Chapter Seventeen
Mira tried to apologize to Shayla at school on Wednesday, but her former friend refused to speak to her.
She turned her back whenever Mira approached, and left the room while she was still talking.
Mira swallowed back tears and stopped trying to make amends.
She was happier than she had ever been with Carter, but the loss of her friend meant she had no one to share her happiness with.
At least the Spanish class for first responders was going well. The students had moved on to more complex medical and legal terms. Wednesday evening, they were deep in a discussion of how to explain the use of a defibrillator when phones starting going off all over the classroom.
“We’ve got a callout,” Carter said. “A teen in distress.”
The mood of the room shifted as if someone had flipped a switch. The air practically crackled with adrenaline. Mira felt the anxiety herself. “Good luck,” she said, as people began to exit. “Be careful.”
Carter stopped to kiss her cheek. “I’ll call you later,” he said.
Within seconds, she was the only one left.
She began gathering papers and straightening chairs.
She thought of the first responders, heading out in the dark to search for someone’s child.
This must be a parent’s worst nightmare.
And she thought of the child, and said a prayer that they would be found safe.
It put her own problems in perspective, and reminded her that if she was ever in trouble again, there were people who would respond to help.
The scene above Dixon Pass was tense, spotlights illuminating the figure of the fifteen-year-old boy near the center span of the bridge over the canyon, the road closed to traffic, rescuers arrayed on either side of the bridge, fearful of approaching too close.
“He’s threatened to jump,” Deputy Declan Owen said.
“He says he wants to die. A photographer was trying to get a shot of the moon reflected in the water below the bridge and spotted the boy and called it in.”
“Do we know who he is?” Danny asked.
“We don’t,” Deputy Owen said. “He said his parents kicked him out of the house and he doesn’t have anywhere to go.”
Carter winced, thinking of his own close family. He couldn’t imagine anything he could have done that would have made his parents ask him to leave home. Not at fifteen.
“We’re trying to get a professional on scene,” the deputy continued. “Meanwhile, we need to be ready to move in quickly.”
“We can stage rescue climbers above and below the bridge,” Danny said. “And a water rescue crew in case he goes into the water.”
Carter looked over the side of the bridge to the water splashing over shallow rocks below. If the kid jumped into that, the odds were high the water rescue would turn into a body recovery.
“What’s the ETA on the professional?” Danny asked.
Owen shook his head. “We’ve made some calls but we haven’t found anyone yet. They’ll probably have to come from Junction, or farther.”
“We may not have that kind of time,” Danny said. “Let Carter talk to him.”
Carter took a step back. “What if I say the wrong thing? I’m no professional.”
“You have good instincts,” Danny said. He looked at Declan. “He does. I’m seen him in action. He talked a woman with dementia off a ledge.”
“She wasn’t threatening to kill herself,” Carter said.
“Don’t try to talk him out of taking his own life,” Declan said. “Just keep him talking until we get someone else to help.”
“I can try,” Carter said. His chest hurt, thinking about the possibility that he might mess up.
“Take this.” Danny handed him a radio. “That way we can communicate with each other.”
The walk to the middle was a long way in the darkness. He followed the white line on the edge of the roadway, his boots crunching on loose gravel. A brisk wind swept down the canyon, cutting through his SAR windbreaker. He wondered if the kid on the span below had a jacket.
He stopped at the edge of the spotlight, at what he judged to be the middle of the bridge.
Leaning over, he could see the curve of the supporting structure.
The boy stood with his back against the concrete, one hand up to shield his eyes from the glare of the spotlight.
Carter keyed the radio. “Cut the light,” he said. “You’re blinding him.”
A few seconds later, the light blinked, then went out. Carter leaned over to look again. The boy was only a thicker shadow in the darkness now. “My name’s Carter,” he said.
“Are you a shrink?” the boy said. “Sent to talk me out of jumping?”
“No. I’m a Jeep tour guide. I take tourists around in a Jeep and tell them about the mountains.”
“What are you doing out here?”
“I collect stories.”
“You what?”
“I collect stories. I want to know yours.”
“I don’t even know you. Why should I tell you anything?”
“Fair enough. Maybe I’ll tell you my story.”
“What’s your story?”
“I was a dorky kid. Now I’m a dorky grown-up who makes a living driving people around the mountains in a Jeep.”
Silence. Clearly, he was doing a bang-up job so far. He waited, searching for something else to say. How long could he stand here, doing nothing, before the boy got bored and went ahead and jumped?
“Do you like the job?” the kid asked.
“I do. I like people.”
“I don’t like people. Maybe because they don’t like me.”
“There are people I don’t like,” he said. “Everybody is different. That’s a good thing, though. I’d be bored if everybody were alike.”
“My parents don’t even like me. They kicked me out.”
“That’s rough. You seem like an okay guy to me. What’s your name?”
“Craig. My parents said I was messy and I broke curfew too many times. And the teachers are always after me when I don’t do my homework. Some of it’s so stupid.”
Carter remained silent while the boy reviewed a long list of hurts and slights.
He reminded himself he wasn’t here to judge, only to listen.
And he wasn’t so far from his own teen years that he couldn’t sympathize.
Sometimes at that age he had felt that the world was against him, too.
And he had a loving family and every advantage this boy didn’t have.
“The worst thing is, I don’t have any friends,” Craig said and fell silent.
“That’s hard, too,” Carter said. “People are so involved in themselves sometimes it’s hard to connect with others. We don’t really see the other people around us. It’s hard enough to even get a clear picture of ourselves. I’m not sure we ever do.”
“When I look at myself I see a loser.” Shuffling sounds on metal. Was Craig moving closer to the edge?
Carter leaned farther over the railing, trying to keep the boy in his sights. “You need a new mirror,” he said. “Have you done much climbing?”
“Not really.”
“Yet with no experience, you climbed down there?”
“It wasn’t hard.”
“Maybe not for you. We could use someone with your talent in search and rescue.”
“Don’t you have to be eighteen?”
“Yeah, but you can start training now. By the time you’re eighteen you’ll be a veteran.”
“It sounds hard.”
“You’ve already done hard things.”
“I don’t know. You have to help strangers. People who have done things to get themselves in trouble.”
“That’s every one of us. We all make the wrong choices sometimes. Doesn’t mean we aren’t still good people.”
“It’s easy for you to talk. You’re an adult with a job and friends and a good life.”
“Looks that way to you. To other people it looks like I’m a guy who didn’t go to college, who’s working for my parents and living with my brother. I don’t have it all together. Most people don’t.”
“You’re not making me feel good about everything I have to look forward to.” Was that amusement Carter heard behind those words?
“I’m not saying I’m a shining example or anything,” Carter said. “But there’s all kinds of ways to be a success. On the surface, my life doesn’t look like much, but mostly, I’m happy.”
“I can’t remember what it’s like to be happy.”
“There are people who can help with that. Medications. Therapy. Depression is a real thing. Nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Nobody wants to help me.”
“There’s a whole crowd of people here tonight who say different.”
“You’re here because it’s your job.”
“We’re here because we care. We care about you. I care. You’ve been dealt a really rough hand but you’re still here. Tackling some big obstacles. That takes guts.”
Silence. Carter held his breath. Had he said the wrong thing? He looked toward the end of the bridge, where Danny and Declan stood watching.
“If I wanted to get down from here, I’m gonna need some help,” Craig said.
Carter’s legs almost gave out. He put one hand on the concrete railing beside him, steadying himself, then switched on the radio. “We can help,” he said. “Look up and to your right.”
A light shone on the bridge, where the climbers were staged. “When you’re ready, they’ll come down and help you out,” Carter said.
“I’m not going to be arrested, am I?” Craig asked.
The radio crackled. “No arrest,” Declan said.
“You heard the man,” Carter said. “And we won’t just leave you on the street, either. We’re going to do what we can to make things better.” His mother would take the boy in, if no one else would.
“All right,” Craig said. “They can come down. It’s getting cold down here.”
Carter moved aside as Ryan and the rest of the team on the bridge went to work.
They reached Craig quickly and helped him into a safety harness and helmet, then guided him as he climbed up onto the bridge, offering plenty of praise and encouragement.
One of them gave the boy his jacket and someone else handed him a cup of hot chocolate from someone’s thermos.
Carter walked up and embraced the boy. Craig looked as if he was trying not to cry, and Carter’s own eyes burned.
A motherly-looking woman with short brown hair and kind eyes approached. “I’m Jess Babcock,” she said. “I’m going to take you to a place you can stay for a while. We’ll talk about what you want to do next.”
Danny and Declan joined the small group, and Carter asked Ms. Babcock, “What will happen to him now?”
“We’ll contact his parents and assess the situation there.
But if it’s true they kicked him out, we have a couple of foster parents who are willing to take him in.
We’ll also get him with some mental health professionals.
There’s a couple of outdoor programs he could be eligible for this summer, if he’s interested. ”
“We talked about climbing,” Carter said. “And search and rescue work. He seemed interested.”
She nodded and led the boy away.
“I’d like to stay in touch with him,” Carter told Danny when Jess and Craig were gone. “Or is that not a good idea?”
“I think it would be a good idea,” Danny said.
“I’ll give you Jess’s card,” Declan said. “You can talk to her about it.”
The three of them walked down the length of the bridge, where a small crowd had gathered. Mira broke off from a group of women she had been talking to and hurried to embrace Carter. “What are you doing here?” he asked, one arm around her.
“Craig is one of my students. A colleague sent a text alerting me and some of us decided to come down here to the bridge, in case we could help.” She rested her palm on his chest. “What did you say to him?”
“I mostly listened. He said his parents kicked him out and he didn’t have any friends. That’s a tough position to be in and I wanted to let him know there were people who cared, even if he didn’t know us.”
“You saved his life,” she said.
Was it too much to think that Craig had changed Carter’s life, too? “He really made me appreciate all the good things in my own life,” he said. He pulled her closer. “Like you.”
“Let’s go home,” she said.
Did she mean his place or hers? Or his parents’ house?
All those were home in one way or another—places where he was welcome and even loved.
He ought never to complain about his life again.
Though he knew he would. It was human nature to never be satisfied.
But he would be more careful before he dismissed what he had as not enough.
Dalton found Carter the next morning, as he was preparing for his first tour of the day. “I wanted to let you know what I found out about George Suarez,” he said.
“Oh?” Carter closed the lid of the cooler he had been loading with water bottles. “Do you know where he’s living now?”
“I wasn’t able to come up with that. But I found out a little more about his time in Santa Fe.
Apparently, he was living there the same time a kid named David Ketchum was kidnapped and killed.
After his conviction as a pedophile, local police questioned him about the murder, but he had an alibi.
He served eighteen months in state prison, then was paroled.
He was supposed to report to a parole officer, but after a few months he skipped town and apparently hasn’t been seen since. ”
Carter’s stomach knotted, remembering what Mira had told him about David Ketchum. “So he could be here in Eagle Mountain.”
“If he is, you’d think Mira would have spotted him,” Dalton said. “It’s harder to hide in a small town.”
Maybe more difficult, but not impossible. “Maybe he changed his appearance, or has been careful to avoid letting Mira see him.”
“Maybe. Anyway, sorry I wasn’t able to come up with something more definite,” Dalton said. “But I did come across something else that was kind of interesting.”
“What’s that?”
“I decided to see what I could dig up about Mitch Anders. Did you know he was born in Santa Fe?”
“The sheriff told Mira about that. That means he would know all about the David Ketchum case.”
“Did Mira know Mitch in Santa Fe?” Dalton asked.
“No. She didn’t meet him until she started work at the school.”
“He and his mom moved away when Mitch was two,” Dalton said. “But maybe Mitch went back there to visit relatives.”
“His dad—Ed. Did he live in Santa Fe?” Carter asked.
“I could check, see what I can find out.”
“Thanks.”
He went back to work on the Jeep, but his mind was still on their conversation.
What if Mitch was the one who had sent those letters to Mira?
The person who had attacked her on the trail?
Carter fought the instinct to find Mitch and confront him.
First of all, he might be wrong. Second, even if he was right, the man was built like a tank.
Carter had never been a fighter. He hadn’t had to be.
He’d been able to talk his way out of every tight situation.
Once, in a bar back in Vermont, a drunk man had been enraged when he caught Carter flirting with his girlfriend.
Carter had ended up talking the guy into buying him a drink and the two had ended up playing darts so long the girlfriend had given up and left.
It wouldn’t do to act rashly. But he had no words left for anyone who would hurt Mira.