The Edge

They rushed out into the hall when they both heard a noise. Overhead.

“What is that?” asked Palmer in a hushed tone.

Devine looked up at the ceiling. And then it dawned on him.

“Oh my God!”

“What? What’s wrong?” cried out Palmer as Devine rushed to the stairs and ran pell-mell up them. “Where are you going?” she called out, running after him.

Devine burst through the door leading outside and then pulled up abruptly.

Palmer ran into him and bounced off Devine like she’d hit a wall.

Devine didn’t even notice the impact with the woman. His attention was in front of him.

“Hey, Alex.”

She was standing there in a white nightgown that swirled around her long, pale legs with the rush of the wind. She didn’t turn or acknowledge him. Palmer came to stand next to Devine.

“Oh, Lord,” she whispered in a fearful tone.

Her fright was understandable.

Unlike them, Alex was standing on the outside of the widow’s walk, right near the edge of the roof. It was at least a forty-foot drop to the ground.

“Hey, Alex, it’s me, Travis. Can we talk?”

She still didn’t look at him, but her head turned just a bit, as though she had heard him over the wind.

He took a few steps forward. “I’ve got some things to tell you. About your sister. I think you’ll be happy. I’m making progress. I really am. But I could use your help.”

Palmer gripped his sleeve as Alex took a step toward the edge.

Devine had been in Kandahar when a young woman had walked up to him, he thought, with a request for food and/or water. All the locals assumed American soldiers had plenty of food and water. And he had some extra provisions that he carried for that very reason.

He had reached into his pocket and when he looked back up she was holding a detonator in her shaky hand. All she had to do was push the button and they were both dead.

He could have done many things in that situation. Tried to shoot or knife or grab her before she blew the bomb pack, plead for his life, which was out of the question for him. Call for backup and hope that it arrived in time. Or do what he ended up doing.

He had held out several packages of food and two bottles of water and added a smile on top of it, as though his initial assumption was actually the correct one, and that she was not going to C4 them both to an early grave.

In her native language he said, “For you and your family. God be with you.”

And she had taken the water and the food, and Devine and the woman had lived to see another day.

In a calm voice he now said, “Alex, I know you don’t know this about me. But a woman I really cared for was found hanging in an office where I used to work.”

He saw her bare shoulders tense and knew he had her attention now.

Next to him he heard Palmer gasp.

“But we later found out that she didn’t kill herself. Someone killed her.” He glanced at Palmer. “Like someone did Earl Palmer.”

Annie Palmer’s mouth dropped open with that statement, and Alex turned a bit so she could see him and he could see her, especially her eyes.

“W-what?” Alex said. “Earl?”

“I know how incredibly frustrating it must be not to remember something, Alex. I have memories from the Middle East that I’ve tried for years to forget. And I just can’t. I may never be able to.” He tapped his head. “But to have something that you know is up there and you can’t find it?” He shook his head. “It’s not fair.”

She started to rock back and forth. “I... if I could have remembered, Jenny w-wouldn’t be d-dead... If I... m-my fault...”

He took a step toward her. “You were the victim, Alex, not the cause of anything. You were attacked and left for dead. And then your mind played tricks on you to try to get you through the mental trauma in one piece. But in doing so it might have made things worse.”

Fat tears formed under Alex’s closed eyes. As they slid down her cheeks she shook her head. “Jenny shouldn’t be dead. She was so... perfect.”

She turned and took another deliberate step toward the edge. There was nowhere else to go now. Except down.

Palmer moaned and clutched his arm in fright.

Devine said, “She loved you, Alex. She loved you so much that she refused to stop trying to find the truth, even after all these years. She risked her life to help you. You... you can’t answer that love, that devotion by... voluntarily taking your own life, when Jenny’s was stolen from her. I know you know that, in your heart.”

As Alex hovered near the edge she opened her eyes fully and looked down as the gusts of wind, stronger up here than at ground level, swirled and throbbed around her slim, fragile figure.

“You just can’t, Alex,” repeated Devine. “You know that. Jenny was a fighter. And so are you. I know you are. I believe in you. I believe in you.”

A long moment passed during which both Devine and Palmer were holding their breaths.

Then Alex slowly took a symbolic step away from the edge. A moment later she turned toward them. Devine hopped over the railing of the widow’s walk, rushed to her side, slipped one arm around her waist, and gripped her hand with his free one.