He stepped out on the ledge once again, trembling. He gazed at the million lit candles far below, heard the whoosh of the surf crashing onto the rocks.
“Just fly, Evan…”
“You mean like this?” He spread out his arms.
“Yes,” his angel said, “just like that.”
He wanted to, he told himself. He really did. He wanted to end it, end the pain and hurt; end the confusion and the voice and all the disappointment that he knew he caused. His mom and dad had turned him over to the police. They had abandoned him. Put him away. How can people who love you betray you? This was the way…
He took another step, leaning forward.
But he couldn’t. He just stared out at the lights and started to cry. He realized how mistaken he had been. The things he’d done. His part in the hurt he had caused. He flashed to his mother and father. He imagined what it would be like, their hearing the news, and instead of relief and joy, he saw how devastated they would be. How, through it all, they still loved him. Through the cursing and the anger and the fights, that’s what he saw there.
They loved him.
And he loved them.
This wasn’t the way.
“I can’t,” he said, stepping back from the edge. “I can’t.”
“Just let God take you, Evan. I’m your angel. You know that, don’t you?”
“No.” He shook his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I want to go home.”
“You cowardly little shit,” the voice said, her tone hardening. “Do what you’re fucking up here for. Do what you have to do.”
“No!” He turned and stared, and suddenly saw an ugly, foreign face, a woman he had never seen before. Not his angel. Not his inner voice. “Who are you?”
“I’m not your little angel, you ignorant shit.” The woman’s face was now twisted in disgust. “I’m your hell, boy! And your hell is here. Now do it! You want to die? Well, I’m here to bring you to the promised land. There’s no turning back. Your parents don’t give a shit. They hate you just the way you hate them. Now do what you came here to do.”
“No-I see it now,” he said, the moon illuminating his face, slick with tears. “I came up here to see God. And now I’ve seen him.” He turned to the panoply of lights, the millions of candles assembled before him. “Look, I understand it now. I see-”
“You see nothing, you stupid, drugged-out worm! You wouldn’t know God if he was with you now.”
“He is,” he said, ignoring the taunts. “I can feel him. He’s-”
“Then let him save you,” the woman said. She threw her weight against him, forcing him toward the edge. His heart started to race. He tried to gain his balance, stumbling over a rock, his right foot coming out of his shoe.
“Dad!”
“Your daddy isn’t up here,” the woman said. “Just me. That’s all.” She pushed him again. This time he tried to grab on to her and spun his arms, teetering.
“You want your parents, little boy? You’ll be with them soon enough. Tell him that, Evan. When you see God. Tell him Mommy and Daddy are on the way.”
She taunted him again. He tried to latch onto her, the angel he had trusted, but found only air.
He stared down at the bottom, terrified. “Mom!”
She pushed him one last time, and he spun, seeing clearly now that the lights weren’t candles at all, but streets, homes, cars, and that the choir below wasn’t angelic voices, but waves crashing, hitting the rocks.
Yet, instead of fear, something else entered his heart as his arms fluttered, unable to stop his fall.
Something welcoming. For the first time, a kind of attachment.
Everything seemed to reach out to him in a friendly way.
Mom, Dad…
He reached out, trying to grab on to them.
But it was only the night he held, the endless starry night.
“You killed him! ” Gabby stared uncomprehendingly at Susan, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You killed my son.”
“I merely did what the gutless little shit didn’t have the balls to do himself,” Susan Pollack replied. “I showed him the way.”
I heard this, pressed against the front door, having crossed the courtyard to Charlie’s apartment. Susan Pollack’s spiteful re-creation of Evan’s death, and Gabby’s heartbroken reply.
I had the dead officer’s gun with me.
The curtains were drawn, but the door was still slightly ajar, and I could hear what was happening inside. I prayed that the cabbie had done what I’d begged him to and called the police. Through a slit in the curtains, I saw Dev and Susan Pollack holding guns on Charlie and Gabby.
I was the only one who could help them now.
“You’re not an angel,” Gabby said, her gaze blazing like a furnace bursting with hate. “You’re a monster. You
