He revs his engine and his horn sounds off again as he swerves. Kyle pushes alongside of me, the left side of his car angling up as he races along the grass. My heart beats hard and a million thoughts collide in my mind. Stop. Don’t stop. Grab my phone. Call for help. Go faster. Hit the brakes. Be better. Be smarter.
A flash of red. Metal crunches against metal and the steering wheel jerks. My body jars with the impact and I fight the losing battle to keep the car on the road. The frame shudders as I press the brake, but the car hurtles toward the tree. I’m going faster, why am I going faster? The brake, the brake, the brake.
I lift my foot off the gas, rip the wheel to the side, slam on the brake and miss the tree by inches. My body whiplashes to the side. Pain against my skull. And the entire world possesses a dreamlike haze.
The door to the car creaks. A combination of the warm sun and the cold autumn breeze drifts across my skin.
“Come on!” It’s Kyle’s voice, but his face is nothing but a blur.
The seat belt is unbuckled, my body is moving because of a pull on my arm and it’s odd how my legs work. There’s a humming in my ears and I close my eyes to gain my bearings.
When I open them, it’s too bright, and as I strain to make sense of my surroundings, the blue sky appears. The tugging on my arm grows stronger. My feet instinctually pick up the pace.
Kyle’s mouth is opening and closing. Words I can’t hear fall from his lips. There’s just the loud buzz and my moving feet. I blink. One time. Another. Recognition in the form of a memory causes me to trip over my feet.
“This is where Razor brought me.” My own voice sounds muted. Far away. As if I’m talking through a thick glass.
The hold on my arm tightens and it’s painful enough that a sharp “Ow” leaves my throat. That one declaration causes the fog in my head to sweep away in time for Kyle to step on the bridge looming before us.
My breath catches in my throat. Kyle.
Kyle has me and he’s yelling and he’s furious. His face red, his eyes wide, he’s spitting as he continues to scream at me and this isn’t Razor’s bridge. This is the other bridge. This is the one that the trains use. I snap my arm back and it slips in his clammy hand. “No!”
I spin on my toes and spot motorcycles. Four of them, then two more. They park in the grass next to the abandoned car. Racing off their bikes, yelling at us to stop. One of them has blond hair and he’s faster than the others, running as if he’s watching his life coming to an end.
“Razor!”
An arm around my waist and I’m being dragged. Onto the train tracks, onto the bridge, and below us the rapids swirl. The roar of the water replaces the buzzing in my head. White foam waves lash up, then get sucked into the undertow.
I have to get off this bridge. I need to get to safety. I prepare to kick, raise my elbow to strike a blow, then Kyle circles us and I can’t breathe.
We’re on the edge and he’s leaning me over. My feet scoot back and smack his and I recoil, but the more I struggle, the more he uses his body weight.
“Stay back,” Kyle shouts. “Stay the fuck back!”
Not quite a hundred feet—the drop is easily that huge. Into the rocky ravine. Into shallow rapids. At forty-eight feet, the chance of surviving a fall is fifty percent. At eighty-four feet, ten percent. I wish I had never read that article. Wish I could remain ignorant.
“Why did you do it? Why did you write that post? Why did you ruin my life? I’m going to lose everything. Everything.”
“You did this. You’re the one that took the photo.”
“But I never would have released it.” We shake as he yells and I press back, into him, away from the edge. “It was just a threat. To scare you. I never would have released it.”
“You released the one of Violet.”
“That was them. Not me!” He shoves us closer to the edge again. “That wasn’t me!”
“Calm down,” comes a voice, and it’s not Razor’s. I rip my focus away from the water and there’s a man with blond hair and a cut like Razor’s slowly approaching the bridge. His hands are up—a sign of submission. “Just calm down.”
“I said stay back!” Kyle’s voice vibrates against my back.
My pulse pounds in my ears. “Please, stay back!”
“Breanna,” Razor calls. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
A promise. Razor’s next to the other man and I don’t see the terror inside me reflected on him. Razor is calm, too calm, and he subtly nods at me. “I promise,” he repeats.
I swallow to ease my dry throat and nod back. Razor never makes a promise he doesn’t intend to keep. It’s then that I realize that my fingers have a death grip on Kyle’s arms. The one wrapped near my throat, the other snaked around my waist.
“Were you stalking her?” the guy next to Razor asks. Pigpen. I bet this is the Pigpen Razor has talked about.
“No!” Kyle shakes his head, bumping mine. “I drove by her house to see her and I saw her taking off. I followed her. That’s it.”
“Now you’re holding her over a bridge. How do you see this playing out, kid?”