Silent Neighbor (Sheila Stone #9)

PROLOGUE

The first glimmer of dawn barely illuminated the vast expanse of the Valley of the Gods as Jake Pearson hung suspended in a private purgatory, his trembling fingers desperately clinging to a narrow ledge on the sheer face of a towering sandstone monolith.

Sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes and threatening to blur his vision. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear away the salty droplets. The ledge above him—his only hope for salvation—seemed to waver in and out of focus, alternately appearing tantalizingly close and hopelessly out of reach.

Time seemed to stretch and contort as Jake hung there, his world shrinking to the few square inches of rough stone beneath his fingertips. How long had he been in this precarious position? Seconds? Minutes? He couldn't be sure. The ache in his arms had long since progressed from discomfort to agony, each second bringing him closer to the moment when his trembling muscles would finally betray him.

As the sun inched higher, painting the landscape in hues of amber and gold, Jake saw himself sitting in his cubicle at Reliance Technology Solutions, bathed in the artificial glow of his computer screen. He could almost smell the stale coffee and hear the muted chatter of his coworkers.

That suffocating normalcy was precisely what had driven him here, to this remote corner of Utah, to test himself against the unforgiving face of nature. Every weekend, Jake sought out a new adventure, a fresh shot of adrenaline to make him feel truly alive.

Skydiving in Colorado, whitewater rafting in West Virginia, and now free soloing in the Valley of the Gods, with nothing between him and oblivion but his own skill and determination.

Both, however, were threatening to desert him now.

Jake's girlfriend, Maya, had long since stopped asking him to stay home on weekends. He could still see the resignation in her eyes, the slight downturn of her lips as he'd packed his gear for this trip. "Be safe," she'd said, her voice flat, as if she'd given up hoping he'd change.

His friends had ceased inviting him to their backyard barbecues and game nights. The last time he'd seen them, at Jim's birthday party, he'd overheard Mark muttering, "Why bother? He never shows up anyway."

A pang of guilt shot through Jake, causing him to momentarily forget the burning in his arms. He knew he was pushing everyone away, knew he was sabotaging the relationships that had once been the bedrock of his life. But he couldn't help it. Everything—his job, his social life, even his relationship with Maya—had begun to feel like a prison of tedium, the bars forged from routine and expectation.

Now, clinging to the cliff face with the last of his strength, Jake was forced to confront the magnitude of his error. In his haste to feel something—anything—he'd attempted a route far beyond his skill level. He'd climbed himself into a corner, and for the first time in years, Jake felt genuine, unadulterated fear coursing through his veins.

He couldn't go up; the ledge above was just beyond his reach, and he didn't trust his trembling limbs to make the stretch. He couldn't go down; the sheer face below offered no safe path of descent. And staying put wasn't an option. Eventually, his arms would give out, his fingers would uncurl from their desperate grip, and then...

Jake squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his ragged breathing. He thought of his parents—his mother's warm smile, his father's firm handshake. He thought of Maya, of the hurt and worry he'd seen in her eyes every time he'd walked out the door in search of his next thrill. He thought of all the people who would be devastated if he didn't make it off this cliff alive.

For the first time in months, Jake felt a surge of emotion that wasn't boredom or restlessness. It was love mixed with a desperate desire to live, to make things right. The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow: He didn't want to die here, alone on this indifferent expanse of rock.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Jake forced his eyes open. He focused on the ledge above, blocking out everything else—the ache in his muscles, the dizzying drop below, the doubts clouding his mind. In one fluid motion, summoning every last ounce of strength and courage, he pushed off with his legs and stretched his arm upward.

For a heart-stopping moment, Jake was suspended in air, fingertips scrabbling against the unforgiving stone. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. He could feel each individual grain of sandstone beneath his fingers, could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

Then, miraculously, he found purchase: a tiny protrusion, barely big enough to grip.

Muscles screaming in protest, Jake pulled himself up inch by agonizing inch. His feet searched for any irregularity in the rock face, any small ledge or crevice to support his weight. With a final, Herculean effort, he hauled himself over the edge of the outcropping, rolling onto his back and gasping for air.

For several long minutes, Jake lay there, his chest heaving, staring up at the brightening sky. He'd done it. He was alive. The realization washed over him in waves, bringing with it a euphoria more potent than anything he'd previously experienced in his years of thrill-seeking.

As his heartbeat gradually slowed to a more normal rhythm, Jake fumbled for his phone. His hands were still shaking, but he managed to hold it at arm's length, grinning despite his exhaustion. The resulting selfie captured his sweat-streaked face, eyes wild with residual fear and exhilaration, against the backdrop of the stunning Utah landscape.

On a whim, riding the high of his narrow escape, Jake scooted closer to the edge. He arranged his features into a comical expression of terror, pretending to lose his balance. The camera clicked again, freezing this moment of manufactured peril.

Jake chuckled as he uploaded the photos, already imagining the reactions they'd soon elicit. The group would get a kick out of these, especially knowing how close they'd come to being his last images. The thought sobered him slightly, reminding him of the very real danger he'd just survived.

With hands that still trembled slightly, Jake reached for his water bottle. He took a long, grateful drink, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat. He bit into an energy bar, the simple act of eating grounding him further in the reality of his continued existence.

As the immediate stress of his ordeal began to fade, Jake allowed himself to truly take in his surroundings. The Valley of the Gods stretched out before him, a breathtaking panorama that seemed to extend to the very edge of the world. Towering sandstone formations rose from the desert floor like the weathered spires of some ancient, forgotten civilization. Wind-carved arches stood in silent testimony to the patient power of natural forces.

The morning sun, now fully risen, cast long shadows across the landscape, creating a patchwork of light and darkness that seemed to shift and change with each passing moment. In the distance, a hawk circled lazily on thermal currents, its cry echoing faintly across the vast expanse.

As Jake's gaze wandered over the awe-inspiring vista, something caught his eye. Far below, barely visible from his lofty perch, was a vehicle parked well off the main trail. Jake frowned, a small knot of unease forming in his stomach. He'd chosen this particular route specifically for its isolation, relishing the idea of testing himself against nature far from the eyes of other humans.

Who else could be out here at this hour?

He squinted, trying to make out more details, but the vehicle was too far away. After a moment, Jake shook his head, forcing the concern from his mind. It was probably just another early-rising adventurer, or perhaps a park ranger making their rounds.

Turning his attention back to his immediate surroundings, Jake assessed the cliff face above him. He was so close to the summit now—just one more push would see him to the top of this formidable rock formation.

Are you really going to do it? he asked himself. Maybe you should just turn back, stop tempting fate.

He hesitated, unsure what to do.

I'm almost done, he told himself. I'm not going to start something and abandon it partway through—no, I need to finish this. I'm not a quitter. After reaching the summit, he'd make his way back down and call it a day.

He just had to finish this.

Slipping his earbuds in, Jake queued up his favorite climbing playlist. The familiar beats helped calm his still-jangled nerves as he chalked his hands and began to mentally map out his final ascent. With each deep breath, he felt his focus sharpening, his earlier panic receding.

Jake began to climb once more. Despite his earlier mistake, he was an experienced climber, and it showed in the fluid grace with which he navigated the rock face. Each handhold, each foothold, he carefully tested before he committed his weight. He moved steadily upward, the rhythm of his climbing synchronizing with the music in his ears.

As he ascended, Jake felt his confidence returning. This was what he lived for—the perfect harmony of body and stone, the singular focus that drowned out all other thoughts. Here, suspended between earth and sky, the mundane concerns of his everyday life fell away. There was only the next move, the next challenge to overcome.

Maybe 'reckless' was just another word for 'exciting.'

The summit grew closer with each passing moment. Jake could almost taste victory, could almost feel the triumph of standing atop this unconquered peak. His earlier brush with death only served to sweeten the anticipation.

Just as he neared the top, a sprinkle of gravel and dust rained down on him. Jake looked up, startled to see a figure silhouetted against the bright morning sky. He blinked in surprise, certain he must be seeing things. But no, there was definitely someone there, peering down at him from the summit.

A hand reached down, offering assistance for the final few feet of the climb. Jake hesitated, his earlier unease returning. He prided himself on making these ascents alone, on relying solely on his own strength and skill. But after his earlier near-disaster, it seemed foolish—even dangerous—to let pride dictate his actions now.

Besides, it would be churlish to refuse such a gesture, especially when he was so close to the end of his journey. Swallowing his reservations, Jake reached up to clasp the offered hand.

In that instant, everything changed. As one powerful arm pulled him upward, the other planted a hand against his chest and shoved. The force pushed him away from the cliff face, his feet losing their tenuous grip on the rock.

For a split second, Jake felt weightless, suspended in the air like a character in a cartoon who hasn't yet realized they've run off a cliff. Then reality reasserted itself with brutal swiftness, and gravity took hold.

In those final, eternal moments, as the unforgiving ground rushed up to meet him, a kaleidoscope of images flashed through Jake Pearson's mind. He saw Maya's face, etched with worry and love. He saw his parents, his friends, all the people he'd pushed away in his relentless pursuit of the next thrill. He saw the mundane moments he'd taken for granted—morning coffee, movie nights, lazy Sunday afternoons.

Jake's last coherent thought, before impact stole away all capacity for reflection, was a desperate wish to take it all back. To return to the normal life he'd so carelessly discarded, to tell Maya he loved her, to mend the relationships he'd allowed to wither.

But it was too late. The ground rose up to meet him, and Jake Pearson's quest for excitement came to a sudden, tragic end in the very place where he'd sought to feel most alive.