“Please…please don’t,” she begged. Her nails dug into my knuckles, which stung a bit.
I didn’t answer her; I wasn’t really listening. I’d heard it all before – the pleas, the promises – they meant nothing to me. I had a job to do, and I was going to do it. Nothing she said was going to make any difference in the outcome.
“Go on,” I said. I gave her shoulder a little push ahead and got her walking while I followed closely behind. I wanted her under the bridge where it was darkest. If someone did happen to hear the shot, I didn’t want to be visible from Chicago Avenue. She tripped over the asphalt once in her high heels, but I kept a hold of her so she wouldn’t fall onto the concrete.
No reason to die with skinned knees.
“Why? Why?” she asked over and over again.
As if she didn’t know.
We made it to the spot on the ledge in the combined shadow of two buildings and a roadway. I positioned her close to the edge, where there was less than a ten foot drop into the river. She looked over the edge and into the water, turned around, and dropped in front of me. She reached out to me with her hands, like she was trying to reach the hand of some god she saw in my eyes.
As if she’d find salvation there.
***
