Simon Says... Jump (Kate Morgan Thrillers Book 2)

by Dale Mayer

  She could almost see him crumbling in front of her.

  “And this is as good as it gets,” he yelled, then simmered down. “After three years of surgeries which some rich do-gooder doc paid for. I should have killed him too.”

  “All those young men you killed, it wasn’t their fault that you are crippled,” she said quietly. “And to even think about killing a Good Samaritan doctor is sick. None of these people harmed you.”

  “Maybe not, but they would have,” he said on a snarl. “They were the same, … arrogant. The same guys who never give anybody a fair shake or a hand up. They were just takers.”

  “So, because you didn’t know who your victims were, you made that negative assessment and killed them on the spot, even though they were just walking down the street.”

  He shrugged. “Why not?” he said. “I could do that. And it felt pretty damn decent.”

  “Yeah,” she said, looking at him, “and how do you think being in prison in the physical condition you’re in will feel?”

  He stared at her in shock; then he shook his head. “No, no, no, no. They’ll kill me.”

  She shrugged. “They might. I guess it depends on if you keep up your interesting ways of taking your problems out on the rest of the world. Yeah, it’s terrible you were hurt, and it was shitty, but you know what? A part of me says you probably brought it on yourself because you stole from them. They didn’t need to do what they did to you, but you didn’t need to turn around and kill all those innocent men, all because you couldn’t confront the guys who crippled you. There was no need for that.”

  “There sure as hell was,” he snapped. “They were assholes. Every last one of them was an asshole.”

  “You didn’t even know who these guys were, and you killed them anyway,” she said, staring at him like a bug. “You’d never met them and never had anything to do with them.”

  “I didn’t need to,” he said. “You can tell who they are just by the way they walk. No way you can miss that kind.”

  “That kind?” Rodney asked.

  “Yeah,” Tex snapped. “That arrogance, that I own the world attitude. That alpha male stride,” he sneered. “But I taught them, didn’t I?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, suddenly tired of the whole damn thing. “I’m not sure you taught them anything. They’re dead, and their families will forever wonder why and what they could have done to save them,” she said. “You couldn’t even give them that with a reasonable explanation, just that you were angry at the world,” she said quietly. “But we’ll be taking you down to the station now, so you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  “I’m still not sorry,” he snapped. “Those people were bad.”

  “Which ones?” she asked. “The guys who beat you up three or four years ago, or the innocent ones you murdered?”

  At that, he didn’t have another word to say.

  *

  Simon’s Thursday Morning

  Simon wasn’t sure whether it was worth trying to go to work today or not. But he didn’t want to appear weak or to even show weakness to himself in any way because that would allow him to sit here and to take another day off, and that was just not acceptable. He still had a life, and he had to make sure he honored that; otherwise he would succumb to these psychic seizures even more often. The more you dove into the avoidance, the more it would take over.

  No way he could allow something this all-encompassing, this incapacitating to have that much freedom in his life. The damage would be irreparable, and, even now, he didn’t know what to do about Kate. Last night had been a hell of a talk and a hell of a psychic session, and the fact that she had been the one to find him was both good and bad. Good in that she was all action, and not only had she listened to his plea about not contacting the hospital but she had chosen that as a rational decision. One that she wasn’t comfortable with, but she had made it, and it had been for the best at the time.

  She’d also seen him at his weakest, something he was not comfortable with. And something he really didn’t want to have to admit to himself, but, when it was staring him in the face, how could he not? He didn’t even know if she would ever even speak to him again because that one session had been way too far afield for her. Hell, it had been the same for him, but he didn’t get the option of walking away or ignoring it.

  There wouldn’t be any of that close your eyes and pretend it never happened scenario for him. Life wasn’t that easy, and it wasn’t that generous. He’d been in too many situations where he’d been forced to shut up and to deal, and this appeared to be another one. On that note, he got out of bed after a shitty night for all. At least he presumed Kate hadn’t had a good night because he sure as hell hadn’t.

  He’d thought about contacting her many times since she left last night but held off, deciding to just leave it and to see what she ended up doing. Later he could always try to talk her out of whatever plan she was making. Only so much he could do right now, and it was always better to deal with things face-to-face. How did one explain any of this shit over a damn text anyway?

  He got dressed, choosing something a little more casual. He smiled as he pulled on jeans and boots, then grabbed a blazer.

  With that, he pocketed his watch and his keys and headed downstairs.

  The doorman, Harry, was there. “Good morning, sir.”

  Simon nodded and kept on going.

  “Sir?”

  He stopped, looked at Harry, and asked, “What?”

  “Was it okay that I let her up last night?”

  Simon heard the anxiousness in the man’s voice because, even though Simon was the one dealing with these issues, he couldn’t forget that there was a ripple effect too. Not only was Kate affected, so was Harry.

  “You did the right thing. Thanks, Harry.” At that, he watched the relief wash over the other man’s face. Of course his livelihood was dependent on his job, and his job was dependent on keeping the privacy and protection of the residents. “Thanks again,” Simon said, with a lifted hand, and he walked out.

  There’d been that impulse to explain, something he’d promised himself he’d never do. Besides, how would he ever explain anything like this anyway? It was beyond explanation. He left it at that because he could say what he wanted to say until he was blue in the face, but that didn’t mean that anybody would believe him. Particularly not Kate and that hurt even more.

  With a groan, he parked her firmly out of his brain, then sending a quiet all-encompassing message to the forces that be to shut up and to stay out of his world today, he set about trying to get control of the chaos that had overtaken his business in the last few days. But first he would start with coffee, finding his favorite vendor.

  By the time he’d finished that coffee, plus two more during a couple site visits, followed by the lunch special from one of his favorite little restaurants around the corner from one of the building rehabs he was doing, he started to feel better and more in control. It was much easier to put the night’s events behind him, as time and distance worked to make things more equitable.

  As he said goodbye to the foreman at the end of the day, realizing it was ten after five, Simon turned and set out for a long walk home. Somehow he’d ended up down at the end of Hastings Street, not very far away from Stanley Park, which of course led to where the Lions Gate Bridge was located. He frowned at that, since it was still quite a distance, but he shook his head; it was a bad idea, and he needed to stay away at all costs. He’d had enough of this crap. Enough of whatever the hell you wanted to call it, but his feet were doing something all on their own, and they kept walking toward Stanley Park.

  “You idiots,” he shouted down at his feet, attracting the attention of people passing by. He shrugged and presumed to carry on, even though he was now forcibly trying to change the direction his feet were taking him. And, when he had zero control over this, and he couldn’t make his feet do anything else, he got seriously worried.

  “This isn’t hap
pening,” he said in a hard whisper. “Stop it. This isn’t the way life is. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but knock it off.” More than a few people were looking at him now. He groaned and shut his mouth. At the same time, he pulled out his phone. Stared at it. Kate would probably be off work already, yet there wasn’t anything official she could do to help him. Almost as if she somehow knew he was in trouble again, his phone rang.

  “Where are you?” she asked quietly.

  “I’m on my way to Stanley Park,” he said, his voice tight.

  “Why?” she cried out. “You need to let this go.”

  “Do you think I have a choice?” he asked, his voice hard. “I could tell you something right now,” he said, “but you won’t believe it. So don’t even bother calling me. I’ll let you know if and when it’s over.”

  And, with that, he hung up. Finally, just letting his feet do the walking, he muttered out loud, “It’d be a hell of a lot faster if we took a cab.” And dammit if a cab didn’t pull up right beside him. He looked at the guy in shock.

  “Hey, where you headed? Can I give you a lift?”

  “You mean, can I pay you to drive me a little farther?”

  He shrugged. “I took you to Lions Gate Bridge a while ago,” he said. “I figured, at the pace you’re going, you’re probably heading to the same place.”

  He stared at him, vaguely remembering the cabbie’s face, and then shrugged. “Yeah, that’s exactly where I’m going.”

  He got into the back seat, and the guy said, “You must really love that place.”

  “Yeah, that’s one way to describe it,” he muttered.

  “You’re not suicidal or anything, are you?”

  He looked at him in shock. “Why would you even say that?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Just some weird shit going on these days.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the fact that I intended to drive right past you because of the last time, and instead I stopped, without even thinking about it.”

  “Yeah,” Simon muttered, “weird shit, indeed.” He sat in the back, as the cab zipped through the next few blocks.

  When the cabbie pulled off to the side, he said, “No charge for this one.”

  Simon hopped out, and the cab took off like there was a fire burning deep within. And there probably was because Simon was pretty damn sure that poor guy had no idea what he was being called to do either, but there had to be something, some reason why everything was lining up this way.

  Just then, Kate called. “I’m confused,” she said, the minute he answered.

  “So am I,” he said. “And I can’t really explain it.”

  “I get that you’re connected to this person—”

  “That’s not the word for it. If I could just—” And then he stopped himself. What was the point of trying to explain when no explanation would work?

  “Tell me,” she cried out. “I want to understand.”

  There was sincerity in her voice, something he could recognize even through the craziness of his feet moving him forward. “Well, let me tell you. It’s not even necessarily my connection right now, but my feet are moving me in the direction of that bridge, whether I want to go there or not.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Your feet?”

  “Yes, as in, I can’t turn and go another direction. Believe me. I’ve tried.” His voice sped up as the words tumbled out, and he explained what had happened since he finished work for the day and when he got picked up by the cab. He hesitated, then said, “You wouldn’t believe it, but, just as I was thinking that a taxi would be faster, a taxi pulled up. The driver was the same taxi guy who drove me there the other night,” he said. “He dropped me off at the same place with no charge and sped away as if he were scared.”

  “Well, I imagine he probably was,” she said quietly. “I’m coming to you.”

  “Yeah, do that,” he said. “Maybe it’ll be easier.” With that, he hung up the phone, and, instead of letting his feet do the walking, he took charge, picked up the pace, and ran as fast as he could toward the same spot. Only as he got on the bridge, his stride strong and sure, his boots clicking on the metal of the bridge, could he see a young woman up at the same spot. He called out instinctively, “Mali.”

  She turned and looked at him in shock, then bolted. This time he didn’t hesitate, and he ran as fast as he could, trying to catch her. But she had just that much of a head start. When he got to the far side of the bridge, he was winded, and he saw that she was slowing down too.

  She stopped, then turned and looked at him. “Why are you following me?” she asked, her voice broken, and tears streaming down her face.

  He stopped, as she reached for the railing at the bridge.

  “I want to help you,” he cried out. “I don’t want you to jump.”

  She stared at him. “How did you know I would jump?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t really answer that, but please, please don’t jump.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said brokenly.

  “Yes, I do,” he said. “I understand. I understand a lot.”

  “No, you can’t. Nobody can,” she said, crying hard. She looked at him suspiciously. “How did you know my name?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, raising both hands. “I know that makes no sense and isn’t something you want to hear, but I really don’t know. It’s just—it was the voice that called out to me.”

  “A voice?” She looked at him, confused.

  Simon probably sounded like a crazy man. “Please tell me why. Why do you think you need to jump?” he asked, taking a step closer.

  As soon as he took that step, she backed up a step. “Don’t come any closer,” she cried out.

  “I’m not planning on it,” he said. “Honest, I just want to keep you safe.”

  “And throw me over.”

  He stared at her in surprise. “No, not at all.”

  “What do you mean?” She started to bawl right in front of him, a breakdown happening, as she sat cross-legged on the bridge.

  But the minute he went to take a step closer, she started to get to her feet again. “Stop,” he said, “I’m not coming to hurt you.”

  She still sobbed, but it was obvious she didn’t trust him at all.

  “But I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. “I just want to help.”

  “Don’t you understand? Nobody can help.”

  “That’s not true. Somebody can.”

  “No,” she whispered, “nobody can.”

  “But why?”

  “It’s too late. It’s gone too far,” she said. “I can’t live with this.”

  “Tell me what it is you can’t live with.”

  She whispered, “You don’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t,” he said. “I really don’t.”

  And then another voice spoke in her head, or his head—somebody’s head. Or maybe it was in the air around him, flying on a breeze. He had no fucking idea, but it whispered, “Do it.”

  “No, don’t do it,” he cried out instantly.

  She looked at him. “Did you hear that voice?” she stared.

  “Shit,” he said. “I know I’ll sound absolutely crazy, but is a voice telling you to do it?”

  “My voice always tells me to do it,” she said bitterly.

  He nodded. “And I had that same voice in my head.”

  She slowly got to her feet. “Are you suicidal too?”

  “Sometimes,” he admitted. “I’ve been there. I’ve been to that edge.”

  “But you’ve never gone over.”

  “Well, I’m still here,” he said, with a wry smile.

  “You are,” she said, studying him, clearly confused.

  “I don’t get it. Are you in that same chat?” He was fishing for answers, looking for anything that would help her loosen up.

  “Lots of them,” she said. “Sometimes it really helps.”

 
“It does really help sometimes,” he said, very careful with his wording, not wanting to send her off in the wrong direction. “But sometimes it doesn’t help.”

  “No, of course not,” she said. “Nobody has the answers. Nobody can make that decision for you.”

  “Did anybody ever email you?”

  She turned slowly, and, with her voice hard, she said, “Was it you?”

  “No,” he said immediately, “it’s not me.”

  “Then how do you know about an email?” she asked, her voice turning ugly, as she glared at him. “You said it would be over if I did this. You said it would be finished.”

  “That’s not true. It wasn’t me.” But she didn’t believe him. He saw it in her eyes.

  “I don’t know,” she said, and this time instead of going over, she backed away. “You told me that it would be finished and that nobody would know.”

  “I didn’t tell you anything,”

  “Are you going back on your word?” she cried out.

  In her confusion, she now thought that he was going back on whatever it was that this stupid email writer had said to her.

  “Listen. I work with the police,” he said, not even realizing what he’d said, until she froze and stared at him. “It’s true,” he said. “We know that somebody is trying to convince people to jump off the bridge.”

  She looked at him, her gaze going around her. “Other people?”

  And that’s when his heart broke, and he whispered, “Yes, sweetie, other people and you.”

  She shook her head. “You can only know that if you know what’s in the email.”

  “I don’t know what’s in your email, but I know somebody else who jumped a few days ago, a friend of mine,” he said, his hand going to his heart. “He left behind a wife who loved him dearly, but, for whatever reason, he believed that her life would be better if he did this.”

  “But that’s what they say, isn’t it?” she said, sounding broken again.

  But such distrust was in her voice, in her face, he knew he had to be beyond careful. “I get it,” he said quietly. “I really do, but this guy isn’t trying to help you. It’s his own perverse sense of satisfaction and making people do what he wants them to do. He’s a puppeteer, and he’s pulling your strings.”