Time froze for Ruth-Ann. The world stopped.
Rebecca’s scream faded as she plunged to the ravine below. She fell too far for anyone to hear the crunch of her landing, but Ruth-Ann imagined it.
A shudder shook Ruth-Ann’s body. And in that brief moment of frozen horror, what lingered in her mind was the expression on Peter’s face as he carried her to the cliff edge. The empty eyes, the blank stare. As if he was no longer inside himself, as if he had vacated his own body.
Screams rang out all around her. Guests leaped to their feet, faces pale, mouths open. But no one moved. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape or erase the horror of what they had just seen.
Children wailed. Screams and screeches of horror and disbelief rang off the mesa walls.
Ruth-Ann’s eyes refused to focus. The people around her became a colorful blur. Loud sobs and shouts and animal moans rose, more and more shrill, until Ruth-Ann clamped her hands over her ears. It was then she realized she was screaming, too.
And then she saw a dark blur rise up in front of her. Someone lurched forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. Grabbed her and shook her.
He finally came into focus. Her father. His face red, radiating anger. His eyes bulging. He kept shaking his head, his lips moving but making no sound.
He dug his fingers into the shoulders of her dress and uttered a curse through gritted teeth. “YOU did this!” he screeched, spit flying into Ruth-Ann’s face. “You killed your own sister!”
“N-no—!” Ruth-Ann stammered. She tried to pull free of his painful grasp. “No, Father—”
“You did it! You did it!” he screamed, shaking her. Her hat flew off and landed in the grass at her feet. “You swore she would never marry Peter, and you kept your promise!”
“No!” Ruth-Ann screamed. “No! How could I? You’ve got to believe me, Father. I didn’t. I didn’t!”
Some guests were running down the hill to the lodge. Others stood sobbing, shaking, comforting one another. A small crowd circled Ruth-Ann and her father, watching their angry confrontation.
Randolph Fear uttered a string of curses. He shook Ruth-Ann hard. “You put a spell on that boy. I know you did. Think I didn’t know what you were doing up in that attic room? Did you really think you could cast a spell and I wouldn’t know?”
“No, Father!” Ruth-Ann cried. “No!” And then a frightening thought flashed into her mind. “You—you know about that room. You know those spells, too—don’t you, Father?”
His grip on her arms tightened. His dark eyes burned into hers.
“It was you!” Ruth-Ann screamed. “You did it. You—you monster! You killed your own daughter!”
“You are insane!” her father growled.
“NO!” The cry burst from Ruth-Ann’s throat. She pulled back with all her strength—and broke free. Broke free of her father’s two-handed grasp.
She stumbled backward, the pain of his grip still on her shoulders. She thrashed her arms, bent forward, struggling to catch her balance.
But she couldn’t stop. The thrust of her attempt to free herself sent her hurtling backward. Nothing to grab on to. Nothing to stop her.
And she went tumbling over the side of the cliff. Her hands grabbed the hard dirt on the cliff edge, then slid away. And Ruth-Ann fell, without a scream, without another breath. Fell straight down in a flurry of cold wind, the blue sky stretching wide above her. Joined her sister after a moment of crunching pain . . . and then darkness.
