Solutions drifted from reach. Hope, too, and I gave in to the glove grip of failure, having come to the very end of my reason. My brain was broken, addled by pain. By drugs. By more. Twisting onto my back, I forced my eyes open only to have them roll into my head. The blue sky above sparkled, dreamlike, but its beauty was wasted; I could stand neither the weight of the sun nor the cruel shove of the breeze.
Flailing my arms to the side, I propped my legs against the cliff wall and stayed that way, lying backward, half suspended in the air. My mind shimmered toward madness; I was sinking but I was also hanging, a pig on a meat hook, and I craved my gutting. I could picture the act in vivid detail—the first thrust of the knife; the deep carving of flesh; the ragged wound running all the way from breastbone to rectum. Everything after would be easy. That’s what I told myself, as the blackness rushed in.
Release.
Death.
Nothingness.
—
I awoke cold. Freezing, really.
My lungs contracted, gripped with chill, making me cough. I had no clue how much time had passed, as I lay curled on that ledge in a state of codeine-induced half consciousness, half death. I did know that when I opened my eyes, it was because I was shivering. But this awareness filtered in slowly as I untangled myself from sleep and pain, only to realize the sun had ceased to warm my skin.
I sat up. Tested my limbs. I was relieved to find everything working in all the right ways. That relief was trampled, however, as I remembered Archie’s betrayal. That he’d stolen the keys. That he’d left me here. Alone.
I felt it again—the frigid blast of air that had woken me in the first place. It washed over the cliff top and hurtled straight down the mountain to lap my bones, a greedy slurp of winter. I shuddered, bleary-eyed, and looked up. Shadows fell across my face as I stared at the darkening sky. What had been blue was now steel-gray and churning, but it wasn’t night. I knew that. I couldn’t have slept that long.
That left only one other explanation.
I braced myself. The storm’s door slammed open with a bang. Wind whistled in with primal force, slapping my face as the rain began to fall, those first drops runny and large. They landed, one after the other, like a leaking faucet, but soon fell faster.
And faster.
The hail came next, mixing with the sheets of rain to pelt me with ice and welt my skin. Thunder boomed in the distance and the wind tore at my clothes, screaming as it blew through every opening and weakness in my body it could find.
I was soaked in an instant. Shelter was imperative. I had to move. I had to do something. Or I was going to die out there.
35.
ATTEMPTING TO MAKE my way up the rest of the scramble to the top of the waterfall appeared at best Sisyphean, at worst suicidal. The earth turned to mud, melting before my eyes, and each time I lifted my head torrents of water barraged my face, rushing to fill my nostrils and throat.
Gasping, sputtering, I stayed crouched on the narrow ledge with my hands over my head and pondered my dwindling options. The water pooling at my feet had found its own current, sloshing, splashing toward the edges before spilling into the abyss. I couldn’t stay there much longer, but I couldn’t go down, either, which meant I had no choice; hell, I was only twenty feet from the top. Slipping my ugly sunglasses on and hoping for the best, I began the climb.
The rain fell harder as I ascended, matting my hair to my face. I focused on moving one limb at a time, straining with each shift of weight and balance. The frigid wind grabbed me, shaking my body the higher I climbed, causing me to cling desperately to keep from being blown away. As I held on, raw fingers digging into dirt, I dipped my head and peeked below. The view was horrifying, a sheer drop straight down into the massive waterfall’s thundering maelstrom, a foaming pool ringed by boulders and sharp edges—a gaping mouth, its teeth slick with rain. I whipped my head up, then shouted as one of my hands slipped, sending me sliding back toward the ledge.
I managed to throw one leg out, kicking it into the dirt as hard as I could. My hip wrenched at the action, torqueing sharply but stopping my fall nonetheless. I squeezed my eyes shut with shuddering gratitude, then pressed my face against the mud. I was a fool for coming out on this mountain in the first place. For ever believing I could take on nature and be more than who I was. All those nights doing push-ups on the floor of my room or running up and down our single flight of stairs when I knew my mom wasn’t going to wake up—those had been acts of willful ignorance. No different from believing in pots of gold at the ends of rainbows or in the hands of criminals willing to hand them over. Everyone crafted their own brand of dreams, I supposed, but from where I crouched that made hope the most Sisyphean act of all.
Eventually the wind and rain eased slightly, allowing me to breathe, and I dug deep for a sliver of resolve. Not in myself, but in the girl I longed to save.
I resumed climbing. Slowly. At last I reached the very top of the waterfall, the cresting edge of the massive Grizzly Lake—visible for the very first time. My heart rocketed at the sight. The icy water was a living creature, a body organic and wild, its waves choppy, smacking against its own shores with obvious ire. I stood balanced on the ridge that spindled out over the waterfall, the rock below hollowed from the current’s force, a powerful testament to both gravity and the whims of fate.
On the other side of the ridge was the trail to the peak, the one I’d told Archie about. I saw where it wound upward through the trees before vanishing in a mass of black clouds. To get there all I had to do was make the leap from where I stood to an equally precarious ledge on the opposite side of the waterfall. The gap was maybe two feet at most, but would have been terrifying even in good weather. One slip would send you tumbling into white water, down to the rocks below. And while I wanted—needed—the car keys, for all I knew, Archie already lay smashed at the bottom, his possessions—and mine—all lost for good.
I stood frozen in the gusting wind and driving rain and stared at where I needed to go. I couldn’t possibly do this and yet I had no choice.
I held my breath.
And leapt.
—
Landing on the other side, my feet skidded and slipped, throwing me forward onto my knees. I splayed my hands out with a yelp, managing to catch myself before spinning sideways off the rock face. I lay, trembling, before realizing that I’d made it. Alive. Pushing up with filthy, bleeding palms, I somehow got to my feet and started to run, slipping, limping steps that carried me up through the trees and toward the trail Rose had said to follow.
The rain came down harder the faster I tried to move, turning the earth to slurry beneath my feet. I flailed and slid. It was like running on ice, and I stumbled with each stride, falling over and over until I was covered with mud. It was in my nose, my ears, oozing from my shoes.