Page 90 of Dual
“You doing okay, love?” Domhnall asks, his voice low enough that Melissa, a few paces ahead, won’t hear. His eyes are concerned, scanning my face for signs of fatigue or too much sun exposure..
Melissa pulls out a folded up wide brim trail hat and hands it to Domhn. He plunks it on my head and I roll my eyes.
“I’m good,” I assure him, squeezing his hand. “Just need to take it a bit slower than you mountain goats.”
He chuckles at that, slowing his pace to match mine as we navigate the switchback. The path zigzags up the side of the mesa, offering increasingly spectacular views of the surrounding landscape with each turn. Red rock formations stretch to the horizon, their shapes sculpted by millions of years of wind and water. It’s humbling to think about the slow dance of erosion that created this place, one grain of sand at a time.
“Almost there,” Melissa calls back encouragingly. “The lookout point is just around this bend.”
We round the corner, and suddenly the landscape opens up before us—a vast, yawning canyon stretching toward the horizon, layers of red and gold and orange rock stepping down to a distant valley floor. The view steals my breath, not just for its beauty but for its scale. It makes me feel insignificant.
“Wow,” I breathe out.
“I know, right?” Domhnall says, and I can tell by his voice he’s feeling what I’m feeling at the awesome sight before us.
“Careful near the edge,” Melissa cautions, though she stays close to it herself, pointing out landmarks in the distance. “The drop’s about five hundred feet to that first ledgedown there.”
Domhnall moves forward first, always the more adventurous one, to stand beside Melissa. I follow more cautiously, maintaining a respectful distance from the precipice. I’ve never been particularly afraid of heights, but there’s something about this place that demands caution.
“See that formation over there?” Melissa is saying, indicating a distant spire of rock. “That’s called the Sentinel. And beyond it, you can just make out the edge of Lake Powell.”
I step forward to get a better look, my curiosity momentarily overriding my caution.
The edge is closer than I realized. As I peer over, trying to see the landmarks Melissa is pointing out, a wave of dizziness washes over me. The world seems to tilt beneath my feet, the canyon floor rushing up to meet me even though I haven’t moved.
My vision swims, and a familiar light-headedness sweeps through me—the same sensation I used to feel right before Mads would take over.
My heart lurches, a jolt of adrenaline cutting through the dizziness.
This feeling. I know this feeling.
“Anna?” Domhnall’s voice seems to come from very far away. “You all right? You’ve gone pale.”
I barely hear him, too focused on the internal shift happening inside me. Dr. Ezra said to pay attention to stuff like this. The light-headedness intensifies, the edges of my vision blurring. For a heartbeat, I think it’s happening, that Mads is finally emerging from wherever she’s been hiding.
But then Domhnall’s arm is around my waist, pulling me back from the edge, and the sensation begins to fade. By the time he’s guided me to a nearby rock to sit down, the momentary disorientation has passed, leaving only a hollowness in its wake.
“Just got a bit dizzy,” I explain, accepting the water bottle Melissa offers. “Too much sun.”
“We should head back,” Domhnall says, his brow furrowed with concern.
“No, I’m fine, really,” I protest, suddenly invigorated. “I just needed some water.”
They exchange a look, clearly unconvinced, but don’t argue further. As we rest in the shade of a stunted juniper, drinking water and admiring the view from a safer distance, my mind races with the implications of what just happened.
That feeling—the light-headedness, the blurring at the edges of my vision—that’s always been the precursor to Mads taking over. But this time, she didn’t appear. It’s like the connection was there, briefly, then lost.
It was the height and the momentary fear of standing so close to such a significant drop that triggered it.
Fear.
The realization hits me with unexpected force. Of course! Fear has always been the bridge between us—my fear creating the space for her strength and courage. It’s what called her into being in the first place, all those years ago, when I was too frightened to survive on my own.
I’ve been going about this all wrong, trying to find herthrough calm, controlled methods like meditation. Mads has never been calm or controlled. She’s fire and fury, reaction and impulse. She appears when I’m most afraid and vulnerable.
So if I want to find her again, maybe I need to scare myself.
Reallyscare myself.
