by Michael Bray
"I can’t do it," she said, clinging to the ladder. "I tried but I just can’t."
"Do you want to die up there? How long do you think you can last before your arms and legs tire, before the wind pries you from the side and you take a long fall to your death? Believe me, Mrs Sandoval, you are high enough that you will have time to think about the impact as the earth rushes towards you. It won’t be sudden. It won’t be painless. You will know it’s coming. How many fingers will it cost until you push aside that fear and climb?"
"Alright, I'm doing it, I'm doing it," she said. She tentatively reached up for the next rung and somehow was able to continue.
At a hundred and seventy feet, the rain came. Not just when the wind blew now, but a steady persistent rainfall. Droplets of water like tears hung from the underside of each rung as she climbed and were displaced in rows with each shake or rock of the ladder, sending an army of droplets racing towards the ground. She could see the top of the tower now, its upper edge thick with black soot. She wasn't sure how much time she had left but was aware it couldn't be much. As if on cue, Reeves spoke to her.
"Looks like you might just make it. Two minutes left to travel the last fifteen feet. One word of warning, though, the upper rungs of the ladder don't have supports to the chimney, so they are held only by what is below it. Be careful."
She looked to see if he was lying but knew that wasn't his style. She could see the last few feet of the ladder hanging almost in free air, the supports broken away. The wind blew and she saw it sway. The crippling fear she had been managing to control returned. There was no possible way it could hold her weight. If she overbalanced in any way or leaned back, the entire section of the ladder would bend backward and snap.
"One minute left. Tick tock," Reeves said in her ear. The rain was in her eyes, her hands were so numb and cold she couldn't feel them anymore, and her calves screamed for respite. The lives of those she loved were more important, though, and so she climbed, each step making her feel sick as the ladder swayed and rocked, creaking in protest. She could see the top, and in a bizarre twist, it was a relief to see something solid she could hang on to that wasn't the rickety, broken ladder she felt as If she had been climbing forever. She grabbed the edge of the chimney, her hand sliding on the slick soot covered edge. She took another step, then two and could reach the inner edge of the brickwork. She pulled herself up, throwing one leg over and lying there on the slick black brickwork, absolutely exhausted.
"I'm up, I made it," she said into the earpiece. Her throat burned with the effort of her exertion.
"Sit up. Look around."
She was too tired and numb to argue, she sat up where she straddled the tower, feeling sick. The view would have been spectacular if she hadn't been so afraid. She could see for miles, the city, its tower blocks and offices so small and far away, lost in a pale blue haze of smog. Around her, open fields, lush greens as far as she could see, and the river. Her eyes focused on the chair on the opposite side of the chimney.
"Keisha?" she said, but knew it was pointless. Her words were snatched away by the wind.
"Careful not to spook her, Mrs. Sandoval," Reeves said. She knew now why he had been so loud during the earlier part of the climb. The wind was so loud that hearing him would have been otherwise impossible. She glanced down into the black depths of the chimney; it seemed to her like it was bottomless. She looked at the soot-covered brick all around the edge of the chimney. The rain had made it slick to the touch. She started to shuffle around the edge of the tower on her behind, desperate to get to her friend.
"Not like that, Mrs. Sandoval."
She froze, forcing herself not to look down.
"It’s the only way I can get to her."
"You have to stand and walk around the edge to get to her."
"I can’t do that, there's nothing to hold on to," she said as the wind probed and rocked her, still trying to shove her over the edge.
"That's my point. You need to trust that you will be fine. The brain must be reconditioned."
"It’s too dangerous. It’s slippery up here, with the soot and the rain. I did as you asked, this part I'm doing my way." She shuffled forward again on her behind, staring at the chair and her friends back.
"Do you remember Jimmy?" Reeves said.
"Jimmy?" she repeated, confused and unsure what Reeves was talking about.
"Yes, Jimmy. The man who drove you here and stopped you from attacking me."
"Yes, I remember."
"Good. Right now, Jimmy has a high powered sniper rifle aimed at Keisha's skull."
"No, don't you dare, not after I went through hell already."
"If you don't do as I say, stand up and walk to your friend in order to free her, he is under instructions to fire."
"No, you wouldn't, you can’t do that, it's murder."
"And I say again, this is all in your hands. The body would be next to impossible to recover, Mrs. Sandoval. The bottom of the chimney is filled with rubble and twisted steel. They would have to bury an empty coffin. Could you live with that?"
"I'll fall, it’s not possible. I feel dizzy just being here, I get vertigo. Are you listening to me? It's impossible."
"That's your brain talking. Break through those barriers. You've already come so far. Don't stumble at the last hurdle."
"That’s what I'm telling you. If I stumble I'm dead. I can’t do it."
Reeves sighed. It sounded like a distorted crackle. "Very well. Come back down. I'll tell Jimmy to fire and then kill your husband and sister."
"What? No, don't do that. I'm getting up, I'm standing, look, please just look."
She got onto her knees, gripping the edge of the chimney. The wind drove into her, and for a second, she almost overbalanced and tumbled into the black depths of the open chimney. She rubbed her palms against the soot-covered brick, distressed at how slick they were. They were like ice. She was shaking and the world around her was pulsing. She closed her eyes and tried to calm down, but that only made the sensation worse. She snapped them open and focused on her filthy hands. Slowly, carefully, she stood up. With nothing to hold on to and nothing to protect her, she stood on the edge of the tower. She realized just how small she was just how insignificant. The wind howled against her again and she rocked on her heels. Every sense was alive. She knew she couldn't afford to stumble or make a mistake. Every single step could be her last. She took a slow step, the grip under her feet unsteady, the wet soot threatening to pull the ground out from under her and send her to her death.
"Very good, Mrs. Sandoval," Reeves said in her ear. "This is a big moment. Very good indeed."
Chrissy said nothing. She blocked him out, blocked everything out. Her entire world was now nothing but the bricks at her feet and the wind billowing around her. There was a sick and perverted exhilaration surging through her, an intoxicating mix of fear, disbelief, and adrenaline. She supposed it was this that the thrill seekers searched for, the extreme sportsmen, the base jumpers and mountain climbers, the racing drivers and the skydivers. It was this same mix of terror and excitement. She inched around the circumference of the chimney, willing her feet not to be thrown from under her by the slick brickwork. She was now halfway around the tower, and surely close enough for Keisha to see her. She couldn't risk looking up, though. If she did she knew she would lose focus and fall. Instead, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. She could see the chair now in her peripheral vision, and knew she was close.
"Keisha, I can’t look at you, but please, tell me you're alright. Just talk to me."
She glanced up, then paused where she stood, staring at the chair. It was a dummy. It was dressed to look like Keisha, to sell the illusion from far away enough to motivate her to climb. She stood there, struggling to take it all in. The wind blew. She rocked with it without even thinking, maintaining her balance.
"Where is she?" Chrissy said.
Reeves didn't answer. She looked down over the edge to w
here she could see him on the ground, a tiny speck so far away. "Where is she, you bastard?"
"This is over, Mrs. Sandoval."
"What do you mean? Where is she?"
"Look at you," Reeves said. “When you set off you were terrified, now you stand there confident and defiant, looking down at me without an ounce of fear within you. I’d say that was a success, wouldn't you?"
She looked at the dummy, then down at the ground. Reeves was right. There was no fear, no crippling vertigo. Just numbness and confusion.
"What happens now?"
"Come down. Back the way you came. You can sit and shuffle if you prefer."
She didn't do that, though. She walked back to the ladder, angry and confused, then started to descend.
NINE
By the time she reached the ground, Reeves and Jimmy were gone. She stood by the tower, looking back up at it and unable to quite believe she had climbed it and survived.
"Reeves, are you there? What now? Where are you?"
Reeves, however, didn't answer. She stood there for a moment, unsure what to do, then started to walk back towards the abandoned industrial site where she had left the car. She was sure they were dead, all of them. After everything she had been through, there was never any hope of saving them. She had stumbled into something she shouldn't have, and now those she loved had paid the price.
"Chrissy?"
At first, she thought it was Reeves in her ear, and then looked up to see Shawn leaning against the car. He was bloody and bruised but seemed otherwise okay. She ran to him, and the two embraced.
"I thought you were dead, I thought they had killed you."
"What the hell happened, these two guys broke into the house this morning and roughed me up, drove me out here and just sat me down. Later, one of them told me to wait here for you then drove away."
She stepped back and grabbed his arms. "Your hand, what happened to your hand?"
"My hands are fine."
She held his hands in hers and stared at them. Unlike the photo she had been shown, Shawn's hands were fine and complete. "I don't understand, I was shown a photo..." it was all she could say before she broke down. He held her, both of them confused and unsure what to do.
"Come on,” Shawn said. “I'll drive us home."
"Wait, just a second," she replied, then spoke into the Bluetooth headset. "Reeves, where are Keisha, where is my sister?"
Reeves replied, but his voice was distant as if far away. "They were never a part of this, Mrs. Sandoval. Remember what I told you in my office."
"I don't understand, you showed me pictures, you...Shawn's hand was in the microwave."
"Smoke and mirrors, Mrs. Sandoval. Remember the purpose of this program. To recondition the brain. Your reality wasn't necessarily how things were. The hand in your microwave was prosthetic, the photographs of your sister and friend were models paid to dress and pose like them following our surveillance. Like I said, in order to recondition, you had to have the right motivation."
"You bastard, you put me through hell. I could have died."
"But you didn't. And judging by the way you descended, you were no longer afraid."
"No, but I..."
"Go home, Mrs. Sandoval. Enjoy the feeling of life. You are one of the few who can appreciate it. You have stared death in the face and lived to tell the tale."
The line clicked off, and Chrissy tossed the headset to the ground.
"What is all this, Chrissy, what's happening?" Shawn asked.
She didn't answer him. She couldn't. She was too drained of energy. Instead, she got in the car and stared at the tower in the distance. Shawn got in the driver’s side and closed the door.
"Can we just go home?" she said. She could see how worried he was, but also knew he wouldn't push her to talk just yet. He's let her do that in her own time.
"Yeah, absolutely," he said, starting the engine. He turned the car around and started to drive away. Chrissy looked over her shoulder, staring at the tower until they turned onto the road and it was lost from view.
ONE WEEK LATER
When they arrived home, it was as if nothing had ever happened. The house was clean and tidy, the blood and hand (prosthetic or not) removed from the microwave. Even the bags she had abandoned on the doorstep had been unpacked and put away. It could almost have been a dream if not for the cuts and scratches on her hands and on Shawn's face and body. She had called both Lisa and Keisha, hysterical and desperate to know they were okay. As Reeves had said, they were clueless about everything she was saying. In that, he had told the truth. Like he had said, it had all been smoke and mirrors, a very elaborate deception to make her go to lengths she never ordinarily would have to beat her fear. The trip to the Grand Canyon, however, would have to wait. They had a bill to pay. A bill which arrived in an unmarked white envelope for a shade over fifteen thousand dollars, one which she and Shawn had decided to pay without question for the simple reason that they were afraid. They reasoned that if someone like Reeves would go to such lengths to help someone, they didn't want to consider how far he might go to chase a debt. Sometimes at night, she would still wake up screaming in the dark, sure she had lost her footing on top of the tower and was plunging into the opaque maw and the waiting grip of death.
Even so, Reeves had done his job. Simple things like heights no longer scared her. She knew there were monsters in the world, real monsters with respectable appearances and wedding rings, monsters with simple contracts and a mastery of smoke and mirrors to achieve the desired results. Those things were what she feared now, and it was a fear she knew she would have to live with for the rest of her life.
End
SCARECROWS
Spyder was drunk, and pushed the cherry red convertible up past seventy, cheering and whooping as he sat with one elbow hanging out of the window. His mother had died earlier that day, and Spyder’s answer had been not to spend the day with his family in their mourning, but to go out and get shit-faced. It was all a front of course, but for Spyder (or Dwayne to his family or anyone outside of his school) it was the reaction that people would have expected.
It was a hot, sticky July day, and the Red missile which was piloted by the grieving teen tore across the blacktop, the miles of empty country roads perfect for their endeavours. They thundered past Oakwell Forest, veering at speed around the occasional traffic on the road, and through the industrial area where Dwayne’s father had worked at the lumber mill before he was laid off.
“Hey, maybe you should slow down.”
Spyder glanced to the passenger seat, and his friend Randy squirmed a little. Perhaps he saw a little of the hurt in Dwayne’s eyes, or maybe he was just scared. Either way, he didn’t elaborate, and by way of reply, increased his speed, pushing the car even harder.
In the back, Kenny whooped and cheered, and almost as drunk as their driver, either didn’t acknowledge or didn’t care about the potential danger of the situation.
“Yeah, Spyder, come on man, redline this thing!” Whooped the acne ravaged Kenny, who flicked a grin missing both of its front teeth at Randy, who was glaring at him from the front.
“What’s with you?” Kenny asked, the venom in his voice hard to miss. Randy wasn’t afraid of Kenny, or anyone else for that matter. He was a wrestler, and one of the best in the school. Undefeated, he had the luxury of a high school life untroubled by the constant tests to see who the alpha male was. It was him, and nobody disputed it. He would never admit it, but he was, however, just a little bit afraid of Dwayne.
He wasn’t a physical threat, Randy was sure that if things ever came to blows he could overpower him, but something in his personality, just little things like the way he would get a look in his eye that made you wonder just what the hell he was capable of. It was moments like that which caused him caution, and why he didn’t quite want to commit to taking control of this particular situation. And even as his eyes flicked from his friend — his prominent cheekbones and strong jaw framed by
the moonlight as he stared at the road ahead — to the speedometer, which was close to the 90mph redline that Kenny seemed so desperate to reach, he tried to think of a way to diffuse the situation.
Dwayne took a long drink of the beer that had been nestled on the front seat between his legs, and Randy saw that, for a few seconds, both of Dwayne’s hands were off the wheel, and the car began to drift into the opposite lane.
“Hey, hey man, the wheel,” Randy warned, reaching out to steady the vehicle, but Dwayne didn’t take too kindly to the intrusion and pushed his friend's hands away.
“Leave it alone, I got it.” Slurred Dwayne, as he took control of the vehicle.
“Hey man, stop being such a pussy,” Kenny added as he drained his bottle and tossed it over his head, where it smashed some way behind the speeding car.
“Jesus Kenny, you could have hit someone with that thing,” Randy said, glaring for the second time in quick succession at their back seat passenger. Normally it would be enough, but Kenny had been made brave by alcohol, and he sneered at Randy, and then glanced at Dwayne.
“Hey Spyder, why the hell did we bring this guy with us?”
“Whaddyamean?”
“This guy, he’s dragging me down with all his warnings and rules.”
“Randy is a decent guy, I want him here.”
“Whatever man, I just wish he would relax.”
Dwayne glanced at Randy, who was watching him carefully. Dwayne broke into a grin, and Randy saw it again, that little glimmer of something sinister hiding within, that every now and again, came to the surface to check the lay of the land before it went back to wherever it came from.
They were out on the outskirts of town now, the lands here were rolling fields of green farmland, accentuated by the smell of cow shit, which lingered in the air all year round. The huge Oakwell Forest loomed ahead of them, a black ocean of treetops stretching for miles. Suddenly, and without warning, Dwayne slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailing as it struggled to stop, leaving great dark lines on the asphalt.
