Page 91 of The Death Row Club
I run.
As fast as I can, toward the other end of the bridge. But even as the muscles in my legs begin to burn, my lungs cramping from the effort, I know it’s no use. She’s stomped down on the accelerator, and there’s no way I’ll be able to outrun my own car. The light grows brighter and brighter as she closes in on me. I pitch the axe at the front tire, hoping a flat might slow her down, but it ricochets off the bumper instead.Shit. I could throw myself against the railing as she’s driving past, but there’s nothing stopping her from slamming the car into reverse and pinning me between the trunk and the barrier.
That’s when I know what I need to do.
Maybe the road has always been leading here—ever since I threw that portable ladder out of my apartment window and decided to start running. I’ve taken some detours, sure, but this, right here, has always been my spot on the map. Without a second thought, I veer sharply to the left and grab hold of the railing. I haul myself over the edge, pausing for just a moment to take in the soupy emptiness below. I can’t see the river, but I can hear the water thundering against the rocks.
I push off the railing…
I’m falling.
Time slows to a series of clicks, like a projector carousel rotating through family vacation snapshots.Click. A pair of scissors slicing through the AAA brochure as my mom cuts out a photo of Hawaii.Click. The flick of my dad’s lighter as he holds it to his cigarette, jumping shadows hollowing trenches under his eyes.Click. The lock dropping off the shack door right before Tom Woods walks inside.Click.
The beat of my sneakers as I keep moving forward, the sun burning the back of my neck, my socks rubbing a blister on my heel. The open road stretching out as far as the eye can see.
That was it.
The moment I was happiest.
When I finally felt free.
As I plummet toward the river, nothing but sky above and salt below, I think,At least this comes close.
38NICOLA
“GREER!”
My sneakers hit the pavement just as the call rattles through the gorge. All I can see are the railings—the start of the bridge—which disappear into the suffocating mist. My fingers clench; I wish, more than anything, that they were wrapped around the axe handle. Audrey is dangerous. I couldn’t let Greer come here alone. The moment she vanished into the woods, I started counting to a hundred, then set off after her.
I ease my way across the bridge, moisture prickling my skin, cold soaking through my clothes. A shadow begins to emerge—a young woman standing next to the railing, gripping the bar with both hands, leaning over the edge. Her lank ponytail hangs down her back, her T-shirt sagging off her slender frame.
Audrey Banerjee.
I’m so distracted by the sight of her that when I step forward, I don’t notice the uneven crack in the pavement. My sneaker bumps against the ridge; I stumble forward, my soles skidding across the asphalt. Audrey spins around and stares at me—a wild, almost feral look in her eyes. Her chapped lips part, as if to say something, butthen she glances back down into the mist. Like she’s searching for something in the water.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
She steps away from the railing. “She jumped.”
“What?”
“I tried to stop her,” she insists. “I begged her not to do it, but she was convinced the hearing wouldn’t go her way, and she didn’t want to live if her father was gone—”
It’s like the audio mixer in my head has malfunctioned. Her words dampen to a hum at the same time the thundering of the waves amplifies, their roar filling the inside of my skull. Down in the gorge, the breakers hurl themselves—and anything caught in their undertow—against the saw-edged rocks.
Greer wouldn’t. Shewouldn’t. She’d worked too hard to win over the public; even if Audrey came forward with new information, Greer still stood a good chance at getting his sentence commuted. Why would she—
A beam of light glints across steel: the axe lying, discarded, on the concrete. It’s only then that I notice Audrey has stopped talking. I look up and find her eyeing the weapon hungrily.
Her gaze lifts to meet mine.
That’s when I realize the truth.
Greer didn’t jump.
Together, we lunge for the axe, but she’s closer and reaches it first. “I didn’t want it to end this way,” she says, gripping the handle.
I slowly shift backward, but she matches each step. “Then don’t let it. I won’t tell anyone what happened here; we can just go our separate ways.” Light flashes across the blade. “If you kill me now, you’ll be no better than Tom Woods.”
