CHAPTER 9
Even after he’d returned to his motel room, Dustin could not get the echo of Greg's voice out of his head.
He wasnotsad about living, damn it.
He tossed his jacket on the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress creaked. Somewhere in the wall, a pipe groaned.
He should shower. He should sleep. He should do literally anything except what he was about to do.
He pulled out his phone and opened the camera roll.
The footage from today's jump was right there, waiting. He'd set up the drone before climbing and programmed it to track his descent automatically. It was exactly what he did for every jump that wasn’t filmed by someone else. It was content for the fans, evidence for the sponsors.
Evidence of something else, now.
His thumb hovered over the play button.
He should just watch it already. He’d watched himself fall hundreds of times.
He pressed play.
The video opened on the cliff face, the drone pulling back to capture the full height of the drop. There he was, a small figure at the top, preparing to jump. The quality was good. The framing was good. Everything looked exactly like it was supposed to.
He watched himself step off the edge.
The freefall was clean. Arms out, body positioned, his form perfect. He'd done this enough times that his body knew what to do even when his brain checked out.
Hell, he’d done it blind once. Literally.
His sponsors had not been happy about that, but he’d done it.
And then he’d spent weeks convincing the internet that he was not, in fact, suicidal.
It had been ridiculous, really.
He made himself focus back on the video. On screen, the canopy bloomed open and caught air.
Then the lines snapped like they were made of paper.
He dropped.
The drone followed, tracking his descent. Eight hundred feet. Seven hundred. Six. The ground rushed up and up and?—
Impact.
Dustin paused the video.
He stared at the frozen frame. His body should have been crumpled and still. Except it wasn't crumpled. And it wasn't still for long.
He pressed play and watched himself sit up, pat his chest, and move his arms.
He looked fine.
Hewasfine.
The video didn't make sense. Nothing about it made sense. You didn't fall eight hundred feet and walk away.You didn't hit the ground at terminal velocity and check yourself for bruises. Physics didn't work that way. Reality didn't work that way.
Dustin played it again.
