“You’re not listening. Other than the standard shit people say on dating profiles,” I say to Leo.
“How would you know what people say on dating profiles?” Goose asks.
Mara twists around. “Really?”
“Just asking.”
“If you were to take away something from Stella,” I say, searching for the right words, “what thing that if you took it away, you’d be taking part of her away too?”
Leo and Sophie look at each other. The silence is worse than uncomfortable. No one in this room seems to have known Stella at all.
“She loved the water,” Jamie says suddenly. “Loves,” he corrects himself. “She loves the water.”
“She was on the swim team in high school,” Mara says to me. “I remember her saying something about that at . . .”
Horizons.
“What did she say in her video?” I ask Jamie. “Let me see your phone; play it back.”
“The whole thing?”
“Just the last bit.” He hands me his phone. It’s especially eerie now, hearing her voice, knowing what she’s planning to do.
I want all of you to see me do it . . . .
I want your own eyes looking at my eyes when she kills me . . . .
“It’ll be public, like the others,” I say. “Though not exactly the same.” Not a hanging, not jumping in front of the train. Whatever part of Stella still has autonomy is aware of the others. She wants her choice to stand out.
“The river?” Jamie looks at Mara, then Daniel.
“Which one?”
“Mates,” Goose says, “I think it might be too late for us to get out of here. I just saw two helicopters . . . .”
But I’m already moving through the flat toward the east clock face, to the glass that separates us from the Manhattan Bridge. It rises out of the East River like a prehistoric beast, its pylons rusty with age, almost appearing to ripple with muscle. The main span is like a spine, the suspension cables, ribs. It stands between islands, stretching its neck, its tail, carrying thousands of people, even now. And I know that Stella is one of them.
. . . your own eyes looking at my eyes when she kills me
She doesn’t just want an audience; she wants our audience. My audience. She wants me to witness. She would choose to end her life in a way I can’t help but see, from almost every direction.
I press my palm to the glass. “She’s on the bridge.”
40
I WILL BREATHE
WE WALK SILENTLY AND A bit scattered—Jamie’s first in our little queue; I follow with Daniel, Leo, and Sophie. Mara and Goose are behind us. We approach at Jay and Sands streets and we’re not stopped. The police might not know what’s happening, if she’s even here. She’s picked a good hour for it.
“She might not even be here.” Daniel gives voice to my thoughts. Having him beside me is steadying, stops me from thinking about Mara in the study—or office, rather. My father had a study.
I blink in the soft, dusty light. Below us, somewhere, is the carousel, encased in glass like a jewel box. Around us is graffiti, harsh and livid. The sun is trying to rise, like a chick trying to break free from its egg. But it’s not dawn yet.
It feels as though we’ve been walking for ages when I spot the first officer. He’s turned to the side, hands in his pockets, staring at something but I can’t tell what, from this angle. He’s still—unnaturally still—as we approach him. He doesn’t turn his head, his eyes don’t move at all, not even to blink.
Jamie looks back at us. “What new devilry is this?”
“Not devilry,” Leo says. He and Sophie exchange a look. “I’m trying something.”
Goose shouts from behind us. “Has it got anything to do with why I feel ill all of a sudden?”
Leo stops. “I’m working on something. An illusion. For the cops and us.”
“Might’ve been nice to have a warning,” Goose says, looking peaked.
“I didn’t know if it would work,” he says. “I still don’t know.”
“Sophie, how many people are here?”
“I’m only seeing us.”
I hang back, to let Goose catch up. “What’re you feeling, mate?”
“Bloody awful.”
“More specifically?”
“Like I’ve just given ten pints of blood . . . from my brain.”
Daniel tenses. “If Leo’s using you to create whatever . . . illusion . . . he’s creating, on however many people . . . there’s not going to be much Goose can do for anyone else.”
Still, next to him, the percussive sound of thousands of heartbeats batters my skull. The bridge trembles as the trains run, but I don’t hear any cars. Maybe the police have caught on to what’s happening and stopped traffic?
Ahead of us, Jamie’s stopped. When we reach him, I see why.
Stella’s climbed the fence. She’s clinging to it, facing the walkway, not the water. She’s been waiting for us.
She’s not the only one here. There are police above, paramedics as well, and one of them’s suspended between the upper level of the bridge and this one. But like that first officer, they too are frozen.
“I’m glad you came,” Stella says, drawing my eyes. “Wasn’t sure you’d bother to find me.”
Jamie’s nostrils flare. “Of course we—”
“I’m talking to Noah,” Stella says. “I knew you’d find me, if you could. But you don’t have his Gifts.” She spits out the word. “What a bullshit word.”
“Are you doing this because of me?” I ask, point-blank.
She laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself.” She looks at Leo, then, and her eyes tear up. “Neat trick,” she says.
“I wanted us to be able to talk without them getting in the way.”
“If they were in the way, maybe they could actually help . . .” Daniel mumbles.
I shake my head, knowing that Stella heard him—his thoughts, if not his actual words. “If they were in the way, Stella would jump. Isn’t that right?”
She smiles. “I like the water.” She twists her head to the left, as much as she can while she’s gripping on to the fence. “I kind of always wondered what it would be like to jump.”
“Like breaking your neck,” Mara says. Her cheeks are flushed; I can feel the anger coming off her like fire. “Why are you doing this?”
“I’m not doing this,” Stella says. Her rage is cold. “You are.”
“That’s bullshit, and somewhere in there, you know it.”
“Stop,” Leo tells Mara, holding out his hand. He walks toward Stella. “Let me pull you back. All of us, together, we can make it go away—”
Stella’s eyes frost over. “I made a video to make sure it wouldn’t go away. Now everyone will know what we are, that we exist, and they’ll stop what’s happening to us.”
“Or stop us,” Mara says, without pointing out that Stella didn’t actually name anyone to stop.
A twisted smile forms on Stella’s lips. “Yeah. Maybe they will. I hope they do.”
It doesn’t matter. Reality doesn’t even matter—only what’s in Stella’s mind, and I don’t know that any of us have the right words to change it.
If we could get more time, though . . .
“Stella, don’t,” Sophie calls out, interrupting my thoughts. “We can fix this.”
“No, we can’t. Maybe they can,” Stella says, indicating Mara, me. “But we can’t. They’re the Originals. We’re just copies.”
Mara starts to say, “That doesn’t mean what you think—”
“You’re not helping,” I tell her.
“What’s she talking about?” Sophie asks me. “Originals, copies?”
“Just a little something I heard Felicity think before she died,” Stella says. She takes one hand off the fence, the muscles flexing in her arms, her core, as she wipes her hand on her shirt. Her muscles must be on fire. She’s stronger than she looks.
Or something’s making her stronger.
“Noah knows, I bet. Jamie, too.” She pauses. “And Mara, of course.”
I’m wary of latching on to anything she says for fear that she’s already so far gone I can’t trust it, but my conversation with Daniel surfaces regardless. He was the one to first bring up Stella’s type—“suspected original.” Stella just called herself a copy. What does she know now that she didn’t know before?
I wonder if Daniel’s caught it. There’s movement in the corner of my eye. It’s him, backing up.