Page 46 of Edge

“Roger? Whatare you doing?” Roger seemed to be moving imperceptibly closer tothe edge of the cliff. Only about eight meters separatedthem.

“I’m so gladto hear you say that. It makes this so much easier.” Roger’s eyesglittered with satisfaction. “Do you know what the next stage ofHuntingdon’s is after what I already have?” He looked up at the skyin contemplation, as Jory tried to wriggle out of Roger’s irongrip. “Muscle weakness, shortness of breath, difficulty swallowing,more involuntary movements, losing my memory, and finally, in thelater stages, I’ll be unable to walk, talk, move, and I’ll need tobe nursed around the clock until I die.”

It was an horrificpicture and despite his panic at Roger holding on to him, Jory feltdesperately sorry for him.

“It’s afucking shitstorm, Roger, and I can’t even understand what you’regoing through. But I can help somehow, see you’re comfortable, makesure you have everything you need. I promise I’ll do whatever Ican.”

Roger nodded. “You will.Because you’re coming with me. So I can keep my promise to yourparents to keep you safe, and you won’t have to worry anymore aboutthe diaries getting loose. They’re safe where they are, I assureyou.”

He pulled Jory towardsthe edge, and Jory pulled away in panic. “Roger, you don’t knowwhat the hell you’re doing. This isn’t the solution.”

“And how wouldyou know?” Roger snarled. “Are you the one who’s going to lose hismind completely, have every muscle in his body atrophy, and havepeople have to clean up your shit and your piss? No? Well, I am,and I’ve decided while I can still make my own decisions, I’m goingto end it right now, and save myself a whole lot ofhurt.”

He was out of control andJory fell to the ground, hoping to force Roger relinquish his hold.The edge of the cliff drew nearer and Jory dug his boots into theground to try to stop the inexorable journey to certaindeath.

Below the cliff top, heknew the rocks were sharp and jagged and the tide was coming in.There’d be no escape from the chilly water once either of them hitthe sea. The temperatures may have not been freezing this time ofthe year, but a sudden cold shock would be enough to leave someonebreathless and vulnerable to the elements.

Roger had been a soldierand was muscled and strong, even in his debilitated condition. Hishold on Jory was fierce and as much as Jory tried to break free, hecouldn’t.

He screamed desperately,hoping an early dog walker was nearby. “Help me, please. He’s goingto jump over the cliff. Anyone who can hear me, I need yourhelp.”

There was no answeringreply and Jory looked around desperately for something to griponto. All he saw was the grass tufts and even as he clutched theground in his free hand, it gave way and ended up a muddied mess inhis hand.

Roger continued haulingJory like a bag of rubbish to the cliff end. “Stop yourcaterwauling, Edge. It’ll be quick.”

Jory reached up a hand,trying to free himself from Roger’s vice grip. His chest burnt withpanic, his stomach roiling in horror. “Roger, for God’s sake, stop.This isn’t a solution. Please, listen to me.” He was delaying thesuicide horror by fighting to hold on to something, anything, buthe knew he couldn’t do much more.

In the distance, he heardthe bark of a dog and he screamed as loudly as he could manage,past the bile in his throat. “Help, help, please. He’s going tokill me. Help me, please.”

They’d reached thecliff’s edge and Roger hauled Jory to his feet. As they teetered onthe precipice the coastal wind blew around them.

“One stepforward and it will be all over,” Roger said softly, his facepeaceful. “I won’t have to worry about becoming a vegetable and youwon’t have to fuss about those damn diaries anymore.”

Jory screamed as Rogerstepped forward, over the cliff, pulling him into the abyss of thespace below. For a moment, Jory saw Damian’s face, his belovedface, smiling, and he thought the memory of him was as good as anyto meet his fate.

As he toppled forward, heclosed his eyes, not wanting to see any more. It was then someonegrabbed him around the waist and held on to him for dear life. Joryopened his eyes, hope flaring inside. Roger dangled over the edge,held to life and the world only by Jory’s aching and certainlydislocated right arm. The pain was immense and he vomited, hisbreakfast coming up in chunks onto the grass.

“You fuckingeejit, let the lad go,” a strong Scottish voice roared behind him,as a pair of strong arms encircled Jory’s waist, keeping himground-bound. “You’re no taking him with you.”

“Edge, youbastard, come with me,” Roger shrieked maniacally. “You can’t letme do this alone.”

Suddenly, there was onemore vicious pull, and Jory screamed in agony as his arm socketprotested the movement. Then he was lying prone on the grass,sobbing with the pain and relief as a burly man in a tweed peak capfussed around him, checking him out.

“Christ, lad,are you okay? I saw what the psycho fucker was trying to do, Itried to get here sooner, but I canna run fast like I usedto.”

Jory heaved for breathand the man patted his back awkwardly.

“There, lad,you’ve been through an ordeal, catch your breath and then we’llcall the police.” His saviour’s expression turned grim. “Although Idon’t think there’s much hope left for the chap who went over.He’ll be either dashed on the rocks or being swept out to sea bynow.”

While Jory was sorry forRoger and his death, he couldn’t drum up too much sympathy for him.The crazy bastard had tried to kill him.

“I’m sorry,son. Was he family?” Jory’s rescuer looked at him anxiously. “I’msorry for your loss, if so.”

Jory shook his headtiredly. “No,” he managed. “He wasn’t.”

***

Jory’s rescuer was agentleman named Bob Ferguson, who was on holiday with his dog. Hewas a portly chap in his late fifties and had been a dockworker forover thirty years.