A Kiss To Build A Dream On - Season 2: Bridge

Waltz For Zizi - Coda

There were a few moments in life when Henry had felt truly helpless — and it was, by far, the thing he despised the most. 

If we were to summarize what made Henry tick, what drove him in his everyday life, the goal of his existence, it would be his desire to control every aspect of his life. From his wife, to his work, and everything in between. He was meticulous in every aspect of his life, hoping it would even bring even the semblance of absolute control.

Which made it more devastating to see his illusion crumble into dust in front of his very eyes.

Henry could not even process that feeling. For him, the only thing on his mind was neither sadness, nor emptiness, but guilt. And the worst part was that this was not entirely out of his control; on the contrary, he had absolute control of everything that happened, which made his feeling of helplessness and guilt even worse. 

He had given her the keys to the car. 

He had given her access to the room. 

He had given her reasons to run away. 

He had single-handedly masterminded her accident.

He was the only one to blame.

But was he really? For Murray and Clara at least, Henry was totally innocent — as far as they knew. 

They ruled it out as an accident. A devil's dice game gone bad. Of course, they didn't know the real reason why she suddenly decided to drive home. Henry feigned ignorance, another one of Jabin's timely lessons. If you lied, you were exposed to uncomfortable inquiries, but if you plead ignorance, you get plausible deniability. 

The version Henry told them was that she couldn't get in the room, maybe lost the keys or something, and given how she had no way of reaching Henry, decided to go home by herself. That was the hypothesis, at least. 

He wasn't going to throw himself to the lions — he hadn't lost his mind yet.

That being said, the cause of the accident itself was a little more difficult to figure out. 

When Henry saw the scene unveiling on TV, he immediately felt his heart on the spot. He vaguely remembered Clara yell something at him, followed by both her and Murray pushing him out of the door to the elevator. After that, it all went by in a flash. He was inside an unfamiliar car with the familiar voices droning around him, muddling into white noise.

What came next, however, was in excruciatingly slow motion. 

A police cordon was set at the exit of the road near the accident, followed by a blockade of cruisers, an ambulance, and a few fire trucks. A gaggle of gawkers and neckers were standing by, satisfying their sadistic curiosity by glancing at the officers cleaning the mess. The icy December breeze didn't deter anyone, not even the few idiots recording and taking pictures while making surprised noises to get their fifteen minutes of fame. 

Needless to say, Henry went from cold guilt to hot fury when he saw those vultures taking advantage of his tragedy. He didn't wait for the car to stop before he jumped out, lashing at the first person he managed to get a hold of: a scrawny kid in a beany — most likely a college student — filming a live feed of the events with an iPhone. 

Henry didn't even think about his actions. His fists moved on their own, connecting a sucker punch after sucker punch square on the kid's jaw.

The boy fell on his back more startled than hurt. It was a weak punch, born out of grief and sadness. Henry got on top of him and took advantage of his momentum to punch him again, this time on the nose. It was hard enough to break the kid's nose. The crunch of bones under Henry's fist felt good, cathartic, even. He wanted to squish him like the bug he was.