“No, Graham. No. I don’t want you to die.”
Only, if he didn’t get Graham back onto the ledge, there was a good chance he would die—and take Michael with him—because he was no quitter.
And he wasn’t letting go.
Slowly, he began trying to pull him up and over the cliff to get him to safety.
But Graham wouldn’t help him.
Instead, he did the opposite.
“Goodbye, D’Artangnan,” he whispered. “I love you. I never stopped loving you. I’m sorry that I broke us. I’ve paid forit for two thousand seven hundred and four days,” he whispered hoarsely.
Then, he closed his eyes and began fighting the grip he had on his wrist.
Fuck!
He was slipping.
“NO!”Michael screamed back. “No! Don’t do this to me!” he begged, as he couldn’t hold on any longer. Graham was fighting to die, and he was fighting to keep him alive as his fingers were going numb from his gunshot wound.
He was about to slip away and to whatever lie below the cliffs in that stagnant darkness.
“PLEASE!”he called out, knowing no one was there to help him.
Then, something else miraculous happened.
Michael could feel the weight getting lighter, as the air around him went cold again. He could feel presences of something beside him, on each side of his body.
Suddenly, he was able to pull him up and over the edge of the cliff with some…power. Beside him, he heard the same buzzing that sounded like conversation in a static.
The dead…
They were helping him.
They were helping him save this man.
“NO!”Graham raged, still trying to fight him with all he had.
Drunks were incredibly strong when they were plastered, and it was a battle for Michael, but the tide had turned, and it looked as if he might win this one, after all.
Yeah, Graham wasn’t going to die today.
It wasn’t happening on Michael’s watch, and clearly, not on the watch of the dead men who haunted Ravensmire. Theywere doing something from beyond the grave that he didn’t understand, but he appreciated.
Miracles did happen.
As he got him onto the ground and when he was no longer in danger, Graham kept fighting, and Michael had no choice.
He hit him in the neck on his pulse point, knocking him out.
Cold.
As the man’s body stopped fighting, he could finally catch his breath.
“Jesus,” he muttered, lying on his back to regroup from what he’d just lived through.
Not only was he rattled by what he’d heard, but he was also rattled by what he’d saw, and how he felt by the whole thing.
