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 to feel anymore. 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 I keep doing 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 keep failing.
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’ve been wasting their time. They don’t deserve such a deadbeat around.
“Sorry, guys.”
With a deep breath—that only increases my nausea and does nothing to settle the sudden rapid beating of my heart—I allow resolve to gather in my alcohol-soaked veins. I’m doing this for everyone. I won’t be a burden to anyone else and hopefully I’ll find some goddamn peace.
My shoulders stiffen and my hands fist at my side.
With one final, deep breath, I take a step forward.
I’m certain this is the right thing to do.
Yet, as my foot finds no purchase, clarity shoots through the drunken despair.
My arms shoot upward and start creating rapid little circles on either side of me—instinctually trying to give me balance.
As I gasp in alarm, my head and heart bellow their objection to this decision.
What have I done?
“Rhett! No!”
I’m pitching forward, one foot over the edge and the other quickly losing balance as gravity yanks me down, when I hear Blair’s voice.
It cuts through the panic that's quickly shifted into terror at the prospect of falling into the pitch black abyss below, and confusion blankets me.
Is my subconscious coming in as Blair or—
The back of my jacket is fisted and I find myself being yanked back onto the ledge.
The momentum of the tug is so intense that I fall backward, knocking into the body behind me.
Together we topple onto the ground only to slide back, away from the edge of the quarry thanks to all the mud.
There’s sputtering, gasping, and the occasional swear as limbs untangle from one another.
When I’m finally free, I lay there on my back staring up into the dark, rainy sky.
It looks just like the black water I was about to plummet into.
That I. Was. About. To. Plummet. Into. The words are punctuated dramatically in my head, each one more saturated with horror than the last.
Holy fuck. I was about to kill myself.
That realization dawns on me the same time Blair’s face appears above mine as she climbs on top of me. My truck’s headlights shine just enough light through the rain that I can see her furious expression. I grunt as she slams both hands onto my chest.
“Rhett, what the hell were you thinking?!” she yells over the rain. She grabs the collar of my jacket and, to my surprise, lifts my back off the ground before shaking me violently. “What is wrong with you!?”
The nausea I was feeling earlier returns tenfold. It’s not just the alcohol making me sick—it’s what I was about to do. Before I can push Blair off so that I can turn and vomit, she lets go of me.
Suddenly, the barrel of a gun is pressed against the center of my forehead. My insides turn cold and the need to vomit is paused as my heart screeches to a stop.
“So you want to die?” she hisses just loud enough for me to hear.
Her eyes are pitch black in this lighting, her body rigid, and a cruel smirk pulls up one side of her mouth.
She looks terrifying like this. Demonic almost. Especially as her wet hair falls on either side of her face, casting shadows where none should be.
She leans closer to laugh softly in my face.
“Fine, Rhett,” she laughs out, pressing the gun harder to my head. “Let me help you.”
I open my mouth to scream at her to stop, that I’ve changed my mind, but I can’t get my tongue to unstick itself from the roof of my mouth in time.
The sound of the gun going off sends a wretched wave of shock and regret, horror and defeat through me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, expecting pain or the sudden pull on my soul as I’m tugged out of existence into whatever comes next.
The only pain that erupts is deep within my right ear where the sound of the gun was the loudest. As mud splatters all over my face, a ringing in that ear starts up. Before I can open my eyes, the barrel of Blair’s gun is pressed against my soaked white shirt, right above my heart.
“One to the head,” Blair whispers. “Two to the chest.”
I shout in terror as the gun goes off again, twice this time. More mud goes flying. She hasn’t shot me, having moved the barrel to right beside our bodies but the force of each bullet slamming into the ground right beside me is felt.
“Blair, stop! Enough!” I cry out, blindly trying to shove her off of me.
She slaps my hands away before her palm cracks against the side of my face, stunning me. My head flings back, landing in soppy wet grass. I stare up into the dark clouds and rain, wondering how the hell this night had turned on me so quickly.
“One more shot. Might as well take these from you since you’re not using them,” she sneers.
Weakly, I lift my head up to see what she’s talking about. She holds my gaze as she swings the gun around to point it directly between my legs. Understanding dawns on me too slowly.
“NO!”
Blair smirks then pulls the trigger.
The gun goes off and… I piss myself. She hadn’t even looked before shooting at my jewels. I’m not sure if I’m more scared or humiliated, but I know I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt either one as vividly as I do now.
“Y-you’re a psychopath!” I stammer out as I regain the ability to speak.
I try to buck her off again but she doesn’t budge.
Not even an inch. When that doesn’t work, I reach up to push her but Blair simply slaps my hands away then slaps me across the face once more.
The back of my head hits the muddy ground again.
I lay there, breathing hard with a painful ringing in my ear and my heart racing.
Reality is crashing down on me and I’m drowning under the intensity of how fucking fucked my head has been these past few days.
I nearly died.
My stomach rolls and this time, there’s no stopping the retching that follows. Blair must see what’s about to happen because she throws herself off of me.
I roll weakly onto my side just in time to spill the contents of my stomach onto the ground.
Over and over I heave until every drop of alcohol has left my system.
When I’m finished, a weak groan slips past my lips.
I get my hands beneath me but as I push up my palms slip in the wet grass and mud and I end up face planting.
Right into my vomit.
The frustration that flares to life is snuffed out pretty quickly. I just don’t have the energy to feel it. With another huff, I try pushing myself up again. This time, I manage to get up onto my hands and knees.
What little relief I feel is immediately vanquished as a boot lands between my shoulder blades and pushes me back to my stomach, and face first into my vomit. Before I can lift my head, my hands are yanked behind my back and tied together.
I lift my head in alarm to see what’s going on but by the time I’ve managed to get my bearing, my ankles are bound too and they’re attached to my wrists. I’m efficiently hogtied.
“Blair!” I rasp out, alarmed.
“Shut up,” she snaps back, then grunts as she tugs on whatever ropes she has binding me. The motion pulls me further away from the cliff’s edge.
I struggle a bit but after a few feet of useless tugging on my restraints, I simply give up.
The drive to kill myself has fizzled out.
The adrenaline rush that had given me a jolt of energy thanks to the near-death experience, then Blair scaring the shit out of me, has waned.
Now I feel phlegmatic. Time feels sluggish and my thoughts even more so.
Even when Blair manages to drag me into the flat bed of a truck, I don’t fight or care. I simply close my eyes and let the rain wash over me.
The caring starts, however, when she leaves me there and climbs into the cab.
“W-wait!” I croak out. “What are you doing?!”
She can’t hear me, so I’m not sure why I bother wasting the energy but I try again when the truck begins to back up, down the muddy trail here and I’m trapped in the back, sliding around on my stomach and dealing with cold pelting rain.
“B-B-Blair!” I call out when we finally hit cement.
She doesn’t stop. She drives me the entire rest of the way home in the truck bed, like I'm some game she’d bagged and tagged during a hunt.
My face slams against the side of the truck bed as she takes turns too sharply to be done on accident.
As I shiver and shake and brace myself for each impact, I can’t help but think about one thing.
This psycho bitch just saved my life.
Thank god.