through his right leg – it was the knife again; he was sure Bryan had just slashed him because his leg felt as if it were on fire – but then he was over, slamming down onto the terrace floor, rolling all the way until he flipped into the cast-iron table. Without hesitating, he was up on his feet.
Bryan had regained his balance. He was on his knees, still two feet from the ledge. He was moving slowly, careful not to make a misstep. He was on his feet now, and as he faced Jack, his expression was one of murderous rage. Jack knew that Bryan thought he was running, that he was expecting Jack to head for the front door and the stairway, anything to get out of the apartment. But that wasn't Jack's intention. He wasn't running. He wasn't going to leave Grace. There would be no what-if this time. There would be no more deaths.
No. Jack knew that wasn't true. There would be one more.
Their eyes met and now Bryan seemed to be the one paralyzed. Standing on the wall, he watched, transfixed, as Jack made no move to turn and run, simply stood his ground and stared back at him. Bryan smiled because Jack was waiting for him, was going to take him on, was going to meet him man-to-man, and, making sure the knife was tightly in his grip, he took one more step forward…
Jack took one step, too. He went to the barbell that sat on the terrace in the middle of the workout equipment.
This is a clean, Kid had said. The hardest lift there is.
Jack bent down.
The only thing holding you back is fear. He could hear Kid urging him on. You're strong enough to get rid of the fear. You're strong enough now. Right now.
Jack started to look at the weights on the end of the barbell.
Don't ask how heavy it is, Jack. It doesn't matter.
He gripped the bar, his hands shoulder-width apart.
You're strong enough now. Right now.
He lifted the weight up to his waist.
You are fucking Arnold.
He bent his knees, breathed in, made a sudden shift, and then the weight was above his head.
You are Hercules Unchained.
His legs wobbled but stayed firm. His arms were crooked at the elbow.
He remembered all the pain. Lying in the hospital and feeling broken. Realizing that Caroline was no longer with him, that he'd never see or touch her again. He remembered sitting in the wheelchair, crippled, and the agony and the fear that came with his struggle to once again become whole. He remembered Kid telling him he didn't just want him to be back to normal, he wanted him to be better than normal. He remembered the glory of taking off his brace and being pain-free. He remembered the Entertainer's lifeless body floating in the tub and the expression of pure horror on Samsonite's lips, her throat slashed inches away from him. He could feel McCoy's body tumbling out of the closet onto him and he envisioned Dom, his beloved Dom, being hacked to death by a lunatic who didn't know the difference between love and hate or life and death. He heard the explosions in the office in Charlottesville. Felt his life slipping away. Heard the doctor telling him that Caroline would not be coming to see him. Caroline was dead. And now he was looking at her murderer! Jack remembered running his hand over Grace's body and making love to her in the dark.
Jack Keller looked straight into the eyes of the madman who was standing on the wall, looking confused, waiting to see what he was going to do.
You're strong enough now, he told himself.
Right now.
'Bryan,' Jack said. 'Catch.'
His knees bent, giving him the leverage he needed, then they snapped straight up. As they did Jack tossed the two hundred pounds of weight into the air, straight at Bryan Bishop. Bryan's hands reached out and his fingers curled around the barbell before it could reach him. He caught it, brought it to his body, and stood facing Jack, a thin smile lighting up his face, waiting for Jack to acknowledge his amazing act of strength. Then he realized what Jack had done. He realized that his amazing strength had just killed him.
The momentum of the barbell staggered Bryan. He bent back, way back, first his head, then his neck and shoulders, then his legs.
He couldn't keep his balance. He couldn't stop moving backward. He was shaking his head in disbelief. It didn't seem right. He was so close. He'd been so smart. It had been such a good plan.
Bryan's bad knee buckled now and he could no longer stay on his feet.
Jack saw one foot step backward, find nothing but air. Bryan's eyes widened. Then his other foot went back. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
And then he disappeared.
– '-'-'JACK WASTED NO time jumping up onto the ledge of the wall but he did not look to see Bryan's fall.
He moved carefully but quickly. One step then another. He made it almost all the way to the next rooftop, stopped, and bent down. He straddled the ledge with his legs, put his hand down and said, 'Take my hand.' When Grace didn't move, couldn't move, he just repeated it, very quietly, 'Take my hand,' he said. 'Now. I won't let you fall.'
He saw her close her eyes, saw her broken hand raise up toward him. When he grabbed it, he heard her gasp, but he had her and didn't let go. She reached her other hand up in the air and he grabbed that, too, slowly pulled her up, straining, fighting to keep his balance, but nothing bad was going to happen now, that he knew, this was the easy part, and then they were both on the ledge. He did not care about the street below. His head was clear and he realized the edge had lost its ability to call out to him, to grab him and pull him over. He was stronger than that. He was stronger than anything.
Still holding Grace's hand, he stood her up and they slowly walked back to his terrace.
Jack felt the heat of the sun now. And he once again heard the noise of the traffic from so far down below.
He watched as she stepped onto the terrace floor. Then he followed. They were hugging, her face buried in his chest, and he stroked her hair and told her she was safe. Told her they had won.
Jack Keller held her tight and told her that, at last, there was nothing more to fear.
BOOK FIVE
AFTER THE FALL
ONE WEEK LATER
FIFTY-ONE
When he was through with the police and the extraordinary crush of media that swarmed all over him, turning him into their hero of the moment – frontpage stories in every paper, television cameras outside the entrance to his apartment building, a blind offer of a book deal from three publishers, and calls from two agents and a network seeing if he was interested in a television movie about his life – Jack took a taxi down to the lower tip of Manhattan, boarded the Staten Island ferry, and took the boat over to go to Kid's grave.
Grace had asked if she could go with him and he agreed. They didn't talk on the ride over; both stood on the top deck watching the waves and letting the cool spray of the water wet their faces. At some point, their fingers touched and intertwined and they held hands until they landed on the other side.
Jack didn't know exactly what this trip was meant to accomplish but he felt it was necessary. As he stared down at the simple headstone that said 'George 'Kid' Demeter,' he thought of Dom saying they'd been to too many funerals. And he thought of Kid saying that, in his world, everyone was a Slash. Everyone wanted to be someone else. Everyone pretended to be what they weren't. Everybody angry and trying to escape their own skins, reaching for some elusive goal that was meant to provide a simple answer and hand over the greatest prize of all: happiness.
