Dastardly Bastard(14)
“What’s with the open space?” Lyle asked.
Mark was shocked that the youngest of the group asked the smartest questions. Hell, even Mark wanted to know the answer to the latest one.
“Don’t know for certain. I suppose they just never got around to installing it. You know. Budget cuts.” Jaleel’s eyes flickered briefly, just enough for Mark to notice. The guide was lying. From the look on Donald’s face, the little guy had seen it, too. Mark would have to keep an eye on Jaleel. A story hid there; Mark was sure of it.
Mark flipped the power switch on his camera, and the screen went black. He checked the strap’s connecting parts before allowing gravity to take over and the camera to dangle around his neck. The last thing Mark needed was something coming loose and causing his six-thousand-dollar Nikon to go sliding into the chasm’s depths. Mark doubted Willy would sign a requisition form for another one. Given that Julia was now much closer to the man than Mark could ever become, Mark would be left cameraless. No camera meant no job. No job meant no food. Couldn’t have that. Had to feed the rotundness.
Mark started to step forward, but noticed the black girl glaring at him. Hard.
The stare was one of those uncomfortable ones where he would meet the other person’s eyes, hoping they would look away, but they didn’t. Mark held the girl’s gaze for what felt like an entire minute, even raising his eyebrows as if to ask, “What the hell?” but she never looked away. Her nametag said her name was Justine. Mark preferred to call her rude.
She finally shrugged and shook her head before turning back to the tour guide. Mark pulled his shirt away from his belly and looked at it—no stains or anything funny. He checked his zipper—all hemmed up. So what had she been looking at? Just to be sure, he brushed a hand over his face, checking for boogers and anything wet that didn’t feel like it should be there. His hand came away clean.
Weird chick. She was another one he’d have to keep his eyes on. The assignment could turn out to be one of his more interesting stories. If nothing else happened, at least he had something to work with. A dishonest tour guide and a strange group member called all different kinds of headlines to Mark’s mind.
Not to mention, the Dastardly Bastard. That one still burrowed its way through Mark’s head like a tunneling worm. The information Willy had emailed Mark had been enough of a reason to take the job, other than the obvious need for a paycheck. The document attached to the email had opened with a poem, a short nine-line rhyme that wouldn’t be out of place in a Grimm Brothers fairytale.
The Dastardly Bastard of Waverly Chasm
Does gleefully scheme of malevolent things
Beware, child fair, of what you find there
His lies, how they hide in the shadows he wears
‘Cross wreckage of bridge is where this man lives
Counting his spoils, his eye how it digs
Tread if you dare, through his one-eyed stare
This Dastardly Bastard is not what he seems
This Dastardly Bastard is not who he seems
Sure, the ending was a bit stilted, but so were most of the whimsical rhymes Mark had ever heard. He assumed one of the final lines had been lost over time. That tended to happen more often than not with such things. Like the game of Telephone, the ending message was never what the originator had intended.
The next section of the email was the electronic brochure Pointvilla Parks and Recreation gave out on their website. The information inside told of tour times, souvenirs, and restroom locations—only two, with one back at the car park and the other a chemical toilet at Scooter’s Dive.
Finally, there had been a personal line from Willy.
Mark. Don’t fuck this up. P&R guys paid for coverage. So cover it.
—William Montgomery
When Mark had read that last bit, he almost put his fist through the top of his rented Prius. By “P&R guys,” Willy had meant the Parks and Rec group that oversaw the chasm as a whole. Mark only assumed they were the same contingency that made poor Jaleel Warner tell everyone that Fairchild Lookout was sponsored by Righteous Cola. Mark thought that soda tasted of carbonated feet and balls. If state and county were that desperate for money, Mark had better make this story shine all big and pretty like. Both for himself, and Jaleel.
Justine was staring at him again. Mark still didn’t acknowledge her, only spotted her from the corner of his vision. When Jaleel began talking about continuing, Justine finally broke contact. Mark was glad; she was starting to thoroughly creep him out.
The tour guide finished up and led the group to where the trail ended and Waverly Chasm began. Mark stayed at the back behind Marsha and Lyle.
Mark was taken aback by the pressure he felt in his head as he looked out over the expanse of the opening. He raised the viewfinder of the Nikon to his eye, widened the zoom, and glassed the chasm. The massive crevasse seemed to go on forever, disappearing with the curve of the earth. He snapped off a three-burst sequence, then checked the digital display to make sure he’d gotten the shot he wanted. Bringing the camera back up, he zoned in on the hundreds of trees that lined the sheer walls, their roots reaching out from the rock face, having broken through after what could have only been decades of struggle.
Click, snap.
Mark lowered his camera. His foot found a loose stone. He nudged it over. The rock clacked off an outcropping of rock, spinning away into the dismal void. He heard nothing else of his stone as the blackness swallowed it whole.