Misa and Marco grab hold of my arms as Rafe slinks behind me. His cheek pressed close to mine, his lips chil ed, pushing into my flesh when he says, “Remember when I told you earlier that I lost my footing and fel deep into the canyon?”
I swal ow hard, steady myself, know al too wel what’s coming next.
“As it turns out, I lied.” He grins, I can feel his lips lifting and curling against me. “Had I been unlucky enough to fal , I never would’ve made it back up. You see, Ever, it’s a sheer drop. A very sheer drop that offers no outcroppings of rock—nothing for one to grab onto in order to stop. But then, I should probably let you see for yourself. I mean, no need to wreck the surprise with a bunch of spoilers, right?”
I fight.
I kick.
I scratch, and bite, and claw, and scream, and thrash, and struggle with al of my immortal might.
But despite the fact that I can be satisfied in knowing I did a good bit of damage to each of them, in the end, it’s not enough.
I can’t beat them.
I’m no match.
And the next thing I know Rafe’s pushing me at the exact moment Misa and Marco let go.
Sending me flying.
Soaring.
Hurtling straight over the edge and deep into a bottomless canyon.
thirty-one
Just like a dream where you find yourself fal ing and can’t seem to stop because there’s nothing to grab onto and you’ve lost al control of your body—that’s exactly what this is like.
Except for the fact that usual y when I find myself caught in one of those dreams, my body eventual y jerks me awake before any grave disaster can take place.
But this time, I’m already awake. And from what I can tel , the disaster is now, and it’s about to get worse.
My hair lifts, waving high above my head, as my legs furiously kick,
attempting to temper the pace, halt my speed, slow myself down, but it’s no use. The effort is as useless as my arms, which continue to flail al around, searching for something to hang onto, but succeeding only in proving Rafe right.
There is nothing to save me.
Nothing to stop me.
The cliff is a sheer solid drop into the void.
The lower I go, the darker it becomes until I can no longer see in front of me—can no longer see below me—can no longer see where I’m going.
Al I know is that the fal seems to quicken, picking up speed, as I race toward an end that may not exist. The awful truth of my existence, the absolute irony of it, is that if I can’t find a way to stop this—then this is how I’l spend my eternity.
I can’t die—my chakras are so strong they won’t let me.
And any injuries sustained won’t heal—this part of Summerland won’t al ow for that sort of thing.
Two horrible thoughts I find too overwhelming to contemplate.
So I don’t.
I choose to focus my mind elsewhere instead.
Sifting through the long list of things I’ve learned this past year—going al the way back to the day when I first died in the car accident that claimed my whole family—to this never-ending crevice where I find myself now. Remembering what Lotus said about knowledge coming when we’re most in need of it, and hoping my accumulated knowledge wil help me find a way out.