He felt an intense pain, a
kind that he had never known, a gnawing and ripping internal pain from
which he couldn't escape. He was being torn apart. When he reached the
parking area at The Devil's Churn, he opened the Laphroiag and took two
long swallows. He put the bottle on the front seat and got out of the
Jeep.
The sun was setting behind a layer of low dark clouds. Oliver walked
slowly down the wooden steps--slippery from spray at the bottom. The
surf was high. Waves exploded up the fissure in the rocks, roaring and
seething. The violent water matched his internal state perfectly. For a
moment, he was suspended in an eerie calm between the two madnesses. He
understood for the first time why people committed suicide. The pain
hurt too much. End it.
He moved closer to the edge of the rocks. _Large Waves Come Without
Warning._ So what? Owl disappeared in the Atlantic. One in each ocean,
Oliver thought. Another wave bore in. He walked gallantly to the edge
and turned to look back. His father was standing on the steps--stoic,
concerned, non-judgmental. Come what may, he was _with_ Oliver. A loud
whistling sound came from the wave. Oliver took a deep breath, paused,
exhaled, and followed his father up the steps.
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