The MPs were on the final landing, headed for the rooftop. They were big and strong. They could hold Gerry and make him safe. All they had to do was—
“We just have to hang on a few more seconds.” Megan’s arm felt like fire had invaded the joint. “Just a little longer.” Tears blurred her vision and she knew she was crying. God! Why? Why have You abandoned us?
The blood from the scratches along her forearm threaded down her hand and onto Gerry’s. The grip they shared became slick and uncertain.
“I’m falling!” Gerry screamed. “I’m falling!”
“No,” Megan said, stifling the urge she had to scream as well. “I’ve got you, Gerry. I’ve got you.” She felt the rooftop shake under her as the MPs raced toward them. “Just don’t let go. Don’t let go, Gerry.”
Thin as a whisper, silent as snow, gone in the blink of an eye, Gerry’s hand slipped through hers.
“No!” Megan screamed as she felt his fingers glide through the blood that coated her hand.
Gerry wailed in terror. And he fell, plummeting toward the unyielding concrete in front of the apartment building.
17
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 1:21 A.M.
Time slowed as Megan watched Gerry Fletcher fall. Time slowed but never stopped, moving inexorably on in horrifying tiny ticks rather than in a brain-numbing rush.
Gerry dropped like a rock, tumbling over backward, his arms stretched out and reaching helplessly for a handhold, his legs bicycling. A scream stretched the boy’s mouth wide, but Megan couldn’t hear it over her own yell of anguish. She’d had him … and she’d lost him.
Why, God? Why did You let both of us come up on this roof tonight? If everything happens for a reason, if I’m supposed to believe that, what good was it for Gerry to be up here? Why did I have to be up here? The last bit was selfish. She knew that and regretted the thought in the same moment she had it.
Gerry tumbled, turning to face away from her.
Tears blurred Megan’s vision. She blinked them away unconsciously, and when she opened her eyes again, she saw Gerry hit the ground. At least, she thought the boy had hit the ground. But looking down now, she knew that something was wrong.
The pile of clothes at the bottom of the building didn’t look big enough to be a boy. They only looked big enough to be—to be a pile of clothes.
That’s denial, Megan told herself, knowing that had to be true because nothing else made sense. My mind is shutting out the real sight of Gerry down there, shutting out the true image of blood and broken pavement. He fell. He hit. O God, what have I done? Why did You forsake us? He was just a baby.
The two MPs on the rooftop grabbed Megan’s legs. She hadn’t even noticed she’d still been falling, skidding slowly but surely over the side of the roof. Gerry’s certain death had paralyzed even the lizard’s instinct for survival in the back of her brain.
“Mrs. Gander,” one of the MPs said. “Mrs. Gander, relax. We’ve got you. It’s over.”
Stubbornly, Megan clung to the roof’s edge. One of the MPs guarding Boyd Fletcher ran toward the impact area. Impact area? Is that what you call it? She didn’t know how she could be so callous. The MP reached the pile of clothes and stared down. His head swiveled around, looking for something.
“Where is he?” Boyd Fletcher yelled. “Where is Gerry? I saw him up there. She hid him. Check the rooftop. He can’t have gone far.” He struggled to get to his feet, but the MP holding him down never moved, grinding him down on his face.
In the end, Megan couldn’t hold on to the roof’s edge. The MPs proved too strong. They talked softly to her, like she was a child or a trauma victim. Shaking and shivering, not certain that she was strong enough to walk on her own two feet, Megan allowed the men to hold her from either side.
“Mrs. Gander.”
Megan tracked the voice, turning to the man on the right when she wanted to go look over the roof’s edge again. It’s only clothes. Only clothes. And that made no sense at all.
“Yes?” Her voice came out as a croak.
“Are you all right, ma’am?”
She tried to speak, found she couldn’t, then tried again. “I think so.”
“Do you feel strong enough to take the stairs, ma’am? If not, we can probably get a rescue unit to come take you off the roof. It would be a lot easier if you could make it under your own steam.” The MP was in his fifties, a black man gone gray at the temples, with a seamed face that offered strength and support.
Megan nodded.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I need you to audibly answer me. I need to know that you understand what I’m asking.” The MP’s grip on her arm was gentle but firm.
“Yes,” Megan said. “I can walk.”
“Then—when you’re ready, ma’am.”
Megan started forward, aiming for the fire escape.
“Have you got her, Dave?” the other, younger MP asked. “I gotta look for that kid.”
“Yeah,” the big MP answered. “I can make it. If not, we’ll stop partway down and you can catch up, or one of the others can come up here.”
Megan stopped and turned to the younger MP. “What did you say you were going to do?” She couldn’t believe she stopped, but what the man had said had jarred her.
The man stared at her. “I’m gonna look for that kid, Mrs. Gander. Do you know where he got off to?”
Megan made herself breathe out. “His name is Gerry.” That was important. He wasn’t just some chattel of Boyd’s, a possession; he wasn’t just his abusive father’s property.
“Yes, ma’am,” the MP answered politely. “I’ve gotta look for Gerry.”
“He fell,” Megan said. God, he slipped right through my fingers. How could You allow something like that to happen? “He’s down there on the pavement.”
“No, ma’am,” the young
