Cliff Falls (The Missing Pieces Edition) by C B Shiepe

Author:C B Shiepe [Shiepe, C B]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780982702024
Publisher: Cliff Falls Media, Inc
Published: 2020-04-27T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

Clay’s first instinct was to run. As he returned to the loft to pack, he plotted his escape along the way. He’d borrow Diego’s truck to get down the mountain, making sure to let him know where it was once he was out of sight. He knew he’d have to lay low for a while. The BART station in Daly City was probably his best bet. He had spotted it from the highway on the drive in. He could catch a train or bus there. He wouldn’t care where it was headed as long as it was away from here. He felt manipulated. He knew he had every right to run. And that was exactly what he planned to do when he entered the loft. So why did his duffel bag and backpack both remain empty on the hardwood floor?

Lying on the bed, he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts churning. I can’t understand it. What would make Reagan think I could write Ted’s message? He thought about that crumpled piece of paper. He had stayed up half the night writing it, his ink-stained fingers cramping as he articulated a defense he had played out in his mind a thousand times before. In the end, it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t get past it. He had watched his lawyer throw it in the trash. So much of his heart had been poured into those words that it was as if a piece of him was being discarded, another fragment out there that he’d never get back. His eyes filled with water.

The idea that Reagan had retrieved it overwhelmed him. Clay couldn’t bring himself to run out on the man, at least not yet.

There has to be another way. And then the idea came to him. He got up from the bed and moved to the window. He spotted the flowing stream at the base of the hill. Maybe it wasn’t such a crazy idea after all?

Ted is at risk, not me. What’s the worst that can happen? If it was a disaster, they’d send me packing anyhow. Ted would insist on it.

He wouldn’t screw up on purpose, but the odds were in his favor. He didn’t have to run out on Reagan. All he had to do was come up with something that let Reagan know he tried. Staring at that babbling creek, he wondered if he could find the words.

Clay walked across campus. He wasn’t running. He was walking. There was a difference.

He couldn’t believe that he was actually considering writing it, or that a part of him was flattered—the boy inside that was never heard. As a kid, it was a constant battle. As a teenager, it was just outright rebellion. He didn’t have a say in anything. Even his interviews were well scripted. It was ironic: now that someone wanted to hear what he had to say, it would be said through someone else.

He thought about what Reagan said about the right words changing the man. All

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