FICTION
The Death Of Henry James Part 8
A Sunny Alexander-Johnson and Roberto De La Cruz Series By P.G. & Sharon Barnett
My name is Sunny Alexander-Johnson. And I’m Roberto De La Cruz, and we’re writers for Dark Sides of the Truth magazine.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
After a quick breakfast and examination of directions, we found FR 329 and headed north. Less than five hours later, we were rolling into Palo Duro Canyon State Park
A guard at the entrance gate took our eight dollars apiece for entry then pointed us to the visitor center and store. Although both of us had changed into hiking boots, we realized we would need to stock up on water and perhaps a few energy bars if we were to be on the trails most of the day.
Realizing we were actually ill-equipped for this adventure, we purchased backpacks and walking poles along with the water and food, knowing our boss, Rick McDonnell, wouldn’t think twice about knocking the purchases off our expense reports.
Some things never change.
“Hey, get Loretta’s journal. Where it goes, so does Roy.”
“Got it, Sunny. You ready for this?”
“Sure. It’s just walking on a trail. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Really? Really Sunny, you had to say that?”
The trail was relatively easy for the first thirty minutes or so, bearing to the right near the baseline of the canyon walls. Clusters of spiny opuntia, also known as prickly pears, lined both sides of the trail, and every now and then, we spied collard lizards as they attempted to cross the path and then skittered back to the protection of the rocks and boulders as we approached. It was warm, but not the kind of heat you’d expect for the middle of September, but still, by the time we reached the first hill, we were both sweating heavily.
“Lord, I need to start working out again.”
“I would have thought Dante and Alicia would be workout enough.”
“Not the same kind of workout, Roberto. So, until this first hill, the trail’s been pretty flat. Even if Roy did get caught at night here, it would have been pretty easy to find his way back.”
We gazed at the trail leading upward and snaking through the first hill.
“Right, then we continue. The lady at the store said the entire walk is only about two to three hours, even for a novice hiker.”
“Look, before we go, I’m going to send a text to Robert. We need to know what the status is.”
After sending the text, we perched on a couple of stones beside the trail, sipping water, enjoying brief spurts of wind that passed through the canyon, careened off the walls, and teased our sweat-soaked bodies.
When the text message came back it brought with it a reminder this wasn’t just a sight-seeing trip. Something we’d seemed to have forgotten as we’d somehow slipped into a tourist mindset.
“Still following. He’s heading to the trail. We’re on him. Do not come back down the trail until you hear from me.”
“Now what?”
“We do what we came here to do, Roberto. Find Roy and get this dude off our ass.”
The first hill was easy, a gentle slope upward, and although neither of us felt the need to rest when we discovered benches at a rest stop area beneath some shade trees, we again stopped and sipped water. The walk had been far from taxing. In fact, it almost seemed tranquil, the canyon scenery almost something we could get lost in as we walked. It was peaceful. Quiet. A place to clear your mind and enjoy the beauty of nature. So peaceful in fact, we’d almost forgotten about Roy and the hitman following us.
Until we didn’t.
We’d just started on the second hill when our deceased traveling buddy chose to make an appearance. This was only the second time one of us had seen him out of the car, and in the brightened sunshine, his presence was even more shocking than the first time.
“Oh, dear God. I didn’t notice it the first time.”
“What, Sunny?”
“Roy’s with us again. His legs Roberto. Bones from his legs are sticking out through his pants. There’s so much blood, and his right arm, oh God, his right arm, it looks like it was torn out of the socket. It’s almost like each time he visits, he shows us more of what happened to him.”
“Okay, try to calm down. What’s he saying.”
“Not a damn thing. He’s just pointing to somewhere on the trail.”
“Which way?”
“What?”
“Which way is Roy pointing Sunny? Up the trail, or where we just came from? We could have walked right by him and never known it.”
“Ahead of us.”
We took the second hill, it’s gradient a much steeper than the first, and when we reached the pinnacle, we saw the reason why most of the hikers who frequented the trails of Palo Duro Canyon came here. Towering almost three hundred feet in the air, a single monolithic rock formation stood alone, jutting up from the canyon floor.
“The Lighthouse.”
“Wow, that’s something else.”
“Sure is Sunny. Look at the trail. That’s going to be a tricky walk down to the canyon floor. On the one side we have the canyon walls and on the other…”
“Nothing. Yeah, I can see that. Well, we either go back or go down. What’s it going to be?”
“Can you still see Roy?”
“No.”
“Okay then, I guess it’s down we go. Slowly, right?”
“Right.”
To say we took it slow and easy would be an understatement. The lady at the store near where we parked, hadn’t bothered to give us any more detail other than the approximate length of time our trek would take. A third of the way down, we wished she’d told us about this part of the hike. It was impossible to hurry as any attempt to speed up would have resulted in gravity having its way and us rolling down the trail.
Falling down the trail was something we were pretty certain we’d survive, but rolling off the trail and falling into one of the deep cuts and chasms beside the trail not so much.
Halfway down, the specter of Roy Chambers appeared. He was standing in the middle of the trail, staring at us as we approached.
“Our friend’s back.”
“Saying anything?”
“Again, no, I guess by the fact he continues to make his appearances, we’re on the right trail.”
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“You know what I mean, Roberto.”
“Well, let’s keep going. The sooner we get off this trail and down on the canyon floor, the better I’ll feel.”
What we’d discovered about our ghost buddy over the last two days, was that he usually appeared when he had something he wanted us to know or see. What was strange about this time was that he wasn’t disappearing and he wasn’t moving, and he certainly wasn’t talking. He was simply standing in the center of the trail, which meant if we intended to continue, we would have to either go through him or go around him.
Since neither of us relished the idea of passing through him, we decided to go around, one of us hugging the side of the cliff wall, the other dangerously close to the edge of the trail.
Neither of us could have possibly been prepared for what happened next. It was a simple misstep, a footstep on a pile of loose gravel, but it was all it took for one of us to begin a sudden slide toward the edge of the trail and a fall to the canyon floor, which almost certainly guarantee death.
“Shit, oh shit!”
It had only taken a second or two and had it not been for the quick thinking of one us who through themselves flat on the trail and stretched out and clasped the others arm one of us would have slid completely off the trail and disappeared.
“Oh God, don’t let go, Roberto.”
“I’m not going to Sunny. Can you get your footing?”
We heard the sounds of rocks and pebbles sliding over the edge, hollow clattering echoes as they bounced against the boulders below.
“My feet are dangling off this trail in the air dude. Right now, you’re the only thing standing between me and dying Roberto. For God’s sake, hang on to me.”
“I got you Sunny, but if I try to lift you up, we may both go over. You’re too heavy.”
“Are you trying to tell me I’m fat?”
“Really, Sunny? You’re worrying about that now?”
“Roberto, I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”
“Okay, okay. Shut up for a second and let me think.”
“That may be all the time we have Roberto.”
Read On — The Death Of Henry James Part 9
Let’s keep in touch: P.G. & Sharon Barnett ([email protected]) © P.G. Barnett, 2020. All Rights Reserved.