arcs against the sky like it has wings.
Jake doesn’t move as I sprint toward the bridge, as I jump off the side and drop twenty feet into the river. I expect it to be cold. Instead, the warm water swallows me. I sink until my legs disappear into the wet mud at the bottom. Almost immediately a sharp pain travels up my right leg. When I pull up, it feels like I’ve lost my entire leg. But I still try to swim, to move, to catch even the smallest flicker in the dark water.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I dive down five more times before I finally listen to Mallory and get out of the river. My calf pulses blood, the cut long and deep. When Mallory sees it, her breath catches. Jake doesn’t move.
“Oh, God,” she says, bending over as I limp toward Jake. “What were you thinking?”
I ignore Mallory and shove Jake with both hands, nearly falling.
“What the hell?” He doesn’t answer, but I keep at him. I’m pushing him, trying to force him to react, to do something, even if it means taking a punch. I want to know he’s alive, even a little bit.
Only when I go for the backpack does he come to life, jumping backward and holding it away from me like it might explode. Mallory is shouting, too, trying to get my attention. When she grabs me, I reluctantly face her.
“Thomas, you need to go to the hospital.”
“I’m fine,” I say, turning back to Jake. I want to know why he threw the medals off the bridge. Why he can’t just tell me what’s wrong, what’s happening inside his head. I want to know why he cares more about some damn backpack than what just happened.
She steps back in front of me and points to my leg. “You’re bleeding.”
I try to step around Mallory, but my leg buckles. She tries to look me in the eyes, but I’m so pissed at Jake I can’t focus on anything else. “Hey, hey ,” she says. “You need stitches. And a tetanus shot. We’re going to the hospital.”
“What the hell is he doing?” I ask, finally looking her in the eyes. This softens her face, her words.
She turns and looks at Jake. “I don’t know. But we have to take care of you first. We’ll take him with us, and then . . .” Her voice trails off.
“I shouldn’t even care,” I say.
“Of course you should,” she says. “He’s your brother.”
A lot of good that’s done so far because I can’t shake the feeling that if I had taken even the smallest of actions to help him, we wouldn’t be standing here right now. But what can I do? Even the simplest moves he makes can’t be anticipated. It’s like living with a bomb that could go off in a hundred different ways.
Mallory looks down at my leg.
“But really, that cut. It’s deep.”
“I’m not leaving here without him,” I say. Jake is back near the edge of the bridge, hands on the railing and chin dropped to his chest. He looks like a fighter resting in his corner between rounds.
“Wait here,” she says. I object, try to follow her, but the first step I take sends a shiver of pain up my leg that nearly brings me to the ground. She walks over to Jake, puts a hand on his shoulder. I can’t hear what she’s saying; but he eventually nods, and Mallory walks back to me.
“Okay, let’s go,” she says. “I’m driving.”
“Is he coming?”
“Yeah, he’s coming, but I told him he has to sit in the bed because of your leg.”
“Wait.” I hobble after her. “What did you say to him?”
She pauses but doesn’t turn around as she says, “I told him you needed him.”
The hospital is only a few miles away, and the emergency room is packed with every malady one would expect after midnight. In the corner a man holds a blood-soaked rag over his left eye. A woman cradles a toddler in her arms. Two seats away from me a man dutifully presses an ice pack against his wrist, purple and bulbous. Jake stands against the far wall, naturally camouflaged with the infirm.
Mallory examines my leg from every position she can manage in the seat next to me.
“It’s
Jake doesn’t move as I sprint toward the bridge, as I jump off the side and drop twenty feet into the river. I expect it to be cold. Instead, the warm water swallows me. I sink until my legs disappear into the wet mud at the bottom. Almost immediately a sharp pain travels up my right leg. When I pull up, it feels like I’ve lost my entire leg. But I still try to swim, to move, to catch even the smallest flicker in the dark water.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I dive down five more times before I finally listen to Mallory and get out of the river. My calf pulses blood, the cut long and deep. When Mallory sees it, her breath catches. Jake doesn’t move.
“Oh, God,” she says, bending over as I limp toward Jake. “What were you thinking?”
I ignore Mallory and shove Jake with both hands, nearly falling.
“What the hell?” He doesn’t answer, but I keep at him. I’m pushing him, trying to force him to react, to do something, even if it means taking a punch. I want to know he’s alive, even a little bit.
Only when I go for the backpack does he come to life, jumping backward and holding it away from me like it might explode. Mallory is shouting, too, trying to get my attention. When she grabs me, I reluctantly face her.
“Thomas, you need to go to the hospital.”
“I’m fine,” I say, turning back to Jake. I want to know why he threw the medals off the bridge. Why he can’t just tell me what’s wrong, what’s happening inside his head. I want to know why he cares more about some damn backpack than what just happened.
She steps back in front of me and points to my leg. “You’re bleeding.”
I try to step around Mallory, but my leg buckles. She tries to look me in the eyes, but I’m so pissed at Jake I can’t focus on anything else. “Hey, hey ,” she says. “You need stitches. And a tetanus shot. We’re going to the hospital.”
“What the hell is he doing?” I ask, finally looking her in the eyes. This softens her face, her words.
She turns and looks at Jake. “I don’t know. But we have to take care of you first. We’ll take him with us, and then . . .” Her voice trails off.
“I shouldn’t even care,” I say.
“Of course you should,” she says. “He’s your brother.”
A lot of good that’s done so far because I can’t shake the feeling that if I had taken even the smallest of actions to help him, we wouldn’t be standing here right now. But what can I do? Even the simplest moves he makes can’t be anticipated. It’s like living with a bomb that could go off in a hundred different ways.
Mallory looks down at my leg.
“But really, that cut. It’s deep.”
“I’m not leaving here without him,” I say. Jake is back near the edge of the bridge, hands on the railing and chin dropped to his chest. He looks like a fighter resting in his corner between rounds.
“Wait here,” she says. I object, try to follow her, but the first step I take sends a shiver of pain up my leg that nearly brings me to the ground. She walks over to Jake, puts a hand on his shoulder. I can’t hear what she’s saying; but he eventually nods, and Mallory walks back to me.
“Okay, let’s go,” she says. “I’m driving.”
“Is he coming?”
“Yeah, he’s coming, but I told him he has to sit in the bed because of your leg.”
“Wait.” I hobble after her. “What did you say to him?”
She pauses but doesn’t turn around as she says, “I told him you needed him.”
The hospital is only a few miles away, and the emergency room is packed with every malady one would expect after midnight. In the corner a man holds a blood-soaked rag over his left eye. A woman cradles a toddler in her arms. Two seats away from me a man dutifully presses an ice pack against his wrist, purple and bulbous. Jake stands against the far wall, naturally camouflaged with the infirm.
Mallory examines my leg from every position she can manage in the seat next to me.
“It’s
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