Rodney turned, looked at him, and said, “Except for the fact that it’s now been used in at least three very recent drive-by shootings with a death toll of four people. How do you think it looks now?”
*
Simon’s Wednesday
Simon wasn’t surewhat to say to this poor woman in his visions. But today he’d stayed home, the pain racking through him as the vision kept coming back again and again. The more he fought it, the harder it was for him to get rid of. He didn’t understand, couldn’t fight it, and couldn’t do anything about it.
But if something didn’t happen soon, he would have a breakdown. Or at least everybody else would think he was having a breakdown. For his part he just wanted to let loose with a screaming fit and start ranting and raving to get this to stop. But nothing he did helped. He got up and walked over to a picture of his grandmother.
“Surely this isn’t what my life will be like,” he muttered. He sat back down on the chair, grabbed a pen, and started writing down all the details. If the only way to get out of this was to solve it, then he needed Kate to listen to him, and he needed this to provide enough information that she could do something with it. That seemed to be where the problem was. All he was getting were impressions, but what impressions though?
Lions Gate Bridge? Check.
Early morning, late evening, check.
White sneakers, check.
Seems to be female, check.
Hearing other voices in her head, check.
But it could easily be her own subconscious or some part of her telling her that life wasn’t worth living. He couldn’t guarantee that it was another person, like him; that’s not what he was saying at all. But it’s like this other part of her was saying it was better for her to do this, and she was fighting it. There was part of her that didn’t believe it, and that part desperately wanted to have this all go away.
He was rooting for that part to win, if it meant finding a solution other than jumping. The last thing he wanted was to have anything to do with somebody jumping. Even worse, he didn’t want to be connected to her when she did it. The helplessness he felt already made him feel like life wasn’t worth living sometimes.
He remembered the feeling with the boys from the pedophile case, knowing that he could do nothing but watch them and see the stupid rooms where they were being held or that black-and-white vision of a little man walking under the stupid lamppost. Simon had yet to even tell Kate that he was still seeing that one. He hoped they were just residual tidbits. Simon had nobody to call for help, nobody to ask, and his grandmother was long gone. And, damn it, at this point in time he wished he’d never even gone down this passageway. How was he supposed to function in real life? He was a businessman, with responsibilities and people depending on him. And here he was incapacitated because he was caught up in something that he couldn’t even begin to describe to other people.
He got up and made himself a very hot rich espresso, then sat back down again. “Kill myself with coffee, huh,” he said, shaking his head. When his phone rang, he looked down to see it was one of his foremen. He answered it and dealt with another series of problems that were starting to get to him today. Finally realizing that he couldn’t do anything more, he got up, changed into jeans, grabbed his jacket, and went outside. There he grabbed an Uber and got off at the Lions Gate Bridge.
It was hard to explain that compelling drive in order to be here, just in case she might show up at some point in time. Surely she would come, but he couldn’t spend his whole time, sitting here, wondering and waiting, and how would he tell Kate that’s what he was doing? She’d asked him to leave it alone if he could, saying that she was working on it. But he also knew this wasn’t the only case she was working on. There were other cases, other things going on in her world, cases he had no connection to, nothing that led him in any direction. But this was something. And now he was sitting at the end of the bridge, looking up and down the walkway, wondering what the hell was going on and if this poor woman would even show, as he just waited.
He didn’t have long to wait. Several other people walked up and down the bridge. He walked all the way across to the other side, which took twenty-five damn minutes, then slowly walked back again. The wind picked up, as it crossed the harbor and slammed into the bridge and kept on going. He looked over the side a couple times and swore because the water churned with an ominous presence down below. He noted a couple standing there, looking over at the water.
The woman smiled at him. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” she yelled over the wind.
He nodded. “Stormy and crazy.”
“It is.” At that, she said, “We’ve never been to Vancouver before. We were told that this was one of the prettiest spots.”
“Well, it is,” he said in surprise. “It’s a popular tourist spot.”
“Yes,” she said, turning sad. “But we just heard that an awful lot of suicides were here.” He looked at her in alarm, and she laughed. “I’m a journalist. I’m just here to contemplate what it would take for somebody to do something like that.”
He shook his head. “I have no idea,” he said. “Not my wheelhouse.”
“Good,” she said. “I saw you walking up and down the bridge here.”
He looked at her in surprise; she was worried he was dealing with something difficult in his life. “Yeah, not me,” he said, with a smile. “I’ve got too many businesses and people depending on me to take an exit like that.”
“Not to mention the fact that there’s so much else in life to live for,” her partner said.
“That too,” he said. “And, besides, I have a special lady in my life. We’re not exactly a done deal, but I sure wouldn’t ruin it by cutting the opportunity short.”
The other man laughed. “Isn’t that the truth? Anyway, have a good day.” And, with that, the couple walked on past, and Simon headed back toward his side of the bridge.
Another police station division was on the other side of West Vancouver, which wasn’t related to the Vancouver police. Obviously they worked together, but he wondered if maybe the suicides on the other end of the bridge went to them. He texted Kate and asked that.
She texted back right away.I’ve pulled thirteen suicides in the entire Lower Mainland on jumpers alone.