A Cry for Help

Part Three

My legs carry me while I struggle to conceal my exertion, completely aware of the fine line to balance.

"Tell me something." My breaths are normal, even though the urge to take in more air nags me. "Tell me anything. I'm all ears."

"Well, I dialed a random number because—" She sniffs. "If I call anyone I know they would convince me to come home and get help, but I don't want a temporary fix. Talking to a stranger like you lets me say my peace without really changing anything."

"Not this stranger." Control yourself, Jackson. Do not give away your plan.

Her voice lifted an octave. "It's my life. Why do you care?"

"You'll care too once you realize you have a message others need to hear. Words not meant for strangers."

She scoffs, dismissing my answer. "There's nothing left to say. Not with words anyway."

My pace slows, and although patchy yellow grass and dead leaves are underfoot, my legs became heavy as if I am trudging through a river of mud.

"My little girl had just celebrated her second birthday the night I killed her." Screw the lump in my throat and the courage that escapes me. Sharp chills travel to my extremities and nearly paralyzes me with the memory. The dull ache in my chest triples to a sharp sting in seconds, marking the onset of my heartbreak. I press my fist to the center of my ribcage to ease the pain. "I dozed off with a damn cigarette in my hand. I never even had the chance to run upstairs and—. You're lucky you can't see the scars on my body, but if you could you'd know I tried. After a few weeks in the hospital, treating a few burns, I came away with my life ... she wasn't so lucky." There's that silence again and the faint sounds of the cormorants to break it. "My wife—ex-wife—refuses to see my face, hear my voice, or smell my scent as long as we're on Earth. Would you blame her? I don't."

"You've tried to kill yourself because of an accident?" The tone of her voice held a sorrow I've grown too familiar with in my own voice over the last couple years.

"You want to know the only reason why I'm still breathing? It's because I haven't told my wife how sorry I am for what happened that night and how much I love them both. Even though she refuses to hear it, she deserves that much from me before I die."

"So that's why you haven't hung up yet." Her sigh drowns beneath her sniffles. "Helping me is like helping your daughter."

Was me helping her a warped form of a second chance? "Since then I've learned to never put my selfishness over the lives of others."

She draws a long exhausted breath. "Sorry."

"No need for it."

"No, I'm sorry." Her huff is brief. "I'm sorry you answered your phone."

"I'm not."

I up my pace. One hasty step after another, through the abandoned Diamond Park. Just a few more seconds and we meet face-to-face at Astoria Bridge. My heartbeat triples from anticipation as I push through the set of swings hanging from linked chains on its metal frame.

She gasped. "What was that? Is that ... chains?"

Damn swings! I regret not going around them instantly. "Jeanie?"

"Is that—? It can't be."

The bridge gate rests only feet away. I look ahead of me and onto the bridge to the distinctive outline of her form. I'm so close, I imagine myself undoing the latch and entering.

There's no stopping now.

"Stay away." Her cries echo throughout the space as it carries with the gentle breeze. "Stay back."

I'm in too deep.

I need to persuade her to drop her weapon. I need to stop her from harming herself or me. I need to get close without—

Rapid footsteps thump, thump, thump at my back. I pivot just as a huge dark mass rushes me and knocks me to the ground. My phone shatters against the compacted dirt, and for a second I'm convinced my elbow did the same.