On the Edge

The cliffs at Point Reyes National Seashore, at the Southern tip of Marin County in Northern California, were an ideal place for Walter Fink to end his life. The cliffs were his favorite place to escape his troubled life, commune >with nature, and sort out the issues that plagued him. They were sunny this time of year with a perpetual cool breeze coming off the Pacific Ocean that softened the heat of early autumn. They were also high off the water with multitudes of crags and jagged rocky drops. It wouldn’t hurt much when he’d jump. What? Maybe a second. Maybe two? Then, just like that, his problems would die with him.

Walter wondered if he should close his eyes before jumping or keep them open to fully experience the greatest and final act of his life. He’d always felt a weird, enticing tingling run up his legs when he ventured to the edge of a cliff. Funny though, now that he was not looking to gaze, but to jump, there were no frightening sensations of any sort. In fact, it was quite the opposite. He felt oddly at peace.

Would the insurance company pay if his death looked suspicious? He had taken out a policy on himself last month when his wife, Judy, confessed to an ongoing affair. She broke down sobbing, saying that she still loved him and hated herself. She felt guilt ridden and desperately wanted to end it but felt like a drug abuser who knew they needed to stop using but was hopelessly addicted. Walter didn’t have it in him to confront her paramour. He was never good at confrontations, even when he knew that he was being taken advantage of and hated himself for it.

Would the insurance company still give the beneficiaries, his son and daughter, money enough to see them through college? He wondered. An astute investigator would conclude he had died at his own hand and nullify the policy and therefore the payout. He stepped to the edge of the cliff and slid his foot over the gritty soil so it would look like a slip.

He looked down at the rocks drenched by the dark cold ocean waves. What could he have done differently in life that would have avoided such a tragic end? I should have been an artist instead of a mechanic. People always oohed and aahed over my paintings. Hell, I was paid handsomely for that portrait I did of the stockbroker with his thoroughbred racehorse. Before his father retired from the state, he had secured a job for him as a mechanic at a state garage. His father had long since passed away, content knowing his son had a secure life-long job with benefits.

But the job at the garage had not been going well for some time. He’d overheard the guys say he was going to get fired at the end of the next employee evaluation cycle. He was going to be let go because of negligence. He’d reinstalled a vacuum pump after servicing the brakes, but the oil seal didn’t seat properly. Once the engine was under load, it began bleeding oil internally. By the time the warning light came on, the bearings were already scorched. The resulting accident caused a state senator serious injuries.

What do I have to show for 15 years as a state mechanic? Walter thought. A house in need of a new roof that I can’t afford, credit cards that Judy has run up to mask the pain of what she felt was a dead-end life with me. Now she’s cheating with some guy whose name she said was Dwayne, some kind of artist. It irked Walter to no end seeing the expression on Judy’s face the way she said, “Dwayne.” At least Walter could take solace knowing that his son and daughter would be well taken care of.

He looked over the cliff and picked the spot where he would land. Plenty of hard surfaces, a good 100 feet straight down. Ready? He thought. I’ll dive headfirst and go out quickly. But wait, what if an insurance investigator has even the slightest suspicion that I killed myself? He studied the edge of the cliff where he had dragged his foot. He made the skid mark bit longer and more pronounced. To Walter’s eye, it definitely looked like a slip.He closed his eyes and counted softly, “one, and two, and… ”

“Beautiful day out here, don’t cha think?”

“Huh? Who? What?” Walter turned. A stranger was standing behind him.

“I said it’s a great spot out here.”

“Oh, um yeah,” Walter said, “it’s nice.”

“I come here when I need to clear my head,” the stranger said.

“Yeah, me too,” Walter said halfheartedly.

The stranger went on. “Look, I don’t know you from Adam, but I need to talk with someone, anyone—would you mind?”

“Ah, well, I don’t know, I mean, well, what the heck, it won’t matter after today anyhow. Sure, go ahead.”

“I tried to make a career as an artist,” the stranger said, “but fact is I’m just not good enough. My dad was an accomplished artist, so was his father, and he insisted that I carry on the family tradition. He paid for me to get through art school.”

“Trying to be something you’re not cut out for,” Walter said. “I know that feeling all too well.”

“I’d been down in the dumps about it,” the stranger said, “Then I met Judy. Ha, she’s married to some loser. I could smell it that she wasn’t happy, and I went in for the kill. I’ve been boinking her for a few months now. I’ve gotten a lot of great nooky that way, looking for sad wives. I figure that she’ll be good for another couple of months, then I’ll toss her in the dump heap with the rest of ’em.” The stranger laughed wickedly. “She’s got a nice body.” He winked and cupped his hands over his chest. “And a great set, if you know what I mean.”

Walter stared at the stranger for a beat. “What’s your name?”

“Dwayne.”

“Doesn’t this Judy lady show any sense of guilt for cheating on her husband?”

“Yeah, she’s one of these broads with a conscience. I caught her crying a couple of times, but I’ve got her under control.”

Walter stared thoughtfully at the man then said, “And you say that you’re an artist?”

“Yeah, I work for the Johnson Company, an ad agency, and man, do they rake in the dough. I got a head’s up from a guy I know in management that they’re letting me go at the end of the month because my work isn’t good enough for them. They hired based on my dad’s reputation. Hell, I knew I wasn’t good enough for some time, but the money was too good to try something else. I took them for as long as I could. The guy told me that they’re looking for a replacement, but I don’t give a shit. Dad left me enough to live off of. If you know anyone who can draw, tell them there’ll be an opening pretty soon.”

Walter smiled. His eyes dead serious. “Well, Dwayne, my newfound friend, would you mind stepping over here and tell me what you think these curious marks on the ground might be?”