Chapter 48: Losing Grip

M A D D O X

I don't recognize this stretch of road. In all my years at Winthrop, I've never traveled this direction. I've hardly left the safe perimeter of the wrought-iron gates surrounding campus. When I have, it was only to make my way to the Greyhound bus stop that lies the other way.

But today we turned right instead of left, heading uphill along this winding road—the kind of road that makes your heart clutch in your throat as tires screech and scramble on rain-soaked pavement. Two narrow lanes, barely wide enough for a pair of cars to pass abreast, writhing their way upward with a sheer wall of granite on one side... and on the other, nothing but a guardrail and a wide expanse of mist.

I stare into that blankness out the backseat window. Every so often, a break in the milky white allows a glimpse of the dark water of the lake below.

The car whips around another hairpin turn, and I grip the edges of the leather seat with all my strength. Too fast. Out of control. The police officer at the wheel must know what he's doing. He must've driven this route before. But like this? Like now? In the wind and rain, with his siren blaring?

I rake a hand through my hair, annoyed by its shaggy presence on my forehead. It keeps falling in my eyes, blocking my view, as I strain to see... to see anything. Any sign of human movement. Any reason for hope.

There's only silence and tension in this car. Dr. Carlyle sits up front in the passenger seat. My gaze travels to his face, reflected in the rearview mirror, but we don't make eye contact. He has his head bowed, hands clasped, lips moving in a wordless murmur.

Praying?  I never knew he was religious...

Maybe he's not.

Maybe I should be praying too, instead of staring uselessly into the inscrutable fog.

The thought fills me with dread. I look to the driver instead. He has his eyes trained forward, concentrating on the road. I long to ask him if we're almost there, but I clamp my lips closed, swallow my words.

Something tells me that my voice in the backseat won't be welcome. I shouldn't be here. They shouldn't have brought me. I could tell that's what they both were thinking a few moments ago, as the terse phrases of the dispatcher buzzed across the squad car's two-way radio:

...incident in progress...

...10-20...

...all units...

...major injuries...

...victim in distress...

...two possible fatalities...

Two? Which two? Can't this car go any faster?

I squeeze my hands into fists and press hard against my thighs. The muscles in my forearms bunch and gather. At last my eyes fall on something other than granite, fog, and trees. A line of vehicles stand in the shoulder of the road up ahead with flashers blinking. I force myself to breathe in rhythm with the lights. The car glides slowed, and I can see a break in the guardrail up ahead. A steep trail leads downward through the gap.

Down to where? The Overlook?

We're still rolling slightly, but I don't wait. I whip off my seatbelt and thrust the backseat door open. Dr. Carlyle's voice cries after me, but I can't hear what he says. My feet skid across the pavement as I hurtle forward into the mist.

***

E L L I E

Emerson's grip on my arm loosens, but it's too late to regain my balance. The caution tape snaps as my legs pass through. It barely slows me down.

It all happens so fast that I hardly register the fear, or the pain of sharp rocks as they scrape against my shins. I only hear the sickening sound.

Screams. Three voices blended together...

And one of those voices is mine.

Some instinct makes me clench my arms, grappling with my hands to stop my fall. My fingers close around a rock—a heavy one that sits inches from the yawning precipice, positioned by the police to keep the caution tape in place. I grip it with all the strength I have. My arms wrench in their sockets at the force of the impact as my feet and torso slide over the edge.

In a terrifying flash, Reese and Emerson tumble past my dangling legs. Their screams fade in my ears as they both fall.

Gone.

Both gone.

There's no one left to go for help.

No one coming to rescue me.

I'm all alone. Just me. Ellie Sandberg. Hanging by my fingertips.

My pulse thunders in my ears as I cling desperately to the rock. My hands are soaked. I can feel my handhold slipping. I keep my eyes focused on my fingers and grip with all my strength.

This isn't happening. It can't be. I press my eyes closed and will the words inside my head to be true. None of this is happening. None of this is real.

But I know I'm lying to myself.

This is it, Ellie.

This is how it happens.

This is the thing... the thing we all know will come for us someday—and yet—and yet I thought I had more time. I thought I had tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that. I thought I had a lifetime of tomorrows still to live.

But now it's here. Staring me in the face. The thing I never really thought would come, ten fingertips away.

A sob forms in my throat, but I swallow it back down. I can't let go. I can't.

I won't.

I won't die here, like this, when I've barely even lived.

When I've never gone to college... or built an app... or founded my first company... or left my mark upon the world. When I've never even kissed a boy, much less been in love. Not for real. Not without the aid of a stupid game...

There's no game to rescue me now. No avatar to hide behind. Just me. Ellie Sandberg. Am I strong enough live, or do I die?

Remember that time, a couple days ago, when I thought I understood that saying? You know the one I mean—how your whole life flashes before your eyes when faced with life or death?

Yeah.

I was wrong... wrong about all kinds of things. It's not the past flashing through my mind right now at all. It's the future. It's everything I'll miss if I let go.

My eyes are fixed on my hands and arms, focusing every ounce of energy I possess on a single thought.

Pull.

Pull.

No one's coming to rescue me. I have to do it myself.

Pull.

A little more now.

You can do it, Ellie. You have too much left to do.

My elbows slowly bend, inch by inch. I stare at my forearms, muscles popping with the strain. I have muscles in my forearms. I don't know why that fact strikes me as noteworthy, but it repeats like a drumbeat in my head. Muscles in my forearms... How is this real life?

There's a feeling in my belly that I haven't felt before. A power I didn't know I have. It rises upward, past my lungs and past my heart, until it bursts forth from my lips in a primal scream. My chest is rising slowly. Up over the edge now. I kick my legs as my cry breaks free. With one final burst of effort, my left knee catches on the corner of the rocky ledge, and I lever myself back onto clifftop.

Safe.

Alive.

Still breathing.

I have no idea how long I lie there, struggling for breath. Now that I'm not dying, my whole body has turned to rubber. I can't summon the strength to crawl.

My ears still work though. I hear a sound, wailing in the distance. Faint at first but growing stronger.

Sirens.

The police?

Someone called the police.

I hear footsteps, then, pounding through the brush from somewhere overhead. Shouts. My name.

"Ellie! Ellie!"

There are feet all around me, filling the clifftop. Then arms. Firm and strong. Pulling me close. Pulling me upright. Clenching around my shoulders. I know those arms. I've stared at them often enough to recognize them. I turn in his arms and cling to his chest with all the strength I have remaining.

"Ellie! Ellie, are you OK?"

He sits awkwardly on the wet rock, with his legs splayed out on either side of me, rocking me back and forth. His khaki trousers, no longer perfectly pressed. Ripped at the knee. Stained with mud.

"Ellie," Maddox says into my hair, his voice no more than a harsh sob. "Say something. Are you OK?"

"No," I whisper back.

No. I'm not OK. But I'm alive.

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