Envy(156)

“I… I…”

“How’d you arrange that fall, Noah?”

“I provoked him. About this old friend of his. He got angry, came at me. I deflected—”

“You pushed him.”

“All right.”

“Say it!”

Desperate now, Noah relented. “I pushed him. I didn’t have to, but I did. Just to make sure.”

Parker coughed on smoke. It was stinging his eyes. “You are an abomination, Noah. A miserable human being. A murderer.” He shook his head regretfully. “But you’re not worth killing.”

Parker wheeled his chair backward. Panicked, Noah shouted his name from the bottom of the well. He was out of sight only for the amount of time it took him to retrieve the rope he had stashed earlier in preparation for this moment. He dangled it above the well where Noah could see it. “Are you sure you want me to save you? You’ll go to prison, you know.”

“Throw it down.” He was reaching up in an imploring gesture.

“I know exactly how you feel,” Parker told him. “I knew my legs were shot to hell. I’d have done anything to stop the pain. Anything except die. I thought I wanted to. But when those fishermen reached for me, I grabbed hold for all I was worth.”

He threaded the rope down to Noah, who grasped it frantically. “Make a few loops around your chest and tie it tightly,” Parker instructed.

“Okay,” Noah called when he was done. “Pull me up.”

Parker backed away, pulling the rope taut. “Ready? If you can get some footholds, walk the wall.”

“I can’t. My ankle.”

“Okay, but easy does it. Don’t—”

He was about to say “yank.” But it was too late.





Chapter 36


In his panic to be rescued, Noah had pulled sharply on the rope. Parker wasn’t braced for it. He was jerked forward out of the wheelchair, landing on the packed dirt floor. “Goddammit!”

“What? What’s happening? Parker?”

For several seconds, Parker lay there with his forehead resting on the floor. He took several deep breaths. Then, using his forearms to pull him along, he inched his way over to the rim of the well and peered down into it.

“You pulled me out of my chair.”

“Well, get back in it.”

“I’m open to suggestions on how I should go about it.”

“Well, do something.”

Noah’s voice was now ragged with desperation. Even at the bottom of the well, he must have been able to hear the crackle of old wood burning. The smoke grew thicker by the second.

“Parker, you’ve got to get me out of here!”

“Can’t help you, buddy. I’m a cripple, remember?” He shook his head ruefully. “I’ll admit this isn’t the way I had the ending plotted. I never intended for you to die. I wanted to give you a taste of what it’s like to face your mortality. To experience that all-encompassing terror. I wanted to scare you into confessing your sins. I wanted you to grovel and beg me for your life. And you did. It was supposed to end there.”

He laughed. “I realize that you’re panicked, Noah, and that your mind is preoccupied with surviving. But I hope you’re thinking clearly enough to grasp the irony of this situation.

“Think about it. I’m your only hope of salvation. But I’m powerless to save you because of the injuries you inflicted on me. That’s rich, isn’t it? It’s a shame that neither of us will have the opportunity to use it in a book. It’s the kind of built-in irony that Professor Mike Strother loved.”

At the mention of their mentor’s name, the distance between them seemed to shrink. Their eyes made a connection that was almost audible. Parker spoke softly. “You have one more sin to confess, don’t you, Noah?”

“I had to be first, Parker. I had to be.”

“Professor Strother hadn’t heard from either of us for more than a year. All his correspondence had been returned unopened, addressees unknown, no forwarding addresses. He was puzzled and slightly offended by our sudden and inexplicable disappearance.

“He didn’t realize you’d sold The Vanquished until he saw it in his local bookstore. He recognized the title and your name immediately, of course. He purchased a copy. He was curious to read how you had finalized your manuscript. He wanted to see if you had incorporated any of his suggestions. Naturally, he was proud that one of his students had written the novel that was all the rage, the topic of conversation at cocktail parties and beauty shops and office commissaries, the book that was on every bestseller list.”

“Parker—”

“Now imagine Professor Strother’s surprise when he settled into his reading chair, adjusted his lamp, opened his copy of The Vanquished by Noah Reed. And read the first page of my book. My book, Noah!”

“It was that letter,” Noah shouted back at him. “Strother always favoring you. Always thinking you were the one with the most talent. He thought your manuscript was so f*cking fine. I thought I’d test it, get a second opinion. One day while you were out, I went into your computer and printed out a copy. I put my title on it and submitted it under my name.”

“And when it sold, you had to get rid of me. Immediately. That day.”