The cracking sound I’d heard when I landed was the wooden roof of the balcony.
There was another crack, and the roof shifted underneath me.
Oh my God oh my God I’m going to fall again.
I opened my mouth and screamed.
But once I was out of breath there was another shift, and I knew I had to get off the balcony roof. I was still not able to think as clearly as I would have liked, but if the balcony was on the second floor there was a chance that crashing through it would cause me to break through the balcony itself—and some of the balconies at Sea Oats had furniture on them. I still didn’t know if I’d broken any bones yet—I was still in enough shock that I wasn’t feeling any pain—but I had to get off the roof. If I didn’t get off the roof it was going to collapse beneath me and I was going to fall again and—
Maybe if I got off before it collapsed…
It seemed rational at the time. I wasn’t sure how injured I was, but my body was racing with adrenaline, and I just knew, knew, that I had to get off that roof or I was going to die.
I couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t tell if anyone was coming to my rescue, to help me. I was on my own.
I was going to have to save myself.
I rolled over onto my side and winced at the stabbing pains I felt in my ribs, but I could still breathe, so I doubted that any of them were broken, so that was good, right, my injuries wouldn’t stop me from getting down.
I flexed my arms and my legs, moved my feet and hands.
Nothing seemed to be broken.
But it was like thinking about not hurting was license for my body to start aching, and my back was screaming bloody murder, and so was one of my shoulders, and my head, come to think of it, my head was throbbing, too.
I took a deep breath and willed myself to look—and I looked over the side.
I gasped.
The lawn looked very far down. It was like my dream about the trampoline, and I sobbed, could feel the tears running down my face.
You have to do this, Ariel, you have to get down from here and you don’t have much time, you don’t have a choice, you can do it. You can do it, Ariel.
There was another loud crack and again, the roof shifted, and I felt myself sink down another few inches.
I didn’t have much time to dither. If I didn’t do something—
I closed my eyes and whispered to myself, You can do it.
I flipped my legs around, toward the edge.
You can do it, you can do it, you can do it.
I took a deep breath and rolled over onto my stomach. My back and shoulder screamed again, but I gritted my teeth and grabbed onto a broken piece of wood. I screamed again as a splinter from the board stabbed through my left palm, but I also managed to get my legs over the side.
They dangled there and I held on to that board as hard as I could.
I felt for the balcony railing with my bare feet.
I couldn’t remember how far above the balcony the roof was.
Whimpering a little, repeating, You can do this, over and over again inside my head, I lowered myself a little farther. The wind was picking up, and I was shivering.
What if I missed the railing what if the angle was wrong what if I let go and just—
My left foot touched wood.
My right foot was still swinging in the air, but then it connected with the railing. Now both feet were on it…I just hoped it could hold my weight.
An image of the railing breaking away and falling into the void flashed through my head.
Stop that, I commanded myself.
Now all I had to do was figure out what to do next. Both feet might be shaking but they were on the railing, however solid it might be. Should I let go of the side of the balcony roof? Should I start swinging, and when I had enough momentum let it carry me down to the balcony?
Or would I fall just like in my nightmares?
But I couldn’t let go. I told myself to let go, commanded my hands to let go, tried to balance.
But nothing happened. I kept hanging on, even though my shoulder was aching, my back was aflame with pain, my head was pounding, and the splinter in my palm hurt like a son of a bitch.
I couldn’t make myself let go.
It seemed in my head to be easy. Let go of the roof, keep your balance with one hand, bend at the knees, and fall forward onto the balcony itself.
But my hands wouldn’t release the side of the roof.
You have to let go, I said to myself, or you’ll be out here all night or until the roof collapses and wouldn’t that be the stupidest thing ever, to survive being thrown off the roof but getting killed because you were too afraid to let go of the balcony roof? You’re an idiot, you can do this, let it go.
My hands were still holding on.
Maybe someone would come rescue me? But who?
I couldn’t get the image of myself falling backward off the railing out of my head.
I bit my lip and willed myself to let go with my left hand.
Sweat trickled down into my left eye. But my hand opened, the movement jarring the splinter, and I screamed again.
“I’ve got you!” someone shouted from below, and I felt someone grabbing me around the waist. I didn’t have a choice about letting go—whoever grabbed me pulled me down so hard my right hand lost its grip on the roof and I felt myself falling.
And I screamed again.
But I somehow thought to make my body go limp as I fell, and my body crashed into someone, whoever it was who’d grabbed me and pulled me down, and we crashed down to the floor of the balcony.
Still, I saw the floor of the balcony coming right at my head and then everything went dark.
“Ariel! Can you hear me?”
It was Charlotte’s voice penetrating the fog inside my head. I opened my eyes and they couldn’t focus, everything was a blur, a kaleidoscope of colors mixing together as they spun around and around until my stomach felt like it was going to cramp up. My head ached, and all I was aware of was this throbbing pain in my head that pushed aside everything, any attempt at thought. It felt like someone was hitting my brain with a hammer at five-second intervals, and I would have sold my soul or jumped off the roof on my own to make it stop.
“Can you sit up?” Charlotte again, her voice somehow getting through the agony in my head.
I tried to sit up, hands grabbing me on both sides and I winced again, the splinter in my palm then my ribs and my back and my shoulder all competing with my head for attention, my whole body aching somehow. I moaned and realized that I was in the suite of rooms I used to share with her, which meant I was in the bed we’d shared. The hands helped me to sit up and I opened my eyes again, the colors starting to take shape now in spite of the pain, the pain, everywhere hurt, everything hurt. What was wrong with me? And I knew I had to get out of there, and I didn’t belong in the bed I used to share with Charlotte, and I wanted out of there immediately, but even as I tried to get out of the bed hands were gently pushing me back down. I didn’t resist, instead letting my eyes close and letting my aching body go limp.
I couldn’t remember any other time when my entire body ached the way it did at that moment.
“Is she passing out again?” That was Peggy, her voice hushed and anxious. “Should I call for an ambulance?”
“No, I’m not,” I managed to croak out. I opened my eyes a slit and glanced around. Charlotte was kneeling next to the bed on my right, Peggy was on the other side, and it looked like Kayla at the foot of the bed. No one else in the house, though, would have worn a baby doll nightgown, so it had to be her. “I just—I hurt everywhere.”
“Can you move your legs?” This was Charlotte, her voice calm but slightly shaky. I obliged her question by moving them, and moving my arms and turning my head from side to side as well.
“I’m fine, I just hurt everywhere.”
“Does it hurt to breathe?” This was Kayla, excited and curious, but concerned, too. “A friend of mine
broke a rib on a shoot, and it hurt her to breathe.”
I took a few deep, slow breaths. It ached a little but it wasn’t so bad.
“We need to take her to the hospital,” Charlotte said. “Just to be on the safe side. You could have a concussion—you hit your head pretty hard.”
“Yes, fine.” I hated going to the doctor, hated hospitals, but I knew she was right. And if one of my ribs was broken—well, better to find out sooner rather than later. “But can I just rest here a little bit first?”
“What in the name of God were you doing up on the balcony roof? How did you get there?” Charlotte’s tone was sharp and angry. Now that she didn’t have to worry, she’d moved on to anger, like always.
Some things never changed.
I opened my eyes. “I couldn’t sleep, and then I heard a weird noise in the hall, and when I went to look, the door to the attic stairs was open, which I thought was strange so I went to check it out. When I got up to the attic, the door out to the widow’s walk was open. When I went out there, someone pushed me off the roof.”
The room went completely silent.
Through the pain, I realized again: someone tried to kill me.
“Are you crazy? Why didn’t you go get help before you went up there?” Charlotte exploded. “After everything that’s happened? Why didn’t you go get the guard?”
“I—well, I wasn’t thinking clearly, obviously,” I replied hotly. “I didn’t think—I didn’t think anyone wanted to hurt me. Trust me, I won’t make that mistake again.”
“You need to be checked out by a doctor,” Peggy said into the silence that followed. “Should I call for an ambulance?”
“I don’t need an ambulance,” I said, shifting in the bed. My head was hurting and I ached everywhere, but nothing seemed to be broken. “If someone can drive me to the emergency room, I would appreciate that…maybe have some X-rays done? My head hurts really bad.”
Charlotte’s tone changed. “Are you all right?”
“She might have a concussion.” That was Peggy, her voice hushed.
“I think I’m okay, but my head hurts and I ache all over and I’m scraped up and I want to make sure I’m okay, maybe get some painkillers so I can think clearly.” My tone was sharper than I’d intended, and so I added, “I hit my head. It’s not a bad idea to get that checked out. But I don’t want or need an ambulance, just someone to drive me.” I started to get up but got a bit dizzy and had to sit back down.
Charlotte and Peggy rushed to my side and helped me get up, holding on to me until the dizziness passed. Peggy got my jacket, and they helped me down the stairs, Kayla galloping along in front of them.
When Charlotte went to get her car, I asked, “Kayla, didn’t you hear anything?”
She shook her head. “I took a sleeping pill. I have insomnia.” She yawned. “I woke up when I heard you screaming. I probably won’t be able to fall back asleep.” She made it sound like it was my fault, but maybe I was being a little too sensitive.
The headlights of Charlotte’s maroon MG swung around to the front of the house, and Peggy helped me down the front stairs. It wasn’t until I was seat-belted into the passenger seat that I wondered where Bast was.
Had Bast been the one to lure me out on the roof, intent on killing me?
But why would Bast want me dead?
It didn’t make any sense. Why would anyone want me dead? The pictures I took—no one could tell who that was in them, if it even was someone, and I hadn’t seen anyone when I was out there the day Angus died. There was nothing I could tell the police, so why come after me?
Unless there was a personal reason for someone to want me dead.
Much as I disliked her, I couldn’t see Lindsay trying to kill me to get me out of the picture. Besides, how would she have gotten into the house and up in the attic?
Then again, I’d seen her on the grounds. If the security guards were locals, they would know her and wouldn’t think anything of letting her on the grounds or in the house. It seemed like an open secret that she and Charlotte were seeing each other again.
But surely she wouldn’t go that far? I’d told her I was getting a divorce, so the path to what she’d always wanted was open.
She didn’t need to kill me to get me out of the way.
It didn’t make any sense.
I would make a terrible detective.
I slumped down in my seat.
“Are you all right?” Charlotte asked, glancing over at me as we waited for the gates to open. “Are you sure we shouldn’t have called an ambulance?”
“I don’t need an ambulance, Charlotte,” I replied testily. “I’m just really tired and achy and sore, and realizing that someone tried to kill me tonight—you know, that’s not a great feeling. I was almost killed.” I repeated the last sentence again and started shivering.
She reached behind the seat and gave me a blanket, which I gratefully wrapped around my body. I was probably going into shock yet again, and my teeth were chattering. She turned the heater up, redirected the vents so they were blowing on me.
She didn’t speak until she was driving through the gates. “You really think someone tried to kill you?”
“Charlotte, my head hurts, but are you suggesting that I went up there and jumped?” I bit my lip and counted to ten before continuing. “Someone lured me up to the roof and pushed me off, Char,” I finally said, managing somehow to keep my voice level and even. “I was stupid to go up there instead of getting help, but someone pushed me, Charlotte. I can still feel their hands on my back.” I began shaking again as I remembered how it felt as my body went over the widow’s walk railing, sliding down the slanted roof, that horrible weightless feeling as I went over the edge and fell through space.
“I’m sorry, okay?” She kept her eyes on the road as she accelerated toward Penobscot. “I…I don’t want to think about that, I don’t want to think things have gotten so bad that someone would try to kill you—”
“Someone killed Angus,” I reminded her, my eyes still closed, “and set your office on fire. I didn’t make that up, either, remember? Are you going to finally tell me what the hell is going on at Sea Oats? Now that I’ve almost been killed?”
She sighed tiredly. “You really picked the worst possible time to come back here,” she said, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles whitened. “So many other times in the last two years you could have called, or come back, or stopped by my office…Why now, Ariel?”
My head was hurting still. “The phone works two ways. And you knew you could reach me through my office, too. Why didn’t you reach out to me, Char? Do you still believe—you couldn’t have believed that Bast and I…”
She stiffened. “Bast is a good-looking man, and women have been throwing themselves at him for as long as I can remember.”
“For God’s sake, I’m a lesbian, Charlotte.” I closed my eyes and rested my aching head against the car window. My voice sounded more tired than angry. I just didn’t care anymore. “I’ve never been with a man. I’ve never had any desire to be with a man. My parents don’t even speak to me anymore because I’m a lesbian. My whole family has cut me off because I like women, Charlotte. And yet despite all of that, somehow you are still so willing to believe that Bast—your brother—is so unbelievably hot and sexy that I would change everything about my life, the way I feel, the way I am wired somehow, and go straight? Just for him? I don’t know whether to be offended or angry or hurt, to be honest. And while I am saying my piece, finally, can I just add—how very dare you, Charlotte?”
I could feel tears forming behind my eyelids. I’d always known I was a lesbian. For as long as I could remember I wanted nothing to do with anything that my parents saw as girly, and boys always left me cold. When my girlfriends were arguing over which boy band member or vampire or werewolf was sexier or cuter, I didn’t have any opinion because I was drawn to Kate Winslet and Britney Spears and Jennifer Lopez. I’d never had a real boyfriend, all th
e way through high school, and all I could think about was getting away from that dying and oppressive Midwestern town I grew up in. I played volleyball and softball, but had to be a cheerleader to appease my mother’s desire for me to be a normal girl. I didn’t like to wear dresses or skirts but I did have a sense of fashion. As soon as I had unsupervised access to the internet I started researching lesbians, and lesbian culture. My parents didn’t want me to go to design school in New York, but I got a full scholarship and they agreed to help me with some of the expenses. I tried not to ever go back to that wretched little town. The last time I spoke to my mother she told me I was dead to her until I decided to live my life in a Christian manner. The last words I said to my mother were Go to hell as I disconnected the call.
Yes, Charlotte, I’d given up my family so I could live my life honestly, but I would jump into bed with the first good-looking straight guy that showed an interest in me—my wife’s brother, no less, to maximize the damage caused, I guess.
“How very dare you.” I wiped the tears away. “And that you think so little of me that even if that were humanly possible, that I would go for your brother? I mean, what kind of horrible person do you think I am, Charlotte? That’s why I ran away. Not because of any feelings I had for Bast, but because the person I loved more than anything in the world thought I was such a terrible person, that I was somehow capable of doing something so disgusting. Do you really think that, Charlotte? Is that what you think of me?”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I was wrong. But you have to understand how it looked, and after Lindsay—”
“I’m not Lindsay, I’m nothing like Lindsay.” I kept my head turned away from her. “And Bast—I thought Bast was my friend. I was bored and lonely because you worked all the time and when you weren’t working you were tired. I’m at fault here, too, Charlotte. I shouldn’t have blamed you for my boredom and gotten angry with you and frustrated. I should have gone back to work back then, back to Hollis. Maybe that would have helped, I don’t know. But you really hurt me, thinking I would sleep with a man, let alone your brother. That made me feel like…if that was what you thought I was like, who I was, what chance did we have? I felt like there wasn’t even anything left to fight for at that point, and you never even tried.” My voice broke. “You didn’t even try to talk to me, didn’t come after me. You have no idea how bad I wanted you to, Charlotte. So many times I wanted to call you, come to your office, come out to Sea Oats, say I was sorry—but you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me. I couldn’t blame you. I mean, if you thought I would do something like that…well, I wouldn’t want anything to do with me, either.”
A Lamentation of Swans Page 17
