A rush from seeing her there–
From seeing her alive–
A rush that rises higher than the red–
And “Viola,” I say–
Just “Viola”.
And she picks up the knife.
My momentum is tumbling me towards the edge and I’m turning to try and catch myself and I can see her lifting the knife and I can see her stepping forward and I’m falling into the ledge and my fingers are slipping on wet stone and I can see Aaron sitting up and he’s only got one eye now and it’s staring at Viola as she’s raising the knife and she’s bringing it forward and I can’t stop her and Aaron is trying to rise and Viola’s moving towards him and I’m hitting the ledge with my shoulder and stopping just short of falling over and I’m watching and what’s left of Aaron’s Noise is radiating anger and fear and it’s saying No–
It’s saying Not you–
And Viola’s raising her arm–
Raising the knife–
And bringing it down–
And down–
And down–
And plunging it straight into the side of Aaron’s neck–
So hard the point comes out the other side–
And there’s a crunch, a crunch I remember–
Aaron falls over from the force of it–
And Viola lets go of the knife–
She steps back.
Her face is white.
I can hear her breathing over the roar.
I lift myself with my hands–
And we watch.
Aaron’s pushing himself up.
He’s pushing himself up, one hand clawing at the knife, but it stays in his neck. His remaining eye is wide open, his tongue lolling outta his mouth.
He gets to his knees.
And then to his feet.
Viola cries out a little and steps back.
Steps back till she’s next to me.
We can hear him trying to swallow.
Trying to breathe.
He steps forward but stumbles against the pulpit.
He looks our way.
His tongue swells and writhes.
He’s trying to say something.
He’s trying to say something to me.
He’s trying to make a word.
But he can’t.
He can’t.
His Noise is just wild colours and pictures and things I won’t ever be able to say.
He catches my eye.
And his Noise stops.
Completely stops.
At last.
And gravity takes his body and he slumps sideways.
Away from the pulpit.
And over the edge.
And disappears under the wall of water.
Taking the knife with him.
Viola sits down next to me so hard and fast it’s like she fell there.
She’s breathing heavy and staring into the space where Aaron was. The sunlight thru the falls casts waves of watery light over her face but that’s the only thing on it that moves.
“Viola?” I say, leaping up into a squat next to her.
“He’s gone,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s gone.”
And she just breathes.
My Noise is rattling like a crashing spaceship full of reds and whites and things so different it’s like my head is being pulled apart.
I woulda done it.
I woulda done it for her.
But instead–
“I woulda done it,” I say. “I was ready to do it.”
She looks at me, her eyes wide. “Todd?”
“I woulda killed him myself.” I find my voice raising a little. “I was ready to do it!”
And then her chin starts shaking, not as if she’s going to cry, but actually shaking and then her shoulders, too, and her eyes are getting wider and she’s shaking harder and nothing leaves my Noise and it’s all still there but something else enters it and it’s for her and I grab her and hold her to me and we rock back and forth for a while so she can just shake all she wants to.
She don’t speak for a long time, just makes little moaning sounds in her throat, and I remember just after I killed the Spackle, how I could feel the crunch running down my arm, how I could keep seeing his blood, how I saw him die again and again.
How I do still.
(But I woulda.)
(I was ready.)
(But the knife is gone.)
“Killing someone ain’t nothing like it is in stories,” I say into the top of her head. “Ain’t nothing at all.”
(But I woulda.)
She’s still shaking and we’re still right next to a raging, roaring waterfall and the sun’s higher in the sky and there’s less light in the church and we’re wet and bloody and bloody and wet.
And cold and shaking.
“Come on,” I say, making to stand. “First thing we need to do is get dry, okay?”
I get her to her feet. I go get the bag, still on the floor twixt two pews and go back to her and hold out my hand.
“The sun is up,” I say. “It’ll be warm outside.”
She looks at my hand for a minute before taking it.
But she takes it.
We make our way round the pulpit, unable to keep from looking where Aaron was, his blood already washed away by the spray.
(I woulda done it.)
(But the knife.)
I can feel my hand shaking in hers and I don’t know which one of us it is.
We get to the steps and it’s halfway up that she first speaks.
“I feel sick,” she says.
“I know,” I say.
And we stop and she leans closer to the waterfall and is sick.
A lot.
I guess this it what happens when you kill someone in real life.
She leans forward, her hair wet and tangled down. She spits.
But she don’t look up.
“I couldn’t let you,” she says. “He would have won.”
“I woulda done it,” I say.
“I know,” she says, into her hair, into the falls. “That’s why I did it.”
I let out a breath. “You shoulda let me.”
“No.” She looks up from being crouched over. “I couldn’t let you.” She wipes her mouth and coughs again. “But it’s not just that.”
“What then?” I say.
She looks into my eyes. Her own are wide and they’re bloodshot from the barfing.
And they’re older than they used to be.
“I wanted to, Todd,” she says, her forehead creasing. “I wanted to do it. I wanted to kill him.” She puts her hands to her face. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.”
“Stop it,” I say, taking her arms and pulling her hands away. “Stop it. He was evil. He was crazy evil–”