L. M. Dougherty

Secure the Ropes

[NOTE: This story contains strong language that may be offensive to some.]

The fence seems impenetrable, at least nine feet high with heavy gauge steel bars periodically interrupted by massive stone columns. Justin stares through the bars at the property on the other side. The ground under his feet is blackened and parched. One pathetic vine, every leaf scorched to a wispy skeleton, clings to the stones of a column. He figures that a fire must have attacked this forest recently and chased away the animals that once lived here.

Strangely, on the other side of the fence, there appears no evidence of a fire. It is as though the flames hit this barrier and could go no further. Majestic green mountains roll away from the fence and a crystalline river dances beneath a perfect blue sky. Horses, elk, bighorn sheep, and moose peacefully graze amid the willowing blades of grass blanketing the meadow. Every tree boasts heavy boughs of foliage. Everything looks beautiful, placid, and perfect, but it is all on the other side of the fence. On his side, the fence casts a long shadow over him.

Justin tries to remember how he came to be here. He remembers losing his footing on the rock face. It shouldn’t have been a problem, but his finger hold wasn’t solid. He felt it giving way as he tried to jam his foot into a divot. Then a shower of pebbles bounced off his head and rattled down the rock face as his hand broke the ledge. He should have fallen, but he doesn’t remember falling. All he remembers is grit getting in his eyes and then standing here, outside this massive fence.

“Hello, Justin.”

He never heard the man approach. Only a moment before, Justin knew he was alone. Now a large man in faded blue jeans and a sheepskin coat stands beside him. Justin turns from the fence, squaring his shoulders to face the man, and steps backward. He has to cock his head back to meet the man’s eyes. The air doesn’t breath. Like a lifeless drape, it hangs over them, connecting them with its oppression.
“Should I know you?” Justin asks.

“Not yet.”

“Okay…” He pauses, eyeing the stranger. “Do you live on the other side of this fence?”

“No. Not really. I can go there if I want. But, usually, I stay out here with you and whoever else comes along.”

“I haven’t seen anyone other than you. Where’s everyone else?”

“They’re around. They drift in and out of the shadows. You stay here long enough, you’ll see them.”

“Well … I’m not planning on staying. I need to get back home.”

“And where is home?”

“California. I live in southern Cal, but I’m not home much.”

“Why not?”

“I travel a lot. You have to drive to get to the good climbing spots.”

“So, you’re a rock climber?”

“Yeah. Actually, I was just doing a climb in King’s Canyon. I slipped and I think I fell. I must have blacked out cause I don’t know how I got here.”

“No ropes?”

“No. I stopped using them last year.”

“Why?”

“It’s more exciting without them.”

“Really?”
“Yeah. ‘Without the threat of death there’s no reason to live at all,’ you know?”

“Marilyn Manson fan?”

“Not really. But, once in a while, he says something that makes sense.”

The big man watches Justin as though reading something on his face. Annoyed by the scrutiny, Justin turns and steps to a giant tree, massive as a sequoia, but not quite the same. All of the bark of the tree has burned to charcoal and every branch has lost its fruit. He reaches for the tree, but then stops. For an instant, he sees a face in the black wood, a face he has never seen before. Then it is gone, but melancholia persists, occupying the wood.

“Do you want to die, Justin?”

“No,” Justin mumbles distractedly as he pulls his hand back. He runs his sweaty palm over his face, and then looks at the big man. “It’s just more exciting without ropes.”

“You already said that.”

“So? Who are you anyway?” Justin growls, throwing his hand at the man. “How do you know my name if I don’t know you?”

“I know a lot more than your name.”

“Like what?”

“Like the reason you don’t use ropes.”

“Yeah … that’s because I told you.”

“No, the real reason.”

“And what is that?”

“You’re playing Russian roulette.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You don’t really want to live.”

“That’s bullshit! I don’t want to die!”

“But you wouldn’t mind it.”

“How would you know? You don’t know me!” Justin steps away from the man and looks about anxiously. “Where the hell are we anyway? Where’s a pay phone? I gotta call my girlfriend. She’s probably worried by now.”

“What does she think about your climbing?”

“She doesn’t like it, but, hey, it’s my life.”

“She asked you to stop doing it.”

Justin looks sharply at the man. “Just without ropes,” he replies, watching the big man suspiciously. “She’s doesn’t care otherwise. Anyway … how would you know she asked me to stop?”

“I told you. I know more than your name, Justin. I know you told her you would stop.”

“I did. I will!” he sputters. “Things are just a little crazy now. Sometimes I need to do crazy stuff to clear out my head.”

“Is your head clear?”

Justin stares at the man for a long time before replying. “Actually, I’m pretty confused at the moment. I don’t know how I got here.”

“You fell.”

“I did? Were you there?”

“No. I was here. I’ve been here for a very long time.”

“Did you save me?”

“No. They couldn’t save you.”

“What do you mean?”

“They couldn’t save you, Justin. But that doesn’t mean you’ll never be saved.”

“Saved?” Justin snorts, amused. “You mean like God and angels?”

“Yes … like God and angels.”
Overhead, clouds gather around the sun, smothering its light. On the other side of the fence, the meadow glows in golden splendor. All amusement drains away as Justin realizes where he is. He feels no pain. He sees no bruises or cuts. He fell, but he didn’t scuff a knee, break an ankle, or bang his head. Slowly, he runs his hand through his hair. It’s dry and clean. No sweat, no dirt, no helmet.

Justin eyes the big man. “Who are you?”

“Peter.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Is this funny?”

“I don’t know. What is this? Is this the Pearly Gate? Is that what this is? No … that’s bullshit! Don’t tell me that! Don’t tell me I’m dead!”

“I don’t need to. You already know.”

Fear encircles Justin, squeezing him, separating him from his senses. The musty stink of old ash filling his nostrils seems from someone else’s world. He raises his arms and wraps them around his head, pressing his forearms against his ears. He doesn’t want to hear any more. He doesn’t want to suffer the oppressive silence draped over them like a wet blanket. Tightly, he squeezes his eyes shut and ears closed, waiting for the dream to dissolve. But, when he drops his arms and opens his eyes, the big man is still watching him—waiting.

“So this is the afterlife?” Justin asks.

“This is your afterlife.”

“My afterlife? Are you saying I fucked up? Is that why I’m out here instead of in there?”

“Life is precious, Justin. You never believed that.”

“Why? Because I didn’t use ropes?”

“It goes a lot deeper than that.”

“I didn’t use ropes so I’m going to hell?”

“It depends on your point of view, I suppose. You can’t go inside, Justin. You can only look in at what you can’t have.”

“Am I going to burn? Everything’s burned out here, so there must have been fires here before. Will they come back?”

“They come and go out here.”

“But they never get inside?”

“No.”

“Can I do anything? Can I get inside … ever?”

“I don’t know, Justin.”

“But I’m not that bad a man, am I? Have I been so terrible? I’ve never hurt anyone. I believe in God. Can’t you do anything? Can’t you help me?”

“You didn’t respect life, Justin. That’s a big problem. I can’t really do anything for you. It won’t hurt … being out here. You’ll just be lonely and sad.”

“Forever?”

“I don’t know, Justin. I hope not.”

“But you said they would save me … God and the angels.”

“God is merciful, Justin, but he is just.”

“Can I talk to Him? Can I say I’m sorry about the ropes?”

“It isn’t just the ropes, Justin. Don’t you understand?”

“It’s about respecting life, right? I understand that … and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry! Please, tell God I’m sorry. Please, let me inside. For God’s sake, save me, Peter!”

“I have no power to do that.”

“You can’t leave me locked out here for eternity! Please, talk to God. You know I’m not a bad man, right? Tell Him I’m not a bad man, Peter! Tell Him I’m sorry! Tell Him I respect life now. I understand now. Please, Peter, don’t let me burn!”

“I can’t help you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To talk to you. To make it a little easier.”

“To make hell easier?”

“This isn’t hell, Justin. But it’s close.”

“Is it that dog I shot when I was a kid?”

“It’s more than that.”

“Is it the way I yelled at Amanda? Is it because I got pissed and broke her wine glasses last year?”

“It’s more than that.”

“Is it because me and Amanda fought so much? Is that it? I was stressed out, you know … I was stressed and tired and I had that flu bug that kept coming back again and again. We wouldn’t have been fighting so much if I didn’t feel so bad all the time … if I wasn’t working so hard to pay the bills. You have to understand that!”

“It’s all of that together, Justin. It’s all of that … and the ropes.”

“I love Amanda, Peter. Maybe I didn’t say it much, but I do. I care about her life.”

“But you didn’t realize that until now.”

The heavy air feels even heavier. Lying is pointless here. The big man can see straight into Justin’s heart. He knows the thoughts in Justin’s head. He doesn’t cast accusations. He doesn’t criticize. There is no point to any of that here.

Justin shifts from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of a burning sensation in the arches of his feet. Heat begins to radiate from the ground. Looking down, Justin notices puffs of smoke wafting up from blackened tuffs of grass. His heart pounds harder and harder, so hard he fears it will rip his chest apart.

“Is the fire coming out of the ground?” he asks, his voice wavering.

“It’s coming, but don’t worry. It won’t hurt you. You’re not a bad man, Justin. You’re just not very good.”

“Please don’t let me burn.”

“You’ll be okay. God is merciful. But I need to leave. I can’t be out here now.”

“Peter, don’t let me burn! Please! Peter, help me!”

Justin can feel the heat through his shoes. Black smoke rises from the melting rubber, but he can’t smell anything. He can’t feel pain—just heat. Scraps of charred leaves on the trees surge into crackling flames.

Sparks float through the air and bite into the skin of the giant man’s jacket. He pulls the collar high and gazes into Justin’s white face. Sympathy glazes his eyes.

“I can’t do anything, Justin. I’m sorry.”

The black ground turns red and rises like savage weeds ripping at the hem of Justin’s pants. Higher and higher it rises, enveloping his feet, his knees, his thighs. There is no pain, just heat—insanely, intense heat. He can see the fire chewing apart his pants. He breathes deeply, expecting to choke on the stink of his own flesh burning, but he doesn’t. It’s hot, though—so very, very hot. And it’s climbing up him higher and higher. He closes his eyes, waiting for the fire to swallow his face. He wants to run, but there is nowhere to run. Everything outside the fence is burning. Everything inside is green and lovely. Then the fire takes his sight.

But when his life should end, it begins again. The world around him becomes quiet and peaceful. Justin sees nothing, but he senses a belonging he has never felt before. Earth itself cradles him, embracing him like the womb of a mother protecting her offspring. And he submits. Time passes, but he cannot delineate the days or even the fluctuations between night and light. He cannot see. He cannot hear. He can only exist and endure within a plane of being somewhere between awareness and coma. But the fires have abated, so he doesn’t question this fate. He is thankful for the cool earth blanketing, but not smothering, him.

Day after day, bits of earth fall away until he detects warm sunlight kissing some part of him. But he sees none of it. No yellow at mid-day or crimson at sunset—just the hint of light in a warm finger pressed against his flesh. Inch by inch, he grows into the warmth, leaving his earthen cocoon below him. He spreads out arms, but not just two. He spreads out three, four, ten, twenty-five arms—stretching toward radiant sunlight.

Every breath is a year exhaled, diffusing across the vastness of time. Centuries pass until, in one breath, the warm sunlight turns hot and he shrinks before a roaring beast he cannot see. He cannot feel pain, yet he knows his arms are burning in the heat. He cannot see it or hear it, but he knows the thing that devours him. The fires have returned. As he folds over into fear, he wonders what life lies beyond this one. Or is he one of those black, wooden skeletons trapped forever outside the great fence surrounding paradise.

Peter watches the fire envelop the earthen forest, raking across the crowns of pines like burning ravens of hell. He watches the Ponderosa near the red rock arch toss his branches in the violent wind, shaking sparks into the rushing air. He remembers the fearful young man, terrified of the resurgent fires outside the massive fence. Justin wasn’t a bad man, just disillusioned and lost like a compass dial spinning around and around with no magnet to guide it. Peter understood the fear Justin had for the fire. He pitied him.

The life of a tree should be peaceful. It should be long, nearly endless, eventually culminating in a gentle, painless passing to the beautiful world beyond the thick bars and concrete columns of the great fence. But there is fire on earth, too, like the fires of hell and the bursting flames that plague the purgatorial plains.

As Peter watches, the Ponderosa buckles in the raging forest fire, its limbs blackening and curling like the bent fingers of a tortured man. This death will not be peaceful, but such is the lot of Justin. He played Russian roulette and lost.