The Purgatorium

Chapter Sixteen

Daphne crawled along the bottom of the stream against the current until it became shallow, and she was forced to stand. Crouching, she dashed behind a scrawny shrub, a poor cover, and then zipped up a dusty canyon ridge toward the southeast, stopping behind a boulder to catch her breath. From the safe cover of the boulder to the top of the ridge was nothing but a gravelly slope. Although she couldn't be seen from Central Valley, anyone on Sierra Blanca could easily spot her if they happened to be looking this way. But time was precious, so she took the risk and dashed up the hill and then flattened herself against the canyon ridge, prone, eyes peeking over the other side, as the ancient Indians who once inhabited the island must have done when strangers docked their boats.

On the other side of the canyon ridge, Willows Anchorage, the private pier of the resort, came into view. Empty of both people and boats, the dock was occupied by a flock of pelicans.

Daphne climbed to her feet and ran down the steep gravelly canyon wall. She slipped and fell on her hip, ripping her shorts, but got up and kept running, even though her skin stung where the rocks had rubbed her raw. If only a boat would come and take her back to the mainland. But Hortense Gray once said this was the private dock of the resort.

She ran past the pier toward the bluffs where she had watched Stan leap into the ocean a few days ago. She still couldn't believe he could betray her. It was strange, but she felt as betrayed by Stan as she had by Cam even though she hadn't known Stan long. Cam was her best friend, but she had begun to think of Stan as the big brother she had always wished Joey could be.

The bluffs were steeper from this side than she realized coming down the canyon wall. She reached her out hands and pulled her body up the bluffs.

Scaling the bluffs reminded her of climbing the rock wall at her old gym at Alamo Heights, except here she had no gear and harness supporting her. Yet, as she dug her feet one at a time into shallow ledges, she felt surprisingly elated. Maybe it was because she had made it this far, so close to the resort without having been found.

She reached the top and flattened to her belly, remembering what Cam once said about the watchers: they could see her and Cam down on the beach even if they couldn't hear them. They might be able to see her up here as well. She crawled like a soldier across the top, her elbows and knees rubbed raw and stinging.

From here the ocean appeared less brutal, and she considered leaping in like Stan had done that morning a few days ago. He had done it repeatedly and had loved it. If he could do it, why couldn't she?

And if the water slammed her into the stone and killed her, would it matter?

She recalled the glass-bottom pool and how much pleasure she took from swimming a few days ago. While kayaking, too, before the incident with the tide, she had been fascinated and excited and full of a kind of joy. The sea lions and sting rays and the falls, the paintings on the walls, the crystal water reflecting the bright sun, all had made her happy. Being with Cam again had rejuvenated her and made her feel alive. Maybe it was possible to live and be happy as long as she didn't have to face the people she had let down. Maybe she didn't need to kill herself. She could run away and start over where no one knew her.

She scooted over the top and gazed down at the pristine beach below. The yellow poppies on the hills opposite her waved to her in the distance. As she soaked in their beauty, hoping for the strength to continue down the other side of the bluffs, a guy on the boardwalk caught her eye.

She wondered why this able-bodied person wasn't with the rest of the search party. He gazed out over the water and then descended the steps toward the beach. As he neared the coastline, her jaw dropped open and goose bumps popped out all over her arms and legs. The guy looked exactly like Brock.