Amanda was living with me I wasn't completely comfortable with her walking home alone, especially since most days she came home later than I did. I had to take care of the woman
I loved. Put her needs before mine. I was determined to prove
Jack wrong. I could balance work and relationships. I didn't have to give in just because he did. Jack was a legend, but an old school legend. I was strong. I could make it work.
As I turned the key in the lock, a voice broke the night and froze my blood. I recognized that voice, only now it was louder, angrier.
I heard it again, turned around. Saw several pedestrians staring up, up at the rooftops, their mouths open in masks of horror. A man dialed his cell phone frantically. A woman grabbed her son and ran.
Then I heard it again.
"Henry Parker!"
High above us, perched atop a four-story brownstone, illuminated by the moonlight, was William Henry Roberts.
One hand was empty. The other held a knife. The knife was held to Mya Loverne's throat.
"Mya!" I shouted. Her eyes were frightened beyond rational thought. Some sort of towel or cloth was in her mouth. I ran forward, then stopped.
"Parker!" Roberts cried again.
"Leave her alone!" I shouted, unsure of what else to do. I wasn't close enough to get to them. No cops were in sight.
Fucking Carruthers had pulled off my security detail, and now…
I called you, Henry.
Mya.
"This," Roberts said, his voice a mixture of pathos and breathless glee, like a man taking perverse excitement in reprimanding a dog. "This is what happens. I control information, not you, Parker. I give you history to write about. So consider this a present, Henry. From me to you."
And with that, before I could react, before my weak legs could respond or my mouth could cry out, William pushed
Mya off the roof.
I shouted "No!" as her body plummeted out of view. The horde of onlookers gasped. Mya disappeared into the alley behind the building. I ran toward it, then heard the most horrible sound of my life. A terrible thump as something hit the ground.
Then I looked up, and Roberts was gone.
I ran as fast as I could, the world around me disappearing in a blur. I sprinted into the alley, then covered my mouth in shock.
Mya was lying on the ground. Her eyes were open, staring at the sky. I could see a small pool of blood below her.
I ran over and grabbed her hand.
"No," I whispered, frantically checking her wrists, her neck, anything. I thought I felt a pulse. Weak, but there. I could hear 911 calls being made somewhere behind me.
"Mya, please, oh please God say something. Don't you dare die. Don't you dare. Please. "
Then she blinked. Once, twice. Her mouth quivered. A noise came from her mouth, a small bubble of blood bursting over her lips.
"Somebody get an ambulance!" I shouted, wiping away the blood. "Please!"
"They're on the way," another voice yelled.
"Don't you go," I said to Mya. "Don't you go. You're going to be fine." My eyes darted, hoping to catch a glimpse of Roberts, but the murdering bastard was nowhere to be found. I took Mya's hand. It was growing cold.
I called you, Henry.
"I know you did, and I'm here. Please, baby, please stay with me."
"Henry? Oh my God…"
I recognized that voice. I stood up, my footing unsure.
Amanda was standing in the alley. Her face was white.
"Oh God, Henry, what happened?"
"Amanda…"
I looked at Amanda. Her beautiful eyes. Those arms that had held me so close. The strong heart that had given itself to me. Trusted me.
Just like Mya had trusted me years ago. And now Mya was lying, broken.
No.
Amanda stepped forward. "Henry, oh God, is she alive?
Please say something. "
"I…"
I heard a gasp behind me. Mya's mouth was opening and closing. Another bubble of blood burst, coating her chin. I knelt back down and wiped it off. Not again. Not Mya. Not Amanda…
"Henry, please…"
"Get the fuck away from me!" I screamed, bolting up. My body felt ready to explode, and in my mind's eye I saw everything I touched, everything I loved, broken in pieces. I couldn't see Amanda. Not like this. Not like Mya. I'd already failed one woman. I couldn't do it again.
"Henry, please talk to me."
"Get the fuck out of here! " I yelled again, this time stepping toward Amanda, a fire in my eyes that I could see reflected via fear in hers. She stepped back. I stepped forward.
"Get out of here," I said, panting. "Don't ever come back.
Leave now."
"No," Amanda said, tears flowing from her eyes. "Don't do this. I'm not Mya, I'm not…"
"Get away from me, and never come back." She didn't move. "I said get the fuck away from me! "
Amanda looked at me, crying, unable to say a word. Then she turned and ran into the night. And I turned back to Mya, took her hand. "Baby, don't leave me…it's Henry…please don't leave me…I'm here…"
45
Paulina Cole sat at her desk rifling through the transcription of an interview with a Republican senator she had just spoken to that afternoon. She didn't particularly like the man- primarily because she knew a great deal more about his predilection toward Guatemalan housemaids than did the voters-but he was a shoo-in for reelection and Ted Allen's instructions were to paint him in the most positive light. That
Ted had contributed close to six figures toward his reelection campaign was not to be mentioned. Paulina had already picked out six good sound bites, thankfully all taken within some sort of context, and was in the midst of outlining tomorrow's front-page story.
She was writing longhand when a sweaty, haggard James
Keach appeared in her doorway. Keach staggered in, dropped into a seat across from her desk, his breathing hard, eyes frightened. It was the first time James had taken a seat without her express permission. Usually he stood by the doorway taking instructions. He didn't even think twice about plopping down, and it unnerved Paulina.
"Jesus, James, what happened to you?" she said, allowing a hint of concern to creep into her voice.
James looked up, as though startled to realize he was sitting in Paulina's office. He looked around, then locked eyes with her and leaned forward. James looked like he'd just witnessed something unspeakable, and would give anything to take it all back.
"I was trailing Henry Parker," James said. "And…oh
God…"
"Spit it out."
James Keach's body began to convulse with sobs. She felt panic well up, but the flavor of excitement, as well. Wherever there was fear was also a great story.
"Mya Loverne," James said. "I was following Henry and…"
For the next five minutes, James told her what he'd seen that night. The man atop the building. Mya's body hitting the ground. Henry Parker screaming, crying. The ambulances, the broken girl being sped away to the hospital.
The killer on the rooftop, grinning like the devil himself.
When James was finished, Paulina sat in silence. She recalled her conversation with Mya at the diner; the small, frail girl looking like she was one tap away from shattering.
Mya Loverne. Was it possible…
Paulina cleared her throat, blew her nose into a handkerchief. She picked up the phone and dialed the Metro desk.
"Fred, Paulina Cole here. Call Ted Allen. Tell him Senator
Brisbane is being pushed back to page seven. We have a new page-one story tomorrow."
She hung up. Looked at James.
"Did they say Mya is going to make it?" she asked. James shook his head.
"I couldn't get into the hospital, and nobody would speak on her condition. But it looked pretty bad."
Paulina closed her eyes, dismissed James with a wave of her hand. When he left, she sat back, folded her hands behind her head. Then with a snap she sat forward, pushing the sympathy from her mind. Then she turned on her computer, and began to type.