Transcendence

with even braver actions.” She motions the gun toward the edge of the roof. “Whether you go over on your own or need a little ‘encouragement’ makes no difference to me.”

Griffon stumbles on the gravel as Giacomo pushes him toward the edge where Alessandra fell so many years ago. It feels as if everything is happening in slow motion. This can’t be real.

As they walk, Veronique follows them with her eyes, the gun firmly gripped in her outstretched hand. “I hope you really understand what you’re about to lose,” she says, not looking at me. “Any last words for Griffon? Everyone deserves the mercy of a proper good-bye. That’s more mercy than you showed to me and Alessandra.”

“You can’t kill him!” I scream, watching Veronique aim the gun at Griffon’s head again.

“Oh, but I can,” Veronique says flatly. “I have to. It’s the only way to even things up so that we can all move on. I think popular psychology would call it ‘closure.’”

I’m even more unprepared this time as the sound of the gun echoes off the buildings around us. Griffon jerks back as the bullet hits him and he falls back over the waist-high railing. My screams rush through my ears as I lunge forward, knowing it’s already too late. “No!”

Veronique grabs my left arm as I try to twist away from her toward the railing. The pain is blinding, and I can feel the newly attached nerves and tendons straining and tearing where her hands are holding tight. Just as I feel like I’m going to pass out, everything seems to move into slow motion. I feel energy flowing between us where our bodies are touching. I’m slipping into a memory, but this time, I’m not alone. Somehow Veronique is with me.

As Signore Barone leans over the edge of the roof to show me the lights of the city, his right arm tightens around my neck until breathing becomes uncomfortable. I reach up in shock when I see him looking down at me, hatred and disgust flashing in his dark eyes. He turns so that his back is to the railing and all of my weight is now supported on his arm. I can hear myself gasping for air, and I claw at his hands, but it makes no difference.

“It’s your fault they want to force Alessandra out of the troupe,” he says, spittle flying from his mouth. “If you hadn’t arrived, her career would still be on the rise!” He turns around so that I am now hanging half over the railing, and I can see the light-colored cobblestones far below. There is a loud ringing in my ears and my vision is fading when I hear a commotion behind him.

“Papa! What are you doing!” Alessandra cries, and I can feel her weight on him as she tries to pry his arm from around my neck.

“Get away!” he yells. “Go back downstairs. This has nothing to do with you. I’m only acting for your own good.” His grip loosens just a little as he pushes her back onto the gravel roof, giving me two or three desperate breaths of air. In seconds she is up again, flying at the two of us.

“This is not the way!” she yells. As she fights with him, Signore Barone brings his arm back to fling her off, but misjudges his own strength. As he pushes her, she loses her balance, and in seconds she has disappeared over the railing, her screams echoing back up to us as she falls.

“No!” he shouts, the noise a primitive, animal cry. I turn to look down, and see that her arms and legs are bent at unnatural angles and watch the dark pool spreading out underneath her across the hard stone walkway.

Signore Barone reaches over the railing as if he can still catch her falling figure. I scream her name, not believing what I’m seeing. Before he can turn on me, I run for the stairwell door, in time to meet a crowd of men rushing up from below.

My memory clears, and I see Veronique on her hands and knees a few feet away, her back arching and falling as she struggles for breath, Giacomo standing over her, looking lost. As she sits back on her knees, I can see the gun is still gripped in her right hand. I sit up and look frantically around for Griffon, but he’s nowhere on the roof.

Suddenly, I don’t care about Veronique. I don’t care about the gun. I’m only focused on one thing. I race to the edge where I saw him last, prepared to see a repeat of the same scene I saw so many decades ago, knowing that if he’s gone, there’s nothing left for me here.

I hear scraping noises even before I reach the edge and look over. Griffon is hanging from a ledge about three feet down from the railing, holding on with his upper body while his feet swing wildly underneath him as he tries to get a foothold to pull himself up. There’s a gash on his cheek and blood is dripping down the side of his face, but I feel an enormous sense of relief. He’s alive.

“Griffon!” I yell.

Griffon looks up at me. His shoes scrape the brick wall. “I can’t get back up.”

“Hang on,” I say. He’s only a few feet from me, but too far for me to reach from this side. I wrap my left arm around an opening and ease myself over the railing, the pain increasing as I put pressure on it, but there’s no other way. Bracing my feet against the outside of the railing, I lean down, my right arm outstretched as far as possible. “Can you grab my hand?”

“No. I’ll pull you over,” he says, his words coming in short bursts from the effort of hanging on. “It’s too dangerous.”

I can see his fingers turning white where they’re gripping the ledge. He can’t keep this up much longer. “No, you won’t,” I say quickly. My breath is coming in gasps. “There’s no other choice. Let go and grab my hand. I’ll pull you up.”

Griffon hesitates, and I see him look down at the ground far below.

“Do it,” I say. “Grab my hand.” I reach down another few inches, my fingers about two feet from his face. If he lets go and doesn’t take my hand, he’ll fall for sure. We only have one shot at this. “Just let go quickly. Don’t look down.”

Griffon looks into my eyes, and a sense of calm seems to come over him. I tighten my grip on the railing just as he lets go with his left hand and wraps his fingers around my wrist. The force of his weight pulls me off balance for a second, and I close my eyes as I pull with everything I’ve got, knowing that the next few seconds can change everything forever. The strain on my arm starts to ease as Griffon uses my leverage to swing his feet up onto the ledge, and he reaches over and grabs for the railing. In one motion, he pushes me back over the railing to the safety of the roof and then jumps over after me.

I grab at Griffon as we sprawl in the gravel, feeling his relief as he pulls me into him. I close my eyes and feel vibrations, his breathing in time with my own, the rightness of it all reaching down deep beyond logic and understanding. I’ve been listening to meaningless words when all along I should have been paying attention to the feelings inside of me that always speak the truth. In an instant I know that Griffon isn’t rogue, and he isn’t lying. What he wants is to be with me.

I look up and see Veronique and Giacomo about six feet away. She looks dazed as she glances over at us as if she’s just realized we’re there, the gun hanging limply at her side. Griffon jumps up, pushing me behind him, and I can feel him ready to run at her.

“Wait,” I say to him quietly, putting my hand on his arm. “Just wait.”

“Veronique?” Giacomo calls to her, obviously unsure about what to do next. I see the devotion in his eyes and realize that he’ll do anything for her. He’ll obey every order. He’ll stay with her even though she’s spent her life looking for another love. And I have no doubt he’d kill for her, too.

She ignores him. “What was that?” Veronique turns to me, fear in her voice. Her face is drawn, and she looks suddenly older. “I was with you. I felt the breath being forced from your lungs. I saw Barone’s anger. I saw … I saw Alessandra die.” She licks her lips and stares at me. “But how? I wasn’t there when it happened.”

I look at the gun she’s holding loosely in one hand. I might be able to grab it if she’s distracted. “But I was,” I say, breathing heavily, my left arm throbbing in pain. Griffon silently squeezes my right hand, a gesture of unspoken encouragement. “And what you saw was what really happened.”

“And you were telling the truth? The newspapers didn’t lie? It was Barone who…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

“It was Barone who tried to kill me,” I say. “But he killed Alessandra by mistake.”

Veronique shakes her head as tears stream down her face. She raises her eyes to mine, and I can see the hatred replaced by the depths of the pain she feels from losing Alessandra. For her, it’s as if it has just happened. “I don’t deserve to finish this,” she says, and turns the gun on herself, the barrel trembling where she holds it against her chest.