I refuse to answer her. Because, the truth is, I didn’t really come here to talk. And I’m already busy calculating, calibrating distance and footholds. I’m wearing Marisa’s sandals, which doesn’t help, but I know for a fact I’m more nimble than any of them. I just have to time it right. And also rely on my intuition, which is telling me that they won’t shoot me. I hope to God I’m right about that.
I stroll towards the railing, remembering walking this same route with Jay. It feels so long ago already. Like it happened a hundred years in the past, not just yesterday.
Agent Kassel keeps pace with me. ‘Olivia, I know this is a lot to have to deal with. I understand your instinct is to protect your father,’ she says, ‘but think of all the people who are being hurt because of what he’s doing. You can help us.’
‘How?’ I ask, rounding on her.
‘You could help us capture his testimony.’
‘You mean wear a wire? Get him to admit it all on tape?’
‘That’s one way, yes,’ she answers.
‘And the others? The Russians? What about them?’
‘We’ve got that situation handled.’
‘Oh really?’ I ask. ‘Like they had it handled in the police station?’
A flicker. A muscle close to her eye twitches. ‘We’re closing in on them. Once they realise that we have you, then they’ll quit trying to get to you.’
‘That photograph,’ I say. ‘The one of my father shaking hands with a man. It’s the same man who’s trying to kidnap me.’
‘Yes.’
‘Who is he?’
‘His name is Vladimir Demitri Bezrukov.’
‘If he’s an enemy of my father’s, why were they shaking hands?’
‘They had a deal. Your father arranges the supply, they feed the demand.’
My teeth grind together as I fight to keep my face impassive at the terms she’s using to describe the sale of human beings.
‘And your father’s now decided to cut them out of the supply chain,’ she carries on. ‘He wants to control it completely.’
‘And so they thought if they had me as collateral, they could get him to change his mind?’
‘Couldn’t they?’ she asks.
I consider that for barely a moment. Yes. I feel many things towards my father right now, but one thing I do know is that he would kill any man who ever hurt me. He’s already shown that with the third kidnapper in Nigeria.
‘Why haven’t they just tried to kill my father?’ I ask. That makes more sense to me. Why come after me? Why not just kill him?
‘Because your father controls supply. If they remove him, they shoot themselves in the foot. It will take them months, maybe years, to build the supply chain again. Time that can be measured in tens of millions of dollars of lost revenue.’
‘Right,’ I say. The sky feels suddenly like it’s weighing down on me heavy as chain mail. I need to get away. I need to be by myself so I can think.
Just then, Agent Parker shouts something. He’s holding up his phone. Kassel walks over to him and they start conferring. It’s the moment I’ve been waiting for. I put a hand on the railing and jump up on to it. It’s narrow, about four feet high and two inches across, but I keep my balance. I can stay en pointe for minutes at a time, so this is easy.
I hear all the agents yelling at me and for a brief second I catch sight of their faces – eyes round with shock, mouths tumbling open, hands diving into jackets for their guns – and I know that what I’m doing is the wrong thing. I should stay. I should help them. I know this. But I just can’t.
I jump. And as the wind rushes in my ears I hear Kassel scream my name. I bring my knees up and ready myself to land. It’s jarring, sending shock waves rolling through me and jolting my bones hard enough that I worry for a second that my ankle’s broken. I stand up dizzily. My ankle hurts but I test my weight on it. It’s just a strain. About twenty feet above me I see the agents standing peering over the railing. They expected to see me splattered all over the sidewalk below. They hadn’t counted on the fact there was a stairwell just beneath this part of the High Line. And I’m already swinging down the last flight as they’re all running to the top.
I have a good head start and I sprint towards Chelsea Market, a block away. There has got to be a cab somewhere around here. I’m praying there is because it’s four blocks to the nearest metro and no way I’m going to outpace them over that distance. And then, with all the luck in the world seemingly on my side for once, a yellow taxi pulls across the street right in front of me, as though it was waiting right there, just for me to run past. I race into the road with my arm in the air and it brakes with a squeal. I fling open the door and throw myself inside even as I catch sight of Agent Kassel in the distance sprinting towards me.
‘Brooklyn Bridge,’ I pant.
38
The driver pulls over and taps on his meter. I hand over a few notes and get out of the car, lead-limbed and aching inside and out. Staring up at the thick cables of Brooklyn Bridge and the two massive solid stone arches that mark the entrance, I wonder what on earth I am doing here. I just chose the first place I could think of. A place I didn’t think anyone would look to find me. Somewhere outdoors, somewhere I could be alone so I could figure out what to do. I couldn’t do that in a windowless box or surrounded by federal agents all glancing at their watches and flashing their guns and badges at me.
That girl’s face – the one from the file – is all I can think about. The statement she gave detailing everything she had endured in the six months she was held captive runs on an endless loop in my head. Despite the dry, official language her statement was written in, I can picture it all – and it carves something out of my heart, something I don’t think I’ll ever get back. Some remnant of innocence maybe? Whatever it is, it makes me feel heavy and sad beyond all measure.
My mind feels like it’s crumbling under all the information that’s been forced on it. I have to find a way of getting control again, of pushing all these feelings back into their boxes. Because there is no way of dealing with them that won’t destroy me in the process. Is that self-preservation? Is it selfish? I guess so. But isn’t that what Felix was trying to teach me? How to get through life without succumbing to fear and despair? Wasn’t that basement lesson really about how to survive in the world?
And the only sure way I know to survive everything – the shooting, what I know about Jay, all the deaths that lie heavy on my conscience and this sickening truth about my father – is to turn off the emotion like a faucet, to block it all out. I was doing it so well before. Until I met Jay.
Before I let my guard down.
I walk out along the pedestrian walkway that’s suspended over the roaring lanes of traffic. At this time of the morning, pre-dawn, the walkway is empty. In the distance I see a few people walking and, down below on the expressway, I see the flashing red and white lights of a police cruiser. It’s just sitting there, its engine idling, and I walk overhead quickly, hoping the officers inside don’t notice a lone girl out for a walk in the early hours of the morning and wonder what I’m doing. I surreptitiously scan the towers as I pass. They’re like fortresses, ladderless, smooth, with no footholds. I keep on walking, eyeing the cables as thick as my thighs, pulled taut as guy-ropes and stretching at least a mile across the East River.
It takes just over ten minutes to make it to the middle of the bridge. As I get there I slow my pace, checking in both directions to make sure there’s no one nearby. Casting a brief glance down at the unceasing traffic flying over the bridge beneath me, I leap over the railing that divides the walkway from the cables. It’s high and takes all my upper body strength, but when I’m over an exhilarating jolt of freedom runs through me. My mind shuts down almost instantly, focussing only on what’s keeping me alive – my balance. I step lightly on to one of the steel cables that slopes steeply upwards towards the tower on the Brooklyn side. It vibrates slightly under my hand, feeling as though it’s alive
, or is carrying a low electric current. Underfoot, though, it feels steady as a rock face.
‘You’re not really going to climb that, are you?’
I almost lose my footing and have to clutch hold of the cable above me with both hands. I peer over my shoulder, my heart full in my mouth. Jay is standing on the walkway below me, and for a moment I cannot believe what I’m seeing, and wonder if my exhaustion has finally caught up with me and is making me hallucinate. But then he hauls himself over the barrier, up on to the cable I’m balancing on and it sways with his weight, and the realisation he’s here literally vibrates through me. He has a bruise starting to burst purple and blue across his cheekbone – from Teo?
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, my voice a rasp carried away by the roar of traffic and the scream of wind.
‘Narrowed it down,’ Jay says, glancing down nervously at the cars flying across the bridge not twenty feet below us.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was either the High Line or here, but I figured you wouldn’t choose the High Line because it would remind you of me. Guess I figured right.’
‘But how did you know I’d come here?’
‘You said before that the Brooklyn Bridge would be an amazing climb. And I figured that if you were going to go anywhere in the mood you were in, you’d go somewhere outdoors, up high, away from people.’
I stare at him incredulous. Why isn’t he in police custody? Agent Kassel said the cops were on the way to Marisa’s. ‘Why are you here?’ I ask, still reeling from shock but trying not to show it. Seeing him again has sent my pulse rate rocketing, even as my stomach folds over on itself. It’s not just the surprise of seeing him, it’s the fact that I wanted to be mad at him, expecting to be, but I find I’m not. I’m relieved. So relieved I could cry.
‘I’m here to say sorry. Teo . . .’ He shakes his head, squints into the distance before turning back to me. ‘I didn’t know,’ he says softly. ‘Honest to God, Liva. If I had known it was a person, that was it you . . . I – I don’t know what I can say to you, but I’m sorry.’
He looks up at me, half pleading and swallows nervously. ‘And I also wanted to keep my promise to you. I told you I wasn’t going to leave you until you were safe with your father. I want to see this through.’
My hands, gripping the cable, are shaking and tears have started to slip silently down my cheeks. Jay tilts his head to one side and looks at me with an expression that still begs me to forgive him. Then he stares at the bridge, taking in its height and then the drop to the water.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks.
‘I needed somewhere to think and . . .’ I stop. Why am I explaining this to him? He should be the one explaining things to me.
‘You don’t need to climb up a freaking bridge to feel like you’re in control of the situation, Liva.’
I glower at him, but he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy staring down still at the churning brown mess of water beneath the bridge, as though he’s only just realised how far and how fatal a fall would be. The knuckles of his fists bleach through the skin and beads of sweat appear on his temples. He swallows and looks up at me, several shades paler.
‘But if that’s what you need to do,’ he says, pressing his lips together, ‘then come on, let’s do it.’
‘What?’ I ask, suddenly nervous.
‘Are we climbing this thing or not?’ Jay asks, and without waiting for me to reply he starts to move, stepping sideways along the cable.
‘What are you doing?’ I yell.
‘Come on,’ he shouts back, taking another step. ‘We’ve got to do it before it gets light or the police are going to spot us.’
Panic floods through me. ‘Jay, what are you doing? Come back!’ I scream, then catch a movement out of the corner of my eye. In the distance someone is jogging down the walkway towards us.
‘Why?’ Jay asks, not looking at me, but keeping on moving along the cable.
‘Because . . .’ I shout. Do I really need to give him a reason? He’s going to fall and he’s going to die. ‘Please,’ I beg. Shit. He’s going to fall. And it will be my fault.
‘Why?’ he asks again.
‘Because I’m scared for you,’ I shout back, so furious that lights flash at the corner of my vision.
He stops then. Finally. Looks directly at me. ‘Why?’ he demands.
‘Because I don’t want you to fall,’ I scream.
‘So what if I do?’ he asks me. Even from a distance I see the defiance in his eyes. The challenge. He wants me to answer him.
‘I don’t want you to,’ I yell. I’m so mad now half of me wants to walk out along the cable and push him off.
‘But if I do fall, that’s got nothing to do with you,’ Jay says, shrugging like he doesn’t get it.
‘Yes it does.’
He looks at me confused. ‘No it doesn’t. Why does it have anything to do with you?’
‘Because you’re here because of me,’ I shout.
He waits until the thunder from a passing lorry dies away. ‘No,’ he says. ‘I’m here because I chose to be. I’m climbing this ridiculously thin cable suspended one hundred foot above certain death because I choose to do it. If I fall, it’s on me. Not on you.’
Anger licks at me but I can’t let him see. I need to stay calm, reel him back in. ‘I get what you’re trying to do,’ I say, lowering my voice, my eyes darting to the jogger who’s getting nearer. There’s no way he won’t see us. And then he’ll call the police.
‘What am I trying to do?’ Jay asks.
‘You’re trying to prove to me that I’m not responsible for what happens to other people.’
‘Is it working?’ he asks.
I don’t answer.
Still staring at me, Jay slowly lets go of the cable above him. ‘Look, no hands,’ he says, showing me his palms.
‘Jay!’ I scream.
He sways so hard that I’m certain he’s lost his balance and my stomach plummets as my heart leaps into my mouth, but he manages at the last moment to grab hold of the cable and stop himself from falling.
‘My choice, Liva,’ he says. ‘Just like it was that man’s choice to shoot up a police station. And the people that died – they didn’t die because of you. Felix didn’t die because of you. He died because shit happens. And none of it is your fault.’
I’m trembling so hard I can barely hold on and tears fill my eyes, blurring my vision. I blink them away but they keep coming.
‘I’m scared,’ I suddenly say, the words just tumbling out.
‘It’s OK to be scared,’ Jay says, his voice gentle now.
The knotted cable starts to tremble in my hands. ‘No it’s not,’ I say.
He’s beside me again somehow. His hand covers mine. ‘Liva,’ he says softly, ‘it’s OK to feel afraid. It’s OK not to know what’s going to happen.’
I grip the cable tighter, feel it cutting into my palms.
‘You have to let go of this idea that we’re in control of life. We’re not.’
I squeeze my eyes shut. ‘I don’t want to feel any of this. I want it all to go away. I can’t think like this. I can’t live like this.’
‘Come on,’ he says, gently pulling at my arms. ‘Let’s get down.’
I let him turn me carefully around and lead me over the guardrail. He jumps down ahead of me, waving at the jogger who is just now passing by. He stares at us in slack-jawed bewilderment, slowing his pace, but Jay’s smile persuades him we’re fine and so he keeps on jogging, darting us several more looks over his shoulder, as though checking we’re not about to free dive once his back is turned.
Jay holds his hands out to me and I drop down into them. He doesn’t let me go even when I try to struggle free. I don’t want him to hold me. When he holds me I feel I might unravel.
‘It’s OK to feel things, Liva,’ he says. ‘We’re meant to feel things – we’re meant to feel everything – hurt, pain, anger, rage, grief.’
My
eyes burn. I shake my head furiously. ‘I don’t want to feel those things. I can’t. It’s too much.’ And suddenly I’m sobbing, endlessly, without relief.
Jay holds me around the waist with one arm and uses his free hand to lift my chin. ‘Liva,’ he says, ‘if you don’t allow yourself to feel those things, then you’ll never be able to feel the good things either – happiness, or joy, or love. You can’t have one without the other. That’s life. That’s how it works.’
I try again to break free. I don’t want to hear any of this. But Jay refuses to let me go. His grip just tightens.
‘Life’s unfair,’ he says. ‘And it really goddamn hurts at times. It hurts more than you think you can handle. But in the end, it’s worth it.’
But that’s the thing, the thing that cracks my heart in two. ‘How do you know?’ I ask sadly, because it isn’t. It isn’t worth it.
Jay studies me for a second and then he smiles like he’s just won the debate, even though he hasn’t, because he can’t prove it. There’s nothing he can say that will convince me that life is worth this much pain and hurt.
But then he kisses me. Softly, and so gently that my heart sighs. And everything does unravel.
When he finally stops kissing me and I open my eyes, I find him staring down at me – his expression a fine balance between joy and pain and happiness and grief – all those emotions he just talked about.
‘It’s worth it,’ he says again, his forehead pressed to mine.
And this time, I believe him.
39
Jay is sitting on the grass with his elbows resting on his knees. He’s staring out across the park, over the water, towards the skyline of Manhattan that’s gradually growing crisper against the dawn sky. A day ago we were walking across the bridge into the city on the way to my dad’s apartment. I was wearing pyjama shorts and an NYPD sweater. I didn’t know anything about the boy now sitting beside me other than the fact he’d been arrested and that his name was Jaime. I knew enough to judge him, though. To think he was a murderer. And now I sit beside him, wearing a borrowed black dress, feeling like I’ve known him a hundred years. I feel that old. Worn out. Too tired to keep running. Too tired for any more secrets or surprises.
Out of Control Page 22
