Chapter 10

And just like that,every nightmare came true.

Her scream bounced against the walls, the metal railing, the stairs, and right into the core of her soul as he ripped away from her grip.

"Spenser!"

His cell phone fell, the light winking out into the darkness.

No—no?—

And then he landed. Not miles away, thankfully, but closer because his grunt lifted, followed by a deep moan and then terrible, short breaths.

His phone hit the dirt face down, just the slightest glow emanating, but in the pitch darkness, it seemed like the light of a thousand suns. She barely made him out moving some ten feet below.

"Hang on! I'm on my way!"

She pulled out her phone from her pants pocket and now turned on the flashlight.

He'd fallen yes, less than ten feet, and lay at the bottom of the stairs, most of the rungs broken, so that had to hurt. He held his arm to himself.

She pulled out her handkerchief and tied it to her head. Then shoved the phone into it like a headlamp. Gripping the railing, she worked her way down on the risers of the steps.

He had sat up, his eyes closed when she reached him, still holding his arm. "Is it broken?"

"No, it's dislocated. I'll be okay. Just help me up."

She reached around his waist as he pressed up against the wall.

He bent over, his injured arm hanging down.

"What are you doing?"

"My dad's trick." He tucked his fingers under his foot. Then, he slowly pulled up, keeping his fingers tucked under. The shoulder strained, then suddenly popped into place.

"That worked."

"Yep." He slid back down to the ground. "I'll need a sling."

She took off her handkerchief, then looped it under his arm and tied it behind his head. He blew out his breath. "Okay, that's better."

And then she spotted the blood, coming from his thigh. "Spense, you're bleeding!"

"Yeah, I nicked it on the way down."

She shone her light on it. The gash was easily six inches long, maybe a half-inch deep.

"That's not a nick—it's deep. You need stitches."

"It's fine."

She looked at him. And then, shoot, it all rushed over her. No, no?—

But the horror of it simply bubbled up. She put a hand to her mouth, but the whimper came anyway.

Stop. Stop.

The whimpering turned to a shuddering breath, and her eyes filled.

"Emily?"

She held up her hand. "I'm fine?—"

"You're not fine." He put his hand to her cheek. "Em. We're okay, we're okay?—"

"We're not okay, Spenser! We're lost in a cave, and you're hurt—and you could even have internal bleeding, and we have no idea where we are and…and it's too hard."

He stared at her. "What's too hard?"

"Faith! Faith is too hard! It's just…one minute you're fine and everything is beautiful and the next you're shot at. Or…falling down stairs or…

"Or in a train wreck?"

"Yeah. In a train wreck. Or…how about your dad is dying right in front of you…or you're trusting the wrong thing and suddenly the stairs disintegrate under you and… It's just too hard." She wiped her cheeks, but the tears burned her eyes. "I'm tired of fighting all the time. Tired of being brave and trying to keep the screams inside. But I'm not brave, Spense." She looked at him. "I'm not brave. I'm scared. Most of the time, that…something terrible is going to happen again."

"I know." He went quiet beside her. And when he spoke again, his voice turned soft, gentle. "That's why you do things like run into a burning building?—"

"But I can't stop it! Even then—it blows up in front of me, and I'm just making it worse."

He looked at her, and what did she expect of him? He was no more in control of the situation than she was.

"I think maybe that's the point," he said softly.

"What?"

"When we try and control things, we only make them worse."

He looked away now, his mouth a tight line. "We think we know how to solve the problem, how to fix our broken pieces, but we haven't a clue, so we do stupid things and pretend to be people we're not, trying to find something that makes us feel less panicked."

She stared at him. "Like model underwear?"

He took a breath. "Like ten years of playing a character you desperately want to be like, only to have it end. And then you discover that you're not him. And never will be. So then you go model underwear."

Oh.

"I don't think I want to be an actor anymore."

She blinked at him. "What?"

He turned to her. "I don't know. Maybe I do. I was Quillen for so long, I sort of lost myself. Or maybe I just grew up with him as my mask, and then when it was over, I didn't know who I was. Maybe I still don't."

She sat beside him, her back to the wall. "Me either. I don't want to be a hotshot. I just want my dad to want me on his team. And I want my mom to think I'm as smart as she is. And even if my dad did want me on his team, I think…I think maybe Uncle Conner is right. There's something else out there for me. I just can't get my fingers around it."

His hand wove into hers, and he simply sat in the darkness and held it. The warmth reached through her, into her bones, her cells.

"Conner said that when we live in trauma and in fear, we live outside the presence of God. And that's when we make bad decisions."

He looked at her. "Maybe it's not about where you are, or what's happening around you, but who you're with. The presence of Jesus, the Prince of Peace. Maybe that's what makes your soul well."

She stared at him.

"Coco the Great used to tell this story about her adopted mom. She was a wing walker."

"Like on an airplane?"

"Yes. And her husband was a pilot. She said that he would do aerials, full circles in the sky, and that at some point, the airplane would stop flying, and just start falling. Eventually, it would reach an angle where the wind caught it and saved them. Maybe that's what it means to be well—to know you're safe, even when you feel like you're falling."

"Or you're lost?"

He looked at her. "Or hurt. Or in a fire."

"Or at the bottom of the earth." She reached out and retrieved his phone. "Your screen is broken."

He turned the phone off, shoved it into his pocket.

Then he turned back to her. And before she could say anything, he put his hand around her neck, pulled her to himself and kissed her.

Oh. What?

But she grabbed onto the collar of his shirt and held them there. Braced her hand on the rock above his hurt shoulder and kissed him back. Just a moment of hope, perhaps, but enough that when he let her go, he took a breath. Nodded.

"What was that?"

"Inspiration." He pushed up the wall, groaning on his way. "And a distraction from how much my shoulder hurts."

She got up beside him, held out her phone. Ahead of them, two tunnels wove into the darkness. "Which way?"

He took her hand. "Which way, Jesus?"

She smiled. Okay. She'd bite. "Which way, Jesus?" And that's when she felt it again. "Wind."

He looked at her. And a smile lifted. "Wind."

She looped his arm around her shoulders. "Let's get out of here."

They took off down the tunnel. Drips sounded, plinks in the darkness. They came to the end of the tunnel, found a branch and?—

"Water."

"I hear it too."

She directed them to the right. "There's no more electricity or ventilation tubes here." In fact, the walls seemed less etched, more natural, scraped out. "I think we've connected to the cave."

The rushing sounded louder, the walls became wetter, and then…light. It pressed against the far wall, in a turn ahead, cascading down the shaft, fading as it reached them, but—light.

He picked up his pace, even with the occasional grunt, and turned the corner.

Gorgeous. A deep turquoise lake, clear to the bottom, spread out in a massive chamber. Above, tiny pinpricks of light cast onto the surface.

At one end, the lake bubbled over rocks, then fell into shadow, and beyond that the loud chatter of a waterfall.

"Perfect. Now all we need is a barrel." Spenser reached for a nearby boulder and sat down.

"It has to lead out, right? Maybe to the river?"

The lake appeared about fifty feet long, maybe thirty feet wide. She went to the edge. It seemed shallow, but when she threw a rock in, it sank for a while. "It's deep."

Blood had saturated his pants leg, dripping off his cuff.

No way could he swim out, over the falls—which dropped how far?

"We did an on location shoot once for Trek of the Osprey," he said. "It was an episode where we were trapped inside a planet?—"

"I remember that one. There were these reptiles that glowed in the dark."

"Yeah. We used them to find our way to the surface. But I remember the director had us shooting in a real cave. We had a safety guide there, and he said that if we were ever lost in a cave to follow the sound of water."

She came back over, pulled off her backpack. "Clearly he was never trapped in an underground lake."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm eating a sandwich. Want one?"

"I forgot about the sandwiches! Yes. With everything inside me."

She handed him one.

"This is really good."

And something inside her simply unknotted. He sat there, eating his sandwich, bruised, dirty, bloodied?—and still, probably the most handsome man she'd ever met—and she just wanted to cry all over again.

What was Quillen—no, what was Spenser Storm doing with her? Kissing her?

And maybe she shouldn't ask that. Maybe it didn't matter. Because he didn't seem to act like it mattered.

Maybe, in fact, all of this was real.

"Emily?"

"Sorry. I was just really hungry." She smiled at him. "I'll only eat half—keep the other half here with you. Until I get back…" Except, how would she find her way back here?

"Until you get…back?"

"Yes." She sighed. "I'm going for a swim."

"We're going for a swim."

She packaged up the other half of her sandwich. "Your shoulder isn't strong enough, and you're still bleeding. I'm the one who can go, so I'm going."

"Over my dead body."

"That's what I'm trying to prevent." She handed him a bottle of water. "Listen. I'm not trying to be brave. I'm doing what has to be done. Someone has to go into the darkness and figure out how to bring us home."

"Oh please, no more Quillen quotes."

"You were the one who brought up Trek."

"How big of a fan are you?"

Oh. "One of three billion."

He laughed. Then suddenly, "That's it."

She raised an eyebrow.

"The ending of the movie. I've figured it out. The wrong man gets the girl."

Now? He was rewriting the movie now? "You get the girl."

"Because Deacon is the only logical choice to make the sacrifice. Because he's already heroic. But that's not a real hero. The real hero is the one who is scared and overwhelmed and yet faces the end with courage, because it's the right thing. Hawken has to die."

And with that, he got up.

"What are you doing?" She stood up. "Spenser?"

He'd walked to the edge of the lake. She froze as he turned and took off his sling. Winked. "Wait here."

And then, he dove into the water.

* * *

Yes, it was impulsive and probably stupid, but something had simply clicked when he'd mentioned the reptiles, and then she said the Quillen quote and what choice did he have?

Let her jump in, get swept away by the current, go over the falls?

That was a big N.O.

So, call him crazy, but he went first.

But it wasn't without forethought. He'd been listening to the water rush—not thunderous with deep gulps plummeting thousands of feet, but a slight rush, as if the falls might be short, the water dump light.

He'd also been staring at the gullet where the water vanished. It seemed that the light casting down from above couldn't be enough to light the chamber, so it had to come from another source. Light bounced off the space above the waterfall, cast into the depths of the lake, so that it was nearly transparent.

Which meant the water didn't plummet into a cave deep below, but outside.

To freedom.

The water slicked away the heat from his shoulder, burned his leg. What he hadn't accounted for was the current. It slammed him against the rocks, and he just barely got a handhold, a foothold before the current pulled him over into the abyss. He came up, gulping breaths, to hear Emily shouting.

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Hold, please!"

He leaned over, into the open space where the falls fell. Please, let there not be rocks below?—

The water dropped to a pool some twenty feet below, spraying like a faucet into the late afternoon.

The splash obscured any rocks, so he couldn't be sure if it was clear.

He pulled himself away from the edge, still holding on. Looked back.

She'd vanished.

"Emily!"

He spotted her then, in the water, swimming hard for him.

No, no, because the current—yep, it caught her, and she fought it, kicking for the edge.

He held out his hand. "Grab on!"

She met his grasp, and he couldn't stifle the moan as his shoulder screamed. But he held on, and she got her foot onto the edge and then her other hand and pulled herself up and over him. Breathing hard.

"What were you thinking? I was coming back!"

She stared at him. "Maybe someone should inform me of the Grand Plan before someone dives into the scary lake of death!"

He blinked at her. Grinned.

"So, do we need a barrel?" She didn't smile, just glared at him.

"No. It's not a far drop. And then we're in the river."

"Perfect. And this couldn't have waited until after we finished our sandwiches?"

Oh, he wanted to kiss her again. And just staring at her, fighting a grin, her hair wet and stringy, those green-blue eyes holding his, his heart just about exploded.

He loved this woman. And sure, it might be fast and crazy, but most on-set romances were exactly that way, but he'd never felt anything so powerful, so right in all his life.

"What?" She frowned at him. "You okay? How's your shoulder?"

"It's fine." Sheesh. He was turning into a pansy. He reached for her hand. "Together?"

"We're jumping?"

"Falling might be more specific."

"How far?"

"Twenty feet."

"Don't let go."

"Nope. Ready?"

She nodded, took a breath, and suddenly they were in the water, and flying into the open space.

He kept hold of her hand, windmilled his arm, and they splashed down into the pool below.

They sank, slowed, but his feet hit bottom and he pushed up.

Air. Light. He gulped both as he shook the water away. She floated next to him, kicking them away from the churning pool of water.

Twenty feet away, upstream, a higher, thunderous waterfall plunged from a cliff fifty feet high, into the deeper wells of the Kootenai river, so there must be an offshoot that ran through the cave.

The river current had grabbed them, pulled them into the rapids.

"Let go! I can swim!" She shook free of his hand. "Get to the shore!"

The rapids had fingers, grabbing them, stirring them into the rush. Rocks protruded and he pushed off one, spun, spotted her in the froth.

The shore seemed a thousand miles away, a rutted and slick canyon wall.

"Put your feet out!" she shouted. "Feet first down the river!" She slipped past him, on her back, treading water.

He rolled over too, rode the rapids behind her.

She kicked away from rocks, swimming toward the shoreline as the cliffs fell toward flatter land.

The river widened, too, becoming shallower. He kept his head up, managed not to swallow more than a gallon of water, and followed her.

She finally caught herself on a massive boulder that spanned half the river, reached out and he caught her hand. Fighting the current, he managed to grab the boulder, to hoist himself on it.

They lay together, like trout, gasping for air.

The sun had fallen, deep shadows over the river, casting down from the fir-lined mountains that rose around them.

"Do you smell that?" Emily asked.

"Life? Freedom? The sweet smell of anything but a cave?"

"Smoke." She sat up. "Maybe I'm imagining it."

"You're a hotshot. You have fire on the brain."

She laughed, rolled over, and pushed herself up, looking upstream from where they came. "Maybe I just have…" Her mouth opened.

He was just getting to his feet and now turned.

An ever so thin glow of orange crackled along the tree line to the west.

"We gotta go." They were too late to call in the explosion. "There's already a forest fire."

He followed her across the boulder, and then as she hopped on the other boulders to the shore. "I'll bet it's from the cabin explosion."

"We have no idea where we are, Emily."

"Yes, we do. The river runs southwest. The set is in the direction of the river, and the fire is north. For now. The wind is pushing it south, right toward the movie set."

They reached the rocky shoreline. "We'll keep the sun to our right, then cut west, and we'll hit the dirt path. C'mon." She started down the shore.

"Can we outrun this thing?" He took off after her.

"Fires can move about twenty miles per hour, but the wind isn't high, and there isn't a ton of fuel between the cabin and the set. We'll stay along the river until the sun sets. Then we'll put the moon at our back."

"You sound like you live in the forest."

"My dad was a Green Beret, what can I say?" She had picked up her speed. "He took me orienteering when I was a kid. Taught me some survival skills."

"Sounds like he was training you for Search and Rescue."

Silence.

"Yes, it does. Let's cut up here." She pointed to a ridge, jutting out into the river.

Good call. He followed her up the slope, slowing, grasping at shrubbery, finally reaching the top of the ridge.

He had passed her on the climb up, and she had fallen a little behind and only now—what an idiot—did he realize she was carrying the backpack. "Let me have that."

She bent over, breathing hard. "I got it. It's only got a soggy sandwich in it."

Right. In the meantime, he shoved his arm back into the handkerchief that she'd tied around his neck, his shoulder burning.

And that's when he saw it.

The forest where they'd left the cabin was ablaze, but she was right, the fire seemed to sit in the pocket of the gulch, not moving too fast, but definitely on the way to the movie set.

"Let's move."

They took off along the ridge, and as twilight turned dark, they slowed, heading down to the dirt road they'd taken. Here, the mountains hid the fire, save for the tiniest press of light in the distance. Then the moon rose, cast light upon them, and bled out any of the glow.

She started to run again, so he did too.

But really, all he could think was…despite the trauma, despite the crazy…he didn't want it to end.

His words in the cave stirred inside him.

"I don't think I want to be an actor anymore."

No, he didn't want to be only an actor anymore. Because the fact was, he liked telling stories. Liked creating the magic. And maybe even liked being the hero.

But he also liked figuring out how the magic worked. Crafting the scenes.

He slowed.

"I see the movie lights." She slowed her jog.

Indeed, a crane spilled faux moonlight onto the set of the town.

"What are they shooting tonight?"

"Blossom and Deacon have a scene outside the sheriff's office where she asks him not to fight Irish. Or at least, not to take Hawken with him."

"What are you going to do?"

He slipped his hand into hers, stopped her. Pulled her back to himself. "I'm rewriting the ending. I'm going to tell him that Hawken gets to be the hero."

"Even if he doesn't get the girl?"

"Oh, he's going to get the girl too." He winked. And then he kissed her.

If he could, he'd let time stop, sink into this moment, right here, when the hero did get the girl. When she kissed him back, as if the world wasn't on fire around them.

Just a moment, a delicious, perfect movie-worthy moment.

She finally pushed away. "The girl needs to alert her fire team to the fact that the forest is burning down."

Right, right. They turned back to the road, picking up the pace.

He was hurting and out of breath by the time they reached the set.

But, instead of Deacon and Blossom standing on the street, the light bathing them, the crew silent as they delivered their lines, Cosmos stood talking to a couple of Ember County sheriff deputies. Nearby, Indigo had her arm around Gemma. A few gaffers were taking down lights, but the cameras were off, grips stowing them.

Win and Kathryn, still in costume, stood in the craft services tent, talking.

"Shoot. I bet they're worried about us." Spenser dropped her hand, walking up to Cosmos. "Sorry! It's okay. We're back now. Everything's fine."

Cosmos turned, looked at him, frowned.

Spenser felt Emily's hand on his arm. "That's Mitch, our Incident Commander."

He stilled, glanced around, his gaze falling again on Gemma. And something inside him simply hollowed out.

"What's—"

"Bucky is missing," Cosmos said.

A beat.

"Did you search the set? Follow the cat? I mean—you know Bucky. He's?—"

"Not this time, Spense." Cosmo glanced at Mitch, then back to Spenser.

Spenser gaped. "What's going on?"

"We have reason to believe that Bucky has been kidnapped."