Icarus. (54 page)

"You're going over, too, Mr. Keller. You can go over easy or you can go over hard – but you're going over."

It was coming true. The wall was finally winning their battle. The edge was calling to him and drawing him near. Soon he would know what it was like to heed its call. Soon he would be falling. Flying. He would be Icarus. Out of control. Screaming…

When he heard the voice, he thought he had to be hallucinating. But he realized that Bryan had heard it, too, because Bryan relaxed his grip on Jack's neck and cocked his head.

It's not possible, Jack thought. It's just not possible.

But it was. There was no question. It was Grace's voice they heard, her quivering, frightened voice saying, "Help me." And then again: "Please, help me."

Bryan grabbed hold of Jack's shirt and dragged him to the corner of the terrace, toward the spot from which Grace had fallen. Bryan leaned over, holding Jack close to him. Jack tried not to look but he had to. What he saw was worse than any blow he'd taken from Bryan.

It was Grace. She had not plunged to her death. She was clinging desperately to one of the gray stone gargoyles protruding from the building. Her hands and legs were wrapped around the gargoyle's neck. Her broken wrist prevented her from pulling herself up but her will was not allowing her to let go and plummet.

"Help me, Jack. Please help me," she cried.

Jack saw a tiny smile cross Bryan's lips. "That's a good idea, don't you think, Mr. Keller?" And when Jack looked at him questioningly through his swollen eyes, Bryan said, "Let's go help her."

The next thing Jack knew, he was lifted up and he was somewhere he went only in his deepest and darkest nightmares: standing on top of the retaining wall. Eighteen stories below him was Madison Avenue. With no net.

It was worse than any hallucinogen. He could not stop the images from sweeping over him. And he could not stop the fear from paralyzing him. He was ten years old again; his mother had fallen. He was hanging on to Reggie Ivers's leg, dangling from the seventeenth floor. The noise from below was suddenly all around him: cars thundering by, horns honking wildly, vendors hawking their wares with harsh and angry screams. The street rushed up to meet him, bending and folding like a concrete flying carpet. Traffic lights were blinking furiously; the sky was filled with glittery explosions of red, yellow, and green. Jack's head snapped back. He was looking straight up into the broiling glare of the sun and he knew he was going over, that this was the end. The images and cacophony of noise all merged into one stultifying and choking blackness and Jack began to lose consciousness until a hand appeared magically in the small of his back, holding him up and pushing him back to an upright position on the ledge.

"Go get her," Jack heard.

For a moment he thought he must be waking up from a dream, but Bryan's face came back into focus and Jack knew this was no dream.

"Jack, please," he heard Grace call again. "I can't hold on much longer."

As Bryan jabbed at his leg with Dom's knife, prodding him to move, Jack turned his head so he could see Grace. She was sweating and petrified, trying desperately to keep her grip on the grotesque sculpture. She saw him now, said nothing, but their eyes locked and Jack nodded once. He was coming.

As the knife nicked his calf, Jack's right foot slid tentatively forward. Then his left foot slid after it. His first step. He was six inches farther along the ledge. He slowed his breath, commanded himself to stop trembling. The right foot slid again, then the left.

Twelve inches.

"Jack," Grace said. Her voice was calm and soft; it did not betray the urgency of her words. "You've got to move faster. I'm slipping."

Slide. And again. Eighteen inches. And yet again. Twenty-four.

He could no longer hear the traffic below or Grace's raspy breaths. There was no sound at all anymore but the steady pounding of his heart.

Thirty inches.

Thirty-six.

Three feet away from the terrace. The knife no longer cut into his legs. He was far enough away to be just out of Bryan's reach.

Jack's right foot slid again. His left started to follow… and then stopped. Long seconds passed and Jack didn't move. He was frozen.

"Jack," Grace said. That's all she said. There was nothing else she could say.

"Keep going, Mr. Keller."

Nothing from Jack. No response to Bryan's words. No more movement. His body was rigid. The only sign that he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest.

"Mr. Keller, I said don't stop. I don't have much time. You don't want me to come get you."

Still nothing. He looked catatonic.

"I'm coming now," Bryan said. "And you're going to be very sorry."

Bryan put his hand on the top of the wall, pushed off, and slowly lifted himself up to step onto the ledge. He did not seem at all afraid or tentative.

Jack turned his head, the first movement he'd made in over a minute. He watched Bryan take one firm step toward him.

And he thought: Got you, you fucker. I've got you now.

– "-"-"BRYAN'S NEW PLAN was simple. Let Jack Keller get out as far as he could and just watch. He knew the man's fear would overtake him. He knew he'd fall and that would be that. The girl couldn't hang on much longer. By the time anyone else figured out where the bodies had come from, he'd be long gone. And besides, they would fall on their own. He wouldn't even have to push them. So it wouldn't even be murder. He could just walk away.

And then, once and for all, it would be over.

Bryan never figured that the fear would screw up the plan. Frozen as he was, Jack looked like he could stand there forever. And the longer this took, the more chance of failure. The key to success was always speed. Who'd said that? His coach, he thought. But which one? That guy in Virginia. He was a jerk but sometimes he was right. And he was right about speed. It was essential now. Someone could show up looking for the cop. Maybe another cleaning woman was coming. Bryan couldn't risk it. This had to stop now.

He wasn't afraid, standing on the one-foot-thick wall. Heights didn't bother him. He wasn't going to fall, no way. This was going to be easy. Just walk out and give one little shove. Then wave bye-bye. If he had to, he could do it to the girl, too. She'd be easy. All he had to do was walk out a little farther and down she'd go.

He took his first step and was surprised when Jack finally moved. The guy had been like a fucking rock. But now he turned to face Bryan and Bryan thought it was a strange movement. Not confused like it should have been. It was weirdly confident and deliberate. He didn't look so paralyzed all of a sudden. And he could even speak. How weird was that? What was he saying? What the hell did he say?

It sounded like: "Hold on, Grace. Just hold on."

And now he was saying something else. What was going on? This time it sounded like he said, "How's your knee, Bryan?"

What? His knee? His bad knee? It was like it always was. He looked down to see what the hell this guy was talking about…

– "-"-"JACK REMEMBERED BRYAN limping out of the restaurant after their lunch with Kid. He remembered Bryan saying, after the funeral service, that he'd blown his knee out at St. John's and lost his scholarship. And just a few minutes ago he'd said the coach at Virginia State had told him he couldn't play anymore because of his knee. Bryan Bishop had a weak spot. It was time to find out just how weak.

He waited until Bryan looked down. Jack had thought the bad knee was the left one and that's where Bryan's eyes went. He didn't wait any longer.

Jack took a deep breath and dropped down. He'd spent his rigid moments trying to figure out how best to keep his balance when he let himself fall and he'd figured right. He was going down on his right side, used both hands to grab whatever brick he could and keep himself from toppling over, and he lashed out with his right foot as hard as he could. His heel connected solidly with Bryan's left knee and he could see the pain shatter Bryan's dulled expression. As Bryan bent over, Jack was already on his way up.

Don't think, don't look down, all you've got to do is make it two feet and you're back on the balcony. Two feet and you've won.

Bryan was struggling to keep his balance. He was on his side and grabbing wildly to try to keep from turning over and rolling off. Jack jumped, hurdling Bryan's thrashing body. His hands made it – his chest banged down hard on the brick but his head was over – all he had to do was pull the rest of himself over and he was on solid ground.

Bryan kicked wildly. His knee slammed into Jack's thigh and Jack could feel his lower body going over the side, but his fingers dug into the brick. His legs were dangling, Bryan had hold of his ankle, was trying to twist him over, and Jack felt his own grip weakening. He was starting to get pulled back out. He was losing. And if he lost he was dead.

You only fall if you want to fall, Jack.

You only fall if you want to fall.

I don't want to fall, Jack thought. I don't want to fall. And he realized he was not just thinking it. He was screaming it, yelling at the top of his lungs: "I don't want to fall! I'm not going to fall! I am not going to fall!"

He could feel the strain in his forearms as he pulled. He kicked his leg free, still screaming. He felt pain rip through his right leg – it was the knife again; he was sure Bryan had just slashed him because his leg felt as if it were on fire – but then he was over, slamming down onto the terrace floor, rolling all the way until he flipped into the cast-iron table. Without hesitating, he was up on his feet.

Bryan had regained his balance. He was on his knees, still two feet from the ledge. He was moving slowly, careful not to make a misstep. He was on his feet now, and as he faced Jack, his expression was one of murderous rage. Jack knew that Bryan thought he was running, that he was expecting Jack to head for the front door and the stairway, anything to get out of the apartment. But that wasn't Jack's intention. He wasn't running. He wasn't going to leave Grace. There would be no what-if this time. There would be no more deaths.

No. Jack knew that wasn't true. There would be one more.

Their eyes met and now Bryan seemed to be the one paralyzed. Standing on the wall, he watched, transfixed, as Jack made no move to turn and run, simply stood his ground and stared back at him. Bryan smiled because Jack was waiting for him, was going to take him on, was going to meet him man-to-man, and, making sure the knife was tightly in his grip, he took one more step forward…

Jack took one step, too. He went to the barbell that sat on the terrace in the middle of the workout equipment.

This is a clean, Kid had said. The hardest lift there is.

Jack bent down.

The only thing holding you back is fear. He could hear Kid urging him on. You're strong enough to get rid of the fear. You're strong enough now. Right now.

Jack started to look at the weights on the end of the barbell.

Don't ask how heavy it is, Jack. It doesn't matter.

He gripped the bar, his hands shoulder-width apart.

You're strong enough now. Right now.

He lifted the weight up to his waist.

You are fucking Arnold.

He bent his knees, breathed in, made a sudden shift, and then the weight was above his head.

You are Hercules Unchained.

His legs wobbled but stayed firm. His arms were crooked at the elbow.

He remembered all the pain. Lying in the hospital and feeling broken. Realizing that Caroline was no longer with him, that he'd never see or touch her again. He remembered sitting in the wheelchair, crippled, and the agony and the fear that came with his struggle to once again become whole. He remembered Kid telling him he didn't just want him to be back to normal, he wanted him to be better than normal. He remembered the glory of taking off his brace and being pain-free. He remembered the Entertainer's lifeless body floating in the tub and the expression of pure horror on Samsonite's lips, her throat slashed inches away from him. He could feel McCoy's body tumbling out of the closet onto him and he envisioned Dom, his beloved Dom, being hacked to death by a lunatic who didn't know the difference between love and hate or life and death. He heard the explosions in the office in Charlottesville. Felt his life slipping away. Heard the doctor telling him that Caroline would not be coming to see him. Caroline was dead. And now he was looking at her murderer! Jack remembered running his hand over Grace's body and making love to her in the dark.

Jack Keller looked straight into the eyes of the madman who was standing on the wall, looking confused, waiting to see what he was going to do.

You're strong enough now, he told himself.

Right now.

"Bryan," Jack said. "Catch."

His knees bent, giving him the leverage he needed, then they snapped straight up. As they did Jack tossed the two hundred pounds of weight into the air, straight at Bryan Bishop. Bryan's hands reached out and his fingers curled around the barbell before it could reach him. He caught it, brought it to his body, and stood facing Jack, a thin smile lighting up his face, waiting for Jack to acknowledge his amazing act of strength. Then he realized what Jack had done. He realized that his amazing strength had just killed him.

The momentum of the barbell staggered Bryan. He bent back, way back, first his head, then his neck and shoulders, then his legs.

He couldn't keep his balance. He couldn't stop moving backward. He was shaking his head in disbelief. It didn't seem right. He was so close. He'd been so smart. It had been such a good plan.

Bryan's bad knee buckled now and he could no longer stay on his feet.

Jack saw one foot step backward, find nothing but air. Bryan's eyes widened. Then his other foot went back. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.