Edge

I could hear the click of the camera.
    “Maree?”
    She said nothing but continued to shoot. She then turned toward me and took a picture. I gave no reaction and she leaned back against the rock.
    I looked at her haunted eyes. Was she about to take her own life?
    “Maree. I’d like you back inside now.”
    Finally she called, “It’s beautiful here. . . . You gave me my money’s worth for the tour.”
    “Please.”
    “How would this be for a photo series?” Eerily,the sisters had swapped roles. Joanne was the emotional one now, whipped into a frenzy. Maree was the opposite, numb, calm.
    Too calm.
    “What do you think?” she continued. “A series of images of someone falling into the water. I wonder how long the camera would keep shooting. I could put it on automatic. But I suppose the battery would short out pretty soon. How long do you think it would last?”
    “Maree. Come on back.”
    “Not very long. But the pictures’d be stored on the chip. . . . It’s hard to get a gallery show. Hard to sell your images. But I’ll bet that series’d be a winner. Put me on the map.”
    My job is to keep my principals safe from everything, even their own self-destructive behaviors. Which was often the hardest part. In the extreme circumstances of the world I operate in, it’s not unusual for people to consider suicide. None of my principals has ever gone forward with the act but I’ve known shepherds who have lost people to their own hand. Usually it’s on longer assignments, when the days of seclusion amble slowly into months and the principals begin to hear more and more frequently sounds that are innocent enough but that they take to be lifters or hitters getting close for the kill.
    More insidious is their own reasoning, convincing themselves that the life they’ve lived is over with, that family and friends will fade away, that they have nothing to look forward to. And for the rest of their days they’ll be pursued. Death is a peaceful alternative.
    In Maree’s case, she was starting from a disadvantage: her self-destructive nature. Falling for abusive boyfriends, neglecting to provide for the basics in her life, jumping from caretaker to caretaker, who in fact only took advantage of her and then got tired when the appeal of the flirt, the cuteness, the artiness, wore off.
    She looked down at the water.
    I rose carefully and walked a little closer, then sat down again. “Don’t worry, I’m not trained to tackle people and save them from ledges. The fact is, I’m fucking scared to be up here.”
    Her look said, Spare the jokes, Mr. Tour Guide.
    Then she regarded the distance between us and judged, it seemed, that she could still leap into the water if I did rush her, and continued to aim her camera and press the shutter. Neither of us said anything for a moment. I broke the embargo. “Whatever your sister was saying, we don’t know for sure that it was your pictures.”
    “Images. We call them images.”
    “I’m getting more information.”
    “But it does make sense, doesn’t it? Taking pictures of people who wanted to stay anonymous. Sticking my nose into other people’s business?” she added bitterly.
    “It’s a possibility.” I wasn’t going to coddle her.
    “I’m surprised you didn’t think of that, Corte. You think of everything else.”
    “I’m surprised I didn’t think of it either.” I was being honest. My investigation into Maree had ended when we cleared Andrew as the possible primary.
    She took more pictures.
    “I want to say something,” I told her. “It’s important.”
    “Under these circumstances,” she said, with a dark grin, “one wouldn’t really expect unimportant, now, would one?”
    “One of the hardest things I have to teach my principals is that it doesn’t matter if they’re at fault for being targeted or not. A lot of times they are—it’s because they did something wrong that I’m looking after them. But, yes or no, that’s irrelevant to me. Every principal has the right to stay safe and alive. If you committed a crime, you can pay for that in court. If you did something that was morally wrong, you’ll answer one way or another. None of that’s my business. All I care about is keeping you alive so that you can go forward with your life—whether that’s prison or a happy retirement.”
    “But what about what I want, Corte?”
    I lifted an eyebrow.
    “What if I don’t want to stay safe? What’s in it for me? What’s back