Never Let Me Fall

by Abbie Roads

  Chapter 2

  The sky above Helena was a milky-blue mass, so expansive, so infinite, that she felt small and exposed underneath its dome. After a decade in prison, it was disconcerting not to have walls around her and a ceiling above her.

  This was freedom. A thing most people took for granted. As pathetic as it sounded, she was going to have to adjust to it.

  She walked through the cemetery looking for the grave, eyes skimming name after name until she found the one she was looking for.

  RORY RAY ELLIS

  BELOVED SON

  JANUARY 28, 1990–AUGUST 27, 2008

  The granite stone was small and simple. Not the giant monument she’d expected Mrs. Ellis to erect over her son’s burial place. Red and white plastic poinsettias ringed the grave, and on top of the stone was a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup—Rory’s favorite. Mrs. Ellis must’ve visited the grave recently. Funny how she and Mrs. Ellis both had the same idea. Rory also loved the iced sugar cookies from Franklin’s Bakery. Helena reached into her coat pocket, withdrew the bakery bag, and slid the iced cookie out onto the gravestone next to the Reese’s Cup.

  Franklin’s Bakery was where they’d gone on their first date. They’d sat at one of the little café tables chatting and eating those cookies until they were both high on sugar and each other.

  She’d loved Rory the way any naive girl could love a boy. Their relationship had been a sweet exploration for both of them. It hadn’t been complicated or difficult. It had been nice and easy and, for her, different. He had been her first in so many ways. Her first boyfriend. Her first lover. Her first heartbreak.

  “Oh, Rory.” She whispered the words, not quite ready to let the world have the full volume of her voice. “Everything was so normal one moment, then the next, you were dead, and everyone blamed me.” The situation had been horrible all around, but one thing had made it even worse for her—knowing that someone had killed Rory and gotten away with it. She wanted to promise him that she’d find his real killer. But she didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep.

  No tears came for Rory. Just as she’d had none for her grandparents when she’d visited their graves, minutes ago. The only thing she felt was regret that so many people’s lives had been shattered. Rory’s. His mother’s. Her grandparents’.

  She tore her gaze away from the gravestone and the pain it represented.

  A man stood no more than fifty feet from her. Tall and… Strong came to mind. It was more than the width of his shoulders; it was something about the set of them, as if he carried a heavy burden. His hair was so dark, it rivaled the majesty of the night sky. But it was his eyes that enthralled her.

  From that distance, she couldn’t see their color, but she could see kindness in them. Maybe it was the way they tilted down at the outer edges to lend a strange understanding to his expression. But then his lips moved, sliding upward, into a look of undiluted male satisfaction.

  Her heart warmed under his appraisal, and the weirdest sensation came over her. It took a moment for her mind to match a word to the feeling—pleasure. She basked in the glory of his attention. Everything inside her wanted to go to him. Meet him. Talk to him. But the thought of speaking, of sharing that piece of herself that she’d kept hidden away for so many years… The mere thought terrified her. Her voice had been the only part of the past ten years that she’d retained control over.

  All the warmth she got from being the center of his focus turned to ice. She wasn’t fit for public consumption. Fairson had fractured her as neatly as a broken bone. Now she needed time to heal. Oh, and that wasn’t even taking into consideration her status as a felon. As much as she wished it wasn’t true, people would judge her for the rest of her life on that murder conviction.

  She couldn’t bear to look at him any longer, couldn’t bear to see him looking at her. Without any hesitation, she turned and walked away. Her legs felt gangly and awkward, as if they didn’t want to obey her bidding, but she forced her feet to keep moving.

  Don’t look back. Don’t look at him. Don’t you dare.

  She clenched her fists so tight, they shook. A deep, throbbing ache formed in her palm where the Sister’s blade had sliced her. Exactly what she needed. She thrust her fingers wide open, stretching the injury, allowing the burning pain to vanquish all thoughts of the man.

  One step and then another, she walked through the wrought-iron cemetery gates and headed out of town toward her next destination. The cold didn’t bother her. She’d planned to be outside all day and had made sure to purchase thick, warm clothing.

  She followed the strip of road as it wound its way through the naked woods and low hills. Salt crunched beneath her insulated boots, the sound rhythmic and soothing. Occasionally a car passed, but for the most part, she was alone. Alone was nice. Alone meant she was safe. Safe from the Sisters for the first time in ten years.

  Some women spent years planning for their wedding. She’d spent the past decade planning for this day. The day she walked out of Fairson.

  She used to fantasize about Grandma making all her favorite foods. The joy of sleeping in her own bed. But Grandma and Grandpa had died in a car accident on their way to visit her three years ago. And then she’d had to sell the house…

  It’d taken a while, but she’d formulated a new idea. Visit the graves of everyone she’d lost, visit the Bear, then find a place to stay. She’d give herself one night—maybe two—to say a final goodbye to the life she used to lead and then move on. Move away from this place that represented so much pain.

  The Bear was up next on her list.

  It surprised her that she’d developed such a strong yearning for the totem while in prison. The old carving hadn’t figured into her pre-prison life all that much. But for some reason, she longed to see it again. Wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

  She reached a shallow valley between two hills and was able to look up to the top of the next hill and see the Bear alongside the road. Excitement coursed through her. She picked up the pace as she started up the hill.

  A woodpecker drilled against a tree alongside the road. A squirrel darted in the underbrush. Birds sang to one another across the woods on either side of the road. These were familiar sounds. Sounds from her childhood. The sounds of innocence. She would never get her innocence back, but at least she had her freedom. She opened her arms wide and tilted her face to the sky.

  Suddenly, her guts tingled and twitched like a nest of spider babies had hatched in her intestines. She recognized the sensation—knew it all too well. Someone was watching her. She whipped around, eyes scanning the road behind her. No one was there. No vehicle. She was alone. But that creepy, crawly feeling wouldn’t go away. And this was why she hadn’t gone to meet that guy in the cemetery. She was a paranoid mess. Her body might not be in Fairson, but Fairson was in her mind.

  Stop it. You’re out here. They’re in there. You’re safe now. She chanted the words to herself and locked her gaze on the Bear.

  When she was a child, the old carving had seemed gargantuan. As an adult, she’d expected to be underwhelmed by its size, but the opposite was true. It was larger than her memory.

  The Bear was positioned so it faced her as she walked up to it. He stood on hind legs, mouth open, lips ripped back over its teeth in a snarl of pure menace as if on the verge of a violent attack. Only she didn’t find the Bear’s appearance scary. She found it protective, almost like the threat was aimed at everyone else. Not her.

  She walked directly up to the totem and discovered she only came up to its lower chest.

  It was childish and a bit crazy, but she threw herself against the carving, hugging the beast as if he were a long-lost friend. The wood was cold and rough against her face, but comforting at the same time. She closed her eyes and held on tight, pretending the Bear enfolded her in his embrace, keeping her safe and warm against his large body. She imagined
she could smell the natural musk of a living being and the warmth and vitality of a heart beating underneath her cheek. Almost without realizing she was doing it, she pictured the man in the cemetery holding her this way.

  Her mind drifted back to childhood, to a time before pain and hurt dominated her world, a time when she’d visited this place with Grandpa and he’d told her the story of how the Bear came to be.

  A young medicine woman used to live in the region. She had the ability to soothe the spirit with a touch and heal the body with her herbs. Her tribe prospered greatly from her abilities, but there were others who believed no woman should carry such power. They sought to harm her. But the medicine woman was always surrounded by the strongest of warriors—all seeking her favor and her bed. All except for one. Her bravest warrior asked nothing of her, but silently devoted himself to her.

  The medicine woman fell in love with him and his simple loyalty. Theirs was a love for the ages. The kind that soothed and frightened, for its power was strong. She soon became with child.

  On the day of her daughter’s birth, the village was attacked. Her brave warrior saved her but lost his life trying to prevent their babe from being stolen. Devastated at the loss of her warrior and child, the medicine woman found solace in only one thought. Her brave warrior’s spirit lived inside their daughter. She resolved to find her babe.

  But no matter how far and wide her remaining warriors searched, they could not find her tiny daughter. Deep inside, she knew her babe still lived, but for how long? Every sunrise, she conjured a spell of protection for her child. A spell enchanted by her own blood and fueled by the tears of a grieving woman and mother.

  Days passed into months, and months passed into years until her daughter would have been a woman’s age. And still the medicine woman cast her spell every sunrise. A mother’s love never dies.

  Then one day, a man entered the village, carrying a woman in ill health. The man’s body bore the mark of a corrupt spirit, and the people were frightened of him, demanding his life for befouling their sacred space. However, the medicine woman was not afraid of the man. She feared nothing except the death of her daughter.

  “I am Bear. And this is Fearless.” The man spoke directly to the medicine woman. “She is afflicted and needs medicine.” Bear settled Fearless at the medicine woman’s feet and offered to sacrifice himself for Fearless’s healing. But when the medicine woman gazed upon the woman, she saw not a woman, but the babe she had birthed all those years before. Her child had been returned to her as a woman.

  Through the medicine woman’s blood and tears and magic, she had conjured a man who saved her daughter from those who’d enslaved her. Bear sought to protect Fearless above all things.

  He offered again to sacrifice his own life so that Fearless—her daughter—could be healed. But now only Bear himself had the power to heal his woman. And he did heal her with a simple touch. The love between him and Fearless ran deeper than the valleys, stronger than the mightiest tree, and wider than the sky.

  The medicine woman taught Fearless all she knew. Quickly, Fearless surpassed her skills and became the most powerful medicine woman ever to have lived.

  Before her death, the medicine woman tasked Bear with carving a totem of protection for her daughter. A symbol to all in the region that her daughter would be protected into eternity.

  When Fearless and Bear neared the end of their earthly lives, Bear carved the totem atop the highest hill.

  They went to the ancestors together, dying on the same night, at the same time. Their bodies were anointed in bear grease, and a great funeral pyre was erected in their honor. Black smoke filled the sky for days and days, and when the fire cooled, the people rubbed the ashes into Bear’s carving to seal Bear and Fearless together inside the totem forever.

  It didn’t matter that it was just a story Grandpa had told her. Helena believed in it. Believed in that kind of love and devotion. The kind of love that was so powerful that—

  “You okay?” A female voice spoke behind her, startling her out of Bear’s embrace. She whipped around. An old SUV idled in the road, the passenger window down. A woman who looked about the same age as Helena sat behind the wheel. She wore a thick pair of pink mittens and a pink knit cap with a giant fuzzy ball on the top. With all that pink, she was the epitome of innocence. Not someone who should be stopping to chat with a stranger alongside the road.

  Helena had once looked that way. Like she had a whole life in front of her and was excited for the journey.

  “Are you okay?” The woman’s face wrinkled with concern.

  Helena glanced at the old totem, then back at the woman, and cringed at how insane she must’ve looked.

  The woman laughed a sweet sound. “My uncle says that hugs are healing… They make everything better.” She lowered her voice and whispered, “He’s right, of course. But I tease him about being a big softie.” She paused as if waiting for Helena to say something, but when she didn’t, the woman started talking again. “My uncle is… Well, if I was going to be technical, he’s my great-uncle. Audie McCray. Pastor Audie. He looks exactly like Gandalf. Do you know him?”

  Helena’s head bobbed up and down on her shoulders.

  Pastor Audie. He’d been friends with her grandparents. Despite the fact that Grandma and Grandpa never attended church, they’d all been good friends. He never judged them. Never pushed religion on them. He lived by setting an example of love and acceptance. He’d even testified as a character witness on her behalf during the trial.

  “Of course you know him. Everyone around here does. What’s your name?”

  Helena met the woman’s gaze and tried to apologize with her eyes for not speaking.

  The woman cocked her head to the side as if trying to understand Helena’s silence. “You can’t talk?”

  Helena gave her a thumbs-up.

  A warm smile landed on the woman’s face. “I’m Charity.” She glanced around. “Did you walk here?”

  Helena nodded and tried to tack on a friendly smile, but somehow, it didn’t feel right on her face.

  “Girlfriend, it is too cold to be out on a nature stroll. Why don’t you hop on in, and I’ll take you home or wherever you want to go.”

  It took a while longer than it should for Charity’s words to register. And when they did, Helena was horrified. The woman was naive and stupid to be offering a ride to a stranger. Helena was a felon, convicted of murder. Someone Charity should be running from, not offering a ride. It was simple luck the woman had stopped to talk to Helena; what if she’d happened upon a rapist or a serial killer?

  If Helena used her voice, she would’ve admitted she was Helena Grayse—just to scare the woman, so she’d never again offer a ride to a stranger.

  Charity leaned over and opened the passenger door. “Hop on in.”

  Helena walked to the door, waited until Charity looked at her, then pressed down the lock and firmly shut the door.

  She turned and walked back the way she’d come.

  * * *

  Thomas walked through the granite garden, looking for an open grave. His mother’s grave. Cold air stung his face and seeped in around the collar of his coat. A chill sliced across his shoulder blades—part cold, part dread.

  Trees dotted the landscape, their naked branches spearing the clouds. The sky above and the land below shared the bland, gray color he’d come to associate with winter in Ohio. Grass crunched under his feet and looked as desiccated as the bodies planted beneath it. Nothing was more depressing than a cemetery in winter. Would it look more alive with color? Was the sky really blue, while all he saw was gray? Were the gravestones a motley of different types of granite instead of the same dull color? Was there beauty here while all he witnessed was drab and dreary?

  It was so frustrating not being able to see what everyone else saw. As if the world had a secret and wouldn’t share it wit
h him. He clenched his hands into fists.

  Clng. Clng. Clng. The sound of metal clanging against metal sounded as loud as a church bell in the quiet cemetery.

  Across the endless sea of gravestones, Thomas spotted a canopy erected to protect the mourners from the elements. The fabric flapped and snapped in the wind. A metal grommet hitting one of the legs made the endless clng, clng, clng noise. The sounds grew in volume, became unnaturally loud. He reached up to cover his ears. But before he could get his hands into place, his vision winked out. Gone. Blackness.

  He just stood there. Frozen. Not from fear, but from acceptance. He was blind, and he should be freaking out. But then, blinding himself had been something he’d contemplated in his darkest moments. He’d always thought blindness would grant him an odd sort of relief. No more gray existence, no more seeing the shadow of death. Ignorance really could be bliss, right? The only thing that had kept him from following through was not wanting to be dependent on anyone for anything.

  Light flashed in his dark vision like far-off lightning. His sight blinked back on. Everything was the same. But everything had changed.

  He still stood in Sundew Cemetery, but it was as if everything around him had faded into the background and a spotlight gleamed on a woman in front of him.

  She stood no more than fifty feet away, a beacon of light, a burning flame that he couldn’t look away from.

  Her body was bundled against the cold, her thick, black coat zipped up over her mouth with the hood pulled down over her forehead. The tiny bit of skin he saw was the palest of—his mind searched for the name of the right color—pale peach. Her skin was pale peach. Pale. Peach.

  Holy motherfucking son of a bitch.

  He saw color. Color. She brought vibrancy to his gray existence. And she carried no shadow of death. Not even a wispy hint. If love at first sight existed, he loved her for these gifts.

  At this distance, it should be impossible to see the color of her eyes, but they were gold and shining right at him, locking him in place with their brilliance, their luminescence, and some ethereal quality that made him think of purity and perfection.