Over the Edge

-21-

Crane sank down into the chair beside Ford's bed and studied his brother's face anxiously for some sign of waking. But he saw nothing to give him any hope. Ford's face might have been carved out of marble, it was so white and still. He was so pale that his white-blond hair seemed dark by comparison.

Careful not to disturb the many wires and sensors attached to him, Crane slid down and grasped Ford's cold hand in both of his own, trying to force some warmth into his brother. He ignored the nurse, aware she was in the room but not important to him right now. "Hey, Ford," he said softly. "Little brother. We're here for you. I'm here for you. Everything's going to be okay. You… you just need to wake up."

He waited, praying for some response. But nothing happened. Ford didn't move. Not even an eyelash fluttered.

Exhaustion swept over Crane, so hard and sudden he almost fell from his chair. He closed his burning eyes, feeling a few hot tears forcing their way out. He tightened his grip on Ford's hand.

Sometimes Evan and Daniel would tease Ford, calling him "Crane, Junior." There was more reason for that than just their blond hair or their comparative grade point averages. They were both quiet amongst the loud din of their brothers. Both of them were more serious in their relationships with women – although Crane had never suffered from the overwhelming shyness Ford had. And they both too often compared themselves to their louder than life brothers and came up wanting.

There were differences, of course. Ford loved the ranch; he loved animals as much as Evan and was as good with them, even though he never believed that. Whereas Crane… had always felt out of his depth. It wasn't that he didn't love it, but – he was honest with himself even if he'd never admit it to anyone else – when he was younger he couldn't wait to get away. Like Adam before him, he dreamed of the day he would leave, go away to college and then somewhere else, coming home for visits.

That had all changed the night their parents died. As Adam had given up his dreams for his family, Crane did as well. Not that Adam or even Brian expected that of him, but Crane knew he was needed there. His family needed him.

He worked hard in high school. Took AP classes so that when he went to UC Davis, on a scholarship, he could finish in three years with a double major and a gold honors seal on his diploma. And then he came home, and in some ways it was like he'd never left.

Things would be different for Ford, and Guthrie, and Crane was glad for it.

There was something else that kept Crane tied to home, and it was still another way he and Ford were alike. They were both devoted to the brother younger than themselves. Crane to Daniel. And Ford to Guthrie. It was a different relationship than the relationships with the rest of the family.

Daniel hadn't done well – at least at first – when Crane had left for Davis. Crane came home almost every weekend, even though Adam and Brian urged him to stay at school, be a part of the campus life.

"You don't have to come home every weekend, Crane. Go to a football game, or a dance, or a kegger, or something!" Brian had urged.

"Well, maybe not the kegger," Adam said drily. "He is still underage, Bri."

"Oh come on, Adam! It's college!"

"I'm not interested in any of that," Crane broke in. "I'm there to study, not party."

Adam sighed. "You can have some fun, Crane."

Crane shook his head. He wouldn't have gone away to school if there had been other options. But there really weren't. He couldn't commute. They didn't have spare vehicle, for one thing; there wasn't a University that close, for another. Davis was 77 miles away from Murphys; the drive was through mountain roads and it usually took about two hours, although longer by bus, of course. There was a junior college closer, but Adam had firmly refused to even consider that idea when Crane had proposed it.

The only weekends Crane had stayed on campus were those occasions when he had to meet with a study group, or on Homecoming or Parent's Weekend, when several of his brothers – never all of them – would make the trek to him. Daniel always came and usually Adam. Ford came several times, always being awestruck at the large campus. Once Adam had brought Ford and Guthrie both. Ford remembered that, watching Ford carefully show little Guthrie around. Crane remembered the look on Adam's face then, and he knew what his oldest brother was thinking. Crane knew, somehow, Adam would make sure his younger brothers would go to college.

And Crane vowed to do everything he could to help.

These days, Ford was still over protective of Guthrie. Crane flashed back to the night after Guthrie had been kidnapped and almost killed by the poacher, a man Guthrie referred to as "Mr. Ace."

As relieved as he was that his baby brother was okay, Crane hadn't realized just how much danger Guthrie had actually been in. Crane was so grateful that the wounded bear hadn't been a threat. He heard Guthrie tell Daniel something about "—shot me," but he didn't think too much about it. He wasn't actually sure he'd ever really processed the words, more concerned about the man Brian was prodding along with his rifle.

He realized, of course, that Adam and Brian were tense and anxious but it wasn't until they were home, and an exhausted Guthrie had crashed to sleep in Evan and Ford's room, that Brian and Adam told the rest of the family just what they had seen out there on that mountain.

"What are you saying, he almost killed Guthrie?" Daniel demanded, rising up from the dining room table around which they were all seated, eating the very late supper Hannah had made while she was waiting for them to return.

"You're exaggerating, right, Bri?" Evan chimed in, his freckles standing stark against his pale skin.

Adam and Brian exchanged a look, and then Adam sighed and leaned back in the chair. "No, he's not, Evan. When we finally found them, the poacher – Ace – had run Guthrie to ground. I don't know how long he'd been chasing him. But he had Guthrie treed up in the rocks, above the river. On National Park land –"

"Where?" Crane could barely recognize his own voice. National Park land? That was miles away from where Guthrie's map had indicated his "gold mine" was.

Adam went on, "Guthrie had lost his shirt… I think he used it as a decoy or something. That –" Adam stopped as if he couldn't come up with a bad enough word to describe Ace. He took a deep breath. "He… Guthrie was trapped. He couldn't run any further, he was just collapsed there, behind this tree stump, gasping for breath. He –" Adam's voice failed him and Crane was horrified to see the tears in his oldest brother's eyes. Crane was cold suddenly, chilled through, even though the house was warm.

No one broke the silence that followed. Crane wasn't sure he wanted to hear what happened next.

Adam took a swig of beer, looking as if he wished it were whiskey instead. Crane noted his hand was shaking as he put the can back down. "Ace wasn't even ten feet away from him. Had his rifle up to his shoulder and cocked, his finger was on the trigger. He was pointing it at… at Guthrie's head." Adam's jaw clenched and he shook his head.

Hannah came around the table and knelt by Adam. Tears were pooling in her eyes but she grabbed Adam's hands in hers. "You saved him." She reached out her other hand to Brian. "You both did."

Brian had been steadily working his way through his can of beer. "It was close. Too damn close. If we had been even a few seconds later – his hand was on the fucking trigger! He was going to kill a twelve year old boy!"

"He was talking to Guthrie when we got there. Told him… something about 'It's too bad, Guthrie. You would have made a hell of a man.' Adam bit out the words. "And even when he knew we were there, when he knew Brian was going to shoot him, he still kept that rifle pointed at Guthrie…"

Ford jumped up from the table and slammed his chair back against the wall. He ran to the sink and was violently sick. Brian, looking almost like a zombie, rose and went to his side.

Crane became aware Daniel was breathing in short, harsh gasps. He placed his hand on Daniel's arm. "He could have… he was going to…" he couldn't seem to say the words.

Evan reached for Brian's beer can, and looked like he was going to pour the liquid down his throat. Instead he threw the half-full can against the wall. It splattered behind Daniel, who didn't even seem to notice.

Later, hours later, when the house was dark and quiet and everyone was in bed, Crane couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned in his bed, unable to even close his eyes. Daniel snored in the bed across the room. However devastated Daniel had been that night, he was sleeping the sleep of the innocent. Well, he was, wasn't he? Daniel hadn't been the one who gave Guthrie permission to go panning for gold, sending him out into the wilderness with wounded bears and psycho-thrill killer poachers.

No, that rested squarely on Crane.

He tossed the blankets into a heap at the foot of the bed and sat up, dropping his feet onto the cold boards of the floor. That afternoon had been warm, for the time of year, but the temperature had dropped considerably by the time they'd got home from the Poultry Producers show, and downright cold when they'd finally returned with Guthrie. Crane winced at the thought of his youngest brother running through the forest without even his shirt on.

Crane had gone to bed in a t-shirt and sweat pants. Quietly, not wanting to disturb Daniel, Crane fished a pair of wool socks out of the chest of drawers and pulled them on. Then he slipped from the room.

He was just going to take a peek at Guthrie; make sure he was safe and sleeping warm enough. But there was a lamp on at the foot of the stairs. Crane felt a cold draft of air and looked down to see the front door was ajar.

Frowning, Crane looked into Evan and Ford's bedroom. The two boys had recently separated their bunk beds. The one closest to the wall was empty, the rumpled bedcovers indicating the sleeper wasn't having much more luck in that department than Crane was. The other bed was literally a mound of blankets and quilts, with Evan, asleep in his sleeping bag, on the floor next to it.

Pretty sure that Guthrie was in the bed, Crane stood still for a moment and just listened to the sounds of soft breathing. The two boys were almost in counterpoint: one would inhale and then the other.

Reaction set in then and Crane collapsed against the door jamb. They could have lost their baby brother today before they even knew he was in trouble. Crane blamed himself. He'd known Guthrie was out panning gold, eager to help the family finances. He'd asked Guthrie where he was going, two or three times, and had been satisfied with what he now realized were deliberately vague answers. It didn't bring any comfort to realize that Guthrie had known if he told Crane how far down the river he was going, Crane would have insisted the youngest McFadden stop his quest.

Crane shivered. It took him a second to realize that the chill wasn't just from his thoughts but from that cold draft that was coming from downstairs. Pulling the bedroom door almost closed, he walked down the stairs to the open front door.

He knew who was out there.

Crane blinked and looked around. Another nurse had come into the room and was studying the monitors with skilled eyes. She must have realized Crane was watching her and gave him a little smile. "Hello," she said, her voice velvet soft and almost musical. "I'm going to assume you're another McFadden brother I haven't met yet?"

Crane managed to smile back. It felt strange, as if his facial muscles were cast in cement. "I'm Crane McFadden," he introduced himself. His voice caught before he could force out the next words. "How is he? Has there been any change?"

Change for the better, he meant. Crane really didn't think he could stand it if somehow Ford was in even worse shape than he'd already been told.

"He's hanging in there," the nurse said.

Crane hesitated. The nurse seemed to realize he needed more information. "It's still pretty early for him to showing any signs of consciousness yet." Her voice was soothing. "Would you like a cup of coffee or a glass of water?" she smiled. "My treat."

Crane managed a smile in return.

7Bf7B

Daniel woke up fast when someone jerked apart the cubicle curtains and then loudly cleared his throat.

Daniel blinked away the fog from his brain and studied the man who had invaded the peace of his sleep. The visitor was more than middle-aged – in his fifties or even older maybe – with dark hair liberally streaked with silver. He was well dressed in a big-city way: a three piece black suit with a faint silver pinstripe and a crisp shirt that was so white it almost glowed. Without saying a word he made it clear he was in command and control of the situation.

Guthrie shifted and his eyes opened sleepily.

The man glanced at Guthrie, then his eyes shifted back to Daniel. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Something about the man's voice put frayed Daniel's nerves even more. He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. "Daniel McFadden. And who are you?"

"Oh. One of the brothers." The man dismissed Daniel with a quick glance. "I'm going to need you to leave so I can talk with young Guthrie here."

Guthrie's fingers dug into Daniel's hand so forcefully that he winced. He got the message. Guthrie didn't want him to leave. Not that Daniel would have anyway. But before he could say anything a nurse stepped in through the opened curtain. She took a studied the bank of monitors and looked at Guthrie before she turned to face the well-dressed intruder. "Sir? Are you a family member?"

"No, he's not," Daniel quickly replied.

The nurse nodded her head, as if Daniel had merely reinforced what she already knew. "Then you need to leave," she said pointedly. "This is pediatric intensive care. Only family members are allowed."

The man sneered. "I am investigating the accident that the McFadden boys were involved in last night."

God, was it just last night? Daniel thought. It felt more like days had passed.

The nurse stepped in front of the man. "I don't care if you're the President of the United States, you cannot be in here without the approval of the doctor and without Guthrie's guardian being present."

"I'm with the Sheriff's office!" The man argued.

"No, you're not," Daniel blurted out without thinking. But he knew every person who worked with the Carbon County sheriff's office, and this guy wasn't one of them.

"Sir, you need to leave right now, or I'm going to call Security."

The man took a step back. "What is wrong with you?" he fired at the nurse. "This was a fatal accident. If it wasan accident."

Guthrie gasped, one single, frightened sound. And the monitors behind him started beeping much faster than they had before.

Daniel rose – or tried to rise – to his feet. He was going to get this man out of here if he had to carry him out. But Guthrie's hands – both of them, now, and ice cold – held on too tightly and would not let go. Daniel looked at his little brother and promptly dismissed the stranger in the room from his mind. Guthrie's eyes were huge in his too-pale face. His hands dropped away from Daniel's arm as he started shaking suddenly: violent tremors that set his teeth chattering together. As Daniel moved to hold him, unable to do more to help, Guthrie's eyes rolled back in his head so that only the white was showing. Then he went limp, dropping down into Daniel's arms like a puppet when the strings were cut.

Every alarm on the monitor board started shrieking in an ear-rattling cacophony.

"Guthrie!" Daniel could barely recognize his own voice.

The nurse moved quickly to Guthrie's side. Someone else – another nurse, a doctor, Daniel didn't know who – raced into the cubicle. "What happened?" she asked.

"Seizure. He's not breathing," the first nurse said grimly. She pulled Guthrie's body away from Daniel and demanded, "You need to leave."

"No!"

Suddenly the little room was full of people. People poured in, all of them wearing blue or green scrubs. Someone grabbed Daniel and dragged him out into the hallway, where the sleazy guy in the fancy suit was already standing. Daniel struggled, but the man pushing him away said, "You need to wait out here. You'll just get in the way while we're working on your brother."

Daniel swallowed hard, the fight leaving him. He nodded. He couldn't speak. Fear strangled his throat, muting his voice. The man gave him a small smile and then stepped back into the room, yanking the curtain shut.

Daniel stood there. He didn't know what to do. He could feel the salt of his tears on his tongue but he couldn't stop them from spilling from his eyes.

Oh God. Guthrie!

He was supposed to be okay. I was supposed to take care of him…

He turned and looked at the person who had caused this. The sharply dressed man who even now was straightening his tie. And then, as if nothing had happened, a look of annoyance on his face, he just calmly turned and walked away.

Daniel choked, rage overcoming him, pushing the overwhelming terror away just long enough for him to move. He charged after the interloper, grabbing the older man's shoulder and whirling him violently around in his fury.

"I'm gonna kill you, you son of a bitch!" Daniel roared.

"Daniel!" Someone grabbed him, pulled him away.

Daniel fought blindly, but whoever had him wrapped long arms around him, bracing him with his body. "Daniel," the voice said again, more soothing this time.

Daniel recognized the voice. He stopped struggling, let himself be held.

"Adam," he choked out.

To be continued