First published in Allegory eZine’s 2012 spring/summer issue. Can be downloaded for free at SmashWords and Barnes and Noble

Justin Luck edged the unforgiving cliff carefully as if it was the barrel of a loaded gun. Fear was beginning to take hold of him, turning his legs to jelly. Last time there wasn’t any fear, at least not at first. There was only the cold wind and his anxiousness to escape everything. Maybe this time was different because he was going to jump for different reasons, unselfish ones. At least that was the theory his mind was offering.

His eyes wandered beyond the rocky depths that waited for him and found a red car far in the distance, heading up the interstate. It looked like a small toy from this height: soundless and rolling along as if on a guided track. Trees thick with leaves lined the highway on both sides, robbing the miniature travelers of the terrific view of endless hills lush with summer green. It was beautiful. He felt the polar opposite of beautiful.

Sick amusement riddled him wth the thought that if Rosie was right (and he had no doubt that she was right), this would be the second time he killed himself by jumping from Stinton’s Point. So much had changed in the eight months since his last visit to the cliff. Yet here he was, back at the beginning. He closed his eyes and brought his mind to last November, when he peeked over the lip for the first time and watched pebbles gracefully fall to the barren, ice-slicked rocks below.

*

The pebbles seemed to take forever to reach the bottom, confirming to him that the height of the cliff was adequate. “This should do,” he muttered to himself. “This should do nicely.” He wasn’t scared to die. If anything he would welcome death with wide, outstretched arms as he followed the pebbles to his end. It was the pain of surviving the impact that he feared.

Pain of surviving, he thought to himself. The idea tickled his mood. Surviving was a perfect way to describe how he lived most of his sixteen years, and pain was a word that fit in there nicely too. There was the physical pain from the occasional school-yard beating, but that’s not what currently owned his mind. It was the emotional kind that held the reigns and brought him to the brink on this cold, mid-November afternoon.

The unrelenting feeling that he was alone, not loved, and not wanted plagued him everywhere and without fail. Friends, he had none; his family life, while not broken, may as well have been because that’s how his mom and dad made him feel on the inside, broken. Until this afternoon, he took solace in the fact that he was the only one who knew that.

His only outlet, the one thing capable of shouldering the burden was a red, tattered notebook. In it he released his fears, his aspirations, his poetry and songs. Every slur that pierced his heart had a place no matter if it was cast by a schoolmate or his parents. This particular morning, against his gut, he brought it to school to finish a poem. It was to be his latest masterpiece. To his horror, some bastard found the notebook and decided to decorate the hall lockers with its pages, leaving his innermost feelings dangling from pieces of tape for the entire world to see. But it didn’t really matter, not now. He’d never see those laughing faces again.

The cold wind whipped harshly against his raw cheeks, blowing his dirty-blond hair wildly about as if egging him to go on with it. He took the last half-step to the edge and squeezed his eyes shut. No need to see it, he told himself.

After slowly taking in and savoring what would be his last breath, Justin jumped as far as his legs would let him and allowed the open air to take hold. The dry, bitter taste of wind filled his mouth as he fell endlessly into the chasm.

His eyes shot open; adrenaline flooded his veins as sweat did through every pore. Justin looked down at his feet to find them still firmly rooted on the dusty brim.

“What the hell was that?” he said to the wind. He fumbled backwards and fell on his ass. The jump seemed so real! Whatever just happened, it was enough to pump the fear of death into him.

He sat there for what seemed like forever, shivering, hugging his knees and watching the sky turn from a bleak gray to a desolate black through tear-glazed eyes until his anger softened. It was then that he decided to head for home. Perhaps he may work up the nerve to try again tomorrow, perhaps not. Like everything else in his life, it didn’t really matter.

Twenty minutes later, he arrived at his house on Sultan Street, and he probably missed dinner by at least an hour. Justin made his way up the porch steps and slammed his skinny body into the front door. He didn’t want to bring attention to himself, but until his dad decided to get off his lazy ass to fix it, there was no other way to get the door to open.

Instantly he was smothered by the thick smell of bacon. His mother was to the right, huddled over the sink, finally working on a crowd of dirty dishes that had been sitting there for way too long. Her green eyes shot up immediately. They were set deep in her too-thin face and greeted him like daggers.

“It’s about time you got home,” she snarled, her drunken accent as thick as the smell of swine. “Where the hell have you been?” Her wiry, brown hair was tied back in the usual rushed bundle and bounced as she continued to scrub away at the week-old grime.

Justin didn’t bother to answer as he walked by in swift strides to the stairs and headed up.

“James! He’s home!” he heard her holler, “Come give ’em that kick in the ass you promised!”

He knew his dad wouldn’t stir. At this time of the night, he was no doubt already passed out on the couch, his belly brimming with dinner and cheap beer.

Justin lightly traversed the hallway past his sister’s room. Her door was cocked half-opened, and he could just see her brown curls peeking up from behind her bed on the far side of the room. He normally didn’t mind talking to Rosie, but tonight wasn’t a normal night. She was nearly three years younger than him. The age gap was too great for Justin to throw his problems across, and at the moment there was nothing else he could bring himself to speak of other than his problems.

Justin’s room immediately followed Rosie’s, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he reached his door and shut it behind him with an almost inaudible click. Not bothering to turn on his lights, he flopped onto his bed and let sleep come for him.

Screams awoke him in the night, immediately causing Justin to go rigid and alert. He didn’t know what was happening, but he could tell that the yelling was coming from Rosie. As his mind tried to sort out sleep from reality, the hallway light came alive, outlining his door in a rectangular glow. Footsteps stomped past his room towards Rosie’s. He knew they belonged to his mother because he heard her bitter voice soon after.

“Shut your damn mouth before you wake your father,” she growled as she went in, crafting her whispers so they came out as fake shouts. “If he hears you, then you’ll really be crying.”

Justin strained to listen to the rest of the short, mostly one-sided conversation, but it came to him in muffled undertones. As his mind shook off enough sleep to become logical, Rosie’s plight became obvious. She had had a nightmare, the poor kid. Instead of that witch cussing her out, she should have been hugging the fear from her.

Sure enough the hallway light flicked off after the cries subsided. Sleep wasn’t quick to reacquaint itself, but when it finally did, it held him deeply for the rest of the night.

The next morning, all Justin could think about was his red notebook as he readied himself for school. He could already hear the hecklers slinging their fresh ammunition into his ears.

Rosie was sitting at their small kitchen table eating breakfast, her back to Justin as he stepped off the stairs. Her pink sweatshirt was too bright for his fresh eyes, causing him to squint as he looked her over. She was wearing her hair tied back in a ponytail, a telltale sign that she overslept and hadn’t the time to fix it as she liked. It hung down barely long enough to kiss the bottom of her neck and was still damp and darkened from the shower.

“Where were you last night?” she asked as soon as he came into view.

He didn’t answer but went right to assembling his bowl of cereal. His mind was busy trying to grow the thick skin he’d certainly require for the day, and the last thing he needed was to be reminded of yesterday. As he crammed himself into the chair across from her and began to eat, Rosie cleared her throat and stared at him coolly.

“Well, are you gonna tell me or–”

“None of your business!” he barked through a mouthful of corn flakes. Justin was looking down at his bowl, but from his periphery he could see that he startled her. “Sorry, Rosie,” he added gently, finally meeting her passive eyes. They were deep green, like their mother’s. In fact, with her hair pulled back, Rosie looked a lot like a youthful version of her, one not yet beaten down by life and liquor. A soft, compliant smile appeared on her face, and it made him feel bad for snapping. “I just had a rough day yesterday and had to get out for a while.”

She just nodded acceptingly and went back to her toast. An awkward silence floated between them as they continued eating. Hating it more than his sister’s immediate need for answers, he said, “So…it sounded like you had one hell of a bad dream last night.”

Her face went blank. “It was horrible!”

“Well let’s hear it!” Justin responded with feigned interest.

“It was about you. It was so…real!”

“Really?” he baited as he shoved another spoonful of corn flakes into his mouth. “So what happened?”

The words left her lips slowly. “Well, we were eating pancakes and bacon, just like we did last night, and we were waiting for you to come home. Dad was cursing you up and down for being late, and then someone came knocking on the door.”

Her voice dimmed, as if she was afraid to hear it. “Mom opened it, and there was a policeman standing there. He introduced himself and then whispered something to her. Before he was even done, mom started screaming and crying so hard that dad jumped up and ran to her.”

Justin didn’t realize that he was leaning in, holding tightly to each word that pushed from her mouth.

“You were dead!” Rosie’s voice suddenly squeaked. “He came to tell us that they found you at the bottom of Stinton’s Point!”

The words hit Justin hard and by surprise, causing him to nearly choke on his cereal.

She drew a quick, shallow breath and continued, but the rest of her nightmare just bounced off of him like he was coated in rubber. His brain was stuck in high gear, reliving his suicide attempt over and over. There were no free cycles left to keep his other senses from shutting down. It wasn’t until she poked at his arm incessantly that he snapped out of.

“Crazy, right?” he heard her say.

“Yeah…crazy,” was all he could muster.

She wiped the wetness from her eyes and shot a glance above him. “Oh hell,” she gawked, motioning to the clock above the range, “I gotta go!”

Rosie jumped from the chair and grabbed her backpack before running out. As she opened the stubborn door, Justin heard the school bus quickly approaching from down the street, its low growl cutting through the crisp, morning air. This was her last year of grade school and of taking the bus.

The high school being a few blocks away afforded Justin the luxury to leave at his leisure. Unable to wrap his head around Rosie’s dream, heading to school was something that could definitely wait. What played out in her nightmare was obviously a coincidence, but it still unsettled him greatly. So much in fact, that it wriggled and writhed in his brain all day, creating an impermeable barrier that nothing could pass. Fears of his leaked secrets written in the notebook fell by the wayside as did the constant taunts hurled by his peers. Even the idea of going back to the cliff was forgotten.

Sleep was a fickle friend that night. When it did come, it was in thin slices and not meaty enough to recharge him. By the time he left for school in the morning, he was too tired to care anymore, and slowly the unnerving power that Rosie’s dream held over him melted away. By dinner time, the dream was a mere ghost of a thought.

The next morning Justin had beaten Rosie to the kitchen table, taking the good seat for himself. As he gulped the leftover milk from his cereal bowl, he heard her light footsteps creak down the stairs and walk behind him.

“Hey…remember that bad dream I had the other night?” she asked timidly as she stopped in front of the sink.

Playing it down like he hadn’t given it another thought, he answered, “I think so. The one where I died, right?”

She nodded, but barely. “I…I had another one.”

“What do you mean you had another one?” he said louder than he meant to. The anxiety and confusion from the other day returned to him in full force.

“Another dream…I had another dream. Only this time, it…” she trailed off.

“It what?” he demanded.

“This time, it was your funeral,” she said with a fragile look upon her face.

He couldn’t do anything but sit there tending to the lump that welled up in his throat.

“Just like before…it seemed so real,” she said. There was sorrow in her voice, like he was really dead and gone. “You were wearing your dark blue suit, and our whole family was there. I sat in the front with mom and dad, and she was hugging me so hard that it hurt. None of us could stop crying, even daddy.”

Justin didn’t move; he couldn’t move. He could only listen in desperation.

“The freakiest thing though was when my friend Rhonda called me before the funeral. It was early in the morning, and me and mom were still getting ready. She said that she was sorry that she couldn’t come because she was sick…food poisoning, her mom thought.”

“Go on,” Justin pressed when she paused to gauge his interest.

“Right before I came down this morning, Rhonda called and asked if I could bring her homework home for her today.” The look on Rosie’s face was one of fear crossed with untamed curiosity. “She thinks she has food poisoning. Justin, what’s going on? Where were you the other night? Did you go to Stinton’s Point or something?”

He swam in her inquisitive eyes for centuries before noticing that she was gripping the sink hard enough to cause her knuckles to whiten. “Yeah,” he said at last, “I did.”

“Why? What were you even doing there?” She sounded angry at his revelation.

“I went there just to think about stuff,” he replied defensively as he brought his stare to the worn linoleum near her feet. Justin was afraid that the lie would be written plainly on his face.

Out of nowhere, she hit him with a zinger that nearly rattled him from his seat. “Are you sure you didn’t fall from up there?”

“I…I…” All he could do was stammer. A single thought speared through his mind. That feeling of weightlessness and the lack of control and being where no one could save him came rushing back. “What are you getting at?” he at last forced himself to ask.

Somehow she managed to allow her composure to return before speaking. “It’s like…whatever I see in my dreams, I see in real life,” she finally said, clearly calm yet full of intrigue. “It’s exactly the same.”

“Except I’m dead in them!”

Rosie cocked her head as she examined him carefully. “What if they’re not dreams?”

Justin shook his head at her absurdity as the bus pulled up to the house with a deep grumble in its belly.

“So what are they then?”

“I dunno,” she shrugged, piling her textbooks into her bag hastily, “but it’s really freaky.”

She held him with a concerned stare before scurrying out, leaving Justin with nothing but his own endless imagination to fill in the blanks. There were too many to count.

The days went on, and Justin couldn’t deny that Rosie’s dreams were holding his mind hostage. He spent most of his time thinking of ways to debunk her endless list of theories.

“Maybe you’re really dead, and this life is the dream,” she would say with a smart look on her face. “Or maybe this is a sort of new life that you got bumped into when you died, and I’m seeing your old life in my dreams.”

What he first classified as insanity grew more resilient with every new dream. One morning she spouted vivid details of her latest one. It took place at the high school football game.

“See, that’s bull!” Justin yelled from across the breakfast table. “We never went anywhere as a family, let alone a football game. Dad’s the only one who even likes football!”

“But the game was dedicated to you,” she replied with sass in her voice. “Of course we’d all go!”

For a moment her eyes drifted through him as if in deep reflection. “It was really sad. They put your yearbook picture on the score board and everyone cried…even daddy.”

“And who won?” asked Justin, not convinced.

“Saw Dogs, 17 to 0,” she responded with certainty. “Listen to the game on the radio, tonight. You’ll see.”

He did just that. Sprawled out on his bed while over-examining the pattern of tiny, gray dimples in the drop ceiling, Justin listened gravely as the Saw Dogs scored their second touchdown with less than a minute to spare. The score was 16 to 0 in the Saw Dogs’ favor. Justin fought the nausea that thumped in his stomach as he slowly crept to his dresser. His eyes fixated on the speakers of his radio. Boos from the home crowd filtered through as the extra point was kicked. The announcer’s squawking voice confirmed what Justin already knew: The kick was good, and the score was 17 to 0 with less than 10 seconds left in the game.

He shut off the radio and found his bed quickly before his legs gave out. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t process what just happened. A million thoughts fluttered inside his head, but none stopped to rest where he could reach them. Within minutes, Rosie was banging excitedly at his bedroom door.

“Go away!” he shouted. “I know…okay? I’m listening to it on the radio.”

To his surprise, she obliged without incident and left him to his misery. On his bed he sat motionless deep into the night, trying to come to grips with the fact that somewhere, in some other world, he may be resting six feet underground in a navy-blue suit. When sleep finally came for him, daylight was near.

The dreams went on, and weeks quickly turned to months. Justin was actually beginning to find fascination in them instead of dread. He began to realize that with Rosie as his conduit, he could witness what the world would be like if his life ended with a jump on that cold, November day. It even brought him a queer sensation of happiness. He knew guilt should restrain him, but he couldn’t deny the fact that he loved to hear how his death pained the family, especially as they wallowed miserably through the holidays. Rosie’s dreams were fraught with images of crying and breakdowns and therapy sessions, and they all fed Justin’s high as if his family’s sadness validated the worth of his life.

But then as the snow melted, and the weather warmed with the coming of spring, changes blossomed in Rosie’s other life as well. “Mommy and daddy quit drinking!”, “Mommy promised me that we’ll spend more time together!” and “Daddy’s saving extra hard so we can go to the beach for vacation. I always wanted to go to the beach for a week!” were just some of the painfully sweet revelations brought up at the breakfast table. The dreams were beautiful and colorful and bright, a stark contrast to his and Rosie’s true existence.

The spectacular life of Rosie’s counterpart and her family was beginning to run Justin thin, and he knew that he wasn’t the only one taking it hard. He found himself paying more attention to Rosie’s eyes as she explained the dreams than he paid to the dreams themselves. While the dreams she described were happy, the story that her eyes told were full of despair and jealousy.

She began mentioning things, dark things, like how sadness greeted her as soon she opened her eyes every morning and how she’d fight to regain sleep just so she could have a few more minutes to bask in the life of her other self. It was becoming dreadfully obvious that a life without him in it was better for everyone, especially for Rosie. With each passing day, he watched her retreat further and further into the abyss of her mind, drifting hopelessly in limbo between this horrible life and a life that didn’t truly belong to her. It ripped at his heart to see her that way, but he didn’t know what he could do to stop its progression.

Rosie’s battles chipped away at Justin until they carved out an answer as clear and cold as ice. By the time he realized that he had to go back to Stinton’s Point, it was early July.

*

Justin opened his eyes and slowly stepped to the edge of edges. “This is it,” he said to the open air. The safety clicked off. He felt the familiar wind smack at his cheeks, mocking him for his fears. The trigger was fingered. He took a final, calming breath. The hammer went back.

Suddenly, Justin took a step back. Tears crowded his eyes, blurring the beauty of the world that sprawled alive and green at his feet, and a thought flickered to life in his mind: If Rosie was right about everything, he might jump only to end up back on the cliff where he started. His problems would be waiting patiently for him right where he left them. “There has to be another way,” he mouthed apologetically to the incessant wind.

He stood on the edge of the cliff for what seemed like forever. At first he felt alone and insignificant, like a meager candle trying to lighten an immense, dark room. After some time, his mind went to work crafting ideas of how he could fix his family. Before long, the fledgling ideas got fat with hope and eventually swarmed over him in a rain of delight. Justin brought in another deep breath and let it dance merrily in his lungs. It mingled with his grand revelations. This was surely the catalyst he needed to turn it all around.

The sound of crunching gravel brought his mind back, and he turned to face the noise. Two little feet strapped in blue, speckled jellies were standing close behind him. He followed them up to their owner.

“Rosie?”

She looked pale and grim and didn’t seem to hear him. She just stared at him with cold, desperate eyes, and it made him shudder despite the steamy, summer heat.

“What are you doing here?”

Still nothing. He was about to ask again, when he caught sight of a tear sliding down her cheek. It was hard to notice at first with the fitful wind blowing her thick, curly hair across her face. It suddenly dawned on him that she figured out what he came here to do.

“It’s okay,” he said with a forced smile. “Really, I’m not going to jump. I promise. I…I had a change of heart.

Again, no response.

“Are you okay? Is everyone alright at home?”

At last she moved, but only to beckon him to look behind him, towards the precipice.

Justin turned quickly and was confused to see nothing out of the ordinary. All of a sudden he felt her little hands on his waist. With a firm push, they sent him plunging off the edge to the rocky world below.