A raindrop hit his forehead so hard he flinched. Within moments the skies opened up and let loose. Thunder roared across the mountains. Rain hammered him.
He got to the ledge and paused, looking down. He was no more than forty feet from the ground now. He didn’t need to rappel down this last distance. It would take time to set his equipment, to get ready, and it was a damned storm out here now. Wind rattled the trees and clawed his face.
He inched downward, dangled over the ledge.
He knew instantly that it was a mistake. The stone creaked and shifted, began to rotate. Tiny stones and wet dust rained down, hitting him in the face, blinding him.
He was going to fall.
Instinctively, he pushed back, trying to clear the jutting ledges and boulders below him.
And then he was connected to nothing; in the air. Falling fast. A rock smashed his cheekbone, another careened into his thigh. The boulder that had been his ledge fell alongside him. They hit the ground at the same time. It felt as if someone had just hit him in the chest with a shovel.
He lay there, dazed, feeling the rain pummel his face, slide in rivulets down his throat.
Finally, he crawled to his feet in the muddy ground and took stock. No broken bones, no extreme lacerations.
Lucky.
The thing was, he didn’t feel lucky. As he stood there, beside the boulder that could have killed him, looking up at the now slick rock face of the cliff, he realized something else.
He didn’t feel acutely alive, didn’t want to laugh out loud at his triumph.
He felt … stupid.
He picked up his gear, repacked his backpack, and headed down the long, winding trail to where he’d parked his car.
All the way there—and all the way home—he tried to keep his mind blank. Failing that, he tried to relive his near miss and enjoy it. Neither attempt was successful.
All he could think about was Julia, how she’d looked in the hot tub, how she’d tasted, how she’d sounded when she said All or nothing.
And how those words had made him feel.
No wonder he couldn’t find that old adrenaline surge from mountain climbing today.
The real danger lay in another direction.
All or nothing.
EIGHTEEN
In the two weeks since I showed Alice a glimpse of the world outside, she has become a different child. Everything fascinates her. She is constantly grabbing my hand and pulling me somewhere so she can point to an object and say “What?” Each word I hand her, she holds on to tightly, remembering it with an ease and a will that surprises me. I can only assume that her quest for communication is so assertive because she was thwarted before. Now she seems desperate to become a part of this new world she’s entered.
She is slowly beginning to explore her emotions, as well. Previously, when she was nonverbal, most of her anger was directed at herself. Now, occasionally, she is able to express her anger appropriately. Yesterday, when I told her it was time for bed, she hit me. Social acceptability will come later. For now, I am pleased to see her get mad.
She is also developing a sense of possession, which is a step on the road to a sense of self. She hoards everything red and has a special place for “her” books.
She still has not provided a name for herself; nor has she accepted “Alice.” This is a task that requires more work. A name is integral to developing a sense of self.
I am not making much progress on her past life. Obviously, until she can communicate more fully, there can be little discovery of her memories, but I am patient. For now, I am her teacher. It is a surprisingly rewarding endeavor.
Julia scratched out the last two sentences as too personal, then put her pen down.
Alice was at the table, “reading” a picture-book version of The Velveteen Rabbit. She hadn’t moved in almost an hour. She appeared spellbound.
Julia put her notebook away and went to the table. She sat down beside Alice, who immediately took hold of her hand, squeezing it hard. With her free hand she pointed to the book and grunted.
“Use your words, Alice.”
“Read.”
“Read what?”
“Boo.”
“Who wants me to read?”
Alice frowned heavily. “Girl?”
“Alice,” Julia said gently. She had spent the better part of two weeks trying to get Alice to reveal her real name. With each passing day, however, and each instance of the girl’s innate intelligence being shown, Julia was increasingly certain that whoever this girl really was, she didn’t remember—or had never known—her real name. Whenever Julia thought about that, it devastated her. It had to mean that, at least in the formative years, after about eighteen months to two years, no one had called this child by name.
“Alice.” She said it gently. “Does Alice want Julia to read the book?”
Alice thumped the book with her palm, nodding and smiling. “Read. Girl.”
“I’ll tell you what. If you play with the blocks for a few minutes, I’ll read to you. Okay?”