Chapter 13 - The Fall And The Confession
Mark hung by a single hand over the rocky canyon below, his fingers slipping against the wet, rusted metal.
The roar of the rushing river two hundred feet down rose through the mist like a hungry beast.
“Emma! Help me!” Mark screamed, terror stripping away every shred of his arrogant defiance.
“Emma, please! I’m your husband! Don't let me fall!”
Emma stopped at the edge of the broken pavement, looking down at the man who had destroyed her life.
The rain beat down on his upturned, pleading face, washing away the remnants of the life they had built together.
She remembered their wedding vows in the small county chapel seventeen years ago.
She remembered how gently he had held Lily when she was brought home from the maternity ward.
And she remembered ten long years of sitting in an empty bedroom, staring at Noah’s dusty sneakers under the bed.
Noah stood beside her, coughing raggedly as he rubbed the dark purple bruises forming on his throat.
He did not reach out a hand.
He did not look away.
“Emma, please!” Mark wailed, his fingers losing their grip one by one on the slick steel beam.
“I have the account numbers! I have the Swiss safety deposit keys! We can take the money and leave!”
Emma slowly knelt down in the mud, her eyes meeting his with a cold, terrifying serenity.
“Where is Julian Sterling’s flight recorder, Mark?” Emma asked, her voice deadly quiet.
Mark’s face drained of what little color remained.
“What?”
“Arthur said Julian died in a plane crash over the Atlantic,” Emma said, leaning closer to the edge.
“But you worked logistics at the regional airfield the night Julian disappeared.”
Mark swallowed hard, his knuckles white as his thumb slipped off the wet beam.
“He didn't crash in the Atlantic,” Mark gasped, tears of pure horror leaking from his eyes.
“We took the transponder off his twin-engine Cessna and threw it onto a cargo freighter heading to Rotterdam.”
“Where is Julian’s body, Mark?” Noah demanded, his voice cutting through the wind.
Mark’s left middle finger slipped from the beam, leaving only two fingers holding his entire weight.
“Under the foundation of the municipal water reservoir!” Mark screamed, sobbing openly now.
“Arthur paid the concrete contractors five thousand dollars to pour forty tons of cement over his car!”
Emma closed her eyes for a single, agonizing second as the final piece of the dark puzzle fell into place.
Julian Sterling hadn't abandoned her.
He hadn't run away to Europe to escape fatherhood.
He had been murdered in cold blood so Arthur Collins and Mark could seize the family estate.
The wailing sirens of the State Police convoy crested the hill behind them, blinding headlights illuminating the entire scene.
Captain Thorne’s patrol vehicle slid to a halt across the road, four officers jumping out with weapons raised.
Mark’s last two fingers began to peel away from the wet metal girder.
“Emma! Pull me up!” he shrieked, his voice climbing into an octave of absolute madness.
Emma looked down at his trembling hand.
She slowly reached out her arm toward him.
Mark’s eyes flared with desperate, triumphant hope as he reached upward with his free right hand.
Emma did not grab his fingers.
She pulled the gold wedding band off her left ring finger and dropped it into his open palm.
“Rest in peace, Mark,” Emma whispered.
Mark’s eyes widened in sudden, horrifying comprehension as his fingers completely lost their grip on the steel beam.
He didn't scream as he peeled away from the precipice.
His body vanished backward into the swirling black mist and rain of the gorge.
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Three long, endless seconds passed before a dull, sickening crack echoed from the jagged boulders far below.
Then there was only the sound of the rain.
