CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

August 28, 2018

“It’s a long way to the bottom,” Matt said as he watched her hook the rope around her waist. It was the second time he’d said it in the last few hours.

“Yeah,” she said. She yanked on the rope to make sure it was secure and then looked at her husband. The sun had sunk behind the mountains and it was hard to see much in the gloaming, and the shadows on Matt’s face gave him the look of a skull. “Don’t forget to toss over my pack when I’m down. I’ll need it.”

“I won’t,” he said. He didn’t come any closer to the edge. “Don’t worry, hon. Everything will be fine. The cops’ll never guess you faked your death.”

She gave him a sharp look, but Matt had turned away, was fiddling with the ropes. She wished she could take one more look into his eyes, just to see what was there, but what did it matter? It didn’t, that was the answer. She already knew what she’d see there.

Matt didn’t try to kiss her good-bye.

It all went scarily well until Marie had started lowering herself over the edge of the cliff on the rope she’d tied around a tree trunk. It was a long coil of rope, a huge amount; she gripped it in both hands and had it looped through the safety harness on her waist, enough rope that she should’ve been able to lower herself all the way down to the ground beside the river with some left over. But she was no more than fifteen feet down when she felt the rope tremble and vibrate in her hands and she knew what was happening. Matt had stayed back from the edge, he was scared of heights and always had been, and he’d let her go down, watched her lower herself until she was at the point of no return—and then he’d started to cut the rope.

She’d expected this. Even prepared for it. But she hadn’t thought he’d start cutting so soon. She should’ve known. Matt had never been a patient man.

“Matt?” she’d said, alarmed. Did she have enough time? She wasn’t sure. Never trust men, she’d taught her daughters, the same lesson her mother had taught her. She could’ve loosened her grip on the rope then and unlatched the harness and zipped all the way down to the bottom before he cut all the way through, she would’ve lost most of the skin on her palms in the process, but she would’ve made it; she would have landed dangerously close to the river, but she would have lived. But she didn’t want that. She wanted Matt to think that he’d gotten away with it, that he’d managed to kill her. She wanted him to glory in it. At least for a little while.

So she held on to the rope. She wanted it to stay taut, so he’d feel her weight on it. She had other plans. She’d come up to this cliff after she’d guessed what Matt might be planning, several times, day trips he never knew about, he never bothered to ask what she’d done while he was at work, he didn’t care—and lowered herself over the edge like this alone, only she’d planted several camming devices deep in the underside of the cliff and threaded a second rope through them, long enough that it was doubled up, and left it there to dangle. If anyone hiked to the cliff base they’d spot that rope immediately, might even report it, but it was a chance she had to take.

“Matt, what’s happening?” she shouted as she reached for the rope she’d planted. It swung out of reach once, squirting out of her sweaty grip, and she really started to feel the beginning threads of panic. If he managed to cut through before she could get a good hold—well, it’d be game over. All her planning was for nothing, and Matt would get exactly what he wanted. She’d be dead. “Is everything okay up there?”

For the first time, it occurred to Marie that if she fell into the river and drowned, her body would be found with the climbing gear still on, the harness still strapped around her waist and thighs. She didn’t know how her idiot husband planned on explaining that to the police, unless—

Unless he was planning on telling the police that she’d been trying to fake her death and had failed. Plunged to her death. It was just enough of the truth that it just might work.

“Matt?” she screamed. “Can you hear me?”

He didn’t answer, but she could clearly feel the sawing motion of his knife through her line. Marie allowed herself one terrified glance down. The river took up her entire field of vision, the violently thrashing water seeming to reach up for her. It was hungry, that was the best word for it. It wanted her to plunge under those frothy waves so it could hold her under no matter how hard she struggled and her lungs would fill, she’d drown. The sound a river makes as it flows past was usually described as roaring, or rushing, but to Marie it sounded like it was laughing. A wetly satisfying chuckle because it was waiting for her. This same river had already drowned several people, and she’d be the latest.

“Get your shit together,” she muttered, tearing her eyes away from the water and reaching out again. Second time’s the charm, and she finally caught hold of the second line and tried to get it latched into place on her harness, but the trembling panic in her fingers made her clumsy, her sweat made the metal slick and hard to grab. But she had it in her hands, at least.

There was a snap and she gasped when she dropped a few feet down, then jerked to a stop. He was almost all the way through the rope, then. She had ten seconds at most before it gave way completely, probably less. That wasn’t enough time to get as safe as she wanted, so she’d have to make do. The best-laid plans, and all that. Time to improvise. She took the rope and wrapped it several times around her wrist and swung her legs to get a loop of it around one of her calves.

Then she waited. Not that she had to wait for long.

“Matt?” she screamed and held the rope tight against her face so the fibers scratched. Closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was all or nothing, make it count. “No! Please, don’t!”

And then the rope snapped, made a sound like a whip cracking. She’d thought the tension in her backup line was perfect, enough to send her down only a few feet before catching her, but she’d miscalculated and went plunging through the open air for a dozen feet before it went taut, catching her weight. She screamed in surprise and fear, and that was probably for the best—the scream she’d been practicing for the fall wouldn’t have been quite the same—and the sudden drop didn’t just send her down, it sent her swinging out in an arc, first away from the cliff and then toward it, and she rammed into the rock wall at an awful speed. It was her elbow that took the brunt of the hit, the very point of the bone against the stone, and it shattered on impact, sending a jolt of pain through her entire body. If pain had a color it was silver, like lightning behind her closed eyelids. That long flash of agony reminded her of other times—that final push when she was giving birth to each of the girls and the sense of strange emptiness once they’d left her body; the throbbing ache of a tooth that’d needed a root canal and kept her up several nights before she’d gone to the dentist; the memory of standing on the steps outside the little rental house in Madison and hearing Matt laughing with another woman. It was all the same pain in that moment, pieced together in the giant movie reel that served as memory.

She almost blacked out then, dangling from the underside of the cliff, and wouldn’t that have been hilarious? If she’d lost consciousness she certainly would’ve lost her grip on the rope and gone hurtling down to the ground or into the river, dead despite all her plans. But she didn’t black out, things only went grayish and mushy around the edges and she managed to hang on. Barely, but barely was all she needed. She turned her face into the crook of her shoulder and took a deep breath, tried to calm her racing heart and keep from weeping in agony. This wasn’t what she’d planned, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go—but when did anything ever go perfectly? It was the story of her life, improvising as things came up.

She’d thought that once she’d gone over the side and Matt thought she was gone, she’d be able to take her time and lower herself to the ground below. It would be hours before anyone could make it down to the cliff base, especially once the sun set, and she’d hike to the supplies she’d hidden several miles away, start a fire, and sleep well under the stars. Then she’d wake early the next morning and keep moving away from the cliff and river. It would take a few days to get to Estes on foot, but once she got there, to the car she’d bought and parked in a spot downtown, she’d be home free. She’d probably go west. California, maybe. She’d driven west to get to Denver from Madison, and maybe it was time to keep going.

But now, things had changed. The pain in her arm had dulled to a low scream, but the thought of trying to get it working to lower herself down the rope another seventy or so feet was enough to make her light-headed. And days of hiking over uneven ground as she clutched her bum arm to her chest? God, no. This whole plan was going to be tough enough with both her arms functional, and now—well, how bad was this whole thing going to be now?

But she couldn’t think any further ahead than right now, otherwise she was setting herself up for failure. She concentrated on the rope looped around her good arm and the sharp wind against her cheeks and the flat, tinny smell of the water below. Deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She thought there was a good chance she might die anyway, that she wouldn’t be able to lower herself with one arm and she’d end up falling to her death, smashing her head open on the rocks, and all of it would be for nothing.

Marie was still hanging there, considering her situation, when two things launched over the side of the cliff. She recognized the shapes, even in the dark. It was the rope and her pack of supplies. They both came hurtling down and went right into the river, sucked under the waves. She didn’t care about the rope, but the loss of her backpack hurt. There were things in there she could’ve used. She moaned and closed her eyes, pressed her forehead against her own rope so hard it was surely leaving a mark. There were bottles of water in that pack, and squeeze tubes of applesauce that would’ve been heaven on her raw throat. No use thinking about it now, though. The bag was long gone.

Getting rid of the evidence, that’s what Matt was doing. Cleaning up anything that might point to his guilt. Make it look like an accidental fall. Just as they planned.

She waited, her good arm trembling from the strain of holding herself in place and the other shrieking in pain. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for until she heard it.

His laugh. It’s what had started this entire mess so many years ago, and here it was again. A pleased, low burbling sound that seemed to come right out of his gut, like a baby’s laugh, and now he was laughing because he thought she was dead, that he was finally rid of her.

That laugh gave her strength, fed the hate-beast in her belly. Then she knew she wouldn’t die. She wouldn’t allow it. It took a long time—she never knew how long, didn’t even want to know—but she managed to slide down the rope bit by bit, until the ground was only a few feet below, and then she let go. She landed on her feet, barely, but her knees gave out beneath her at the jolt of pain that shot up her arm—the pain had been silver but was now black, thick and choking—and she went facedown in the gravel. There were a few uncertain moments when Marie didn’t move at all, but she finally struggled to sit up. There was blood on her face and her one arm was twisted and hanging at a strange angle, and at first glance she looked like a crazy person. But if you’d managed to get a good look at her eyes, you’d see they were calm and clear and sane. Moving slowly and carefully, Marie stood up. She’d double-looped the rope so she was able to pull it down with a hard tug, and after it fell into a coil at her feet she tossed it into the river. Get rid of the evidence. The sun had dropped low enough that she couldn’t see very much, so she shuffled through the dirt where she’d landed, hoping to scatter anything she might’ve dropped or left behind, and then moved on. She had so much to do, and time would be tight. But it was all going to happen.

Because she didn’t plan on ever letting her husband laugh like that again.