“Hey,” Ellis says, and she has both hands on me now, grasping my shoulders to look me in the eye. “Hey. Listen to me. The death wasn’t premeditated. You didn’t have malevolent intent. You loved her.”
That isn’t what Alex said. Alex insisted—she’dinsisted—that I couldn’t possibly love her, that I didn’t want her, I just wanted to own her. It had been so…unfair, so brutally and callously unfair, as if the past year of our relationship had meant nothing to her.
I grimace. “I know. I know I didn’t murder her—notreally.But…we’d been fighting. I was still so…soangry at her. And maybe if I hadn’t been distracted, maybe if I’d…if I’d paid better attention…”
Maybe I could have saved her.
I can’t know for sure. How can I prove, even to myself—?
I know I’m not a murderer, but the difference betweenmurdererandkillerseems insubstantial sometimes. I was responsible for her death.
Our argument feels ridiculous now. We’d been fighting about the same thing we always fought about: Alex had called me spoiled, said I didn’t appreciate how lucky I was to have grown up the way I did. It was the kind of comment that never hit well with me. Especially not when we were staying in Colorado, with my mother, with my mother’s empty wine bottles and empty words.
If Alex and I hadn’t fought…maybe I would have made a different choice.
Or maybe I would have gone down with her.
“You couldn’t have saved her,” Ellis says. “It was an accident.”
She must be able to tell I’m unconvinced, because she sighs. She takes the hat off my head and puts it aside, as if she needs to see me properly.
“It was a long time ago,” she says. “It’s done now.”
It doesn’t feel done to me.
Whether Ellis is using me for her story doesn’t seem to matter anymore. All I can think about is the spaces between the words I just said, all the confessions I didn’t speak aloud.
How could I explain the way Alex’s accident was the period at the end of a very long sentence—the conclusion of a long-owed debt?
I’m afraid if I close my eyes I’ll find myself back there, one year ago, with the candles and the incense and witches whispering in my ear. With that ritual Alex and I tried to enact, the one that Alex ruined, the ritual that cursed us.
“We were climbing Longs Peak,” I say. “We’d gone home to stay with my mother. For…Christmas, you know. We’d begged and begged her to let us go off and do one peak alone. Alex was…very persuasive. It was December, so we’d expected storms, but…”
When I close my eyes, I still see white. Everything there was white, the snow blinding.
Only the storm had come later.
“They never recovered the body, so they couldn’t do an autopsy to be sure, but we’d both been trained to recognize pulmonary edema. When you’re up at that altitude, sometimes it…Your lungs can start to fill with fluid. That’s what happened to Alex. She was in a lot of pain and starting to find it hard to breathe, so we…The most important thing at that point is to get down to a safer altitude as quickly as possible….”
Stupid, so stupid. We should have turned around as soon as Alex had started showing symptoms. But we were reckless, and as far as we had been concerned, we were immortal.
Ellis was perfectly, thankfully silent.
“You have to summit Longs Peak before noon, or you risk getting caught in a storm—that’s how people die up there. And we’d kept climbing too late. By the time we started to descend…that’s when the storm began. There was so much snow everywhere it was impossible to see anything, and we…Imade a wrong decision. We descended off a cliff. Or I mean…Alex. She was caught in midair. I was still on the mountain. I couldn’t…I wasn’t strong enough to pull her up. She was too heavy—she had my oxygen.”
I bite down on my inner cheek. The sharp flare of pain is enough to keep me going.
“The storm was bad. The snow…it was shifting. We were both…We weighed too much, with both of us. The snow was going to break. And we’d both fall.” I nod, just once. “So I cut the rope.”
Ellis touches my elbow. I startle. I hadn’t realized she’d approached, and now she was right there, close enough I could have counted her eyelashes. The pince-nez have vanished again.
“She was screaming,” I whisper. “The whole time. She was screaming for me to pull her back up.”
The confession drops into the space between us like a lit fuse. And there it is: the nasty truth.
“Alex begged me not to, and I cut the rope anyway.”
Ellis takes in a shallow audible breath. Her hand is still on my arm, at least—she hasn’t recoiled in disgust.
