The Edge

Porsche right off the cliff, hanging, hanging, before it plunged clean as a stabbing knife through that black, still water.

    Then I didn't remember anything at all.

    I couldn't feel my body and perhaps that was a good thing. I knew there were people around me, whispering as people do around those badly hurt, but I couldn't make out their words. It was odd, but they weren't really there, just hovering, insubstantial shadows. Like the shadows, I was here too, but not really. If only I could have heard and understood what they were saying. Now that would have been delicious.

    At last I was alone. Completely alone. Laura wasn 't here with me. Laura, I prayed, had gotten her revenge when I'd screamed like a madwoman and driven off the cliff. If she had come back with me, I thought I'd simply make myself stop breathing.

    People came and went. I had no particular interest in any of them. I suppose they examined me and did things to me, but nothing really mattered at all.

    Then suddenly everything changed. My brother Ford walked through the door and I saw him clearly. He was real, he had substance and an expression that was so filled with fear that I would have given quite a lot to be able to reassure him, but of course I couldn't. He was big and good-looking, my little brother, better-looking even than our father, who 'd been a lady killer, our mother had always said fondly. Mother and Father were dead, weren't they?

    Ford didn't look quite himself. Perhaps not as buff, not as commanding, not as massive. Hadn't he been hurt or something? I didn't know, couldn't grasp much of anything. But Ford was here, I was sure of that. I also knew that I was the only one who called him Ford and not Mac. He 'd never been Mac to me.

    How was this possible? He was here and I could see him, but I couldn't make out any of the others.

    If I could have shouted to him, I would have. But I couldn't move, couldn't really feel anything at all except this quiet joy that my brother had come when I needed him.

    I was shocked again when I heard him say close to my face, "Jilly, my God, Jilly, I can't bear this. What happened?"

    I clearly heard his words, understood them. I was even more shocked when I felt-actually felt- his big hands covering one of mine; I'm not sure which one. I felt a shot of warmth from him, and the warmth stayed with me. It was remarkable. I didn't know what to think. How had Ford come so clearly to me when none of the others had? Why Ford and no one else?

    "I know you can't answer me, Jilly, but perhaps somewhere deep inside, you can hear me."

    Oh, yes, I wanted to tell him, I can hear you, yes I can. I loved his voice: deep, resonant, and mesmerizing. I think I'd told him once how much his voice warmed me to my toes. He 'd told me it was his FBI interviewing voice, but that wasn't right. He 'd always had that intimate, soothing voice.

    He sat down beside me, always talking, deeply and slowly, never letting go of my hand, and the warmth of his hand was dizzying. How I wished that I could at least squeeze his fingers.

    "I was with you, Jilly," he said, and I nearly stopped breathing.

    What did he mean?

    With me where?

    "I was with you that night. Scared the shit out of me. I woke up in the hospital sweating my toenails off, so scared I thought I'd die. I went over the cliff with you, Jilly. I believed at first that I died with you, but neither of us died. That highway patrolman saved you. Now I've got to find out how this could have happened. Damnation, I wish I knew if you could hear me."

    Ford paused, still staring down at me, and I wished with everything in me that I could give him some sort of sign, but I couldn't. I was just a lump lying there in that hospital bed that was probably very uncomfortable, if I could have felt it. I wasn't anything really but my brain and one of my hands that he was holding.

    What did he mean that he 'd been there with me going over the cliff? That didn't make any sense, not that anything happening right now made any sense.

    A white shadowy figure came into my line of vision. Ford patted my hand, pressed it down against the bed. He walked to the figure and said, "Paul, I just arrived. I was talking to Jilly."

    Paul. He was here in my room. I couldn't understand what he was saying to Ford, but from Ford's long silence, he must have been saying quite a lot. He and Ford moved away from me and I couldn't even hear Ford speaking anymore. I wanted more than anything for Paul to