David Morrell: The naked edge

But it didn't go farther.

"Looks like I'll win my bet," Carl whispered. "If they were going to find us, they'd have done it by now. I cut a piece from my jacket and tied it around my leg so I wouldn't drip blood on the ground. I came back here and got one of the plastic sheets I stole from a construction site. I wrapped it around you so you wouldn't drip blood when I carried you here. As far as whoever's out there is concerned, we vanished. Ain't that great? Our last game of hide and seek."

Cavanaugh managed to nod. His consciousness wavering, he thought about all the things he regretted-not kissing Jamie more often, not telling her often enough how much he loved her. He regretted the beatings Carl had received from his father. He regretted not having spent more time with Carl in the weeks before his father's disgrace forced Carl's family to move to Nashville. He regretted having treated Carl's letters and phone calls as a nuisance. He regretted not having kept in touch with Carl after Global Protective Services fired him.

What do you say we go out for a drink, Carl? How about a movie and a burger afterward? How about visiting my ranch in Wyoming? You'll love my home. Sunset over the Tetons. A friendship. All this happened, so many people died, because of a friendship that went bad.

His suffocated mind couldn't find the words. Who's the self-centered asshole, Carl? You think I let you down? Pal, you let me down.

He knew he ought to feel angry. Furious. And he was. If he had the strength, he'd find a way to grab Carl's head and pound it until…

But he felt something else as well, and as tears streamed down his face, his blood and his life seeping from him, he tried to say it, tried to spit out the gag and tell Carl…

"Choking again, good buddy?"

Carl's hand pulled out the vile rag. Cavanaugh's mouth was almost too dry to force out the words.

"Got something to say?" Carl asked.

Cavanaugh nodded weakly.

"Let's hear it."

"I'm…"

"Yes? Keep trying. Get it out. Last words and all that."

"Sorry."

"Ah."

Cavanaugh's mind seemed to plummet.

"Sorry? You know what, my friend?" Carl said. "I am too. Three years ago, maybe I should just have kicked the shit out of you. Maybe I was afraid I couldn't do it. But hey, I sure kicked the shit out of you now."

Cavanaugh felt more tears streaming down his face. What he had tried to say was that, Jamie aside, he was sorry that he and Carl had ever grown up. I wish we were still kids, he thought. His head thudded onto the blood-soaked wood.

"John, help me think," Jamie said. "Where did they go?" Jamie aimed the flashlight through the fog. Frantic, she stumbled forward into the darkness.

"What's that over there?" Rutherford said.

"Where?"

"There." Rutherford guided her hand, the flashlight dimly revealing a children's climbing-gym: rods and railings and tubes in a rock-walled grotto whose sides were topped with bushes and evergreen shrubs.

Jamie entered the grotto and shivered as if in another dimension. She scanned the dim light over everything, the wood chips on the ground, the little bridge over a culvert through which children could crawl, the beams that formed a sandbox, the picnic tables.

"There's no blood." A sob escaped her. "I don't know what to do."

She stepped farther inside the grotto. She aimed the light at everything, lingering, staring. Finally, desperate to search somewhere else, she turned away. Her flashlight swung past something.

"Wait."

She redirected the light.

"Tell me if I'm seeing things."

"Where?"

"There!"

She and Rutherford walked toward the children's bridge. It spanned a cement culvert that children would find exciting to crawl through. On the right, there was a second culvert, smaller, more exciting. Between the two was the rock wall, huge boulders embedded in a dirt slope.

"That boulder," Jamie said. "The one in the middle. Why are-"

"Wood chips on it?" Rutherford asked.

"There aren't any on the others. Help me," Jamie pleaded.

They rushed to the boulder. Rutherford grabbed its top.

"Stand back," he told Jamie. "Aim the light."

Jamie did. She also aimed the gun. Rutherford pulled with all his broad-shouldered strength, unprepared for how easily the boulder toppled away, revealing a nightmare, two men smeared in blood, the smell of excrement streaming out. Next to them lay the strap that Carl had wrapped around the boulder, hoisting the rock back into place, then pulling the strap through slits on either slide.

At first, it was impossible to tell the difference between them, both were so mired in gore. One wasn't moving. But the other raised his head and peered out. His left eye was missing. His lips were crusted with blood.

"Looks like I lost the bet." Carl's voice sounded like his throat was filled with sand. "No matter. I was never going to let you win it, Aaron."

Carl lowered a knife to slit Cavanaugh's throat.

Jamie shot out Carl's other eye.

Cavanaugh saw lights in his coffin. Blinding. Panicked, he jerked up a hand to shield his eyes.

Fingers startled him, grasping his arm, lowering it.

"You'll pull out your IV line," Jamie said.

His eyelids felt as if they were sewed shut. Slowly, he managed to break the imaginary threads and open his eyes.

Jamie sat next to him. She was haggard with exhaustion, her green eyes dull, her brunette hair lusterless from tension, and yet she looked as beautiful as he'd ever seen her.

He was in a hospital bed. His side and back throbbed. Stitches and bandages squeezed him. His lips felt thick, his tongue swollen and dry.

Jamie put a straw in his mouth.

Grateful, he sipped. The water was tasteless for a moment. Then it became exquisite. But weakness made it difficult for him to swallow. He drooled. Jamie used a cloth to wipe it away.

"Afraid I'm not at my best," he said.

"Nonsense. You're perfect."

Weariness drifted over him.

When he wakened again, Jamie continued to sit next to him.

She squeezed his hand. "Asleep, you look like a little boy."

Mustering his strength, Cavanaugh managed to ask, "Carl?"

"Dead."

"How?"

She told him. He had to concentrate to take in all the details.

"The boulders and wood chips were wet from the rain," she said. "When Carl lowered the boulder that hid him, wood chips stuck to it. They were under the boulder. He couldn't have seen them when he pulled the boulder back into place. He must have been so delirious with pain that he didn't realize."

"The second person you've killed."

"Don't talk about it."

"I understand. I've been there."

"No," Jamie said. "You don't understand."

Cavanaugh's lips felt numb. "Even justified, it's a terrible-"

"I'd do anything for you. That's not what I meant. I mean you can't talk about it. You can't let anybody know I'm the one who shot him."

Jamie looked around. Her voice was so low that he could barely hear it.

"John lent me his gun," Jamie whispered intensely. "He'd lose his job if anyone found out. After I shot Carl, he took the gun from me and fired it a second time, hitting a boulder next to the hole as if a first shot missed. That way, he had gunpowder residue on him. The investigators took his word. Nobody thought to test me."

"John did that?" Trying to analyze the implications, Cavanaugh drifted again.

The next time he rose out of blackness, he heard hushed voices. Looking for Jamie, he saw Rutherford and her talking quietly in a corner.

Rutherford glanced over. "Sleeping beauty's awake. How are you feeling?"

"Ready to take up ballroom dancing."

They smiled at the feeble joke.