Until the Day I Die(73)

I hold my breath. But I am shaking now.

“You could go left, into the trees, but Antonia’s sent every concierge she has in there. They will find you, Erin, and they will take you to her. And trust me, you do not want to deal with Antonia after what you’ve done.”

I squint into the darkness, but I can’t make out a thing. No figure of a man. Nothing. I pull out his phone and check the bars. Only one. I dial Shorie’s number, but it rings three times before the call drops.

“Why don’t you make it easy for yourself? Join forces with me? I’ve been thinking about something. A plan I want to share with you.”

I mop my wet face. I’ve been crying and didn’t even know it. Never, I think. Not in a million years. He’s lying. There is no plan. He’s probably already shot Jess, and as sure as the river flows to the sea, the minute I give him a chance, he’ll drop me where I stand.

“Erin,” he says in a wheedling voice.

Before I’ve even had the chance to think rationally about what I’m doing, I’m turning, bounding into the pool, through the shallows, to the black rock wall beside the curtain of tumbling water.

“What are you doing?” I hear him yell.

I touch the rocks and scan the height of the cliff. Approximately a four-story building, give or take. I don’t know what I’m doing.

“You planning on doing some rock climbing, Erin?”

My legs are already buckling from exhaustion and lack of sustenance, and the rocks are slippery. But, if I’m remembering correctly from our afternoon here, the face of the cliff should be sufficiently jagged for climbing. Not that I know the first thing about what makes for decent rock climbing. Not that I’ve ever rock climbed in my whole goddamn life.

Laughter rings out above the noise of the falls. “You’re fucking crazy, you know that?”

Tell me something I don’t know. I reach as high as I can, anchoring my fingers. The surface of the rock is more mossy than slimy. I can do this, I think. I reach up with the other hand, wedge my toe in between two rocks, and haul myself up.

“Don’t do this, Erin,” he yells. “I’m telling you, I figured out a plan.”

I reach up, find another toehold, and pull myself up again. Water sprays my eyes and nose and mouth, and I turn away from the falls and hold my breath. Another rock lip to anchor my weight on, another ledge just big enough to grab hold of and pull myself up.

“A way for both of us to get what we want!”

I search for my next move, but water droplets cloud my vision, and I have to squeeze my whole face shut and just go by feel. Hand, hand, toes, and up. Hand, hand, toes, and up. My progress is excruciatingly slow, and through the constant stream of water, all I can think is how there’s a technique to this, a better way than this pathetic scrambling I’m doing. But it’s too late. I couldn’t be bothered to climb that stupid, fake rock wall at the gym; I was too busy fast-walking on the treadmill.

I pause and press my body against the rocks. I want to look back at him to know for sure if he’s holding a gun on me, but I’m afraid if I do, I’ll catch sight of the ground and get dizzy. Or throw myself off. The dizziness of freedom.

I don’t want to fall. I can’t fall.

I have to get home to Shorie. I have to see my daughter again.

“Erin! You’re making this so much harder than it has to be.” His voice is fainter now, barely discernible over the pounding of the water beside me. But I can still hear him. Terror courses through me, making me feel like I’m not in my body. I tingle all over and cling tighter to the rocks. He hasn’t taken a shot yet. I wonder if he’s telling the truth about a plan.

There’s a beat, then Lach yells again. “Erin?” he says. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to have to do something unpleasant. Which involves shooting. But I’m not going to kill you, just slow you down, all right? So we’re going to count to three, together.”

A spasm of fear rockets through me, so hard and fast I feel my fingers slip the slightest bit. My eyes fly open. I’ve gone cold, and I can feel myself trembling.

“One!” he yells.

I blow air out and look up. Do it, Erin. Go. I grab the rock above me and to my right. Lift my leg and position my boot on a rock directly below it. I inhale and pull myself up.

“Two!”

I can’t help it; I look back.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no . . .

I shift into high gear, grappling wildly for another handhold. I move up faster, higher and higher.

“Three!”

A shot rings out, but I don’t stop, and if a bullet has hit me, I can’t feel it. I keep going. Hand, hand, toes, and up. Hand, hand, toes, and up.

Another boom cracks the air, and this time I hear a small explosion to my left. My heart and lungs and every other organ inside me feel like they’re going to burst through my skin. My head is ringing, throbbing with fear and exhaustion. But I have to keep going, keep focusing on the top.

I am on autopilot now. Hand, hand, toes, and up. The rush of the water is so loud now, I can’t hear anything but my own thumping heart. No more cracks, no more bullets. Just the sound of the waterfall and the ache of my fingers and arms and legs. I’m no longer trembling; I’m out and out shaking, my teeth chattering.

At last, I feel soft dirt under my fingertips. I grab a great clump of it and give a final push with my dead legs and haul myself up. Up and over the edge, and finally—dear God, finally—I feel the level ground beneath me. I collapse, face-first.