Call of the Void

He felt her before he saw her.

He'd been alone, arms crossed atop the cool metal railing, studying the water racing over the edge of the Falls. Then a silent presence was at his side.

He hadn't seen a shadow or heard footsteps. The figure seemed to materialize out of the swirling mist.

For a moment, he wondered if it might actually be her. Then the figure spoke.

"Mesmerizing, isn't it?"

The woman's voice was quiet, barely audible over the roaring water. She spoke the words with reverence.

He nodded, though he couldn't tear his eyes from the hypnotic pull of the water. The way the Niagara river slipped, whisper-quiet, over the edge. The way the water brightened just past the Falls' crest, pierced by sunlight as it tore free from the riverbed and surged onward, weightless for a fleeting moment before gravity reclaimed it. The way the sound rose in a frothing, thunderous rumble from the pool far below.

The longer he watched, the more he felt that the water was pulling a part of him over the edge too.

"L'appel du vide," the woman said. "It means—"

"Call of the void."

She paused. "You speak French?"

"No." He turned to face her. "You?"

She was short, not much taller than five feet. Her auburn hair was pulled into a tight ponytail through the back of a baseball cap with a sunflower embroidered on the brim. Droplets of water dotted her glasses. She plucked the frames from her face and pinched the lenses between the fabric of her shirt. "A little. But that's not why I know the phrase."

"Why do you know it?"

"Psychology. I'm a graduate student. Want to hear the clinical term for the intrusive urge to jump that some people feel when standing next to a waterfall or cliff?"

"Sure."

"High place phenomenon. How fucking boring is that?"

"Pretty fucking boring."

"Right? French is much more poetic." She slipped her glasses back on. "I'm Mona, by the way."

"Trent."

"Okay, Trent. Your turn. If you don't speak French, how do you know the French term for high place phenomenon?"

"Just good with trivia, I guess."

It was a lie.

His mother had told him. She'd brought him to the Falls when he was eight, and he'd been standing by this very railing when he first experienced it. The feeling terrified and fascinated him at the same time. His mother must have seen the fear in his eyes because she squeezed his hand and told him it was okay. Said that she felt it too. That it even had a name: l'appel du vide. The call of the void.

But the story of a frightened little boy wasn't one he wanted to share with a stranger.

"Is there a reason for it?" he asked Mona. "A psychological one?"

She shrugged. "We think it's a misfire in the brain. A moment of panic sends a command to seek safety that somehow gets scrambled and misinterpreted as an urge to jump. It's not necessarily an indicator of suicidal ideation. That said..."

She trailed off and searched his eyes.

"What?" he asked. "You think I'm going to jump?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

"That's pretty bold. Walking up to a stranger and asking if he's suicidal. You do that a lot?"

"You're avoiding the question."

"No. I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"That's not what I... I meant no, I'm not going to jump."

"Oh." She nodded. "Good."

They stared at the water in silence. He tried to recapture the mood of awe and terror that had frozen him in place earlier, but it was gone.

Mona drummed her hands against the railing. "I'm hungry," she said. "Want to grab something to eat?"

Trent hesitated. Was she asking because she was interested in him? Or did she see him as a potential jumper who needed to be coaxed away from the Falls?

It didn't matter. He hadn't come all this way to make friends.

"Thanks, but I ate earlier. Probably going to head back to the hotel and call it a night."

If she was disappointed, she didn't show it. "Okay. I'll leave you to your void then." She smiled. "Nice chatting with you, Trent."

He tried to think of a witty response.

"You too," he said.

Back in his room, he slumped into the too-soft hotel bed and flipped absently through the channels until his eyes grew heavy. He rolled to his side and stretched for the button to turn off the bedside lamp, pausing when he spotted the crumpled hotel stationery on the nightstand.

He'd brought the note with him from Morgantown. It had appeared inside his dresser drawer one evening, tucked between a book and a spare phone charger. The name and address of the hotel where he was now staying were printed at the top of the paper in burgundy ink. Below it, written in Robyn's elegant hand, were two words.

It wasn't the words themselves that had brought him back to the Falls. It was when they had been written. The note had appeared two weeks ago. Almost a year after Robyn's death.

He flicked off the light and darkness swallowed him. Still, the words from the note remained, floating just out of reach in his mind's eye:

Miss you.

*******

He dreamed of rushing water.

In the dream, he wasn't watching the water. He was the water. Flowing over rocks and carving through soil and sweeping up branches. He was nowhere and everywhere all at once. He felt powerful, free, and imbued with an all-consuming clarity of purpose. Move forward. Push onward.

He awoke refreshed and energized. Sunlight streamed through the sliding door to the balcony overlooking the Falls. He swung out of bed and hopped into the shower.

Today was going to bring answers. He felt sure of it.

After an early breakfast, he sunk into a wide chair in the lobby and watched guests stream from the elevators and hurry through the revolving door, eager to make their way to the Falls. He studied each face that passed. Some noticed him staring and gave an awkward smile. He had to remind himself to smile back.

He was being foolish. Robyn wouldn't be here. Couldn't be here. He knew that. But that didn't stop his breath from catching in his chest each time the elevator doors opened.

The flood of guests slowed to a trickle, and soon the only people sharing the lobby with him were bellhops jockeying to help the smattering of new arrivals.

He made his way through the revolving door and squinted into the piercing October sky. He hadn't thought to pack sunglasses. Hadn't thought to pack much of anything, really.

Across the street was a small souvenir shop. He ducked inside and bought a cheap pair of aviator sunglasses. The "100% UV Protection!" sticker felt suspect, but at least the mirrored lenses would make it easier to scan crowds without looking like a creep.

His plan was simple. He'd start at the Canadian side and retrace the same route they'd taken on their first trip. He glanced at his phone to check the time. When he looked up, a wave of nausea buckled his knees.

About a hundred yards ahead, a bright shock of red curls cascaded halfway down a woman's back. He couldn't make out her face, but he didn't need to. He knew by her walk. It was Robyn.

She was alone, heading up the hill toward Skylon Tower. He followed at a brisk pace, but no matter how quickly he walked, the woman never drew closer. He couldn't bring himself to call out to her. What would he say if she responded?

The woman vanished into the base of the tower. He followed her inside a few minutes later and found himself at the entrance to the Daredevil Barrel Museum. Robyn had insisted they visit the museum during their last trip, when it had been housed in a much smaller building.

"Did a woman just come through here?" he asked a lanky teenager at the admission desk. "Tall? Long red hair?"

The boy glanced up from his phone with a bored expression and shrugged. "Maybe? We get a lot of visitors."

He paid the entrance fee and hurried inside, shouldering his way through clumps of tourists crowded around the exhibits. Toward the back of the museum, he spotted a young woman about Robyn's height with straight red hair and glasses.

Did the woman walking toward the tower really have curly hair like Robyn's? Or had he simply imagined it? He closed his eyes to summon the memory, but a familiar voice interrupted him.

"Trent?"

He spun to find Mona strolling toward him.

"Nice sunglasses," she said with a smirk. "Your fighter jet parked at the hotel?"

"Funny," he said, shoving the glasses into his pocket. "Do your professors know you're skipping class?"

"Why? You going to tell on me?"

"Maybe."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "How do you know I'm not here doing research?"

"On what? The psychology of daredevils?"

"Sure."

"Okay. So what have you concluded? Why does someone go over the Falls in a barrel?"

"That's easy." She grinned. "Because they're fucking nuts."

He smiled. "Sounds like it'll be a short paper."

"I'll pad it with lots of cool details. Check out some of these names." She gestured toward an onion-shaped steel barrel with an enormous dent on one side. "Plunge-O-Sphere. How great is that?"

"Better than Death Barrel," he said, pointing toward a red, white, and blue cylinder with an oval-shaped hole in the center.

Mona gave a low whistle. "That's dark."

"But accurate. The guy suffocated. His pet turtle survived, though."

"He brought his turtle? I told you they were nuts."

"At least he didn't bring his girlfriend." Trent walked to a white, bullet-shaped barrel covered with jagged chunks of torn foam. "This guy went over once by himself. Ten years later, he talked his girlfriend into joining him."

Mona sighed. "Wish I had the pull to convince someone to plunge over the Falls with me. Know what I'd name my barrel?"

Trent shook his head.

"Pohono."

His face remained blank.

"Pohono," she repeated. "Vengeful spirit of Bridalveil Fall in Yosemite? Dwells in the mist and lures people over the edge?" She threw up her arms. "How is it you know all this trivia but you've never heard of Pohono?"

He gave an apologetic shrug. "The only reason I know barrel facts is because my girlfriend was obsessed."

"Was obsessed?" Mona hesitated. "As in, she's not obsessed anymore?"

"As in, she's not alive anymore."

Mona dropped her head. "I'm sorry. I feel like such an idiot."

"Why? You didn't know."

"No, but I could tell something was off. I thought maybe you were going through a bad breakup or something. And that maybe if I flirted with you a bit—"

"You were flirting with me?"

"Obviously not well. Rambling on about voids and whatnot."

"You weren't rambling. I'm just not in a place right now where I would pick up on those things."

"Of course you're not." Mona raised her head and met his eyes. "What was her name?"

"Robyn." An image of her face burst into such vivid life that for a moment it seemed she was standing in front of him.

"Her name was Robyn," he repeated.

"How long has she been gone?"

"A year. Almost exactly."

"And this place was special to you? Niagara Falls, I mean?"

He nodded. "It's where I first told her I loved her. I thought coming back, staying at the same hotel, visiting some of the same spots might... I don't know, help me find closure or something."

Mona clasped his forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Well, I hope you find it. Truly, I do."

He watched her walk away for a moment, then called after her. "I wouldn't mind some company."

She turned to face him. "You sure? I was trying to give you some space."

He was sick of space. It was dark and empty. Space meant being alone with his thoughts. It meant being consumed with memories. It even meant seeing Robyn in places where she couldn't possibly be.

Maybe coming alone had been a bad idea. Maybe being with someone else would help to quiet the thoughts that lurked in the darkness.

"Yeah." He forced a smile. "I'm sure."

******

They walked together along the path outside Table Rock Centre, the crashing water from the Falls filling the awkward silence. He scoured the crowd for another glimpse of Robyn. Every woman with red hair briefly set his pulse racing until he drew close enough to confirm that she was an imposter.

He could see in Mona's eyes that she didn't know whether she should ask about Robyn, shift to another subject, or just keep quiet. She was clearly waiting for him to take the lead.

"So where do you study psychology?" he asked.

"University at Buffalo. It's part of the SUNY system."

"You like it there?"

"It's okay. I went to UC Santa Barbara for undergrad. The original plan was to stay in California and take a gap year."

"Doing what?"

She shrugged. "Surfing. Working. Pretty much anything besides school."

"Why didn't you?"

"Guilt. My dad's a psychiatrist and my mom's a philosophy professor. They hoped I would follow in their footsteps. To them, a gap year was nothing but a waste of my time and talent."

"All due respect to your parents, but who cares what they think?"

Mona laughed. "You clearly don't know my parents."

"Maybe not, but I get it. My old man's a plasterer. Specializes in historic restoration in Boston. All the old buildings up there need repairs, so he's always busy. Busy enough that he wanted to teach me the trade."

"You didn't have any interest?"

"Didn't have any talent," Trent said. "That man's an artist. I mean, you should see the work he's done. My brain just isn't wired that way."

"So what did you do instead?"

"Took on a bunch of debt and got an engineering degree. Now I work for an E&P company in Morgantown. I help figure out where to place the wells and how much gas we can safely extract."

"Does it bother him? You turning him down?"

"Don't know. My family's never been big on sharing feelings. But even if it did bother him, it wouldn't make a difference. I had to choose my own path."

Mona stiffened. "Are you implying I let my parents choose my path?"

"Did you?"

"No. Graduate school was my choice. It's what I wanted."

"Then I'm glad."

They walked in prickly silence. He paused beside a railing overlooking the river and Mona slowed to a stop next to him. For a long time, they stood and watched the water. The tension receded, as though swept away by the brisk current.

"I imagine it's hard," Mona said. "Being back here without her."

Was it hard? He had expected it to be. But the swirl of conflicting emotions he'd anticipated had never arrived. Instead, he just felt numb. It was a difficult thing to explain, so he simply nodded.

"How did it happen?" Mona asked, her eyes never leaving the water. "I know I shouldn't ask that, and please don't feel you have to answer. It's just, you're so young and—"

"It's fine," he said. "I'm glad you brought it up. It's worse when people avoid it."

He closed his fingers around the railing and squeezed the cool metal. "We were hiking a rim trail at the New River Gorge. The sunset was beautiful: oranges, pinks, and purples splashed across the sky. Robyn was rushing ahead to find a good selfie spot for us before the colors faded. I shouted at her to slow down. I was tired and annoyed that she had to document the sunset rather than just enjoy it. She veered off trail to get closer to the edge and disappeared around a bend. The last thing I heard was her scream."

"Oh, God," Mona whispered.

"I never saw her fall. One second she was with me, the next she was down there."

"I'm so sorry."

"It was my fault. If I hadn't been so annoyed, I would have been right next to her. I could have saved her."

"No," Mona said, shaking her head. "It was a horrible accident. That's all."

"It was more than that. I was irritated with her, so while she was rushing ahead, I was slowing down, waiting for the sunset to fade. I wanted her to miss the photo. To teach her a lesson. And when she went off trail, I was so pissed. Do you want to know the horrible thought I had right before she died?"

"It doesn't matter what you thought," Mona said. "Because whatever you thought had nothing to do with—"

"I thought, 'If she falls, she deserves it.' How fucking despicable is that?"

Trent released his grip on the railing and stared at the water in silence. It was a long time before Mona spoke.

"I didn't know Robyn," she said, "but you did. Do you really think she'd blame you? Or want you to blame yourself?"

He couldn't bring himself to answer.

"Listen," Mona said, "I think a change of scenery would do you some good. I'm planning to go bouldering tomorrow at Niagara Glen." She placed her palm over the back of his hand. "Come with me."

"I don't climb."

"Doesn't matter. I could use the company." She leaned sideways and nudged her shoulder against him. "Come on," she coaxed. "It's a beautiful area."

He nodded. "Okay. Why not?"

Mona's mouth widened into a delighted smile. Her eyes reminded him of Robyn's.

"Hey, do you want to get some dinner?" he blurted out. "My treat. Least I could do for dragging you around all day."

She frowned. "I'd love to, but I'm meeting a professor for dinner up in St. David's." She glanced at her watch. "Shit! I didn't realize how late it was. I gotta go."

"No worries. Another time."

"Definitely." She started to jog away, then spun back to face him. "See you tomorrow. Meet me at noon at the nature center. And don't you bail on me!"

On the way back to the hotel, Trent continued to scan the crowd for Robyn, but it was no longer with a sense of dread. He stopped worrying that every set of thick red curls might conceal Robyn's crushed skull and battered face. He'd been allowing his mind to play tricks on him. Mona's presence had helped to ground him, to pull him free of the spiraling thoughts in his head.

When he got to his room, he snatched the note from the nightstand and shoved it inside the drawer. It, too, had a reasonable explanation.

During their first trip, Robyn had obviously jotted a quick note to say she was thinking about him. Small gestures like that were her specialty. She'd probably gotten distracted and forgotten to give it to him. She'd brought the stationery pad home as a keepsake and tucked it in their dresser, where it had stayed buried until the contents of the drawer shifted.

He was grateful to Mona for helping to calm his overactive imagination. He wished he'd thought to get her phone number before she rushed off to dinner. Hell, he didn't even know her last name.

At least that could be easily remedied. He sat down at the desk, flipped open his laptop, and browsed to the University at Buffalo's webpage. He searched the public directory for student names containing Mona. The search returned six results. He scanned them quickly, then scrolled to the top of the page and read them again, this time more slowly. Confused, he expanded each listing and combed through the details.

When he'd finished, he sat back in the chair and closed the laptop.

Not one of the women was enrolled in the psychology program.

*******

He arrived a few minutes before noon at the Niagara Glen Nature Center, a rustic building with gray stone walls overlooking the river. The wind plucked red and yellow leaves from the surrounding trees and sent them fluttering in lazy spirals to the grass.

Walking up the path toward the entrance, he surveyed the people milling about the grounds. Children played tag under a grove of trees. Two women sat on a checkered blanket with the remains of a picnic lunch strewn around them. And older couple held hands as they walked carefully up the staircase.

A few steps in front of the older couple, a woman with bright red hair turned in his direction. For a moment, she stood motionless, staring at him. Then she whirled and disappeared inside the building.

He broke into a run and took the steps two at a time. Bursting through the doorway, he scanned the first floor but didn't spot anyone with red hair. He raced up the interior staircase to the top floor and searched every inch of the exhibits.

Nothing.

The building had more than one exit. The metal staircase that led down to the hiking trails was at the rear of the building. Maybe she'd gone that way.

Before he could turn, he felt the gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, are you okay?" Mona fixed him with a concerned stare. "You look really pale."

He nodded and forced a smile. "I'm fine. Why?"

"Why? I just watched you sprint through the building like a crazy person. That's why."

He feigned a laugh. "Yeah. I thought I saw an old friend from high school. Someone I played soccer with."

She looked skeptical. "Must have been some friend. Did you find him?"

He shook his head. "Wasn't who I thought it was."

Mona looked like she wanted to press further. Instead, she slung a small daypack over her shoulder and tilted her head toward the exit. He followed her through the doors and down the staircase to the gorge below.

The sun-dappled trail was silent except for the crisp crunch of leaves underfoot and the constant dull roar of the river in the background. After twenty minutes, they reached a secluded area next to a large boulder.

"This is it." Mona sat on a small rock, dumped her daypack on the ground, and peeled off her shoes and socks. "Been working this problem for the last few weeks. Keep falling at the crux."

"You come up here a lot?"

"As often as I can. It's only 45 minutes from UB." She pulled a pair of shoes with smooth, black soles from her pack and began lacing them. "Fall is especially nice. Cool and dry. Perfect climbing weather."

She stood, unzipped her fleece, and draped it over the rock. Underneath she wore a white racerback tank top that showed off her toned shoulders and back. Tight gray leggings hugged the smooth curves of her legs.

"That's the crux," she said, pointing to a white chalk mark about halfway up the overhanging face of the boulder. "Listen, when I fall, your job isn't to catch me. It's just to help me land on my feet rather than my head. Got it?"

He nodded.

She gripped two pockets in the rock and began moving up the boulder with a smooth grace that reminded him of water flowing over a stone. Her hands and feet moved in a precise rhythm, barely pausing between holds. It was clear she'd climbed this boulder many times.

Soon she was a few feet above his head, approaching the crux. The muscles of her back drew taut as she hooked her heel on a thin edge. She exhaled and held herself motionless, ponytail dangling as her eyes focused on a single point.

She sank lower, then burst upward. Her fingers briefly brushed a shallow pocket in the rock, then her heel slipped from its perch and her feet pinwheeled free. He thrust his palms into her shoulder blades to prevent her from overrotating and guided her to her feet.

"Damn it!" she shouted. "Almost had it!"

"That was really impressive."

She smiled. "Gonna stick that move today. I can feel it. Great spot, by the way."

She shook out her arms and stared at the boulder, eyes tracing every crevice of the route she'd just climbed. After a short rest, she dipped her hands in a small chalk bag and hopped back on.

He tried to stay focused, but the way her legs and butt moved in those clingy tights was incredibly distracting.

"Watch me," she said as she reached the crux.

"I am." He straightened his arms and positioned his hands underneath her back.

Mona's right hand shot upward, and three fingers clawed the chalk-marked pocket in the stone. For an instant, they held fast. But as she started to pull herself upward, her hand popped free. With her heel still hooked on the rock, she fell headfirst toward him.

His hands found her armpits and he guided her upright. He had to use more force this time to steady her, and his left hand slipped across her sweat-slickened skin and cupped her breast. He moved it instantly, but the soft warmth of her chest lingered on his palm.

If Mona noticed, she didn't say anything. But she seemed to lean against him, pressing her shoulders more firmly into his hands before turning slowly to face him.

"You were so close," he said.

She nodded. "It felt really close."

He pointed at a white smudge on her cheek. "Got some chalk on your face."

She swiped at a spot just below the mark. "Here?"

"No. Here."

He touched three fingers to her chin and brushed his thumb lightly across her skin. The mark vanished, but his fingers remained.

Mona glanced down at his wrist, then back to his eyes. She stood motionless, waiting.

A gentle breeze rustled the branches above them, sending tiny, leaf-shaped shadows dancing across the rock. The moment was perfect.

His fingers dropped from her chin.

A flash of disappointment flickered across Mona's face. She sat on a rock and massaged her right forearm. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you," she said, "are you seeing anyone?"

"A therapist," she clarified when she saw the surprised look on his face. "You know, after ... everything with Robyn."

He frowned. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Right. I'll take that as a no."

"You going to tell me I should be seeing someone?"

"That's your decision to make, not mine."

"I agree."

She extended the fingers of her right hand and used her left hand to stretch them back toward her chest. "Have you heard of the concept of maladaptive guilt?"

He shook his head.

"It's an intense, irrational feeling of self-blame for something that happened outside of your control. Most people who feel guilty think, 'I did something bad.' People with maladaptive guilt think, 'I am bad.' That distorted thinking leads to all sorts of nasty consequences. Anxiety. Chronic depression. Self-hatred." She paused. "Sometimes worse."

He turned and stared at the boulder. "You ready to give it another go?"

"In a minute. Need a bit more rest." She tightened the laces on her climbing shoes. "You have any thoughts about what I said?"

"I do. I think it's bullshit."

"Maladaptive guilt isn't bullshit. It's a well-studied clinical—"

"I'm sure it is. What's bullshit is you diagnosing me with it after three days."

"Whoa." She sat upright. "I'm not diagnosing you with anything."

"That's exactly what you're doing. You see me as this sad, broken thing. And if you can just get inside my head, maybe you can fix me. Right?"

"I'm not trying to fix you. I'm trying to talk to you!"

"Yeah. About something I said I didn't want to discuss."

She stared at the ground. When she looked back up, her voice was softer. "You know what? That's fair. I shouldn't have pushed. I'm sorry."

Part of him wanted to accept the olive branch. But another part wanted to rip it into pieces. He'd always struggled with his temper. After Robyn's death, that struggle had only grown harder.

"How was dinner with your professor?" he asked.

"Fine," she answered after a brief pause. "She's been a great mentor."

"A great mentor? You mean at the school you don't attend?"

Mona's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I looked you up in UB's online directory."

She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "And?"

"And you don't exist."

"I know."

It wasn't the response he expected from someone who'd been caught in a lie, but he pressed on. "Care to explain?"

"Not really."

"So you admit you're not a grad student?"

"You're being a real asshole."

"Is that your professional diagnosis?"

Mona sat down and ripped off her climbing shoes. "You want an explanation? Fine. When I was a freshman, I dated a guy who wanted to spend every minute with me. It was flattering, until it was smothering."

She shoved the shoes and chalk bag into her daypack. "I broke up with him, but he wouldn't leave me alone. He showed up everywhere: classes, the library, parties. One night, I came home to find a rose on my pillow. The thorns were smeared with blood."

She laced up her hiking shoes, stood, and flung the daypack over her shoulder. "I filed for a protective order the next day. I'll never publish my contact information in a public directory again."

"That sounds horrible." The words felt hollow, but he didn't know what else to say.

She shrugged. "It wasn't all bad. Having a stalker sparked my interest in psychology. And it taught me an important lesson: you can never assume the best of people." She started down the trail, then turned and gave him a sad smile. "No matter how much you might want to."

*******

That night, Robyn came to him.

He dreamed he was lying naked in his hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling. The air grew frigid, and he shivered underneath the thick comforter. When he exhaled, his breath condensed into wispy puffs of cotton.

The Falls whispered to him through a crack in the balcony door. That explained why the room was so cold. He knew he should get up and close the door, but he couldn't bring himself to abandon the meager warmth of the comforter.

Tendrils of mist seeped through the crack and wafted into the room. As the tendrils surrounded the bed and slipped under the sheets, the comforter billowed outward and rose off his chest. Above him, the mist flowed into a familiar shape.

Robyn's nude form smiled down at him. This was no apparition. This was a living being, her bare skin soft and warm against his own.

He tried to raise his hand to touch her face, but his body wouldn't respond. Every limb was frozen in place. His eyes widened in panic.

"Shh..." Robyn whispered.

She trailed a finger down her freckled chest, drawing his gaze to the swell of her pale breasts. A fingertip traced slow circles around her pink nipple, coaxing it into a stiff nub.

Robyn's hips rocked in a slow, teasing rhythm, and he hardened in response. The position had always been one of her favorites. She loved to straddle him and grind against his shaft, bringing herself right to the edge before finally slipping him inside.

She bent forward, red curls cascading over his face, and brought her lips to his ear. "Did you get my note?"

Her breath was like ice against his skin. Despite his paralysis, he shivered. Whether from fear, cold, or desire, he couldn't be certain.

"I need to see you again," she said, brushing her lips against his neck and moving her hips faster. "I have something to tell you."

He willed his mouth to open, but it refused to obey. He could manage only a low groan.

"I know. We'll meet soon," she said. "And then I'll leave you in peace. Promise. But first ..."

She slowed to a stop and raised her hips. Her fingers circled his shaft and adjusted its position. Then she sank lower, enveloping him in delicious heat.

Robyn sighed and fell forward, pressing her breasts to his chest. Her hair covered his face, obscuring his vision. For a long time, she lay against him, perfectly still. It was torture. His body craved friction, movement, connection. But his limbs remained paralyzed.

Soft curls of hair slipped across his skin as she pressed her palms to his chest and rose to a sitting position.

The woman staring down at him was no longer Robyn. It was Mona.

"Where is she?" he asked, stunned by his sudden ability to speak.

She took his hand and placed his palm on her stomach, trailing it up her chest until it covered her left breast. He could feel the steady thrum of her heart through her warm skin.

"I'm here, baby," she said. "I'm right here."

She ground her hips into him and he arched upward, thrilled he could finally move.

"You're not Robyn."

She grinned. "Are you sure?"

Mona dipped her head and mashed her lips against his. She kissed him with ravenous hunger, as if she were an animal trying to devour him. Her teeth nipped at his bottom lip. When he swiped his tongue along the tender skin, he tasted his own blood, warm and tinged with copper.

With a growl, he flipped Mona onto her back and pinned her lithe frame to the bed. The wet slap of their bodies filled the room. She was soaked.

She bit his shoulder and raked her nails down his back. He winced in pain and pounded her harder.

"Don't stop," she pleaded. "Almost there."

He was close too, but he managed to hold out until he felt Mona stiffen. Her breath caught in her chest, then her head lolled back and her mouth opened in a silent scream.

His own release arrived seconds later. He squeezed his eyes shut and the world around him faded to blackness until he was aware only of the searing heat of their connection.

The waves of pleasure receded and he slumped against her, waiting for his breathing to slow. When he opened his eyes, Robyn was once again lying beneath him, a stunned look on her face. Before he could ask what was wrong, the mattress beneath her crumbled into pieces. She screamed and slipped through a gaping hole in the bed, plummeting toward a rocky outcropping far below.

His limbs were frozen again. He watched in silence as Robyn fell, her hands stretched toward him, grasping for help that would never arrive.

In the instant before she hit the ground, he snapped awake, drenched in sweat. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, bathing the room in a warm glow. The door leading to the balcony was closed and locked.

He touched two fingers to his lips to check for blood. They came away dry. He padded into the bathroom and twisted his torso in front of the large mirror. His back still burned from where Mona had scratched him, but the skin reflected in the glass was smooth and unmarked.

A hot shower. That's what he needed. Then maybe a stiff drink.

He stood under the showerhead for a long time. With every minute, the lingering dread from the dream faded, washed away by the flowing water. By the time he toweled off and returned to the room, he was feeling like himself again.

Until he spotted the nightstand.

A piece of hotel stationery sat atop it. The same piece of stationery he had shoved into a drawer last night. He hadn't touched the paper since. So what was it doing on the nightstand?

He picked up the stationery and stared at it. The words "Miss you" stared back, just as they always had.

But directly below were four new words, also written in Robyn's hand.

Upper Niagara riverbank. Midnight.

*******

He drove to the nature center after lunch and hiked to the climbing area. He found the boulder Mona had been climbing, brushed some dry leaves off a rocky ledge next to it, and sat down to wait.

Mona arrived an hour later, daypack slung over her shoulder. When she spotted him, she nodded but didn't smile. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Need another spot?" he asked.

She took a seat across from him and took out her climbing shoes. "Not today. Thanks."

They sat together in silence. A finch landed on a nearby branch, cocked its head toward them, then darted away.

"Had a dream about you last night," he said.

"Yeah?" She didn't look up. "Good dream or bad dream?"

"Both." He scooped a small stone from the ground and tossed it into the brush. "I also got your note."

She paused in the middle of slipping off her sock and gave him a confused look. "My note?"

He nodded. "The note you left in my room."

"I'm lost. You had a dream I left a note in your room?"

He laughed. "Not exactly."

"Okay, then help me out. What are you talking about, exactly? What did this note say?"

"Upper Niagara riverbank. Midnight."

"What's that mean?"

He stared at her.

"You're going to the riverbank tonight?" she asked.

"Yes."

She put down her shoes and fixed him with an intense stare. "Trent? What are you planning to do there?"

"Get some closure. Just like I told you."

"Closure. Okay." She swallowed and fidgeted with her daypack. "Can I just suggest something? How about we call someone together first? Your parents, maybe? A friend? Let's talk this idea through with them. How's that sound?"

"It sounds like you're pretending to be worried about me."

"I'm not pretending, Trent. You're scaring me right now. Like, really scaring me."

"Good. Now you know how I feel."

He stood and walked past her, heading down the path to the nature center. She called after him but didn't follow.

He returned to the hotel and waited for nightfall. There was no longer any point searching for Robyn on the pathways that circled the Falls. He didn't need to find her.

She would find him.

*******

His car's headlights pierced the darkness, illuminating the gnarled branches of trees lining the riverbank. Above him, wispy clouds stretched like spiderwebs across a pale sliver of moon.

At this distance from the tourist areas, the road along the river was desolate. He'd spotted more raccoons than cars.

He glanced at the dashboard clock.

11:57 p. m.

It wouldn't be long now.

He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he was sure he would know it when he saw it.

The minutes passed slowly, the silence broken only by the low hum of the car's tires against the road. When midnight came and passed, he felt an odd mix of disappointment and relief.

Ahead, a deer stood in the road, blocking the lane. He slowed and tapped the horn.

The animal's head shot up. It turned to stare at him but didn't move. He brought the car to a stop and waited.

The deer stood motionless, its eyes gleaming silver-yellow in the glare of the headlights.

He shifted to park but left the engine running. Forcing himself to move slowly, he swung open the door and stepped onto the pavement.

The deer watched him impassively. As he crept forward, it turned and walked toward the woods. It paused at the tree line and looked back at him.

He quickened his pace to a brisk walk, wondering if he might frighten it off, but the animal looked unbothered. He was only a few yards away when it finally whirled and darted into the woods.

He sprinted after it.

Branches clawed at his face, and he raised his arms to protect his eyes. Ahead, he could make out movement in the darkness. The deer bounded gracefully through the brush, pausing occasionally to watch him.

A root snagged his foot and he tumbled forward, landing hard on his shoulder.

When he rose, the deer was gone, but something else was moving through the woods. He spotted the silhouette of a woman, her curly hair bouncing in the moonlight. High, lilting laughter whispered to him through the leaves.

"Robyn!" he shouted.

He barreled ahead, tracking the dark shape down the hill and between the trees. Bursting through the last of the bushes, he skidded to a halt just before the edge of the river. He could no longer see the woman's shape, but the remnants of her laughter floated across the water.

He squatted down and searched for footprints in the rock-strewn soil. Finding nothing, he leapt up and scanned the far shore of the river. Something was standing between two trees, watching him.

"I'm here!" he called.

The figure between the trees moved. He followed it upriver. After a few minutes, he lost it in the shadows.

"Wait! You said you had something to tell me!"

He paced the riverbank, eyes darting between tree trunks, straining to make out a human shape among the rocks and branches.

"Trent?"

The voice came from behind him. It was quiet. Hesitant. He turned to find Mona, her brow furrowed in concern.

"Are you okay?" she asked. "I heard shouting."

"How did you know I'd be here?"

"You told me, remember? Upper Niagara riverbank. Midnight."

"No. How did you find me? In this specific spot?"

"I was worried, so I came looking for you. I saw an abandoned car with West Virginia plates. Door open. Engine running. Then I heard someone shouting."

"Did you see anything when you came down here?" he asked, his eyes darting back to the far side of the riverbank. "Anyone else, I mean?"

Her eyes followed his across the river. "Like who?"

"Anyone."

"No. Just you." She studied his face. "Trent?" She spoke slowly. "Have you seen anyone?"

There was no reason to keep it from her any longer. Not now.

"I saw Robyn."

The concern on Mona's face dissolved into fear. "You saw Robyn," she repeated flatly.

"Yes. First at the museum. Then at the nature center." He gestured toward the river. "And now here."

She glanced up and down the riverbank. "You know that's not possible, right?"

"I know. But I saw her."

She nodded. "I think I understand what's happening."

"Yeah," he said. "Me too."

"Great." She flashed a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Let's go back to town and compare theories."

"I'm not ready to go back just yet. Why don't you tell me now?"

She wrapped her arms across her chest. "Because it's cold. And because ... can I be honest with you?"

"I'd appreciate that."

"Okay. I'm a little scared right now."

"Don't worry." He smiled. "I'll protect you. Now please tell me."

She swallowed, and he watched her steel herself for what she was about to say.

"Trent, I think you have undiagnosed schizophrenia."

He scooped a stone from the riverbank, studying its smooth surface. "Schizophrenia? That's your theory?"

"Most men who develop it don't begin experiencing symptoms until right around your age."

He tossed the stone toward the river. It landed with a satisfying splash. "Is that so?"

"Yes. And I think you're suffering from persecutory delusions. Delusions exacerbated by grief and maladaptive guilt. I don't know why I didn't see it before."

He chuckled. "Delusions?"

She nodded. "You think I'm hiding something from you. That's why you accused me of lying about being a student. And why you thought I left a note in your room."

"You did leave a note in my room."

"How? How could I possibly do that? I don't even know which hotel you're staying in."

"You followed me."

"I didn't. But even if I did, how would I get into your room?"

"What about Robyn?" he pressed. "Is she just another delusion?"

"A hallucination."

"Whatever. And the fact that every time I see Robyn, you show up immediately afterward? That's just a big coincidence?"

"Not a coincidence. A neurological disorder. One that's making you paranoid."

"I'm not schizophrenic, Mona."

She glanced at the tree line behind him. "Trent, it's important you understand that I'm not criticizing you right now. Or attacking you."

"You just think I'm crazy."

"I don't, Trent. I don't think that at all. I believe you saw what you said you saw. But these hallucinations... they can feel very real."

She stepped sideways. He moved to block her path. They weren't finished talking yet.

"You call this a hallucination?" He pulled a piece of hotel stationery from his pocket. "Because it feels pretty fucking real to me."

He stepped forward and extended the note toward her. She moved backward toward the river, stumbling briefly over a rock before regaining her balance.

"Someone wrote this," he continued. "They were luring me here." He tapped the logo on the stationery. "To this specific hotel." He pointed at the ground. "To this specific spot."

Mona held up her palms and continued inching backward. "I'm going to suggest something, Trent, and I want you to hear me out, okay?"

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?" She looked near tears.

"Saying my name all the time. 'Trent, I want you to hear me out. I want you to understand, Trent.'"

"I'm sorry, Tr ... I'm sorry."

"I'm not some child you need to calm down. So just say what you're going to say."

"Okay." There was a slight quaver in her voice now. "Have you considered the possibility that you wrote the note?"

"The possibility that I wrote it?"

"Yes. You came to this place on the anniversary of Robyn's death because it was special to both of you. You wanted to keep her memory alive. That's beautiful. But your disordered brain tricked you. It started insisting she was alive."

"I didn't write this note." He walked forward and thrust the crumpled note toward her. "You did."

She took the paper and held it limply in her hands without looking at it. "Let's go back to your hotel. Please? We can figure out everything there."

"No. We're going to figure it out right now." He pulled a pen from his pocket and handed it to her. "Copy it. Word for word. Right below the original. Then we'll compare."

She glanced around. "I don't have anything to write on. If we just go back to the hotel, then I can—"

"Copy it!" he shouted.

She took the pen and walked to a large rock at the edge of the river. Pressing the crumpled paper against the rock's surface, she smoothed it out as best she could. Then she paused.

Mona raised the stationery above her head and tilted it to catch the dim moonlight. She turned the paper slowly from one side to the other, then back again.

"Stop wasting time," he barked.

Her hands were trembling. The corners of the paper fluttered with the movement.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

She forced a weak smile. "This paper ... it's blank."

"That's ridiculous."

He strode over and snatched the note from her hands. The writing was clear and crisp. Even in the moonlight he could make out every letter.

He smiled. "Must be another hallucination. That your theory?"

A tear spilled down her cheek. She nodded.

"Want to hear my theory?" he asked.

"I want to go home."

"I don't think Robyn is haunting me," he continued. "I think you are."

"Why would I—"

"You brought me here. And you've been pretending to be Robyn. Because you're trying to drive me crazy. To punish me."

"Delusions." She stepped behind the large rock she'd used to smooth the paper, positioning it between them. "That's all these are, Trent. Somewhere deep down you know that."

"You bought a wig. Dressed like her. Learned to walk like her. Write like her. All to torture me."

"None of that is true. I swear!"

"Then there's only one other possibility." He bent down and picked up a stone. "You're her."

"Who? Robyn?"

He stared at her.

"How could I be Robyn?" she pleaded. "Robyn's dead!"

"Not Robyn," he said. "A spirit. Here to avenge her. Pohono."

"Avenge her? That's crazy. Why would I..." The color drained from Mona's face. "Oh, God," she whispered.

"The sunset hike was Robyn's idea," he said. "I didn't want to go, but she insisted. Said she had something special to tell me, and it deserved a special place."

He paced the shore, every nerve vibrating with the memory of it.

"I already knew what she was going say. I'd found the receipt for the pregnancy test." He shook his head. "I'd been planning to leave her for a while. She must have sensed it. Tried to trap me.

"When she told me, she had this huge smile. She said it wasn't how she envisioned us starting our lives together, but the universe had other plans. She just stared at me, waiting for me to smile back." He shook his head. "The universe didn't steal my future from me. She did. And now she wanted me to smile about it?"

He whipped the stone past Mona's shoulder. He bent down and scooped up a larger one.

"Want to hear the funny part? It was a false positive. I lucked out there. Her parents knew my story was bullshit. They wanted the DA to charge me. A pregnancy might have established motive. But with no motive and no witnesses?" He shrugged.

"But you already knew all that," he said. "Didn't you? It's why you're here."

When Mona spoke, her voice was firm and steady, but her lower jaw trembled. "Trent, here's what's going to happen. I'm going to walk up that hill..."

"No. You're not."

"... I'm going to get back in my car. And I'm going to leave."

He gripped the stone more tightly and cocked back his arm. "I know what you are. Don't move. Not one fucking step. Just slink back into the water where you belong."

Mona held up her palms and stepped forward. The rock hurtled through the air, striking her in the temple. She dropped the note and crumbled to the ground, landing face first in the water.

It was a convincing performance. He snatched up another stone and waited for the spirit to rise from the ground.

Mona's form lay motionless, her torso twisted at an awkward angle on the rocks. Strands of auburn hair floated atop the water, the current struggling to pull them downstream.

It was a trick. She was trying to lure him closer to the river.

For several long minutes he watched her. Longer than any human could hold her breath. He tossed a rock skyward in a high arc. It landed with a dull thud on her lower back.

She didn't move.

Fuck.

What if he'd gotten a little carried away? What if she really was human?

Someone would find her and report a woman with a crushed skull. The police would uncover video of Mona and Trent talking at the daredevil museum. And the nature center. They'd question him. Dig through his past.

He'd gotten lucky once. It would be foolish to count on luck a second time.

But he didn't need luck. Not if she went over the Falls. It might be weeks before someone found her. And when they did find the body, it would be mangled. They'd assume her skull was fractured in the fall.

He grabbed the hotel stationery from the shore and shoved it into the pocket of his pants. Then he scoured the tree line until he found a large branch. He wedged it under her stomach and pried upward. Mona's body slid across the rocks, dipping further into the water.

It took two more attempts before the current finally began to sweep her downstream. But after only a few yards, a submerged tree snagged her legs, holding her fast. He waited for the water to pull her free, glancing anxiously up and down the riverbank for stray hikers or fishermen.

Mona's body bobbed in the water but didn't budge. She was too close to shore. He needed to push her farther out, into the faster current in the middle of the river.

Dragging the branch behind him, he hurried down the shore and into the river. The water pierced his skin like icy needles. By the time he was close enough to reach Mona with the branch, the water was up to his waist.

He stretched and planted the tip of the branch against her thigh. He leaned forward, pressing his full weight into the branch. The slick wood slipped off Mona's skin, and he pitched forward from the sudden lack of resistance.

He plunged underwater and grabbed a rock to anchor himself. With a gasp, he burst to the surface. He wiped the water from his eyes and watched with fury as the current swept his branch downstream.

Wading deeper into the river, he braced himself against the submerged tree that held Mona. He guided his hand along the smooth wood, working his way up the trunk until he reached Mona's arms, which floated above her head, undulating like snakes in the current.

He grabbed her arm. The instant he touched her skin, Mona's fingers clamped like a vice around his wrist.

He tried to scream, tried to pull away, but just like in his dream, his limbs were paralyzed.

"Shh..." whispered a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

With effortless grace, Mona untangled herself from the tree and joined him in the water. She pulled him close and cradled him like a child. Then they were floating down the river, his neck nestled in the crook of her arm.

He no longer felt cold. He was one with the water, flowing around rocks and gliding through rapids as if they were ancient friends.

Mona smiled at him and took the hotel stationery from his pocket. "I knew you'd come."

She traced her finger across the surface of the paper as though she were writing, then slipped it back into his pocket.

The sky had cleared. Far above, hundreds of stars winked down on him, silent observers of his journey. He studied them for a long time, wondering how something burning so fiercely could feel so cold and distant.

"I'm going to miss our time together," Mona said, "but I have one last thing to tell you." She stroked his face. "Be still. Listen."

He closed his eyes and concentrated. Across the water came a sound, a haunting rumble, low and melancholy, permeating the air and water all around him, pouring into his soul not just through his ears, but through every pore in his skin.

He couldn't yet hear what it was saying, but the louder the sound grew, the closer he came to understanding. He needed to know. The craving gnawed at his bones.

The sound swallowed him, so deafening it was almost silent. His body felt weightless, floating like a leaf through the mist.

He screamed then, not in terror, but in despair. For he'd realized the truth. He would never know what the voice was saying. Was never meant to know. The closest he would ever come to understanding was this:

Something was calling him.

*******

Epilogue

Tremblay ducked under the bright yellow barricade tape to find Cruz crouched on the riverbank, studying the scene.

"What's the story?" he asked.

Cruz stood and gave him a brief nod. "Partial remains washed ashore. Male torso and right leg. Hikers found him this morning."

"Last night's jumper?"

They'd been flooded with calls from witnesses who had watched a man plunge over the Canadian side of the Falls around 1:30 a. m.

"Yep." Cruz held up a plastic evidence bag containing a wallet and a soggy piece of paper. It looked like hotel stationery.

"Suicide note?"

Cruz handed him the bag. "Have a look for yourself."

Tremblay angled the bag to reduce the glare from the sun. The paper was badly torn. Remarkably, the note was still legible.

Mr. and Mrs. O'Connor, You deserve the truth. I killed Robyn. Though I can never take away your pain, I hope I can bring you closure. - Trent

"O'Connor?" Tremblay said. "I know that name. Is this addressed to the parents of that girl from the States? The one that fell off the cliff last year in ... where was it?"

"West Virginia."

"Yeah. West Virginia." He scowled at the sheet covering the remains. "So that piece of shit killed her?"

"Trent Crowley," Cruz said, flipping to a page in his notebook. "Twenty-six years old. Resident of Morgantown, West Virginia. Checked into the Horseshoe Hotel four days ago."

Tremblay scratched his head. "So this guy checks in, takes in the sights for a few days, then jumps?"

Cruz shrugged. "Seems pretty cut and dried."

"I guess."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's just ... why would he stuff the note in his pocket?"

"I don't follow," Cruz said.

"You write a confession to the girl's parents. You want them to read it, right? So why put it in your pocket and risk it being lost in the Falls? It's a miracle we found it."

"Miracle's a little strong."

"Maybe. But why not leave it in your hotel room? Where it's guaranteed to be found?"

"Dan," Cruz said, "this guy left his car in the middle of the road with the door open, then took off into the woods and jumped into the river. That sound to you like somebody who thinks things through?"

"Fair enough." He took one last glance at the scene. "You need anything from me?"

"Just your signature once we're finished writing it all up."

Trembley nodded and headed to his car. Before returning to the office, he stopped at the Table Rock Centre overlook. Below him, the swirling mist engulfed poncho-clad tourists and sent a brilliant arc of colored light soaring over the plunge pool.

When most people thought of Niagara Falls, this was the scene they pictured: rainbows dancing on the mist.

But the water held darker secrets too, hidden deep below the surface.

His father had told him that when the Army Corps of Engineers drained the American side of the Falls in 1969, they discovered two bodies still wedged tightly in the rocks. Neither was ever identified.

He watched the blue-green river plummet over the edge and disappear behind a curtain of mist. Somewhere in the blackness below was the rest of Trent Crowley. The powerful currents might soon dislodge his remains. In a few days, they might wash ashore farther down the river.

But it was also possible the Falls had claimed him. That he had become one of its secrets, lurking below the rainbows. A murderer, trapped in the water's cold embrace, entombed forever in roiling shadow.