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“Someone is going to jump,” I hear. “Look up there—near the middle.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s Jackal Emerson! Oh my God!”
I shove my way to the front, my eyes refusing to blink. The bridge is at least a half mile away. I narrow my eyes at the figure who’s clearly climbed one of the barriers and is standing calmly on the ramparts, looking down at the water. Male. It’s definitely a male up there. My heart sinks. It can’t be. He wouldn’t.
“He’s going to jump!” someone says again. “Why aren’t they doing something?”
I feel a hand on my back and turn. Sean is watching over my shoulder, his deep-set eyes filled with concern. It won’t look good for him, an End Man plummeting to death in his Region.
“My driver is pulling up,” he says. “I’m sorry to cut our time short, but I need to get over there.”
“Take me with you?” I ask, clutching his sleeve.
We move away from the window, jogging to get out of the building. We’re in the elevator, and I want to scream at how long it takes to reach the ground floor. As soon as the doors open, we rush out toward Sean’s car, where the door is open and waiting for us. I slide across the seat and he gets in next to me. The car moves before the door even closes.
The sidewalks are clogged, bodies everywhere. People are filtering outside of office spaces and shops, crowding together to watch. Cars honk at each other as they pull to the side of the road. Every local station is covering it on the Silverbook. The image hangs in front of me, and I swipe left until I see one with a clearer picture of Jackal. It’s still not as close as I’d like, but it’s enough to be certain that it’s him. My heart is in my throat and I can’t catch a good breath. What is he thinking? I go through all the things we talked about at the house and consider that he isn’t as content as he seems. I’m even more unsettled after the things Sean said about his childhood and his mother. But suicide? How could I have missed the signs?
Sean looks at me as the car parks and his eyes widen. He reaches up and wipes the tears from my cheeks.
“I’ll send someone up to talk to him. Don’t worry.” His hand lingers on my cheek. “You’re such a compassionate person,” he says softly. “Stay near the car and I’ll find you after this is resolved.”
He rushes off and I ignore his instruction, shoving past people so I can be as close under Jackal as the crowd permits. Someone is climbing up the side to talk to him and I’m tempted to start climbing up there myself. I get jostled by the crowd and push through. It’s so high up, I feel a wave of nausea when I look up. I get to the first tier and step on the stone, steadying myself before I decide which way to go. Before I can make a choice, two hands grip my arms and I’m pulled back. I see a flash of color out of the corner of my eye and he’s jumped.
I clutch my fist to my mouth, crying out, and then he bounces up. From what I can tell, there is no wire connecting him. But he bounces up and down, back and forth. The alarm in the crowd changes abruptly to cries of surprise. People stop wailing and suddenly there is applause and sounds of amusement.
Relief prickles my scalp. I want to sit down, bend over at the waist, and catch my breath. He managed a distraction all right. A big one. And no one will be angry with him because he’s Jackal Emerson, the beloved bad boy of the End Men. Stunts like this are what make people favor him. It doesn’t really matter that he survived that jump because I’m going to kill him.
I move away from the chaos and wait until he’s safely on the ground. He’s surrounded by cameras and giving interview after interview, snapping selfies with all the bystanders. It’ll keep the Blue Region buzzing for at least the rest of the day. I watch the way he moves with ease, the way he seems so self-assured. His body is long and lean, and his hair is damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead. Perfect really. Want chokes me, fills me up and snuffs out the poisonous words that are burning to come out of my mouth. More than anything I want to touch him, make sure he’s okay, possibly kick him in the shins. I shake my head; my feelings are confusing. I’ve always kept my feelings simple, arranged my life to be free of emotional clutter. Jackal is the definition of drama and unpredictability. I hate that he makes me feel. Suddenly, as if he can sense I’m there, his head swivels in my direction. We lock eyes for a minute and then I turn on my heels and run.
I won’t be remembered for my performance that evening. I dance with my thoughts at the border, wondering if they made the drive without any trouble, if they’re at the border yet, if Jewel was right and they had enough backup there to get safely across. I’d wanted to take them myself, but Gwen convinced me I needed to proceed as normal, the same as Jackal. I paid heed to her wishes up until the after-party and then I cut out of there, feigning a sore throat. There are roses from Sean in my dressing room as I get ready to leave, but I don’t wait around to thank him.
The drive feels longer than ever, and as I pull into the driveway, I realize that I’m going to miss each one of the girls...especially Gwen. In the short amount of time we were around each other, I connected with her. We instantly clicked. Being in such a competitive field, I’m not used to opening up to other women. I didn’t think I was capable of having that, at this point, but she’s proven me wrong.
I go in through the back door and turn the light on in the kitchen. I flip off my shoes and move to the family room to grab a book. It’s going to be a long night. I asked Jewel to let me know once they were safe, but it’s probably still too early. A shadow crosses behind me in the moonlight and I yelp.
“It’s me. I should’ve said something sooner, but I had to be sure it was you!”
Gwen sits down in the overstuffed chair across from the bookcase, and I fall onto the couch behind me.
“I’ve been scared out of my wits twice today. My heart can’t take it,” I tell her. The book slides off my lap and lands with a thud on the floor. We both jump. “What happened? Is everyone else here?”
“They left and should be close by now. I’m waiting for word,” she says softly.
I sit up straight and turn on the light. Gwen looks exhausted yet antsy. Her hair is wet and her face is free from makeup; she looks so young. I never think of us as the same age because she’s out there changing the world.
“I can’t leave without my son.” Her voice falters and I reach across and take her hand.
“No, you can’t,” I say. And then—“I’ll help you.”
She presses her lips together so hard they turn white.
“Gwen,” I say.
When she looks up at me, there are two steady streams of tears on either side of her face. They drip off her chin and onto her shirt.
“Let’s take him back…”
