How I do still.
(But I woulda.)
(I was ready.)
(But the knife is gone.)
“Killing someone ain’t nothing like it is in stories,” I say into the top of her head. “Ain’t nothing at all.”
(But I woulda.)
She’s still shaking and we’re still right next to a raging, roaring waterfall and the sun’s higher in the sky and there’s less light in the church and we’re wet and bloody and bloody and wet.
And cold and shaking.
“Come on,” I say, making to stand. “First thing we need to do is get dry, okay?”
I get her to her feet. I go get the bag, still on the floor twixt two pews and go back to her and hold out my hand.
“The sun is up,” I say. “It’ll be warm outside.”
She looks at my hand for a minute before taking it.
But she takes it.
We make our way round the pulpit, unable to keep from looking where Aaron was, his blood already washed away by the spray.
(I woulda done it.)
(But the knife.)
I can feel my hand shaking in hers and I don’t know which one of us it is.
We get to the steps and it’s halfway up that she first speaks.
“I feel sick,” she says.
“I know,” I say.
And we stop and she leans closer to the waterfall and is sick.
A lot.
I guess this it what happens when you kill someone in real life.
She leans forward, her hair wet and tangled down. She spits.
But she don’t look up.
“I couldn’t let you,” she says. “He would have won.”
“I woulda done it,” I say.
“I know,” she says, into her hair, into the falls. “That’s why I did it.”
I let out a breath. “You shoulda let me.”
“No.” She looks up from being crouched over. “I couldn’t let you.” She wipes her mouth and coughs again. “But it’s not just that.”
“What then?” I say.
She looks into my eyes. Her own are wide and they’re bloodshot from the barfing.
And they’re older than they used to be.
“I wanted to, Todd,” she says, her forehead creasing. “I wanted to do it. I wanted to kill him.” She puts her hands to her face. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”
“Stop it,” I say, taking her arms and pulling her hands away. “Stop it. He was evil. He was crazy evil–”
“I know!” she shouts. “But I keep seeing him. I keep seeing the knife going into his–”
“Yeah, okay, you wanted to,” I stop her before she gets worse. “So what? So did I. But he made you want to. He made it so it was him or us. That’s why he was evil. Not what you did or what I did, what he did, okay?”
She looks up at me. “He did just what he promised,” she says, her voice a little quieter. “He made me fall.”
She moans again and clamps her hands over her mouth, her eyes welling up.
“No,” I say strongly. “No, see, here’s the thing, here’s what I think, okay?”
I look up to the water and the tunnel and I don’t know what I think but she’s there and I can see it and I don’t know what she’s thinking but I know what she’s thinking and I can see her and she’s teetering on the edge and she’s looking at me and she’s asking me to save her.
Save her like she saved me.
“Here’s what I think,” I say and my voice is stronger and thoughts are coming, thoughts that trickle into my Noise like whispers of the truth. “I think maybe everybody falls,” I say. “I think maybe we all do. And I don’t think that’s the asking.”
I pull on her arms gently to make sure she’s listening.
“I think the asking is whether we get back up again.”
And the water’s rushing by and we’re shaking from the cold and everything else and she stares at me and I wait and I hope.
And I see her step back from the edge.
I see her come back to me.
“Todd,” she says and it ain’t an asking.
It’s just my name.
It’s who I am.
“Come on,” I say. “Haven’s waiting.”
I take her hand again and we make our way up the rest of the steps and back to the flatter part of the ledge, following the curves out from the centre, steadying ourselves again on the slippery stones. The jump back to the embankment is harder this time cuz we’re so wet and weak but I take a running go at it and then catch Viola as she comes tumbling after me.
And we’re in sunlight.
We breathe it in for a good long while, getting the wettest of the wet off of us before we gather up and climb the little embankment, pushing ourselves thru the scrub to the trail and back to the road.
We look down the hill, down the zigzag trail.
It’s still there. Haven’s still there.
“Last bit,” I say.
Viola rubs her arms to dry herself a little more. She squints at me, looking close. “You get hit in the face a lot, you know that?”
I bring my fingers up. My eye is starting to swell some and I notice a gap on the side of my mouth where I lost a few teeth.
“Thanks,” I say. “It wasn’t hurting till you said that.”
“Sorry.” She smiles a little and puts her hand up to the back of her own head and winces.
“How’s yers?” I ask.
“Sore,” she says, “but I’ll live.”
“Yer indestructible, you,” I say.
She smiles again.
And then there’s a weird zipSNICK sound in the air and Viola lets out a little gasp, a little oh sound.
We look each other in the eyes for a second, in the sunshine, both of us surprised but not sure why.
And then I follow her glance down her front.
There’s blood on her shirt.
Her own blood.
New blood.
Pouring out a little hole just to the right of her belly button.
She touches the blood and holds up her fingers.
“Todd?” she says.
And then she falls forward.
I catch her, stumbling back a bit from the weight.
And I look up behind her.
Up to the clifftop, right where the road begins.
Mr Prentiss Jr.
On horseback.
Hand outstretched.
Holding a pistol.
“Todd?” Viola says against my chest. “I think someone shot me, Todd.”
There are no words.
No words in my head or my Noise.
Mr Prentiss Jr kicks his horse and edges him down the road towards us.
Pistol still pointed.
There’s nowhere to run.
And I don’t got my knife.
The world unfolds as clear and as slow as the worst pain, Viola starting to pant heavy against me, Mr Prentiss Jr riding down the road, and my Noise rising with the knowledge that we’re finished, that there’s no way out this time, that if the world wants you, it’s gonna keep on coming till it gets you.
And who am I that can fix it? Who am I that can change this if the world wants it so badly? Who am I to stop the end of the world if it keeps on coming?
“I think she wants you bad, Todd,” Mr Prentiss Jr sneers.
I clench my teeth.
My Noise rises red and purple.
I’m Todd bloody Hewitt.
That’s who I effing well am.
I look him right in the eye, sending my Noise straight for him, and I spit out in a rasp, “I’ll thank you to call me Mr Hewitt.”
Mr Prentiss Jr flinches, actually flinches a little and pulls his reins involuntarily, making his horse rear up for a second.
“Come on, now,” he says, his voice slightly less sure.
And he knows we both can hear it.
“Hands up,” he says. “I’m taking you to my father.”
And I do the most amazing thing.
The most amazing thing I ever did.
I ignore him.
I kneel Viola down to the dirt road.