Galilee Rising (17 page)

Everyone backstage gawks as I walk in, not that I give a shit. I have to get away from here. Fast. Where the hell is my purse? "Hey, are you okay?" V asks, following behind me.

"I can't find my purse," I say, checking by the food.

"It's over here," she says, pointing to the chairs.

Thank God. "Thanks." I pick it up.

"Jo, are you sure you're okay? What you said was--"

"I know. It just, it needed to be said. If the truth makes me unpopular then I'm willing to make that sacrifice. And you can quote me on that."

"Here, here," Liberty cheers as she comes backstage. "That was bad-ass, JoJo. Kudos. And you can quote me on that too, reporter girl."

The gang's all here. I glance at the livid mayor, impassive Tempest, and concerned Nightingale. "What in the hell was--" Miracle says.

"Leave her alone," Nightingale orders, voice hard as titanium. Miracle's mouth snaps shut for the first time ever. Nightingale takes a step toward me. "Miss Fallon, are you alright?"

"Fine. I just have to get back to work. Excuse me."

I turn away from prying eyes and haul ass. When I step outside, the dispersing crowd eyes me with apprehension. Great, guess that could have gone better. At least I didn't have a panic attack, just verbal diarrhea. Yeah, much better. People love being made to feel like shit. I stride as fast as my high heels can take me out of the park, joining the anonymous people on the city sidewalks. I'm going to wander until I find the cork to the bottle of my emotions again.

That is if there are enough miles on the planet.

*

My aching feet know where I need to go. After about half a mile, I kick off my heels and pad barefoot along the river walk. The wet pavement does feel wonderful against my feet. Carefree college students and others jog past me without a glance. Just another normal person out and about on a normal day. I guess I knew where I was going when I left the tent. I've been putting this off for a year. I've been tempted a few times, even pushed the elevator button, but chickened out when the doors opened. Probably going to do the same today, but I am damn well going to try.

Just not alone.

I walk into the hospital, past the volunteer receptionists who know me to the elevators. Jem's office is on the fifteenth floor with the other neurologists. A few nurses glance at me and my now black bare feet, but I ignore them. Miranda, assistant to Jem and two others, grins as I approach. "Hello, Miss Fallon. Dr. Ambrose isn't here at the moment."

Of course not. "Do you know when he's expected back?"

"No, sorry. I can tell him you stopped by."

"No, that's okay. Thank you."

I trudge to the elevators in a haze. I don't know if I could or really should do this alone. Right now everything within me is disconnected, including the wiring inside my brain. Nothing seems real, nothing's substantial as if I'm a ghost haunting this realm. The last time I experienced this was before my last binge. I wanted the nothingness to remain so I drank for three days to make sure it would. Okay, I need to find a meeting. I resolve right now to not even look at alcohol for the rest of the day. I'll attend a dozen meetings if I have to. But first this. I
have
to do this. With or without Jem.

I ride the elevator up and down for a few minutes, standing in the back corner like a wallflower. Pregnant women, nurses, visitors, parties in wheelchairs all enter and leave. None go to my floor. I was hoping fate would intervene, but she must be busy. Hell, is she was in front of me, I'd punch the bitch in the face for all the literal grief she's determined is my lot in life. When the last person, a doctor I vaguely recognize, steps off on the eighth floor the elevator remains still. It won't move unless someone presses the button. I wait fifteen seconds for someone to save me from this, but no joy. Moment of truth. I take a deep breath and step forward to press the button for the roof.

The doors open a few tense seconds later, and I'm there. I think I may throw up.

It's windy, expanding my chills exponentially. I tug my coat closer. This was a stupid idea. What the hell was I thinking? The doors begin to close but my arm, acting on its own, blocks it. My legs have joined the revolt because they move me onto the concrete roof. I'm here. I did it. And it's exactly as I remember it. Raised helipad with a ramp. Stairwell door with a light above it. Huge silver air conditioning vents and other large machines. Chain link fence at an angle around the perimeter of the ledge strong enough to hold one but not two people. My nightmare landscape. The scene of the final battle between two godlike men hell bent on destroying each other with me caught in the middle.

It looks so…normal.

My legs propel me forward, but my brain is a few seconds behind. The stairwell door looks the same, undamaged, but if examined closely there are a few dents in the metal door and in the wall beside patches in lighter colors. Bullet holes from when Alkaline's goons shot at me. Missed blowing my brains out by a few centimeters. When I came back out with Justin, I shot right on back. Got a goon right between the eyes. The second man I've ever killed, and I pray the last. Though I had no choice either time sometimes guilt overwhelms me. No matter the justification, I've still taken lives. It's a heavy burden no matter the circumstances. I don't linger here.

I pass by the air ducts where I had a showdown with a woman I thought I'd known for two decades. She'll be spending the next two in prison, longer if I have anything to say about it. Can't wait for her first parole hearing. She let a monster out of his cage all in the name of love, then stood by as he raped and murdered two innocent women and a child. That bitch will never be free as long as I draw breath.

Finally, I round the corner of the helipad where the worst of it occurred. The concrete on the ground is uneven as if riddled with anthills, the only sign of "the epic battle" as it's called. There are small patches where Alkaline dripped acid and bigger ones the size of fists and torsos where Justice got in a few licks. By the time I was done with Grace, both men's faces resembled raw hamburger and their bodies were caked in blood. The second most gruesome sight I've seen.

The chain link where I dangled thirty floors up is much shinier than the rest. Look to the left or right and it's gray and red from rust, but the replacement is silver. I must not be the only one who spotted this because there are a few bouquets of flowers and cards resting against this spot. There's even a candle extinguished from the rain. I heard the janitor comes up here to remove the makeshift memorial that pops up every day. They keep trying to erase what happened here, but they can't. Not all the way. I pull out some matches and re-light the candle.

It was night last time I was up here. As I held onto that fence for dear life in a fucking cocktail dress, all I could see was darkness below. Before I can stop myself, I walk to the edge and peer down. The Andalucía River is nothing but a dark line as thick as a piece of tape. An abyss if there ever was one. Across the river, the Falls, white water over black onyx, continues its never-ending cycle. It's beautiful. I hope as he fell Justin got to see this majesty of nature one last time.

I close my eyes. Our last moments together occurred right here. Alkaline stood where I am now, grinning down at us with triumph as the fence continued to rip apart one link at a time. Justin, once Adonis revisited, held on with only one hand above me beaten, burned, Broken. He gazed down at me, peace filling his face, sending terror to mine. The moment my eyes met his, I knew. I knew his heart as I knew mine. Always had.
I love you
. His last words were, "I love you." To me. I didn't have to say them back before he let go. I felt his body fall beside me and did nothing.

His last words were, "I love you."

"Joanna?"

My tear filled eyes fly open, and I spin around. Jem stands a few feet away, concern radiating from his every pore. His hair is a mess, wild and his clothes rumpled. No glasses either. He came in a hurry. Not like him to forget the details. "Joanna, please get away from there. It's dangerous."

I turn back to the abyss. "I was just thinking. About last words."

"Last words?"

"Yeah. I read the most common are, 'Oh, shit' or 'Oh, God.' Justin's were, 'I love you.' He looked me square in the eyes and told me he loved me. He'd said it in passing a few times, the usual, 'You're my friend, I love you,' type of thing, but deep down I never really believed him. If he loved me then he should
love
me, you know? Like I did him. But at that moment, his last moment, I finally became a believer. Because that's what love is, right? Putting someone before yourself? For twenty years he loved me, and I think I just now realized he loved me a hell of a lot more than I loved him. If I even really did love him. Maybe I'm just not capable of it. Two people were on that fence, and the
thought
of letting go never even crossed my mind. Not even for a millisecond. But it crossed his. Because he was good, and strong, and capable of the biggest love of all. And he's dead. And I'm here. It should have been me."

"No," Jem says forcefully. All of a sudden he's next to me, grabbing and turning me toward him. "
No
."

"Anyway you look at it, his life was worth more than mine. I die, a few people are sad for awhile, but they move on. He dies, the whole city implodes." I wipe a tear off my cheek. "Who the hell am I? I'm nothing. A traumatized alcoholic who ruins everything and everyone she comes into contact with."

"That's not true."

"It is. I hurt
everyone
I care about. Justin, Harry, Lucy. I make everything worse. I mean, why the hell would God let me live when such better people die? Rebecca, Daisy, my dad, Justin. It-It-It doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't. That's why it's the eternal question: why him and not me? Why does a murderer go free while an innocent man is convicted? Why does my brother draw breath but Uma doesn't? There is no answer, Joanna. I've searched for it all my life and haven't found a clue. And believe me when I say if you let that question take over your life, it can nearly destroy you. Pursuing that question allows guilt to guide your life, and that is no way to live it." He closes his eyes. "
Believe me
." He opens his beautiful eyes again, looking square in mine. They're brimming with sadness and hope. "You-You turn around and survey your life, your goals, and you don't recognize them. Or yourself. But you continue looking because the quest is all you have. And you're alone.
So
alone for so long with only that guilt to drive you that when someone wonderful comes along, so wonderful you actually begin to imagine another life for yourself full of love and joy, it rocks you to your core. You've seen the dawn after a million starless nights, and it's
beautiful
, but you're afraid it's just an illusion. That it'll be taken from you, or that you never really saw it, and you're alone again once more with that ache. I don't want that for you. Justin wouldn't either. You survived. You're alive.
So live
."

I can't hold back a moment longer. I fling myself against him, wrapping my arms around his torso in a hug. His limbs envelop me as I finally allow myself to burst into tears right against his pulsing heart. It beats so fast and strong against my cheek. Our limbs melding, his warm body feeding my cold one, his smell of stale sweat mixed with faint cologne, all of it bliss.

We remain like this for one perfect second before I sense him gazing down at me. I pull apart to look up but don't dare meet his eyes. His hands move to my cheeks, cradling my face. His thumbs wipe my still falling tears, and I place my hands over his. "Please tell me I'm not crazy," he whispers desperately. "Please tell me I'm not imagining this. Please tell me you feel this too.
Please
."

I want to speak, but the words won't come out. Everything becomes real when you say it out loud. Somehow I find the courage to gaze into his eyes, the sadness brimming in them shifts to awe and something else that scares me to fucking death. I leap away. "I-I have to go. I-I can't…I'm sorry. Bye."

Like the fucking coward I am, I sprint off that rooftop as fast as I can, down the stairwell, and out of the hospital before all my resolve fades. I can't take much more of this. I can't keep this up. He just needs to…no. I stop at the edge of the dark river to catch my breath. No more. This needs to end one way or another. I'm done.

I quit.

*

After two AA meetings, where I just sit in the back listening to stories a hell of a lot worse than mine, I have the cab driver take me to the marina. It's raining pretty bad, and the radio warns of thunderstorms, but I could give a shit. I'd go home but in retrospect I don't really have one. That mansion isn't mine. There's nothing in there I earned or even really want. The ghosts in that place are too much for me to handle tonight.

I'm soaked just walking to the
The Athena
. I grab my raincoat and sneakers from the galley, untie her and sail the fuck out of town. The waves are high and angry tonight, I have little visibility, the wind pelts rain droplets against my cheeks as if shot from a BB gun, but I figure I'm the only person crazy enough to be out tonight. Besides, I love it when it's wild and crazy like this. Me against Mother Nature. I push the throttle down as far as I can, and we leap over the waves before coming crashing down to earth with a teeth rattling thud. I have no idea which way I'm going, but I keep at it. Can't get lost if you don't have a destination.

The storm worsens as I get farther out to sea. Maybe I'll just keep going until I reach some deserted island or Fiji. I was supposed to go there with Harry but we never made it. Twice. Will this time. I'll live in a hut by the shore. Fish for my dinner and grow my own vegetables. I can just vanish. Live a simple life. Start over.

About two miles from port my body is as numb as the rest of me. My fingers ache something fierce from the cold and clutching the wheel for dear life. Chattering teeth and shivers soon follow. Fuck. Fiji's going to have to wait. I have no choice but to drop anchor so I can warm up. Fiji would be no fun with pneumonia. The boat pitches and sways, knocking me against the rope railing as I make my way below deck. I accumulate more bruises through the galley, hallway with the head and shower, into the bedroom. There are clothes in the dresser. Justin's sweats should fit.