You need a doctor. You could have a concussion.”

  “Nah.”

  “You could need stitches.”

  “I don’t mind scars, and I’m not going to bleed to death.”

  She stared at him for a few beats. “A landslide, huh?”

  “Yep.”

  “It wasn’t an accident,” she said.

  “It could have been. Theoretically.”

  She nodded. “Sebastian, tell me. Do I need to call an ambulance?”

  He shook his head. A mistake. Her face swam in front of him, and all that stopped him from throwing up was the thought of it landing in her lap. She’d pitch him back in the water or get her friends up here and call an ambulance. There’d be a scene.

  He shut his eyes, let the world get still again. “No,” he said, eyes shut, “I’ll be fine.”

  “I should call the police.”

  “They won’t find anything. I didn’t see anything.” He’d only heard the grunt, the exhale—not enough.

  “Sounds familiar,” she said in a low voice.

  Sebastian opened his eyes. “I just need water and a few Band-Aids.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Lucy!” her friend called from below. “You find anything?”

  She stood up, yelled down over the falls, “I’ll be right there!” She crouched back beside Sebastian. “That’s Rob. He’s a friend. He knows first aid better than I do. I could ask him—”

  “No.”

  “God, you’re stubborn. All right. He and Patti can go back with the kids. I’ll make up some excuse and help you get to my house and patch you up.” She eyed him. “Unless you can’t make it. If you collapse on me, I’m getting a rescue team in here and having you hauled out on a stretcher.”

  Sebastian grimaced. He had limited choices, none good. “I’ll make it. I don’t need your help.”

  “Ha,” she said, and scooted back down the hill.

  Sebastian was a slab of meat—cold, wet, bloody. Lucy had to catch him twice on their way down to her house. He would walk fifteen or twenty feet, crash against a tree or grab uselessly at ferns to steady himself, walk another fifteen or twenty feet. He was lucky he’d survived his fall.

  They took a longer but easier path up from the brook and slipped in through the back door of the house. Madison, J.T. and the Kileys had arrived ahead of them and were in the side yard playing volleyball.

  Lucy knew she’d have to explain Sebastian at some point. But not right now.

  He sank against the kitchen counter. He was very pale, his eyes shut. Blood crusted on the gash above his right eye. He looked awful. Lucy wondered if she could sneak in a call to 9-1-1 while he was half out.

  “World spinning on you?” she asked.

  His eyes were slits. “Just catching my breath.”

  “Ha.”

  “Florence Nightingale, you’re not.”

  She eased her shoulder under his arm. “Lean on me. I still have a little oomph left.”

  “I’ll crush you.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll take most of your weight in my legs. Come on, let’s get moving before you pass out. It’d be harder having to drag you by your feet.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “My bedroom.”

  He managed a faint, ironic smile. She slipped an arm around his back, taking more of his weight. She saw him wince in pain. Bruises. More scrapes. Possibly a cracked rib or two. He was a mess.

  “You’re not going anywhere for a while,” she said.

  He didn’t answer. He was too far gone to argue. Lucy half coaxed, half dragged him down the short hall to her bedroom. Just inside the door, he collapsed onto his knees on the flat-braided rug. She debated leaving him there. Just shut the door and hope for the best when she opened it again.

  “Come on.” She caught up one arm and tugged. “We’re almost there.”

  “I like it here.” He slumped onto his stomach, and, without raising his head, said, “I’ll be fine—you can go.”

  He stopped moving. Lucy, exhausted and hot, knelt beside him. He was either asleep or unconscious. “Sebastian?”

  “I’m not dead yet.”

  She ran to the window overlooking the side yard west of the house, opposite the barn and garage, where the volleyball game was breaking up. She’d called down from the waterfall and had told Rob and Patti and the kids to all go ahead of her, that she’d go on to the house in a bit. No explanation. Rob had looked faintly suspicious, well aware from recent days that she wasn’t herself. This was just more evidence.

  “Hi, guys,” she called through the screen. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Forget it,” Madison said. “The bugs are eating us alive.”

  Patti tucked the ball under one arm. “You okay, Lucy?”

  “Oh, yeah. I just slipped and got my feet wet.” That would explain her damp clothes from leaning against the soaked, dripping Sebastian. It didn’t explain the streaks of his blood. “I’ll put on fresh clothes and meet you out front.”

  She dashed back to Sebastian, who was still prone on her rug. “Are you conscious?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “I’ll be right back. Don’t try to get up without me.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  She stepped over him, grabbed a T-shirt out of her drawer, and debated ducking down the hall to the bathroom. Forget it. Sebastian’s eyes were pointed in the other direction, and he wasn’t in any condition to make any unnecessary movements. She whipped off the wet, blood-spattered shirt and pulled on the fresh one. The clean, dry cotton against her skin instantly made her feel better.

  When she got outside, Rob and Patti had the leftovers packed into the cooler. Lucy was breathing harder than she should be from an ordinary trek down from the falls.

  Rob, who knew her capabilities, noticed. “Did you eat enough at dinner? You look whipped.”

  She hated lying. The trust she’d built among herself and her children, her friends, her staff, was based on being honest and straightforward. They might not like what she had to say, but it was always truthful. These, however, were extenuating circumstances. She had a bloodied Sebastian Redwing in her bedroom.

  “I pushed it more than I realized,” she said. “Thanks for dinner. My turn next.”

  He didn’t look app
eased. “Lucy…”

  Patti touched his arm. “Come on, Rob, let’s go. We don’t want to outstay our welcome.” She smiled at Lucy. “You take care. Call us if you need anything.”

  They both were suspicious, Lucy decided. Patti probably suspected a romantic tryst; Rob, something to do with the big, fat bullet Lucy had yet to adequately explain.

  They collected Georgie, and Lucy waved as they backed out of the driveway.

  “I wish Georgie could spend the night,” J.T. said from the porch.

  Lucy joined him, her legs heavy and aching with each step. J.T. was hogging the wicker settee. Madison was flopped in a wicker chair, her long legs hung over one side. Both kids looked beat. Good, Lucy thought. They’d sleep well tonight.

  “I’ll explain more later,” she said, “but I want you both to know that Sebastian Redwing is here.”

  Madison nearly fell off her chair. “What?” J.T. was instantly excited. “He is? Where?”

  “He’s the noise I heard up at the falls. He took a nasty fall, and I helped him back here. He doesn’t want it to get out that he’s in town. That’s why I didn’t mention him to Rob and Patti.” She should have, she thought. She should have just gotten it over with. There was no way J.T. wouldn’t blab.

  “Why wouldn’t he want anyone around here to know he’s in town?” Madison asked.

  “Because he’s from here.”

  “Oh. Actually, I get that.”

  “He’ll need to recuperate a day or two,” Lucy went on. “If you two will make up the guest room upstairs, I’ll sleep up there. I need to get back to him. You two can manage?”

  “We’ll be fine, Mom.” Madison was already on her feet, her face flushed. In her dull, deprived world, Lucy thought wryly, the sudden appearance of Sebastian Redwing passed for excitement. “Let us know if there’s anything else we can do.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  When Lucy got back to her bedroom, Sebastian was on his feet, his shirt off. His jeans hung low on his lean hips. His arms, shoulders, back and chest were scraped and raw, bruises forming. His injuries aside, Lucy noted he was in impressive physical condition. He couldn’t have spent all his time in his hammock.