“This isn’t how I thought we were going to spend our day,” he said petulantly.
“Me either,” I lied.
The train swayed bumpily, jostling passengers, forcing us to dance to the same beat while it clattered through the tight dark tunnels. I studied the girl, trying to read her, to see if she had any inkling that today was somehow different. I always wonder that. Do they realize that this is the last day they will buy a newspaper at that stand, pay cab fare, kiss their wife or kids? They seem as harried and haggard and unappreciative of each action—though it will be their last—as everyone else. In contrast, I’ve started to feel everything acutely, overaware of stepping off the curb, turning a page, drinking my coffee, savoring every sensation, not knowing whether, if it were my last day, I would see the light framing my reflected image.
I think about death more than most people, I’m sure, the mark never letting me forget how unexpectedly it can happen. Like the girl whose day is today. Her skin is slack and pasty, so maybe she’s sick. But if she were terminal, it’s hard to imagine she could be out, walking around. Most likely, it will be an accident.
The train rumbled into another stop and she stood.
I nudged Lucas. “Let’s go.”
She trudged through the dirty station, past the tiled sign that read BOWERY, and up the stairs to the dirtier street outside. The buildings were smaller here and I winced at the sunlight, sharp and startling after the subway’s dimness. I kept us about a block behind, trailing her safely across three intersections. Midway down the last block, she stopped at a door, rummaged in her bag for a key, and disappeared inside. I tried the knob when we got there, but it was locked tight.
“Now what?” Lucas demanded, hands on his hips.
I scanned the names by the buzzer, about ten in all, trying to figure out which might be hers and whether I could somehow get her to invite us in. Even in Bering, though, you wouldn’t spend a day with total strangers. Here, you didn’t even look at them.
“I guess we wait.”
“For what?”
“For her to come back out.”
“That’s ridiculous, Cassandra. This whole thing is ridiculous.” Lucas exhaled through pursed lips.
“We could get some lunch, maybe,” I suggested, pointing across the street. “Look. There’s a café right there.”
Lucas glanced over, studying the people lounging at the metal tables packed tightly on the sidewalk out front. “Listen,” he said, and I could already read his answer in that one disappointed word. “I came to New York to see the city, not to follow some hapless girl around. I’m going to the Statue of Liberty. If you want to come, I’d love to have you, but I’m tired of this, Cass. I really don’t want to hear anything else about this … whatever it is you think you can do or see …”
He kept talking, but I noticed the people at the café, couple by couple, had paused to look our way. Not at us, exactly, but up. I turned to see what they were looking at.
“Lucas,” was all I said.
“What?”
But I didn’t answer, couldn’t, because I knew this was it. He followed my gaze to the top of the six-story brown building in front of us. I could just see her as she stood at the edge of the roof. Instinctively, I stepped back, pulling Lucas with me.
Her fall was a horrible, silent drop.
The first thing Lucas did was throw up. Around us, people were screaming. There was pandemonium just like Mr. McKenzie’s accident, people running out of the restaurant, to the scene or away, some just standing there stunned. I had turned my head just before she hit, knowing already how a sight like that can linger in your memory for … well, forever. The sound was bad enough, repeating in my brain over and over as I dragged Lucas, ashen and shaking, around the corner, out of sight.
Slowly I led him to a stoop about halfway down the block. He was still heaving as we sat. “The police are coming,” he said as the wail of sirens came closer.
“Probably. Or it might be an ambulance.”
“She couldn’t have survived, could she?”
I shook my head.
“The police will want to talk to us,” he said shakily. “We’re witnesses.”
“There were plenty of witnesses there, Lucas. We didn’t see anything more than they did. Nothing we can talk about, at least.” I felt eerily calm. Was I becoming numb to death? But then I remembered the sound, that awful crunching thud. I wasn’t shaken up the way Lucas was, but I’d known what was coming and maybe having him with me—someone else who’d seen, who’d understand—was making it easier or more bearable, though it really wasn’t either. I felt helpless and horribly, horribly sad. It was impossible to imagine things being bad enough to do what she had just done.
Lucas looked at me sideways, from the corners of his eyes, as if afraid to face me full-on. “How did you know?” he whispered.
“I told you. She had the mark.”
He nodded, looking away, down the busy street, where cars streamed by, passengers giggling, talking, unaware that someone had just taken her own life steps away.
“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested.
I hailed a cab. “Central Park,” I told the driver. I’d never been there, but I hoped it was as tranquil as the green spaces in Bering.
We were silent on the ride past more buildings, streets, stores, people. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see another. The driver dropped us at a corner with horse-drawn carriages. “Can’t go in,” he said shortly. “Roads are closed on the weekend.”
I paid him and we entered the park, walking a curved lane until we came to a field. We sat somewhere in the middle, the sun full on us for the first time that day. Neither of us spoke. I studied the buildings rising like giants above the trees beyond.
“You really can … see something …” Lucas finally said.
“Yes, I can.”
“I didn’t believe you.”
“I know.”
“I mean …” He shook his head. “I can’t believe what we just saw. I don’t think I’ll ever get that out of my mind. The way she fell …”
He wouldn’t, but I didn’t want to tell him that.
“You’ve seen that … that kind of thing before?” he asked.
“Not exactly, but something like it. I saw a man hit by a car.”
He winced. “That must have been awful.”