Fall for Me

by Jc Emery

  “I don’t have clearance to land on the beach,” he says and eyes the sandy coastline below. “Don’t have the space for it, either.”

  My heart sinks, but I force myself to keep my work hat on. The fire appears to be contained to one side of the building, with the other possibly left untouched.

  “So don’t land,” I say. “Just get low enough to the water for me to jump.”

  “Are you crazy?” Capriotti says. I stare at the pilot in warning and don’t let up until he redirects the chopper to the shoreline.

  “I’m getting to my girl one way or another.”

  The pilot tries to lower the chopper as close as he can, but the motor and wings make sounds of protest. He has to bring her up another twenty or so feet to keep the thing from failing. Something about space and something technical that I don’t understand.

  “Sorry, guys. I can’t get her low enough for you to jump safely.”

  I can’t tell how high up we are from the water right now, but it’s close enough. I can make it. The chopper slowly gets higher and higher in the air, and if I don’t take my chance now, I won’t have one. The water should be deep enough this far out, I reason. If it’s not, I’ll find out the hard way.

  Before anybody can stop me, I throw off my headphones and unsnap my harness. The blades are loud and the wind is fierce up this high, so I can’t really hear the panicked screams from the other guys. I sense movement behind me and don’t want to be physically pulled back into the chopper. I grab hold of the side and move to sit on the floor with my feet on the foot rails. I focus on my training and the brief bit of water rescue we covered at the academy. Jump straight down, no curling into a ball like I want to. With a deep breath, I push myself out of the helicopter and try to keep my body straight as I sail toward the water and plug my nose.

  It’s an incredible feeling, flying through the air. I plunge into the depths of the Atlantic. It’s shallow enough water out here, but not shallow enough to hurt. I don’t even hit the ocean floor. It takes a second for the shock to wear off before I aggressively swim to shore.

  I’m barely on the sand when I hear the first scream behind me. I turn in time to see that somebody’s followed my lead. I can’t make out who it is, but another man is sitting where I was just a minute ago, waiting for a clear landing. The man in the water swims toward shore, and when he’s close enough to stand and push through the water, I see it’s Hennessey.

  Dad would be proud.

  Mom would kill us all.

  I turn back to the beach and run up the cool sand. I’m so focused on the burning house that I almost miss them. Lying on their backs in the sand and facing opposite directions, looking peaceful as ever, are the girls. Monica and Royal flank the sides, with Claire and Mel in the middle.

  Panicked and terrified, I scramble toward them and fall to my knees right by Mel’s head. I first check her pulse, which is steady, then her breathing, which is also steady. Her skin is chilled, but she’s not in physical danger. I move to Royal next and crawl up to her head. She, too, has a steady pulse and is breathing normally. Hennessey arrives in time to check on Claire and Monica. Jack and Capriotti emerge from the water a minute later, and the chopper disappears in the direction of the air strip.

  Capriotti is barely out of the water by the time the fire truck and ambulance arrive. I crouch down back by Mel and place her head in my lap. I make sure her neck and back aren’t injured before doing so. All signs point to some kind of chemically-induced nap they’re all in. None of them have any injuries, with the exception of the words written on their bodies. I could throw up right now if it wouldn’t fuck with the crime scene. Right above Mel’s heart, written with what looks to be a Sharpie, is ENVY. Royal’s dress blues have been ripped open, exposing her bra with GLUTTONY written above her heart. From a preliminary inspection, we don’t find anything written on Monica or Claire. After the roses were sent to the firehouse and the bomb scare we figured out what acedia means. It’s a historical sin—not really one of the seven deadly sins—but rooted in the same ideal. Its sin is apathy. I haven’t shared that with Mel, because I don’t know each sin is supposed to mean for us.

  The EMTs—eight in total—arrive in two-person teams from four different ambulances. Shit, when Montauk finally got their act together, they really showed up. They trudge through the sand and inspect each woman thoroughly before moving them. I give them the little bit of information I have regarding their physical conditions. I follow the stretcher Mel’s on and demand to ride with her. The fire crew has contained the fire and almost has it put out now. My steps falter as I read the words spray-painted on the untouched side of the house.

  WHAT’S MINE IS YOURS.

  My hand is sweaty, so sweaty that I keep having to dry it off on the scrubs the nurse gave me to wear. Mom and Dad will be here soon, but for now, I don’t have any dry clothes. When I wipe my hand dry, I’m careful to replace it with the other one. I don’t want my girl to wake up and not have my touch.

  Chris walks in the room with his eyes on his daughter. He comes to stand beside me and clasps a hand on my shoulder. He stands here for a long moment before clearing his throat quietly.

  “Did you mean what you said, Jameson? About marrying my Mellie?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Then I think we need to talk,” he says and walks around Mel’s hospital bed to the empty chair on the other side. He doesn’t take his eyes off of her slumbering frame as he speaks. “I need to apologize to you, son. Did you know I grew up in Hell’s Kitchen? I was raised by my single mother and grandmother. Both abandoned by their husbands before their kids were old enough to know what it means to have a dad. So, sometimes I make the wrong move.”

  I listen to him, not totally sure where this is going. I have a hunch, but I’m hoping I’m wrong.

  “I spent all of Mellie and Claire’s childhood working to give them better than what I had. I like to share the fruits of my labor, but I should have known that would make you uncomfortable. I understand pride and the value of working for what you have.”

  “It doesn’t even matter now,” I mutter and give Mel’s hand a light squeeze. She’s here and she’s alive, so it doesn’t matter.

  “Not today it doesn’t, but it will tomorrow. It will matter at the wedding—if she’s smart and agrees to marry the man who jumps out of helicopters for her—and it will matter if you have kids.”

  I smirk. His jaw locks and he shakes his head.

  “Be kind, son. I’m not quite ready to be a grandpa just yet,” he says. He takes his eyes off his daughter and redirects them to me. “Let’s start small. There’s a few availabilities in our building—small apartments without a view but not too expensive—that I think could work. Mellie’s already mentioned moving out and I don’t want her running around the city with that sick bastard on the loose.”

  “Neither do I,” I say.

  “So don’t argue when I say that the apartment is my gift to the two of you—for one year’s time. Roy’s in agreement, if that means anything.”

  I think it over for a long time while he waits for an answer. I want Mel safe and I want her with me. So I nod my head and don’t argue. I’ll take this gift because it keeps my girl safe. I won’t let my pride get in the way of that. Chris nods and leaves the room once his cellphone starts ringing and I’m left alone with Lulu once again.

  The doctors were able to determine the toxin that was used to sedate the girls and even how it was delivered. Whoever this sick fuck is knows enough chemistry, or he’s just real fucking lucky, to know the difference between an effective and a lethal dose. None of the women received a particularly harmful dose, but they have a treatment and care plan to make sure nothing further comes of this. I’ll have the nurse repeat all that shit to me when I can concentrate. Right now, I just need Mel to wake up so I know she’s okay. The machines and doctors can tell me all they’d like—until she’s here with me, I won’t be able to feel it.

  My e
yes droop and my head dips from exhaustion, but I refuse to sleep. I let my head fall back and rest my eyes. I don’t know how long I’m like this before a light squeeze to my hand jerks me awake.

  I focus in on Mel’s eyes. She’s awake, a little unfocused but awake, and she seems fine. I page the nurse to come check on her and then lean in and place a kiss to her temple. Tears fall silently down her face as she tightens her grip on my hand and takes a few deep breaths.

  There’s nothing I can say except “I love you” again and again and again, and maybe, if I keep saying it, it’ll be enough to believe it’ll keep her safe.

  I’m still saying it when she’s discharged the next day. The chemical that was used was similar to chloroform and apparently presents no aftereffects. But I love her and need her here, because this is what our life looks like—us together, safe, and whole. And I refuse to believe it looks any other way. Not when I just got her.

  Chapter 25

  Melanie

  There’s a lot to complain about in the world lately. War is breaking out half a world away. Children are going hungry. People are dying from disease. And even though I know that by comparison my problems are minimal, I can’t help the extreme sorrow I feel at Jameson working a forty-eight.

  A forty-eight means two whole days without him in bed beside me. It means two whole days of not feeling his touch, or hearing his teasing voice. It means two days where I sit cooped up in this apartment and worry every single minute he’s out there doing a job that only gets more dangerous by the day.

  It’s been two weeks since I, along with my mother, sister, and Royal, were released from Montauk General Hospital. Jameson had the first three days off but insisted on going back to work after that. Chief Delgado could have gone to bat to get him more leave, but he wanted to be back on the job, helping his house. It’s selfish of me to want to keep him here.

  “You’re going to wear a track right through your mother’s new rug,” Dad says from the breakfast bar in the kitchen. I lift my head and eyeball him curiously. There’s a sadness in his voice that I haven’t heard in almost a week. It’s weird to see my dad be what I’d almost call weepy. But he was weepy.

  “What’s wrong, Daddy?” I ask. I sound so childlike, which is ridiculous for a grown woman who’s living with her fiancé.

  Jameson told me how my dad stepped up and the active role he’d played in our rescue. It’s almost strange, having grown up with a dad who’s always in suits and whose idea of adventure is taking a Tuesday afternoon off, hearing that same man commandeered a helicopter for the purposes of rescue.

  It wasn’t Jameson, however, who told me about the whole diving-out-of-a-helicopter thing. No, that was Hennessey. He recounted the story in front of both our families—largely earning praise from the men and fear from the women, except Royal, who was all about the praise—and mentioned skydiving one day. You know, this time with an actual parachute. I do my best to avoid thinking about it. They could have all been seriously hurt.

  “I miss you, Mellie,” Dad says and sets his coffee down. He turns, hops off the stool, and walks over to me. “You’re all grown up now.”

  “I’m five floors down,” I protest. I spent the first week living with my parents exclusively, and Jameson seemed to have moved in with me. Dad never protested or complained about it. I guess they worked out the agreement without my knowledge, because Jameson even slept in my bed with me. Every night. Instead of being a normal father, my dad seemed to welcome Jameson’s presence. After a few days ago, though, an apartment became available down on the eleventh floor. It’s a small little one bedroom, one-bath, and it barely has a view, but it’s ours.

  This was the compromise. I want my independence, and Dad and Mom and Jameson need me safe, and since Jameson’s schedule is crazy weird, it works out well that we’re in the same building. When he goes to work on a twenty-four or a forty-eight instead of his usual twelve, I come up here and stay with the ’rents. When Jameson’s home, so am I. We still don’t know why somebody is terrorizing us, or what they’re going to do next, but for now we have a small little bit of peace. It’s not much because it’s always there in the background—he’s still out there. It’s scary.

  “It’s not the same,” Dad says. He leans in and places a kiss to my forehead. “You have a good man, and I’m happy for that, but it makes me a little sad.” I wrap my arms around my dad and give him a firm hug. He returns it before looking at his watch and pulling back. “I better walk you downstairs.”

  “Jameson picks me up here,” I say and give him the fake stink eye.

  Dad shrugs his shoulders and leads me toward the front door. I swipe my phone from the breakfast bar on the way out and just go with it. Jameson normally takes the elevator up to my parents’ apartment to pick me up before we head home together.

  “Is there something going on you’re not supposed to tell me about?” I ask and poke my dad in the ribs.

  “You’re poking the founder and CEO of a multinational corporation who can—quite easily—buy and sell you on the black market should he so desire,” he says flatly.

  “And?” I say. “I also poked the man who used to change my diapers.”

  “Way to humble an old man,” he says as we exit the elevator and head for my apartment.

  Dad knocks loudly on the door. Again, weird. Then he takes a step back and props his foot in a way like he’s trying to block something. I can hear Jameson moving around on the other side. He curses at something, which causes Dad to laugh, then it sounds like he runs into something else—a wall, maybe—before I hear what I think is hopping. Finally, he opens the door with one hand behind his back and a very telling smile on his face.

  “You got this?” Dad asks. I catch him eyeing the floor and doorway nervously.

  “Yeah, we’re good, Chris,” Jameson says and opens the door even farther.

  This setup seems awful fishy. Either he’s going to tell me he’s pregnant—a thought that makes me literally snort—or he’s proposing again. I almost clap my hands together and do a little dance, but that seems over-the-top even for me. I settle for entering our sparsely-decorated abode.

  “Close the door, babe,” Jameson says. He still has one hand behind his back, and he’s gritting his teeth. I do as I’m told and stare at him like he’s grown a second head, because he looks super uncomfortable, and if he’s in pain, then we really should get him to the doctor.

  “I love you, and I’ve thought a million ways how I could do this better than the last time,” he says and adjusts the arm behind his back. I think I hear something but brush it off. I must be imagining things in my excitement.

  “Just do it,” I say eagerly and make grabby gestures with my hands. He winces and leans to the side before right himself again.

  “Close your eyes,” he says.

  I close them immediately. I stretch my left arm out and make my ring finger perfectly accessible. I’ve been waiting over two weeks for a ring to show off to everybody I know. I don’t care if the damn thing is made of string. I just want to be able to tell people I’m getting married. I want the bragging rights about who I’m marrying, because that’s the real prize.

  How are you, Melanie?

  I’m marrying Jameson Hayes.

  Is your lunch to your liking?

  I’m marrying Jameson Hayes.

  Is there anything not Jameson related going on in your life?

  I’m marrying Jameson Hayes.

  “Now, be careful,” he says. He bends my arms into a cradling position and shushes me, but I’m not saying or doing anything, so I don’t know what that’s about. A moment later, I feel fur in my arms, and when I open my eyes, I find the sweetest, tiniest, little baby kitten in my arms.

  “You got me a kitten?” I whisper and hold the little fur ball close to my chest. The kitten digs its tiny nails into my arm but then pulls back and stares up at me with big gray eyes.

  “I got us a kitten. You have to share,” he says in a warning tone. I
look up to see him rubbing his arm. It’s red and scratched from Jamie’s claws.

  “Is Jamie a boy or girl?” I ask and rub under the kitten’s chin with my thumb.

  “Girl,” he says then pauses. “Wait, Jamie?”

  “Clearly she’s named after her daddy,” I say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, because hello?

  My finger under her chin knocks into something hard. I inspect her purple collar and turn it around to find a beautiful pear-shaped diamond engagement ring hanging off her collar.

  “Oh my gosh, Jamie, it’s beautiful,” I say. Her eyes are still on me, and she’s starting to move like she’s curious about me and no longer using her itsy bitsy claws. “Did you get mommy a ring?”

  “Um, I bought that for you. The, uh, cat came from me, too,” Jameson says and reaches over to free the ring from the collar and then reattaches the collar around her neck. I give Jamie another little pet and look back up at Jameson. He takes my left hand and holds it between his.

  “Marry me, Lulu.”

  “Well, it is in the best interest of the children,” I say playfully.

  He scoops Jamie from my arms and gently places her on the couch then returns to me and slides the ring onto my awaiting finger.

  “You’re a little more excited about the cat than the ring. It’s not what I expected,” he says and leans in for a kiss but stops short, his nose grazing along the side of mine.

  “The kitten was unexpected,” I say in my defense. “I already know I’m going to marry you.”

  “Never any doubt, huh?” he says and kisses my jaw. I sigh and lean into him.

  “Never.” And I mean it wholeheartedly.

  “I love you, Lulu.”

  I know you do. Right down to my bones, I know it.

  “Love you, baby.”

  The End

  Thanks for reading Jameson and Melanie’s story.

  Keep an eye out for Hennessey’s story!

  “He was never happy with just one woman—until now.”