Marcia Muller - Crucifixion River

I clung to the chair, weak, and watched Melissa stand up, strong, and make her way toward the open doors. And a voice that didn’t sound like mine, that almost whimpered like a hurt child’s, called after her: “Hurry, baby, hurry…”

Melissa

Ray had collapsed against the chair when I came back. “They’re sending a medevac helicopter,” I told him. “We’re going to be OK.” Then I sank down beside him, pulling an Afghan over both of us. He grasped my hand the way the children used to when I’d comfort them after bad nightmares.

A nightmare, that’s what today was.

“Melissa,” he said after a moment, “why did you think I poisoned you?”

“It isn’t important now.” We’d have to talk about it, of course, but later, when we were both stronger. I’d finally have to confront him about Jake. After that…

“No, please, I need to know.”

“…After Jake…died…”

“Jake? What does his death have to do with this?”

“I was there, Ray. I saw the two of you struggling in midair.”

His lips twisted and he let go of my hand. “The son of a bitch tried to kill me.”

“Jake, kill you? He was your friend. You meant a lot to him.”

“He was your lover.”

“No, my friend, too. All we ever did when we were alone together was talk about you and why our marriage was dying.”

A spasm overcame him, and he made a choking sound. When he recovered, he didn’t speak. I felt a coldness in him-anger, too, directed at me. And suddenly I understood.

“Oh, no!” I said. “You think Jake tried to kill you because of me. You think we conspired to get rid of you!”

His pain-dull eyes watched me for a moment. “You didn’t plan to kill me? And you weren’t sleeping with him?”

“I told you I wasn’t. I’ve slept with exactly two men other than you in my life…the last over five years ago. And even if I had been having an affair with Jake, I would never have plotted to hurt you.” The tears I’d been controlling started again.

Ray put a shaky hand to my cheek, tried to brush them away. “What’ve I been thinking? Accusing you over and over. And today…I thought you’d decided you couldn’t go on without Jake and were going to…Christ, what a hideous, twisted imagination I’ve got!”

“No more than mine. I thought you killed Jake and were faking your illness so I wouldn’t realize you’d poisoned me.”

He shook his head, grimacing. “You know, this would be funny if it wasn’t so…”

“Yes.”

We sat silently for a while. A distant thrumming and flapping noise came from beyond the pine-covered hills to the west.

“What about Jake?” Ray asked. “Why did he grab at my chute like that? There has to be a reason.” He closed his eyes, probably reliving the horrifying experience. “Oh, God,” he said heavily.

“What?”

“Jake taught skydiving, remember. Instructors are trained to notice things that other divers might not. He wasn’t trying to kill me…he was trying to save my life. He must’ve seen something that told him my chute wasn’t going to open. And he saved me at the expense of himself.”

Ray lowered his face into his hands and made a strange sound. At first I couldn’t identify it, then I realized he was crying. I’d never seen him shed so much as a single tear.

I peeled his hands away, took his face in both of mine, and kissed him. No words could ease the grief and shame we were feeling. There were not enough words to do that.

We were both composed again by the time the medevac he licopter arrived. Huddled together under the Afghan, holding hands. We hadn’t said much after the revelations about Jake Hollis’s death; there was only one issue left to discuss, and neither of us was quite ready to put it into words.

Every time I looked at her now, it was as if twenty-six years had melted away. I felt the same deep stirrings as I’d felt that first night at her sorority’s open house. But it wasn’t a young woman’s vulnerable beauty that attracted me this time, made me feel alive again; it was a mature woman’s capacity for giving and understanding. For such a long time I’d seen only the young Melissa whenever I looked at my wife-an illusion that had begun as reality and gradually evolved into pure fantasy. False illusion was what had driven the wedge between us, led to all the problems and foolish misconceptions we’d both had. And not only on my part-on hers, too.

Neither of us knew the other any more.

I wanted to know her again, everything there was to know about this Melissa-but did she feel the same about me? Did she want to know the Ray Porter I’d grown and changed into, with all his flaws and insecurities? I thought I saw the answer in her eyes, but the spasms that continued to rack us both made me unsure.

The helicopter was down finally, its rotors making a hell of a racket on the road out front. The paramedics would be here any minute. I had to get it out into the open now, before there was any more separation.

I squeezed her hand. “Melissa, it’s not too late for us, is it? We can start over again, learn to love each other again?”

“I never stopped loving you,” she said.

“Nor I you, but I mean…”

“I know what you mean. No more misunderstandings between us. No more walls.”

“Yes.”

“No more dying,” she said, and now I was sure of what was in her eyes. “The dying time is over. Now we can start living again.”

Born and raised in Detroit, Michigan, Marcia Mullerhas been a full-time novelist since 1983. She received her bachelor’s degree in English literature and master’s degree in journalism from the University of Michigan. Upon graduation she worked for Sunset magazine, and then as a freelance writer as well as being a partner in an editorial services firm. She is the author of numerous crime novels, twenty-three of which feature her much-loved San Francisco investigator, Sharon McCone, who made her debut in 1977. Recipient of numerous awards, including the American Mystery Award and the Private Eye Writers of America Shamus Award, in 1993 Muller was presented with the Private Eye Writers of America’s Life Achievement Award for her contribution to the genre. Her interest in the Western story stems from her love of history and research. Time of the Wolves was her first Western story collection.

Bill Pronziniwas born in Petaluma, California. His earliest Western fiction was published in Zane Grey Western Magazine. His first Western novel was The Gallows Land (1983). Although Pronzini has earned an enviable reputation as an author of detective stories, he has continued periodically to write Western novels, most notably perhaps Starvation Camp (1984) and Firewind (1989) as well as Western short stories, including Burgade’s Crossing and Quincannon’s Game , both collections of Quincannon stories. In his Western stories, Pronzini has tended toward narratives that avoid excessive violence and, instead, are character studies in which a person has to deal with personal flaws or learn to live with the consequences of previous actions. As an editor and anthologist, Pronzini has demonstrated both rare éclat and reliable good taste in selecting very fine stories by other authors, fiction notable for its human drama and memorable characters. He is married to author Marcia Muller, who has written Western stories as well as detective stories, and occasionally collaborated with her husband on detective novels. They make their home in Petaluma, California.