Secrets, Lies and Dragonflies

Chapter 1

If someone must plunge to their death today, no one's more deserving than me.  I've imagined my demise a number of ways: firing squad, electric chair, lethal injection.  Never crossed my mind I'd go out like this. Not a single soul around to witness how justice prevailed.  Weeks from now, some poor hiker, or even worse--Vincent, might find my body splattered at the bottom of this ridge covered by leaves and branches. The truth dying with me.  I can't let that happen.      Carefully considering which angle would be less deadly to tackle since I'm now forced to venture up this insanely tall hunk of granite, I go right.

"Da...ddy...Mom...my..." The boy's cries trickle over the ledge above.  I can barely hear those panicked yelps that first drew me in, making me abandon all commonsense.  Part of me, the smarter part, thought this was a bad idea.  But just like always, I let my stubbornness win out.     

My mouth begging for water, I repeat the same demand for the hundredth time: "Don't move! Stay where you are! I'm coming!" I doubt my voice is carrying that far up over the rim. I've been this hoarse once before. Last year.  Despite my aversion to crowds, Lindsey convinced me that our future school needed us. Outfitted in altered Landry High t-shirts with the sleeves cut and tied, war paint on our faces and down our arms, and ribbons in our braided hair, we chanted at the top of our lungs for hours.  Our presence wasn't essential; the stadium was bursting with football-fever fans.  But it didn't matter, by halftime my voice was gone.  That was by far a much more pleasurable way to lose it than getting myself into this situation.         

"I want my mommy...I want my mommy...daddy....mommy...."

Trekking higher, I'm now certain I made the wrong decision. Glancing down, the turn-back point to go get help is buried under the tops of giant trees that are looking more like overgrown shrubs and bushes. The odds of someone randomly showing up are practically zero. Poor kid. His fate totally depends on my abilities to scale vertical walls. Me.  An acrophobic who breaks out into cold sweats at the top of a foot stool.

This patch of gravel the size of a paper plate is the last bit of solid ground between here and my final destination. A mere twenty feet more to go to the edge of that ridge, but it might as well be a thousand.  Surrounded by huge boulders, there's a sizable nugget to my right, the only grabbable surface I see to keep me moving upward. All I have to do is land on that broken tree branch and I'll be within reach of it.  

"Stop being such a wimp," I mutter over the cawing of an elusive eagle, a noise I don't typically consider annoying. I inhale deeply. You can do this.

All at once, I step out onto the tree branch and reach for the knobby protrusion. Barely catching the chunk of rock I was gunning for, I clamp onto it with all my might. My stomach in my throat, as if a chair was pulled from under me, I gasp for air as I try to steady my flailing legs.  The stump must have disintegrated the moment my foot touched it.  Blindly feeling for an anchor point to secure my free hand before my wimpy grip gives out, I find a small hole and shove my fingers into it. Dangling like a four year old on a monkey bar, remnants of the broken stump bounce off the heartless surfaces far below. Odds of getting out of this predicament unscathed are probably slim. No sense in yelling for help: I am the help.

Careful not to sway too much and lose my grip, I slide my leg against the boulders until I feel a slight hump. Contorting my foot to a near impossible angle, I set it against the rigid spot. Bearing some of my weight on this leg, I search with the other until I find a narrow pocket hardly wide enough for me to stand on.

Sprawled out like a spider, I pinpoint a section that looks promising. My left hand hesitantly lets go to hunt for another hole. When it finds one, my right hand does the same. I zig-zag gradually over to the jagged area, never letting more than one limb loose at a time. With cracks and crevices everywhere now, I can crawl with relative ease. No longer faced with death-by-gravity, a breath of relief empties from my chest.

The eagle's cries echo through the valley, as if broadcasting the surprising turn of events. "Mackenzie Temple didn't die, everyone!" But at the top, there's no time to relish in my impressive accomplishment.

Weeping cries escapes through the dense wooded area, directing my path like a homing beacon. "Mommy...I...want...my...mommy."

"Hello?" I yell as I make my way through the thick brush. "It's gonna be okay. I'm here now. Just stay where you are and don't move."

My head races to plan for the what might come next.  What if he wanders too close to the edge and I don't catch him in time? What if his foot is mangled and stuck so deep between boulders and rocks and I can't pry it out? Or even more terrifying, he's the lone survivor--his entire family mauled by an angry mama bear?  Arkoudaphobia is not one of my issues.  I know these things can happen.  Or maybe I'm watching way too much reality TV.  Whatever the case, it doesn't matter.  Being somebody's only hope is one of my worst fears. 

I reach a thinning tree line and stop abruptly, in utter shock at what I find.