You drive up the mountain, up the winding roads. You start to cry. This was what Ben saw before his death. Did Judith send him this way, too?
“In a way,” Judith says from behind you. “I didn’t need the blade, though. I promised him I’d reveal all of Gentileschi’s secrets if he just drove as far away from you as he could. Or maybe I threatened him. Or maybe you’re dreaming. Maybe this is all a dream and you’re about to wake up in your own bed, next to him. Or maybe you’re dreaming and you’re going to wake up on the day of his funeral, or the day after. What do you think?”
She sniffs you.
“You smell like Cinderella,” she says.
The sun is rising over the city. Every time the curve in the road orients you that way, you can see it, birthing slowly into the sky. Your cries dissolve into undignified, hiccupping sobs.
“Shut up,” says Judith. “Jesus.”
You hang a sharp left, and then you see it. You’ve never been to this place before, but you recognize it from the police reports.
“The curve,” she says. “The fork in the road. The living metaphor. Do you want to know the truth? The big secret?”
Then she leans in to your ear. “There is a god,” she whispers, “but he hates humanity. He hides from you, and he fucks with you when he’s bored. Your soul isn’t worth its weight in dirt. There is a god, but you are still alone.”
The car soars off the edge as easily as a falcon takes flight, and drops twice as fast.