2 Over the Cliff

Chapter 2 Over the Cliff West Marin Middle School sits nestled on a ridge high up in the hills in Point Reyes Station, California. The town's about thirty miles north of San Francisco and very close to Mount Wittenberg, which towers 1,407 feet above the Pacific Ocean. On a clear day, you can be in the school playground and see nearly forty miles. The weather is almost always beautiful. And on this particular day, it was so beautiful that the McDonald twins decided to ditch the school bus and walk home to their house down by the beach. It would be a long hike, but it was downhill all the way. "I should call Mom and Dad on my cell and tell them so they won't worry," Pep suggested.

"We'll be home soon," Coke replied. "Don't bother." The twins talked about their upcoming summer vacation. The whole family would be driving cross-country, all the way to Washington, D.C., where the twins' aunt Judy would be getting married on the Fourth of July. Neither of the twins was particularly excited about the trip. Sitting in a recreational vehicle for two months wasn't anybody's idea of a good time. They'd have to celebrate their birthday— June 25—in an RV. It was probably going to be the worst summer of their lives, Coke guessed. The twins hadn't gone far when Pep turned to her brother anxiously. "Y'know, I have a feeling that somebody's following us," she said quietly. Both twins turned around to look behind them. Nobody was there. "Don't be ridiculous," Coke said. "Why would somebody want to follow us?" "I don't know!" Pep said defensively. "I just

have this feeling." "You and your feelings." Feelings. Like a lot of boys, the whole concept of feelings was lost on Coke. He never understood when people would talk about feelings. What are feelings, anyway? You feel something when you touch it. When you can hold it in your hand. Things exist in the real world, or they don't. Something happens, or it doesn't. According to Coke, there was no such thing as feelings. They had walked a few hundred feet down the road when Pep started to pick up the pace. "Will you slow down?" her brother said, annoyed. "It's not a race. What's the rush?" "There's somebody behind us," Pep told him. "Don't turn around!" "Well, how do you expect me to see if there's somebody behind us if I don't turn around?" he replied. There was indeed somebody behind them, off in the distance. It was a man driving a golf cart.

He was wearing a black hat and a black suit. "See him?" Pep asked. "So what?" Coke said. "It's a public road. People are allowed on it. He isn't bothering anybody. Maybe he lost a golf ball." "There's no golf course within miles of here!" Pep insisted, walking even faster. "Why is he riding in a golf cart? And why would a golfer wear a suit and tie?" "Maybe he's disabled," Coke replied. "He needs the cart to get around." "And maybe he's a murderer." "Murderers don't drive golf carts!" "I'm worried," Pep whispered. "You're always worried." Which was true. Pep was always worried about something. At the least little thing—a hangnail, a creaking sound, a runny nose—Pep would fuss and fret and always expect the worst. Coke turned his head just enough to conclude that the golf cart was getting closer. He may not have been able to feel feelings himself, but he

knew his sister. She was a worrier, but she wasn't paranoid. Sometimes it seemed as though she had a sixth sense about certain things. Coke broke into a slow jog just to be on the safe side, and Pep did the same. They turned off the road to the left and took the dirt path that went closer to the cliff that lined the road. Common sense said that the guy in the golf cart would stay on the paved road and continue on his merry way. But common sense wasn't in the cards on this day. When the twins turned around to peek behind them again, they saw that the golf cart had veered onto the dirt path. Somebody was on their tail. He was definitely wearing a black suit, and his hat was one of those old-time bowlers.

"Why is that dude in the bowler hat following us?" Pep asked, a frightened look on her face. "How should I know?" Coke replied. "Come on, run!" Their backpacks bopped up and down as they dashed along the edge of the cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. The path narrowed, but it was still wide enough for a golf cart to ride on. The twins ran along the cliff walk until they reached a couple of little wooden shacks. The buildings looked like outhouses, but in fact they were used to store equipment for fighting forest fires. "Let's hide here," Coke said, pulling Pep behind one of the buildings. "That bowler dude will pass right by." "And what if he doesn't?" she asked, breathing heavily. "I didn't take five years of karate for nothing," Coke replied, lifting his right foot. "This is a deadly weapon. I can kill a man with it if I have to. And I know exactly how to do it, too."