CHAPTER FOUR

The turquoise beads seemed to catch and fracture the harsh Texan sunlight as they fell, one by one, from the man's clenched fist. With each release, a low mutter escaped his lips, the words lost to the wind that whipped around the cliff's edge. His fingers trembled slightly, not from the chill of the breeze but from the palpable frustration that radiated off him like heat from sun-baked rocks.

"Damn it," he hissed, tossing another bead into the abyss. It plummeted, a tiny speck of color against the stark backdrop of the canyon below. The beads had belonged to her, an heirloom passed down through generations. Now, they were just fragments of a life he could no longer claim.

He turned from the precipice, the sole of his boot scraping against the rough stone. Back and forth, he paced, like a caged animal plotting its escape. His eyes darted to the edge again, his mind grappling with the thought of leaping. Just a quick step, a rush of air, and then... nothing. But fear shackled his feet to the ground.

"Come on," he urged himself, voice barely above a whisper. Scowling, he stared down at the dirt and shrubs clinging stubbornly to the rocky soil. Anger bubbled inside him, a searing, roiling presence. He was angry at the world, at his own crippling dread, at the hand fate had dealt him. Disappointment gnawed at his insides, adding to the tumultuous storm of emotions.

"Pathetic," he spat out, the word a venomous barb aimed inward. He was supposed to be stronger than this, wasn't he? Yet here he was, unable to take the final plunge, unable to end the chase. He kicked at a loose pebble, sending it skittering over the edge, a surrogate for the jump he couldn't make.

"Mandy would've had the guts," he muttered with a bitter chuckle, the name a shard of glass in his mouth. She was brave, undaunted by the world's cruelty or the harshness of this unforgiving land. And yet, where was she now? Where were the answers to the questions that haunted his every waking moment?

He clenched his fists, the last of the beads pressing into his palm, a reminder of what was at stake. They were all he had left of a past that refused to stay buried, of a truth that clawed its way to the surface with each passing day. The man took a deep, steadying breath, the desert air arid and tasting faintly of dust and sagebrush.

He lunged toward the cliff's edge, heart thundering. The drop loomed, a gaping mouth ready to swallow him whole. But his legs betrayed him, refusing to carry him over into the abyss. A strangled whimper escaped his lips as he teetered, then stumbled backward, away from the precipice.

"Damn it!" His voice was a hoarse whisper, each attempt at courage crumbling like the brittle sandstone beneath his feet. He clutched at his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his pulse.

The desert stretched out before him, indifferent to his turmoil. The sun scorched his skin, and each failed leap sharpened his desperation, stoking the fires of frustration within. He could almost hear Rachel's rebuke, her voice laced with that steely resolve he so lacked.

His gaze found a target: a lone cactus, standing sentinel amidst the barren landscape. With a guttural cry, he launched himself at the unsuspecting plant. His boot connected, and the cactus exploded in a burst of green flesh and spiky armor.

"Take that!" he yelled, the sound echoing off the desolate canyon walls, a testament to his rage. The shattered remnants of the cactus lay strewn about.

His boot came down hard. Crunch. A sharp pain shot up through his sole, sharp as a viper's bite beneath the leather. "Shit!" The word burst from his lips as he hopped on one foot, grimacing.

Crouched in the dirt, he yanked at the offending spike—a cactus needle lodged like a sliver in his flesh. His fingers trembled, sweat mingling with the dust on his brow.

"Damn you," he hissed, finally plucking the needle free. A drop of blood welled up on the tip of the dark spike, and he flung it away, watching it disappear into the parched landscape.

Breath ragged, he stilled, hands on his knees. The throbbing in his toe kept time with the pounding in his head. Rising slowly, he straightened to full height, the vast Texas sky bearing down like a silent judge.

"Get it together," he muttered to himself, eyes narrowing. The anger simmered, mixing with a bitter taste of defeat.

He couldn't end it. He didn't have the courage…

But that meant someone else would pay. Someone else needed to answer for it all.

Eyes flint-hard, he scanned the horizon. Dust devils danced in the distance, but it was movement of a different kind that snagged his attention. Two figures—dark silhouettes against the bleached sky—were moving steadily towards him.

"Hell," he whispered, the word barely a puff of air in the stillness. They were just specks in this vast emptiness, but they were too purposeful, too direct. His pulse quickened.

He ducked instinctively, even though the cliff's edge offered its own concealment. The figures continued their approach, oblivious to his watchful gaze from above. His mind raced with possibilities and dangers. 'Not now, not yet,' he thought.

Another involuntary curse slipped through clenched teeth. He couldn't let them find "it" before he had the chance to act.

Muscles coiled, he turned on his heel, a spring released. The desert floor was unforgiving beneath his boots as he sprinted away from the precipice.

"Can't let them..." The rest of the thought lost to the rush of wind in his ears, the thunder of his heartbeat drowning out all else. He needed distance, time, a plan. The stakes were too high and every second mattered.

Sand billowed behind him, a smoky trail of his frenetic escape. Every step was a punishing slap against the desert floor, a desperate bid for more distance. A low moan escaped his lips, woven with threads of frustration and despair. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body pushed beyond limits by the sheer force of adrenaline.

"Can't stop," he panted to himself, the words dissolving into the arid air as he propelled forward.

His thoughts raced in tandem with his sprinting form, images flashing like a strobe light in his mind.

"Got to... get away..." he muttered, the syllables broken by exertion.

She deserved that much, didn't she?

They deserved the end… it all had to end.

The sun hammered down without mercy. The figures, the cliff, the beads—they all blended into the blur of his flight.

And his anger returned.

The rage he felt at himself. The rage that made him want to leap off the cliff… But now the rage was redirected, turned toward a new face, his resolve hardening in that moment.

Not it. The two strangers in his desert were about to find it.

So he'd leave another corpse.

And another.

And another…