Page 162 of Wallflower

Kyle waits above as I wish I had a tether to something solid. It's not a far drop to Shantel, but the ledge is small and her body takes up most of the free space. So, one wrong shift of my weight, and I could end up accidentally throwing myself into the ocean.

As I lower my body over the side, Kyle holds my wrists with an unwavering strength I didn’t know he possessed. My foot slips from its hold. Shards of sandstone and pebbles tumble down the rock face, plinking around Shantel’s body or careening down into the darkness. Kyle maintains his steadying grasp on me, not so much as a slip in his grip on my wrists as I scramble to find a secure foothold.

Moving with me, Kyle hangs half over the steep ridge, content to be flung into the treacherous waters right alongside me if I go down.

“You’re almost there,” he grunts.

How he can tell, I don’t know. I can’t see shit with my hair hanging around my face and the moonlight appearing and disappearing so fast.

The tip of my high top scrapes the solid rock beneath it, and I drop the few remaining inches, landing with my feet on either side of Shantel’s unnaturally twisted arm.

“Here, take this,” Bucky’s voice calls out.

My gaze shoots up, squinting from the bright light now pooling around me. The plastic yellow flashlight comes flying at my face, and I manage to catch it before it pelts me in the eye.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” I grumble, annoyed with what just transpired. “And stop shining that light in my damn eyes.”

“Sorry,” Bucky concedes, moving the bright beam of light away. I know he’s just trying to get a good look at his dearly departed sister, but the last thing I need is those little floating lights messing with my depth perception.

Kneeling between the rock face and the corpse, I check for a pulse I know I won’t find. Her skin has little give, rigor mortis already setting in and stiffening the smaller muscles. Her limbs still move, though rigidly. She’s been dead at least four hours by my guess, maybe a bit longer. I’m no medical examiner, but it does pay to know little things like this in my business. It helps you narrow down a time of death on your missing dealer that was just found with a bullet to the brain in the bushes at the local dog park.

“Anything?” Bucky asks.

Opting to not reply, I slowly and carefully roll Shantel from her face down position onto her back. With the small flashlight, I examine her for any obvious wounds. Her cloudy eyes are jarring, but the small space has me resisting the urge to jerk back. “Did you see anything on the security footage?” I call up.

“Not really, her back was to the camera. She…she gripped her chest…” Buck’s words falter, diminishing in volume, until I can’t make out what he says over the waves.

“She just fell,” Kyle finishes. “More like collapsed. Then fell.”

Looking over her chest, I see nothing. No obvious wound. No blood. No gunshot. The only gash is to her head, and there’s minimal blood. Which probably means she was dead already when she fell, or very close to it.

Shantel’s skin is slick when I lift her from the rocks. The fresh rain makes it near impossible to get a secure grip on her corpse to heft it upwards so Kyle and Bucky can receive it.

“You guys got some rope or something up there?”

“Yeah, it’s in my pack right alongside my bear spray and rock climbing gear.” Kyle’s trying to lift Bucky’s despair, but it’ll never work. I’ve only ever seen that look on his face once before—when the news of his brother’s accident broke. It took him weeks to leave his room, and even longer to bounce back from the grief. Though, he’s never fully returned to his previous self. I’m worried this will further draw him inwards, or he’ll pull away all together.

“Fuck, link your belts together then and toss one end down to me.”

I hear the clanking of the clasps as I start to undo mine, looping it around under Shantel’s armpits.

“How do you even think this stuff up? Is it all those survival shows you watch?” Kyle questions.

“They definitely don’t hurt.”

“Heads up!” Kyle calls out, Bucky’s silence unnerving me to the core. The end of the makeshift rope comes over the side, longer than anticipated.

“Hey, which one of you weirdos was wearing two belts?”

“Bucky! It was Bucky! He thought it looked cool. Kinda hardcore.”

Kyle’s a shitty liar. He’s had those black and purple studded belts since high school. It went with his scene aesthetic hair flip, and snake bite lip piercings.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?” he croaks.

“Slap that liar for me.”