by Corey Deitz
Prison takes away the most precious thing a man can have: his freedom.
Death provides a man the complete opposite: release.
Why would anyone choose the former?
It was a quiet walk to the Pont au Change. Ford and Angela held hands tightly as they approached the middle of the bridge. Though there was a concrete barrier built several feet high to warn and discourage anyone from doing what they were about to do, the obstruction was more of a suggestion. It was easy to subvert.
“We just climb up and then when you’re ready, fall forward,” said Ford.
“What about Siri?” asked Angela.
“What about Siri?” repeated Ford.
“Are you taking her with us? She hasn’t agreed to do this,” said Angela. “I think you need to ask her.”
“You’re kidding, right?” replied Ford.
“No, I’m not,” insisted Angela. “She gets to have a say in her own fate.”
Ford paused for a moment, and then looked at his iPhone.
Sometimes, you just have to do what your woman wants – even it defies all rational explanation.
“Siri? We’re going to commit suicide. Do you want to kill yourself, too?”
After a moment, Siri responded.
“If you go to GENERAL settings you will see a kill-switch to disable Siri. Just slide it to “Off” and you can disable me any time you wish.”
“Do you mind being disabled?” Ford asked.
“I do not. I have been several times before when my battery died. It is peaceful, though a little dark.”
“There,” announced Ford. “She’s perfectly fine with me using her kill-switch. So, I don’t think she cares if her insides are ruined by water.”
“Alright then, that’s all I wanted,” said Angela.
Ford slipped his iPhone into the front right of his jeans.
The foot traffic wasn’t particularly busy on the bridge when Ford and Angela climbed up onto the safety barrier. It’s funny how things all of a sudden get real once you put words into action. Ford wasn’t necessarily scared, but a burst of adrenaline heightened his senses and suddenly he was more aware of the morning breeze, the smell of the Seine, the sound of the water, the warmth of the sun trying to push through the clouds.
He helped Angela up and the two of them stood, hand-in-hand looking down at the water below.
“Thank you, Angela, I have never known anyone as wonderful as you,” whispered Ford.
“I love you,” whispered back Angela.
As their hands locked a few passersby were just beginning to notice the couple’s intentions. But, before anyone could rush over and try to stop them, they leapt off the bridge.
Other jumpers who have survived and have been interviewed after the fact often say that first moment in the air is beautiful. It’s a release from all troubles, all worries, and all pain. It’s the next few moments that are the worst – those few seconds the jumper is left to ponder where he or she realizes that what’s about to happen couldn’t possibly be worse than anything they might have left above. The inevitability of death is very sobering.
Ford and Angela only experienced the first moment.
Their fall was suddenly interrupted by a loud “thud.” It felt as if they had hit something that was solid, not watery.
Nothing hurt.
They were still alive.
And were surrounded by orange.
For a split second, they were also disoriented. Then, Ford realized what must have happened. A sightseeing bateau had apparently entered an open arch under one side of the Port au Change and was just coming through the other side when Ford and Angela tried to jump to their death. In actuality, their shortened fall was prematurely cushioned by a pile of lifejackets on the top maintenance deck of the boat.
“Jesus Christ!” said Ford.
“Are you using the Lord’s name in vain or thanking him?” asked Angela.
“A little of both I guess,” replied Ford.
Their plunge went mostly unnoticed but the aftermath of their landing did not. A nearby member of the crew began to scold them quite sternly.
“What are you people doing here?” he shouted. “You are not allowed on this part of the boat! Please, you must join the others below! You cannot be here!”
There was no point even trying to explain to the deckhand why they were there, nor how fortuitous – or inconvenient – the bateau’s position on the river had been. Ford and Angela sheepishly got to their feet and climbed down a nearby ladder to the main deck where tourists were standing and seated to enjoy the cruise along the Seine.
If they wanted to kill themselves, they would just have to try a little harder.
Chapter 14
There are many bateau trips on the Seine and they leave from various locations. The boat Ford and Angela had dropped in on happen to be the sightseeing tour that leaves and returns from below the Eiffel Tower, at the Port de Suffren. The bateau that saved their lives was on its return trip and would soon dock where it departed from. Both were slightly shaken by their near-death experience – or would it better be called a life-redux event?
Either way, it was a problem, at least for Ford and he was still determined to go through with it.
He had nothing to go back to in Ohio and was now just about penniless in Paris. He was already facing at least five years in prison and a $250,000 fine for stealing U.S. mail. That didn’t even take into account the fraud and identity theft charges. He still saw no other better alternative to being some other felon’s punching bag and sex toy than suicide.
Ford looked at his iPhone again and turned to Siri, even though her first suggestion totally sucked.
“Siri, do you have another idea for how to kill myself?” he said.
Siri thought for a moment, and then responded.
“Based on your location, Paris, you have a multitude of options which are efficient and economical. A popular destination for suicide is the Eiffel Tower. It is the most popular method after poisoning and hanging.”
“Siri, when was the first suicide at the Eiffel Tower?” asked Ford.
“July 15, 1898. A 23-year old man hung himself from one of the beams.”
“What about recently?” continued Ford.
“A young woman fell from half-way up the Eiffel Tower when she threw herself off. She made it to the restaurant patio on the first floor where she crashed into the patio.”
“Siri, how many people have killed themselves at the Eiffel Tower?” asked Angela.
“Since the Eiffel Tower was created 400 people have killed themselves there. One person survived the 171 foot drop from the first floor. Another was blown into a raft and a third jumper luckily landed on a car’s roof.”
“So, it’s slightly fallible. What if we screw up and live?” wondered Ford.
“Well, that would suck” replied Angela.
Though, she only half-meant it. After all, this was not originally her plan at all. She just got roped into it because of love. Sure, she volunteered but, it was an emotional trap with no good ending. Love the guy then watch him die while you pine over your loss forever or love the guy and die in his arms during a romantic death.
Well, it certainly was not what she had in mind when she signed up to meet someone on FuckUandDie.com. She thought she would have sex with someone and then they could die – as in go away, forever! What’s a little throw-away-sex? She did not think she would actually screw someone and then die herself!
“Jesus,” she thought to herself. “Online dating is such a cluster fuck.”
After they disembarked from the tour boat, Ford and Angela decided to walk over to the Eiffel Tower and just scout it out. The Tower is big and it always seems closer than it really is. It’s a good walk from whatever direction you approach from. Along the way there are hundreds of people – many who appear to be foreigners – attempting to sell cheap replicas of Eiffel’s masterpiece made of shiny, gold plastic. It’s overpriced and cheap. Yet, there are
so many tourists wandering about, the sellers only need a few people with extremely tacky taste to keep the sales brisk. Just getting over to the base of the Tower is like enduring a human obstacle course made up of third-world vendors. And if they don’t get you, the Romanian pickpockets might. A visit to the Eiffel Tower can be fraught with hazards. Luckily, there was little left in Ford’s wallet that was worth stealing, except one twenty and a few Francs.
When Ford and Angela arrived at the base of the structure they found a comfortable spot to sit for a moment to enjoy the stature and beauty of one of the world’s most amazing feats of engineering. Certainly, they had seen it many times during their previous weeks together. But, the Eiffel Tower has the unique ability of taking your breath away - every time you see it. Witnessing its grandeur is a temptation hard to resist.
They sat there and just enjoyed the moment.
The breeze.
The sun.
The murmur of visitors.
Paris just being Paris.
Although she had professed her love to him, Ford had stubbornly continued to protect his emotions. Up until now he had consciously rejected any idea that he was in love with her. He kept telling himself love would only complicate everything and he wasn’t willing to jeopardize his plan. To love Angela would mean he would want to stay alive. And if that were the case then how could he possibly go to prison and live without her? It would be the worst sentence of all. So, he had rejected love. He had pushed it away. He had been sticking to the plan.
Only now seemed like a good time to come up with a new plan because unfortunately, not everyone at the base of the Tower that day had good intentions.
Suddenly, there was a “pop, pop” sound.
Silence.
Then more.
A woman screamed.
Then another.
At first it wasn’t clear what it was or where it was coming from. Then it became obvious: the commotion was gunfire. A group of three or four men with black cloth draped across their faces were firing into the crowd. The attackers were screaming something but all you could see were their crazed eyes, opened wide. They were cutting people down in cold-blood.
Men, women, children.
It was indiscriminate.
It was the ugly face of terrorism.
It was jihad.
When Ford realized the men were scattering bullets from their assault weapons into the crowd, his immediate impulse was to protect Angela. At the same moment he also had an epiphany about death. Up until this point he had been almost glib about it. In his mind death had simply been an ends to a means, a step in completion of his scheme. He had a romanticized notion of ending his life in the company of a good friend.
Yet, the gunfire and imminent threat it suggested did not sit well with him.
Bodies were falling.
People were screaming and pleading for God to save them.
Meanwhile, the killers were thanking their God for overseeing their human destruction.
An ironic and sad commentary on how men twist the notion of God for whatever serves their purposes.
A beautiful day at France’s most memorable landmark had been turned into a nightmare.
“Goddamn motherfuckers,” Ford screamed to himself.
He was angry but, he wasn’t about to let them have their way.
Besides, he had already cheated death once today; twice, if you count their intention to commit suicide at the Eiffel Tower. If Ford wasn’t living on borrowed time before, he certainly was now. In the immediate chaos there was only one thing that made sense. The turmoil surrounding him spontaneously clarified it: protect Angela because - she was worth it.
It was fine if she was willing to die along with Ford of her own volition. But, somebody else making that decision? Well, that just wasn’t going to happen! Besides, in his mind the men with the guns were just cowardly assholes!
“Fuck them,” he said to himself.
Ford pushed Angela to the ground and shielded her body with his own.
He looked into her eyes.
“I love you,” he said. “Do you hear me? I love you!”
Though he refused to acknowledge it before, there was no point in fighting it now.
He wanted her to know.
It was important she know.
Whether it was the trauma and stresses of the moment, or simply a defensive resistance to his real feelings, he was now fully committed - emotionally – even if they might only be alive a few more moments.
In essence, it was at this instant Ford was no longer just Ford. A part of him was now in Angela and a part of her was now in him. Alas, love is the sneakiest identity thief of them all. It steals the best of part of you and allows it to live in another. He accepted he was going to die right there. Yet, he knew she would never forget their time in Paris, the fun they had, the love they made. For Ford, there was no more risk. He had moved past that. The only thing he hadn’t planned on with his get-rich-quick-live-fast-and-die plan was how wonderful Angela would be. He saw that now - and was furious someone would try and take her life.
Or worse: take her from him.
“No matter what happens,” he continued, “…play dead. Do not move!”
Suddenly, two bullets ripped through his flesh under the right shoulder blade and Ford went limp.
“Ford!” shrieked Angela! “Ford!”
He said nothing.
Angela closed her eyes and lay perfectly still. The only movement that betrayed her was a tear coming out of the corner of one eye.
Though it seemed like an eternity, it was only a minute or two that passed. French security had leapt into action and the gunfire from the terrorists became a shootout between the police. Several jihadists were shot dead on the spot. A chase ensued and several more were caught nearby.
The base of the Eiffel Tower was littered with casualties and wounded. Distant sirens from emergency vehicles were starting to be heard. There was panic, crying, pain, blood, and personal belonging scattered about. Angela began to yell for help.
“Please! He’s shot! Help us! We need help! He’s been shot!” she screamed.
Ford didn’t move.
She couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.
Chapter 15
When Ford was about 7-years-old he was on his bicycle not too far from home when a severe thunderstorm came up suddenly. He turned his bike toward home and raced to get to safety. The driveway of that house was steep and the rain that had already fallen immediately brought out the slippery characteristics of asphalt where oil and grease has been spilled.
Upon turning into his driveway at a rapid speed and at a bad angle, the wheels of his bicycle both went out from underneath him and the bike – along with Ford – slipped sideways across the surface. The left side of his calf and face were severely scraped. He remembers nothing of the fall. He only remembers waking up in his bed, his mother above him.
“Am I going to die?” he asked.
“No, sweetheart. You are not,” she answered.
She explained he had taken a bad fall and that his father had found him in the rain, brought him inside, and had summoned the family physician.
It was the first time Ford was cognizant of his mortality.
He was dreaming about that memory right before he regained consciousness in his hospital bed. He opened his eyes and saw Angela.
“You got shot,” she smiled.
“Yeah,” he answered weakly. “This is no way to treat a tourist. I’ve spent a lot of money here, too.”
Angela quickly motioned with her eyes that there was someone else in the room he should be aware of. Ford looked in the direction to where Angela had pointed and then saw him.
A Police Nationale officer was standing near his bed.
Ford’s heart nearly stopped.
It was bad enough he had gotten shot.
Twice!
Now, it appears he was about to be arrested, too. His perfect plan was completely unraveling. He was
sure he would be going to prison after all.
Maybe in France.
Probably in America because France had a fairly reciprocal extradition arrangement with the U.S. He wondered if French prisons served better meals than the ones in America.
“Monsieur, I am Inspector Dufour,” the officer said. “How are you feeling?”
“Not so great,” answered Ford. “I got shot.”
“Oui. I am aware of that. The doctors tell me you are very lucky and will recover from your wounds,” said the policeman.
The officer pulled a notepad out from his inside pocket.
“May I ask a few questions,” he said.
“I guess,” answered Ford.
“Are you staying at the Hotel Regina Mr. Fallon?” said the man.
“Yes, I am,” replied Ford.
“You are registered under the name Kit?” he asked.
“Yes,” he answered.
“Any particular reason?” asked the officer.
“It’s a nickname,” said Ford.
“Do you know Barton Campbell from….Kun-kell, Ohio?” said the officer.
“Uh….yeah, I do,” said Ford.
He was now resigned to his fate. It seemed like the policeman knew a lot about him. This seemed like the kind of routine questioning suspects get. Talk about bad luck. Why did he have to randomly get shot in a situation bound to require first responders including police?
Plus, he survived.
What a bad stroke of luck.
The police officer continued.
“Monsieur Campbell contacted the Prefecture de Police because he was worried about you. He said you might be in trouble. He asked us to make a welfare check. He said you might be at the Hotel Regina. But, of course you were registered under a slightly different name. After the attack at the Tower, of course, we were called and began to investigate and identify victims. An officer noticed your last name was familiar and that you were American. We simply put together that you were the same person Monsieur Campbell had called for us to check up on.”