Chapter 6

“You have seven days. Or else I will be upset.”

Blackwell’s words replay in my mind, weighing upon my shoulders like a ton of bricks as I dissect them repeatedly. There’s not much to the two sentences, a deadline and a threat. But it’s the threat’s ambiguous nature that turns over and over in my head.

What is he willing to do?

How far will he go?

I pause to take a breath and look up. In front of me is a nearly sheer rock wall.

While I’ve always been a good athlete, nothing quite gets my blood pumping and my endorphins going like nature. It’s the one thing that helps me clear my thoughts and center myself.

Which is what brought me to this spot, about twenty minutes to the west of Roseboro, in the middle of a national forest.

“You know you don’t have to do this,” I tell myself as I wipe my hands on my shirt. It’s the truth. I passed the sign for the hiking path to get to the climbing entry point I’m at now.

Yeah, I could take the easy way to the top... but this’ll help.

I approach the wall, one last visual of the line I’ve chosen up the face of the cliff. And then I reverse my way down until my eyes land directly in front of me and take the first grip, lifting myself off the ground and adjusting my feet.

Free climbing is like no other form of climbing. There’s no rope, so I can’t take the same risks that someone who’s tied in would. At the same time, I can’t go too slow, because with each passing second, my ankles and forearms are being tested. One release, one slip, could be instant death.

But it’s exhilarating, and as the fire starts up my calves, I can feel my head clear. It’s like I split in two, half of me focusing on staying alive this very second by picking out the next handhold, the next place to put my foot, while the other half of me chews over my problem, unfettered and free to jump from idea to strategy to potential consequences without logic or rationality to get in the way.

Isabella Turner . . . my assignment.

Blackwell’s paying me a shitload of money to make it happen, but the information he promised is far more valuable. That information is the whole reason I’m in the life I’m in.

Still, that doesn’t change the fact that she’s someone who doesn’t deserve the fate chosen for her. If anything, she deserves to get a hand up in life.

An image of her proudly serving customers, head held high as she works herself to the bone, flashes through my head. Followed by one of studying hard in the library to better herself, and then standing her ground against an evil shit stain of a man who’s obviously trying to take advantage of her.

If anyone deserves a lucky break, it’s Isabella Turner.

But luck has nothing to do with this. And I’m definitely not a lucky charm, more like a tragic curse.

My left foot slips slightly, and I dig in with my right hand, pulling myself up a bit higher before my foot can find purchase again. I’m halfway up the rock face, but from here the going seems easier. There’s a relatively large crack in the rock that looks wide enough for me to get both a hand and a foot inside, and it runs nearly all the way to the top of the cliff itself.

I pause, shaking out my hands and feet by alternating rest holds, and cruise the rest of the way up, reaching the top with a good amount of sweat built up but more excitement than anything else. It’s been awhile since I’ve had the chance to really freeclimb, and I’ve missed it.

You learn about yourself on the rockface with nothing to catch you, no safety nets and no do-overs. You learn about who you really are when you have to look death in the eye and know that it’s chasing you and the only things holding it back are your own will and skills.

It’s a sad commentary on modern society that someone can go their entire life without ever learning whether they’re a coward or not. I forget who said that, but it’s true. And while I might not be a good man, at least I know I’m not a coward.

Going to the edge of the outcropping, I look down, seeing that the fifty-foot drop is definitely worse at this angle than from the bottom. There are all sorts of jagged-looking rocks and outcroppings that would kill anyone unfortunate enough to slip off this cliff face.

But I didn’t fall. Not this time. I made it to the top, cheated Death once more in the poker game I’m not sure he knows we’re playing.

I shake my head and take a deep breath, banishing the idea and looking around. The walking path continues off to my right, and I decide to follow it, stunned a moment later when the trail curves around the mountain and I’m treated to a view of the valley.

It’s beautiful, rugged and untouched, pure forest that reminds me that no matter my struggles, my pain, or my promises... the world doesn’t really care. It’s not sad. It’s almost liberating.

I can see, though, where I can make a difference. Because the forest thins out, a power line here, a fire road there, a stream that diverts and slows, forming a lazy river, and slowly, Mother Nature gives way to man, and Roseboro emerges to dominate the middle distance, a small idyllic city that looks postcard-worthy from this vantage point.

Of course it’s not idyllic. Even from up here, I can see some of the older areas of town, and my eyes are drawn to where I think I can pick out Isabella’s neighborhood, close to the railroad tracks that run north and south through town.

Every town’s got that wrong side of the tracks. Even ones without railroads.

Still, the scene stretched out below me is iconic, beautiful, and as I sit down on a rock to watch, I marvel at the twin towers that dwarf the city.

Closer to me, there’s the Blackwell Building, dark and foreboding, looking like a spear that’s been shoved into the ground, piercing and penetrating the city, plundering. Ironically, it’s the older of the two buildings, and the city actually grew from it.

The other, Goldstone Tower, rising up and reaching for the clouds above, shorter than its older cousin but somehow more inspiring with its golden-hued glass. It’s the yearning of the city for a better future, unafraid to shoot for the stars, secure in the knowledge that it’s only through the risk of failure that great successes are built.

“You’re getting sentimental again,” I chastise myself, turning away and looking at the pool behind me. The water’s not totally still, the waterfall and the outflowing stream guarantee that, but it’s peaceful in its perpetual motion, tranquility in the churning bubbles.

I reach down and gather up a handful of pebbles, tossing them in one by one to watch the ripples flutter over the surface, and my past sneaks up on me, reminding me of another pool.

“Jeremy!”

My little brother, Jeremy, stops and turns back to me, a grin splitting his face. We’re close in age, so close that my uncle calls us ‘Irish twins’, which confused the hell out of me when I was younger. We’re not Irish at all, from what I know of our family.

“Come on, Gabby. It’s just the Union.”

I sigh, tossing a rock across the small pond that we’ve been sitting next to for the past hour, watching it skip across the flat green water, the white stone so bright in contrast that it makes me stop, watching it bounce five times before dropping beneath the surface with a soupy plop.

Eleven months apart... we’re actually somehow in the same grade in school, but I swear Jeremy’s nothing like me. Like today. Mom and Dad told us to stay close to the house, and the pond technically qualifies since I can squint and still see the house from here.

But the Union? Where all the high school kids hang out and play basketball? Of all the places in town our parents don’t want us to go, that’s the one they’ve both named specifically.

And of course, Jeremy wants to go there. He’s been working on his layup recently and wants to put himself to the test, even if we don’t start junior high until August.

“Come on, Gabby!”

“Jeremy, stop calling me Gabby!”

A breeze blows across the valley, and tears threaten as I think about my brother. He was always the adventurous one, the one willing to break the rules.

That first time we snuck off to the Union, he was six inches shorter than everyone else there, but he already had big brass ones. Even though he got elbowed right in the eye at one point, he still kept going for that damn layup and wore that purple bruise like a trophy for his gutsiness.

“Why’d you never slow down?” I whisper, shaking my head. “And you somehow kept getting me to go along with it, too.”

Go along with it. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be doing now? Just go along with the plan, or pick from any of the half-dozen that I’ve formed in my head already, and kill her?

Yeah, it’ll suck, and I’m going to feel like shit... but I felt like shit for three days after Jeremy got into a fight with Mickey Ulrich and his buddies and the two of us got stomped out royally.

I still never regretted jumping in to save Jeremy’s ass, even if it was six on two.

I never regretted sticking with him.

Until the one time that I didn’t.

“Jeremy, come on!” I growl, looking up from my keyboard. “I get it, you wanna show off for Jenae, but newsflash . . . she’s not feeling ya, brother. And I’ve gotta get this damn history report done by tomorrow!”

Jeremy scowls at the dig about the girl he’s tailing after, his stringy cotton tank top already hanging off his toned shoulders, showing off a body that’s changed a lot over the past year. I guess I got the jump on him there. I’ve got two inches on him and I’m already having to shave, but Jeremy... with his looks and personality, he’s going to be getting girls long before I do.

“Blah, blah, blah, Pilgrims, maize, We the People, and sum it the fuck up!” Jeremy jokes. “You really want to tell me that you’d rather do a history report than play ball with the girls watching?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Tiffany Robinson’s going to be there.”

My fingers falter for a moment, and I think of Tiffany. I swear she’s looked at me from across the room in math class, and while I can’t be sure she’s interested, it’s gotta be a good sign. I mean, we run in different social circles, but stranger things have happened, right?

He’s got me, and judging by the slick grin on his face, he damn well knows it. “Not yet,” I growl, looking down. “Just... gimme a half hour to finish up, and I’ll go.”

“Sorry, bro, but Jenae’s got work later,” Jeremy says. “Listen, I’ll head down now, and you can join me when you can. I mean, even if Tiffany has already left by then, it’ll still be fun, right?”

He’s right. It’d be fine if it’s just the guys playing, but he’s even more right that it’d be better if Tiff were there.

Jeremy’s words help fuel a furious bout of rapid-fire typing, and twenty minutes later, I feel like I can take a break. All that’s left is the bibliography and figuring out what I’m going to say when I have to do the presentation on it in class later this week. But I can bullshit my way through that with the paper as a foundation.

I hurry and get changed, yanking on an old Angels T-shirt and some shorts before pulling a ballcap on. I think I’ll see if Tiffany will hold it for me while I play, and if I’m lucky, she’ll wear it herself. It’d be a good look, that girl in my hat.

I jog down to the Union, praying she’s still there. I’m almost courtside when I hear something that I swear sounds like a typewriter, or firecrackers, and then the screams start.

“Jeremy?” I ask, my heart stopping in my chest as someone else screams his name. “Jeremy!”

“I promised you I’d find out who did it,” I whisper, watching the ripples in the pool but talking to my brother’s ghost in the wind. I feel the responsibility of the vow I made to my brother’s grave to get vengeance for his death.

It wasn’t grief talking then. It was fury, it was righteous justice that no other family need go through this.

“And Blackwell says he can point me in the right direction. But it’s complicated, Jer.”

In my pocket, my phone buzzes, and I’m surprised I get a cell signal up here. Pulling it out, I see I’ve got a text from a blocked number. Still, I know who it is.

I’m waiting for your word it’s done. There’s a difference between patience and stalling.

I don’t react, my emotions going cold as I put my phone away and stand up.

I knew this assignment wouldn’t be easy, knew I’d have to get my hands dirty. But it’ll be worth it to fulfill the promise I made.

At all costs, at any expense. Even if it’s my own soul. Even if it’s her life.