I watch as he peels down the gravel driveway, kicking up rocks, dirt, and water as he leaves. Where the hell is he going? To get more alcohol? I guess it doesn’t matter. Either way, Rhett isn’t in any condition to drive. He’ll get himself, or someone else, killed like this.
Dread pools in my gut as I turn and hurry back up the stairs and into the kitchen. I shove my shoes on quickly, snatch up a pair of keys hanging next to the door, then sprint back out of the house with only one thought on my mind: Bring Rhett back here safely.
Chapter 28
Rhett
It takes an impossibly long time to finally get to the quarry but I make it.
I feel no relief however when my truck rolls out of the trees and into the flat open space. The trail I created from the many visits I’ve taken to this very spot was muddy and hole-ridden. The whole trek felt more like an off-road expedition than a pleasant drive to my lookout spot. Now my stomach is rolling.
I jerk the keys from the ignition. It takes a second to shove them into my jacket pocket since I can barely feel my fingers. I hadn’t bothered putting the heat on and I’m soaked from the short trek from the cabin to the truck.
What’s a little rain and cold in the grand scheme of things?
When my keys are pocketed, I grab the bottle of whiskey I’ve been nursing tonight and with a grunt shove the truck door open and topple out into the rain. I don’t bother shutting the door behind me or leaning back into the cab to turn off the headlights. It doesn’t matter.
None of this fucking matters.
Where I’ve parked is on the opposite side of the quarry where I typically bring our victims’ cars to roll off the cliff edge. That side isn’t nearly as high as this one. But from here you can see the rolling landscape and, on a clear night, the lights from downtown Caddawalk. It’s a great place to come and think. No one ever comes here. Even the town's teenagers avoid this place—it’s too far of a trek to come to drink and the water below is murky thanks to the poor design plan to put a quarry on top of an abandoned coal mine. They call this place Black Water Quarry solely because of its lack of transparency. It’s a great place to sink criminal evidence.
And a perfect spot for my misery to end.
I trudge toward the edge of the cliff, knowing its general location but only able to see just as far as the headlights can cut through the rain—which is only a few yards. Beneath my feet, the muddy ground is slippery and as it rises in a steady incline, I struggle to stay upright. As it is, I stumble, slip, and curse with each step I take.
The wind howls and the cold rain instantly numbs my face. I wish it would numb me to everything else. I don’t want tofeelanymore. But Santi’s words have opened a door that can’t be closed and a flood of emotions that I’ve been hiding behind that door have been released.
I take a deep swig of the open bottle of whiskey, letting it burn down my throat. My stomach heaves in protest but I refuse to relent until it’s halfway gone.
The fact that Santi came to apologize days ago only made everything so much worse. Because he didn’t need to. Not a single damn word that had come out of his mouth the day of that fight had been wrong. I’ve been living some fucked up, half-life because I feel guilty for the things that happened in the past. Not only that, but I’ve also been forcing him to live within this weird limbo too.
It’s one thing to feel like I’m failing myself. But it’s another to fail the others around me. Haven’t I already learned that painful lesson? How is it that Ikeepdoing it? What I’ve been doing to Santi isn’t the same as what I did to Abby, and then my parents, but still I’ve hurt them all.
I just keepfailing.
Over and over again I’ve been asking myself; what’s the point of any of this? Why am I forcing myself to endure hell day in and day out? I’m trapped in a prison with walls made of a guilt I’ll never be absolved of. There’s no point in waking up if, by the end of the day, I don’t feel productive or any better. I’m suffering in life when my soul could be suffering elsewhere. Maybe, if I leave this world, and I suffer enough on the other side, then one day I could be free from it all.
It’s those thoughts that take me to the very lip of the quarry’s cliff.
My feet pause as my toes make it off the edge. Again, I bring the bottle to my lips. This time, however, I don’t take a deep drink. It’s just enough to cover my lips and tongue. When I’m done, I toss the bottle over the edge.
I lose sight of the bottle before it makes it a few feet away from my face thanks to the heavy rain and darkness.
With a heavy sigh, I lift my head upward and close my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Abby,” I mutter.
It’s not the first time I’ve apologized to her. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve uttered those words since her death. But it’s the first time I’m hearing how hollow they sound.
My stomach twists as anxiety climbs up my spine. I might not find forgiveness in this life, but maybe if I get another chance, I’ll find it in a different life. Or if there is nothing after this, maybe the blessed nothingness will be enough to quiet the endless anguish tormenting me every waking hour, and every restless night.
As I lean forward to try to peer down into the water, I think of Santi. Without me, he’ll be able to breathe fully, be happier, and maybe focus solely on Blair without worrying about me. He has her now, to look after him. She seems like she’ll be good for him—trouble on her heels or not.
I just wish I could spare him the sadness that will come when he realizes I’m gone.
“I’m sorry, Santi,” I add.
My thoughts turn to Ledger and Wes. They’ve always been there to offer their support but they’ve been wasting their time.I’vebeen wasting their time. They don’t deserve such a deadbeat around.
