The waitress arrived and I took a breath, happy to have something new to focus on. But when the waitress left, the thoughts started coming in waves. I ate breadsticks. Savored every bite. Focused on the crunch, the crumbs melting on my tongue. I’d never taken such pleasure in a breadstick, never focused my entire being on a bite.

  Suddenly, Rachel’s foot was rubbing against mine. She’d taken it out of the boot. I felt her stockings sliding up my pant leg. Nylon on flesh.

  Rachel slowly took a bite of her breadstick, like she was going to make it explode in her mouth. It was weird and a little sexy. Sexy was just fine. Meant I didn’t have to think about the cave, my escape. I put my hand on her foot, brought it up between my legs.

  The waitress came back, pretended like she forgot something and left. Her thoughts calling out: Why do the perverts always sit in my section?

  At some point during dinner it started to sleet, and by the time we hit the sidewalk, we could barely keep our balance, the wind howling in the night. I wasn’t drunk, but I’d had a glass of wine at Rachel’s insistence. I figured it’d give me courage for the long night ahead. But with the ground covered in ice, my escape would have to wait. Climbing down a dry rope was treacherous enough.

  “Joe, what are you thinking?”

  Shit. “We should get inside.”

  “Yeah.”

  The wind was so loud I couldn’t hear Rachel’s thoughts. Prayed she hadn’t heard mine.

  The sex was odd. First, we’re tearing off each other’s clothes, the next, I’m underneath her and Sara pops into my head.

  Rachel touched my cheek.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s natural. Let’s just focus on us.”

  The Cabin had broken the old Rachel, left this kind-hearted creature behind. I wondered if some time in The Cabin was just what I needed.

  In between licks on my chest, Rachel said, “You. Really. Don’t.”

  Afterwards we stretched out, caught our breath. Then Rachel got up to pee. Two steps later she cried out. “What the hell’s all over the floor?”

  Rachel navigated through the jagged pieces of broken gifts I hadn’t fully swept. The pieces to Dad’s puzzle. I thought Rachel was out of range, but when she came back, her body haloed by the bathroom light, she said, “I want to see it.”

  “Rachel, I don’t think—”

  “Yes, you do. You want to show me.”

  Fucking telepaths.

  I got up, threw on some underwear because my dick had shriveled like a snail, and there’s something not right about holding a shotgun buck naked. I stepped into the closet, reached up to the top shelf, where it was hidden behind a bunch of Dad’s boxes.

  All shiny and ready for action.

  “Can I hold it?”

  I knew there weren’t any cameras in my room. The Boots would have come the night I’d assembled it.

  “Be careful.”

  “It’s heavy.” Rachel pretended like she was going to drop it, but caught it and laughed.

  “Don’t mess around.”

  “Why? Scared?”

  Rachel pointed the gun at my chest. I couldn’t remember if I’d taken out the shells.

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Kinda is.” She aimed at my dick.

  So kind-hearted, so fucking crazy.

  “Just give it to me,” I said.

  Rachel backed me up and I fell onto the bed. She grinned like a child who’d found her Christmas presents. “Tell me about the mine,” she said.

  Rachel, shut up.

  Tell me about the cave.

  Rachel knew I wasn’t going to say shit, not with her pointing the shotgun at me, so she handed it over. I thought about hitting her with it like a baseball bat.

  In this little girl voice, she said, “Please don’t hit me, Mister.”

  The tension broke into laughter.

  Truth was I wanted to tell her. Sara was the only person who knew and she thought it was the dumbest thing that had ever clanged around my head. So I silently told Rachel everything. How I’d found it, traveled down the shaft in the dark, seen the drop-off, covered it back up with rocks. We both figured the Boots and the Council never knew it was even there, it’d probably been covered up before we arrived.

  Rachel sat next to me, and I realized I wanted her to come along. Didn’t want to do it alone. I needed someone to help me down the two hundred feet and Rachel used to rock climb. Before I could even ask, Rachel said:

  “Yes.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Our accelerated relationship took off again. Rachel and I were already gone in our heads, already free, lying on some beach, our sweat glistening in the sun. But she had to meet with Sharon every day. Had a daily check-in to make sure she was still on the mend. I worried Rachel would slip, our plans landing right in Sharon’s head. We’d both end up in The Cabin, this time forever.

  “You don’t have to worry,” Rachel said. “Listen.” She closed her eyes. “What am I thinking?”

  I zeroed in, but heard nothing. No mantra, no hum, just silence, like Danny.

  “You’re too far,” I said.

  Rachel pressed herself against me. I listened. Still nothing.

  She stepped back, curtseyed. “I learned it in The Cabin. That’s why they let me out. Nothing but a blank slate.”

  “How?”

  “Something about the pills. I can just shut it off now.”

  I thought back to the howling wind outside Oscar’s, how I couldn’t hear her thoughts, but it wasn’t the noise. She just wasn’t letting me in.

  I asked if she could get me some of the pills to see if they might work for me. She said she’d try, but it probably wouldn’t happen. The medicine was locked up in The Cabin. Always a guard posted.

  We focused on the plan, focused on training. Rachel said if I was going to do this I had to get more comfortable with heights. We started with a few thirty-foot drops near the pond. Then we moved on to her building, had me lean out her window on the fifth floor. When a Brightsider passed underneath, I sprayed Windex on the window, pretended to clean. All of it made my heart feel like it was going to pop. My lungs closed. Everything tunneled. But I had to keep pressing, pushing myself higher.

  By Day 99, I was ready for a rooftop. My office stood seven stories high. The final test before our escape.

  I woke early, already sweating, picturing the fall, my face splattering. Rachel asked if I was afraid of falling or landing.

  “What’s the difference?”

  Rachel said, “Landing means you don’t want to die. Falling means you’re a pussy.”

  I didn’t answer, but we both knew which category I fit into.

  Rachel asked if I wanted her to go up there with me for moral support. I told her no, this was something I had to do alone. Plus, rooftops were completely off-limits to anyone not in maintenance, which was why after Rachel left for her meeting with Sharon, I had to see Danny, even though Sara warned me if I ever came around, she’d turn me in, tell Sharon, the Council, anyone who would listen. She’d tell them I’d found a way out.

  Danny was technically a janitor, but all the maintenance men wore the same uniform. I watched from down below, hiding behind a tree, hiding from the rain, as Sara handed Danny his lunch. He’d done the buttons wrong again on his coveralls and Sara quickly fixed them. They came out of their building. Danny waved that pencil-clenched fist at her and headed to work.

  I cut him off.

  “Joe!”

  “Hey, Danny.”

  “Where you been, Joe?”

  “Sorry, I’ve been busy. But I brought you something.” I pulled out another drawing. Billy Bass, Danny, and Sara singing.

  “Joe!”

  Seeing how excited Danny was almost made me smile. “You like it?”

  Danny sounded like he was going to burst. “Best one.”

  “Good, that’s good,” I said. “Now, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor?”

  “Anything, Joe.”

  “I need one of your uniforms.”

  “You’re too big.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s for a…game.”

  “Can I play?”

  “Eventually, but I’m still working out the rules.”

  Danny’s eyes got all wide and weird. I was trying to control my thoughts, but something slipped.

  “Why are you going to the roof, Joe?”

  I pulled him close, whispered, “I’m trying to challenge myself. Some personal improvement.”

  “Like your jogging?”

  “Just like that. Now can you help me out?”

  Danny thought about it for a second, pictured his boss, Larry, yelling at him, but when he looked down at the drawing, his head started bobbing.

  “Okay.”

  Danny started taking off his coveralls right there in the open.

  “No, no, one of your spares.”

  He said okay and we walked back to his place. My drawings covered the walls. He’d kept every one, tacked them up like a museum.

  Danny went to the closet, pulled out his spare uniform. He started to give it to me, but pulled it back. He was thinking about how I’d been avoiding him, angry at me for being such a crappy friend.

  I told him I’d make it up to him.

  “Can we have a party?” Danny asked.

  “Sure.”

  “What’s your favorite cake?”

  “I don’t know, whatever you like.”

  He handed me the uniform. “No, what you like.”

  “Okay, Angel Food.”

  “It’s spongy, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s spongy. But now I have to go.”

  Danny sounded pretty sad when he said, “Okay.”

  I got to the door and Danny stared at me.

  Be safe, Joe.

  I told him I would.

  * * *

  Break was to be taken at ten o’clock, but it had stopped raining and I didn’t want to risk waiting another twenty minutes. Sara was meeting with Carlos. I couldn’t let her know.

  The stairwell was silent, not a noise above or below. It was for emergencies only, definitely not breaks, something Carlos loved reminding everyone.

  I peeked over the railing, made sure I was alone, then headed up the stairs. There was a padlock on the roof access door, but I’d also borrowed one of Danny’s keys.

  Quickly, I slipped on Danny’s spare coveralls and matching hat, both two sizes too small.

  The Council had ruled the roof off-limits after Paul’s plunge. It was stupid to argue something could be completely fine one day, a liability the next. The roof was a roof. It wasn’t safe or unsafe. It just was. Just like a rope. A knife.

  Puddles covered the rooftop. It’d been warmer these last few days. I wondered if it’d stay this way.

  I told myself to stop thinking, time was running out. I needed to get back to my desk. There was a folding chair leaning against the wall where they kept the air conditioners. I took my first step, and even though I was nowhere near the ledge, I was already soaking Danny’s coveralls with my sweat.

  Baby steps.

  I moved over to the folding chair. Stepping up, even against the wall, made me dizzy. I looked out at the mountains toward the cemetery, couldn’t see a thing with the sun peeking over the top, my eyes useless without my sunglasses.

  It wasn’t a great feeling knowing the Rangers could see me, but not so bad I’d be a good little citizen and go back downstairs. I needed to do this. I kept my hand on the wall at first then slowly peeled it away, just me standing on the chair, high above it all.

  It wasn’t enough. I didn’t come here for the view so I got down, moved my chair a bit further. Closer to the tiny concrete ledge that spanned the front of the building. Closer to the ledge Paul said he tripped on.

  If I couldn’t beat my fear of heights, Day 100 would become 200 then 300. I’d never leave.

  I focused on the piece of duct tape on the pipe eight feet from the ledge. I wiped my hand on my pants. As brave as I could, I took the chair across to the strip of silver. My next goal.

  I’d like to say it was easy, that I walked right up to that line and put down my chair, but that’d be a lie. It took a minute, maybe two, to get the chair there, only a second to sit my ass down, get closer to the solid roof.

  The map Rachel had made crinkled in my back pocket. I took it out, held it tight as a gust of wind blew across the roof. I opened the map, looked at it until my heart stopped thumping, until I knew every line, could see every squiggle. Every road within five miles.

  I folded the paper in half two times. Then I ripped it again and again until there was no piece bigger than a stamp. I threw my hand in the air, let the wind carry most of the pieces away, the rest floating down onto the roof, soaking up the water.

  I was doing pretty good right then, didn’t feel nervous at all. Without a second thought, I scooped up the chair and duck-walked two feet, stopped about six from the ledge. My safe spot.

  The move didn’t do much to me, I was doing okay, my breaths still rapid, but not out of control. Still, I had to go all the way. Today wasn’t the day to do anything half-ass. Not when it could mean getting my head blown off because I couldn’t climb out of the mineshaft.

  I wasn’t scared. My father’s voice in my head, Be a man!

  The ledge was right there, close enough to touch. The building was less than a year old, but the foot-high hunk of concrete looked like it’d been slapped on as an afterthought.

  I told myself not to freak out, that I was fine. Nothing was going to come along and push me off the chair, send me over the ledge. I was safe. I was doing it. I was being a man.

  Somehow I got my right foot on the ledge, pressed on it a little to check for some give. I didn’t feel any.

  I looked to the sky, figured this should be the part I got rained on. Maybe a thunderstorm, the world’s biggest flashflood, something to come and fling me off the roof, sending me to oblivion or a fancy wheelchair.

  A long time ago, I learned God doesn’t answer prayers.

  If I wanted something done, I was going to have to do it. Before I could chicken out, I reached forward, put my hand on the ledge, the wet concrete, a rough slickness.

  My heart was thumping like I’d run a mile, but I was holding onto the ledge. I straightened my legs, got my ass out of the chair. I took a step closer.

  I was shivering, clutching that ledge like it was the only thing stopping me from going over. Scared shitless like a little kid. Scared of the American flag, snapping in the air.

  Every day since my first one, I’d given myself two options; leave Brightside or else. But I couldn’t do either one stuck on my knees.

  I squeezed the ledge tighter, holding my breath without even knowing it. I blew out and took three quick ones, made my heart slow down. I was twenty-eight years old. I could let go of the ledge. I could lean over and look down. Look down eighty feet, the wet sidewalk below, the exact spot Paul landed.

  The wind kept on coming, the red, white, and blue firing whack, whack, whack. I was getting up. One way or another, I was getting on that ledge. If I couldn’t, I couldn’t do anything.

  I kept both hands on the concrete, my eyes on the flag, forced one foot up. I brought my other foot underneath me, had both on the ledge. I put my hand on my chest, felt my heart trying to break through.

  There was no one around that could hear me, but I said, “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. And to the Republic for which it stands.”

  And I was. I was standing so high above it all!

  I squinted my eyes as the wind whipped at my face. “One nation. Under God. Indivisible. With liberty and justice for all.”

  From somewhere in my head, my father’s voice, Do it!

  I’m not sure what happened, but I wasn’t scared. Of Dad. Of falling. Of anything. Dad couldn’t hear me, but I said, “Sorry. Not today.”

  Then I heard Mom’s voice, Come on, Superman. Let’s see you fly.

  I flipped them off with both hands, middle fingers to them and the world.

  Fuck them. Fuck Brightside. I was tired of getting picked on, told what to do. I’d stand on the ledge all goddamn night.

  A few Brightsiders took notice from across the Square.

  I remained perfectly still, wondered who else was watching me openly oppose a Council sanction. The seconds ticked and the wind whipped, threatened to tip me over the edge. The longer I stood, the more ridiculous it got. I was being childish and irresponsible. I had a job to get back to, at least for a while, and I had the plan.

  And then all of a sudden a woman shrieked from behind. “Joe! Don’t!”

  I turned to see who it was and my right shoe went back too far, the heel hanging off the ledge taking my weight with it. Sara screamed my name again and ran toward me from the doorway. I began to fall.

  Everything switched to slow motion. My arms wheeling, Sara running, no way she’d make it in time.

  I lowered my center of gravity and leaned forward, but my right shoe slipped off, took my left foot and the rest of me with it. I threw my arms out and they slammed onto the ledge, my chin bouncing off the concrete with a loud crunch. Blood filled my mouth.

  I thought I might make it then my weight pulled me down, nothing for my hands to grab on. Sara kept running, about ten feet away, the sharp corner digging into my fingertips.

  Like I wasn’t trying to with everything I had, Sara shouted, “Hold on, Joe! Hold on!”

  I blocked the pain and scissored the air trying to find the wall in front of me. My grip was almost gone, fingers bleeding, feet coming up short.

  Sara skidded to a stop and grabbed hold of my hands just as my fingers gave way. My right hand slipped through hers, but she held onto my left, her nails sinking into my forearm.

  She yanked on my arm with both hands, but I was dropping inch by inch. I threw up my right hand and gripped the outside of the ledge. It stopped my descent, but it wouldn’t last long. My weight had already pulled Sara to the ledge and if I didn’t do something, I’d be taking her with me.

  I kicked my legs one more time and my right foot struck the smooth brick. There was a loud snap like concrete cracking and gravity kept pulling me down, but I held on, the tips of both shoes now pressed against the wall.