Neal turned his head. There was a skinny guy in a blue windbreaker leaning out the window. He gave a relaxed smile, then slung one jean-clad leg over the windowsill and straddled it. He was wearing Docksiders and olive-colored socks. There was a little headset on his right ear, a small microphone curving up to the corner of his mouth.
“Nice view from up here,” he commented, leaning back against the window frame, gazing out at the sunrise. He might have been sitting on a log admiring a tranquil lake somewhere in the mountains.
Neal stared out at the sun. It had turned a bright orange, some long, thin pink clouds stretching out on either side.
“Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Becker? My name is Stan, by the way. Stan Saunders.” He paused. “May I call you Neal?”
“There’s nothing you can do for m-me,” Neal said, a gust of wind buffeting him on the last word.
Stan watched him for a long moment. “I’d really like to help you, if I can. Is there something you want me to get for you? Or your daughter?”
Neal felt tears forming in his eyes.
“There’s nothing I want,” he said, fighting to hold his composure.
Neal heard a low grinding noise and glanced down—the fire truck was raising its ladder.
“Tell them to put that ladder down!”
One of the helicopters was moving closer.
“Get that helicopter out of here!” Neal shouted, thrusting Natasha out over the edge. “I’ll drop her, I swear to God!”
He could hear frightened shrieks from down below.
“Back off,” Stan said calmly into a microphone, gesturing to the chopper. “And tell the firemen to lower the ladder.”
Neal looked into little Natasha’s face. She was awake now, turning her head this way and that, but she didn’t seem to realize she was hanging over 19 stories of empty space. How could she? She was only a baby.
“Mr. Becker, why don’t you come inside and we’ll talk for a few minutes.”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“No. But I think you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. I don’t believe you really want to hurt your daughter. Do you?”
Neal felt hot tears running down his face. Of course he didn’t want to hurt little Natasha. He loved her. She was his daughter.
Natasha started crying.
That sound caused a lot of commotion down below.
Neal pulled her back in and hugged her to his chest. “Shhh.”
“Neal, why don’t you hand her to me, so at least she’ll be safe.”
He hesitated, looking down at all the people, all the cameras.
“Come on, give her to me,” Stan said.
Out of the corner of his eye, Neal could see Stan reaching out for her. They were only a few feet away.
“I didn’t kill my mother-in-law!”
“I don’t know anything about that. I’m here because I’m concerned about you and your little girl. Why don’t you just hand her to me?”
Neal turned and looked at Stan. “Don’t you get it? She’s
Stan looked confused. “Who’s evil?”
