“Goddamnit!” his captor grumbled, tightening his hold on Sam.
“Do you want us to let go?” the gold one repeated, to me and only to me.
“Please,” Saretha begged, then winced against the pain of the next shock.
The bridge was truly empty now. In the distance, people turned and avoided this scene. No one wanted to be a witness. No one wanted to spend a dime on testimony they couldn’t profit from. Another blast of warm exhaust hit us from below. I would have done anything to stop them.
“Just say no,” the gold one said to me. “One little word.”
One little word. I could feel it. The flat of my tongue pressed the roof of my mouth. My numb lips formed an O, but no sound came out, no breath. My body felt weak. I raged at them, clawing at the gold brother to get at Sam, my mouth moving soundlessly. I tried to get the word out.
“Don’t!” Sam cried out, and I need to believe, even now, that when he said it, he was talking to me, telling me not to give in.
That’s when the maroon brother, finally fed up, shook Sam off and sent him plummeting into traffic eighty feet below.
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I didn’t scream. The only sound I made came when I found my breath. My lungs suddenly filled with air, my body gasping for it, desperate, unable to function.
Beneath us came the thuds of cars colliding and the screeching of bending metal. Those noises could have killed me.
Saretha screamed. She screamed, and screamed again. She screamed enough for both of us.
The world dissolved from me into an airless state of nonexistence. The ceaseless chatter of the Ads mingled with my sister’s agonized cries in a hollow tube. Then everything went black.
*
When I opened my eyes, my head felt like it was going to explode. The brothers were standing just a few feet away, shaking their heads.
“We tried to stop him,” the maroon brother said.
“I grabbed right on to him,” the indigo brother said.
“It was too late.” The gold brother pretended to be sad.
My body was on the ground, half bent against the wall. I tried to raise myself up, averting my gaze from the edge. I couldn’t look. If I never looked, I could hope, somehow, that Sam was not dead.
The cleanup crews had arrived: cranes, trucks and asphalt printers clanged and beeped below me. The police were there, bored and annoyed, talking to the brothers. Why weren’t they doing anything? I didn’t understand. They let me hyperventilate, slumped against the wall beside Saretha. The brothers, flush with money and words, spun their tale.
“I was trying to convince that Silent Girl to talk. I offered her money.” The gold brother showed a few large bills from his pocket—rare paper money that had little purpose other than to impress. “And then she begins pulling on my wad, but not talking, so I try to incentivize her, and I ask...” He paused and read from his Cuff. “Do you want us to let go?”
No, I thought. That wasn’t right. My head was still fuzzy. It ached. But of course he was lying. Of course he was believed. I grasped at him and caught his pant leg. He shook me off like a dog.
“I’ll need to take your receipt log into evidence,” one of the officers said to him as he moved me back. He was tall and tired-looking, his posture a bit slumped. His name was on his badge—Shalk, a cheap, public domain name like mine.
“We should wait for our Lawyer,” the indigo one said.
“S’okay,” the gold one said with a slow nod to the officer. He bumped Cuffs as the officer stood to initiate the transfer.
Officer Shalk nodded. “So, when did the boy jump?”
“Just after that.”
“I tried to hold him,” the indigo brother repeated.
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to think anymore. I felt nauseous. Pain throbbed though my skull, radiating from a large lump on the back of my head. I’d been hit or kicked while I was down. Or maybe I’d fainted and hit my head. Or maybe one of the brothers had knocked me out cold.
Saretha whimpered. She took another shock to her eyes for the sound.
“No,” she whispered, and was shocked again.
“I should have got him,” one of the brothers said, like he was a failed hero.
“He was pretty quick,” the maroon one said, consoling him. The theater of it made me ill.
“No!” Saretha cried. “He—” Her head stuttered back like she was having a seizure. Each word caused a shock.
“Miss,” Shalk said, “you can’t make a statement without a Cuff.”
I reached out to her, but she yanked away. She couldn’t see. She didn’t know it was me—or maybe she did. Did she blame me for this?
I tried to get to my feet. I had to do something.
“Miss,” Shalk said to me, “you need to stay seated.”
He was right. My legs wobbled and collapsed under me.
The gold one sniffed at us. “They’ll probably cook up some story about how this is our fault. That’s what we get for helping.”
“Mmmm,” Shalk considered.
“Please,” Saretha begged. Her eyes were streaming tears.
Officer Shalk drew a deep, annoyed breath. “Miss, stop. I have to log everything you say.” He tapped her words dutifully into his Cuff so she could be charged for them later.
“So anyway, I grabbed for him and he said, Don’t, like he was hell-bent on going over.” He looked over the edge. “I should’ve just looked away.”
“It’s very unfortunate,” Officer Shalk said. “This is the first time I’ve seen one go before Last Day.” The brothers nodded. The officer made a note on his Cuff.
“After that Pell girl, who knows what to expect?” the indigo brother offered.
“I just hope these kids learn from this,” the gold brother said.
“Yeah,” the maroon brother agreed.
“Learn what?” the officer asked. He looked from one brother to another as they each halfheartedly shrugged.
A Lawyer ambled up the bridge, unhurried, toward the brothers. He wore a slate-gray suit, cut in perfect lines, and a blood-red tie with thin gold edges. Pinned to his chest was a modest assortment of ribbons and badges in a tight, compact arrangement that suggested these few were but a hint of his full honors. His face was placid and calm, almost friendly. His sharp eyes crinkled up as he broke into a tranquil smile, but not so wide as to be inappropriate. There had been a tragedy, after all. He did not want to appear unseemly.
I hated him at once.
He stopped to offer the officer a hand. “Bennington Grippe,” he said. “Butchers & Rog.”
Officer Shalk looked at the man’s hand, unsure if he was worthy to shake it. Grippe took the lead, taking the officer’s hand and shaking it twice, firmly. Further along the bridge, the other officer stopped what he was doing to gawk.
“These men are represented by the firm,” Grippe pointed out, whirling a finger through the air to include the brothers. They all looked mightily pleased.
I bristled with rage. I wanted to kill these men. I wanted to leap up and push them all over the side. But I could barely stand. A horrid, sour guilt consumed me. I should have stopped them. I should have spoken.
Instead, I had let Sam die.