I meant to help Tom. But my feet come up with another plan without saying so. I can’t see my hand in front of my face, but I do my best to search the small area. I’m like a blind person trying to find the light. Just when I’m about to lose hope, my foot finds it first. A rock big enough to do the job. It’s larger than I would have liked, but I guess beggars can’t be choosy. It barely fits in the palm of my hand. “Tom?”
“Over here,” he says. I can hear him; he’s trying to drag himself up onto the ledge. He doesn’t yet realize I’ve gone somewhere too dark for him to follow. It’s steep, and he’s injured. “Stay there,” I call out to him. Everyone knows water washes away sin.
“Let me help you,” I offer. My voice reverberates in my ears. It smells like a mixture of death and fuel. It smells li
