Jack was rappelling along a red cliff, zig-zagging with the wind that whistled just to tell him he was looking pretty. He laughed to himself.

“What’s funny?” Dylan shouted the question. When Jack got a good look at his face, he knew something was wrong.

“Jack, I’m sorry.” Dylan’s mouth pinched down like he was going to cry, while his eyes shifted in fear. “I didn’t know I’d be so stupid as to be afraid of going to Hell, but…”

“Dylan, calm down,” Jack interrupted, confident Dylan was having some kind of nervous attack that he could handle. After all, it was in all their best interest to calmly proceed down the mountain.

“I’m afraid to die,” Dylan confessed.

“Now?” Jack asked incredulously. It was a beautiful day, and the way down was obvious.

“I did something to the knots!” Dylan cried. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how it would feel.”

Jack felt adrenaline surge through his system. He couldn’t make sense of Dylan’s words, as the confession was too shocking. Dylan’s body language was so sickeningly shot with fear and loathing, that the words “I’m sorry” settled in his system like rat poison.

“I’m sorry,” he cried again. “I know the rope won’t hold.” He hadn’t known his paranoia would torment him too much keep his secret.

Jack stared, frozen, at the cliff wall. It was a straight vertical slab for as far down as he could see. No natural anchors. He’d have to drill and hope the rope held until he was done.

He ignored Dylan as he reached back for his drill. To his surprise, he got sewing-machine legs. A couple deep breaths steadied them, but he had to consciously force himself not to shake. It was like springing a leak in a boat. Too much fear could sink him. It didn’t help that he’d picked up a strong instinct that he was going to die, that nothing would stop it, like there were black bird messengers in the peripheral of his vision saying “he killed you.”

Damn, it was like some dread countdown had started. He was shot through with anxiety. There was nothing he could accept about Dylan’s act of malice, and his body was holding onto negative energy he couldn’t act upon.

He was not one to suffer the acid pains of outrageous doubt for long. He loved adrenaline rushes and little notices that he could shortly be dealing with the unknown that was the afterlife—to which he said, “not now,” and felt all the better for being strong enough to accomplish his will. He just didn’t worry about it. Everyone died eventually, and eventually had never been on his schedule.

Today was different. Dylan had tipped the scales and put death on his calendar. That sounded like an invitation death wouldn’t refuse.

A tumult of wind whisked him into the side of the mountain, and he thought that damning black bird pronouncement, “never more, never again, now is your time to die.” The rope suddenly fell away from the anchor. If he could cry it would have been in telling the marvelous rock goodbye. He never imagined anything more beautiful than a mountain in the sun, or more fulfilling than climbing it.

There’s misery worse than pain, and Jack didn’t know it for long, just like he didn’t know doubt or fear for long.

Dylan screamed. He was just beginning his journey of misery.