A Different World From Eight Storeys Up

I stand on the edge of the roof and stare down at the traffic below me, a bottle of some cheap alcohol dangling from my loose fingers, dangerously close to slipping over the edge. I figure a city that boasts it 'never sleeps' should have a lot of people around, but other than the thousands of different cars hurrying from here to there eight storeys below me, I'm completely alone. 1

I clumsily bring the bottle back up to my lips and chug another mouthful, trying to block it out. All of it. Broken bones and mutilated flesh and twisted smiles and homicidal urges of my own. Murder investigations aren't uncommon for a homicide detective, in fact they sort of run in the job description, but the latest one had left its impression. A fairly large heel mark on the underside of my heart, from it being trodden on, as it was, that begged to be filled with cheap whiskey. Or tequila. Or scotch. Anything. Something.2

I don't check the bottle to see what I've ended up with. 3

Instead I just chug a little more, revelling in the familiar burn that etches its way down my throat, trailing a warm glow into my stomach as it numbs my mind.4

My hair is blowing in the wind, and I realise that if I weren't completely drunk I would be freezing. Figuring the last thing I need is to get sick and feel like crap while dealing with the rest of life's curve-balls, I tug the thin fabric of my jacket around my shoulders, cursing my fingers for their sudden lack of co-ordination. I lean against the building and look around at all the bright neon signs and light-bulbs littering the city, lighting it up like a Christmas tree. The next generation would be paying for our decadence. 5

A sharp beep drags me out of a slight stupor, and I realise I've spent the last ten minutes staring at a billboard on the building across from me that's advertising tissues. I stagger over to the edge to satisfy my curiosity and see nothing more than an angry driver shouting words I can't hear from so far up. I wonder if he knows somebody is watching him. 6

The roof of the building is made with safety in mind, I decide, as I climb over a waist high wall. There's the part that the stairs lead to, where everybody is supposed to stay, and then there is a barrier – the concrete mould I've just fallen over – to stop people getting too close to the edge. Past that there lies a knee high edge. And then...the black sky tumbles on for eternity, punctuated by sparkling diamonds. 7

I think over what I just said, and find two problems. The first is that I've used a word with four syllables. A person drunk enough to block out the images of a little girl beaten so badly by her own father that most of her bones were broken beyond recognition should not be able to use a word with two syllables, let alone four. I fix that problem by taking an extra long gulp of...this time I check the label. Tequila. An extra long gulp of tequila.8

The other was that the whole diamonds metaphor seemed a little optimistic. Optimistic and care-free does not suit my mood. After a few minutes of contemplation I decided the stars were tears. Tears on the black canvas of eternal pain.9

There. Much better.10

I take a celebratory chug and shove off the concrete wall, drunkenly stumbling toward the ledge. I must be less than ten centimeters from the front of the raised edge, and I now have a much better view of all those cars. Ants, I decide they look like. Tiny ants with headlights, racing around a maze of streets with complex ideas and dreams and hopes and aspirations, but all essentially doing the exact same thing. 11

From the depths of my complaining brain, that's giving a bit of a hangover warning (or lecture, depending on your perspective) between it's grumbling and groaning, an old memory surfaces. A five year old girl, clad in what looks like a one piece swimming costume but is in reality a gymnastics uniform, carefully walking along a tan beam, thrusting one leg up high in the air, toes pointed, before drawing it back down to land right in front of the foot still on the material, heel to toe. 12

Looking at the ledge again, I raise one foot onto the concrete, ready to balance my weight, and my life, on a slab that's twenty centimeters wide. 13

Something down below makes me stop, and I peer down through the darkness, picking out the crowd in the soft, ineffective glow of the streetlight. A man with a mobile phone is frantically gesturing, and every so often, if I listen carefully, I can catch a bit of a frantic tone, carrying on the wind. 14

A few more people gather with him every couple of minutes, and soon there is a large crowd standing on the pavement, craning their heads up to look at the lunatic sitting on the outside edge of a building ready to throw themselves off because their sixty-seventh boyfriend broke up with them. Or at least, that's what they probably think.15

Oh well. *bunny* them.16

I'm about to try my balancing act again when flashes of blue and red begin bouncing off the multistory buildings in ghostly patterns, sometimes meshing together momentarily to form a dark purple. The white squad car pulls up beside the crowd and two officers jump out, racing for the entrance, a plain clothes guy trailing after them.17

I snicker when I realise they will either have to wait for Mr. Hobart, the big, big boss to come down or break in the door, seeing as everything is locked up for the night.18

The sound of splintering wood faintly reaches my ears and I raise one eyebrow slightly: breaking down the door when you had Hobart to deal with was brave. Very brave. I'd have to be careful one of them didn't get leap-happy and tackle me. Instead of saving my life, which wasn't in danger anyway, I assured myself, he would probably send us both tumbling over the edge to our deaths. Knowing my luck it was well within the spectrum of possibility. 19

I sighed slightly and stood up. A slight gasp went up from the gathered crowd and I thought about standing on my improvised beam just to get a bigger reaction, but dismissed the idea. More tequila sounded better.20

Waiting for the cops to run up eight or so flights of stairs was actually kind of boring. They must be the donut-eating type, not the in-shape-to-chase-down-the-bad-guys type. I wondered why I suddenly didn't care about the fact I was drinking, drinking on top of a multistory building and waiting for cops to burst in on me (three things I don't usually do), before remembering something from my university days about alcohol and inhibitions. More specifically the inverse relationship between the two.21

Oh, great. I'm using big words. Again.22

I mentally shrugged. I'd give my first solution a second go. The drowning of problems in cheap alcohol really was worth another shot.23

More tequila tumbled its way through my mouth, burned its way down my throat and collected in a warm pool just above my stomach.24

Finally, footsteps could be heard behind the door. I mumbled a countdown. 25

“5...4...3...2...1...”26

I frowned. There were no cops yelling 'Freeze!' or 'Put down the gun!' or whatever it is we yell in these slightly different situations. I don't know – I only deal with homicidal maniacs threatening to take somebody else's life, not suicidal ones threatening their own. 27

Three seconds later, the door burst open and a very familiar face slowly walked over towards me. 28

“Hayley?” A cautious voice cutting through the darkness.29

“Ryan?” I sent him a drunken grimace. “What are you doing here?”30

My partner, Detective Ryan Colby, worriedly cleared his throat. “I was going to ask you that: what are you doing here?”31

I angrily stood up and narrowed my eyes. “How could he do something like that and just get away with it?” 32

Comprehension dawned. “This is about Hill?”33

“Of course! We let her down. I let Becky down.”34

Becky was the little girl. Morgan Hill was her *bunny* of a father that covered his tracks too damn well. We couldn't press charges because of lack of evidence.35

“No...no, you didn'-”36

“Yes I did!”37

“Hayley...” He sighed, walking a few steps closer. “Just come down.”38

“No.” Determined; resolute. I backed away a couple of steps, matching the three he had taken towards me. My heel hit the concrete, and, hands spinning like a windmill, I scrambled to find my balance.39

Ryan jumped forward, but I managed to right myself. Somehow the bottle slipped out of my hands and nearly tumbled over the edge. Lurching forward, its safety the only thing on my mind, I managed to save it, giving the glass a good-natured squeeze when it made it back to it's familiar spot in my hand.40

Unfortunately, that put my recently won balance back on the market, and right now gravity and momentum were making unbeatable bids for it. You know how some people buy houses and then just knock them down to build their own? Well the two physics concepts were simply going to burn my balance, should they win.41

Ryan, always the hero, jumped forward a second time, snaking an arm around my waist and anchoring a foot against the ledge. I tumbled back into his arms. 42

“What the hell were you doing?” He asked quietly, a tremor in his voice betraying the emotion behind the question.43

Suddenly the alcohol induced mist disappeared, and the reality of what I'd done, and what had nearly happened, set it.44

“Oh my god,” I whispered. He seemed to understand.45

“Hey, it's okay,” he said quietly, as a began to sob in his embrace. “Shhhh....it's alright now, you're safe.”46

The door burst open for a second time that evening, and the two cops (donut-eating types, like I suspected) almost fell through, panting.47

“I-is...everything....is everything okay...here?” One said as he gasped for breaths. 48

“Yeah,” Ryan said softly. “It's all good, just give us a moment.”49

They gave him an incredulous look, almost as if to say: “We walked up eight flights of stairs, and now you're telling us to go back down again; that we actually exercised for nothing!?”50

His authoritative glare sent them packing. 51

“I'm sorry,” I whispered. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry....I'm so sorry.”52

“It's okay. You nearly scared the life out of my when you were swaying on the ledge,” he said, the slightest edge of gentle teasing humour in his voice, now I was out of danger.53

“I scared the crap out of myself,” I replied.54

He grinned slightly, and caught my eyes with his. “I love you.” 55

I could tell it just tumbled out with absolutely no plan because of the way his whole face registered the shock. Plus if he had planned it, he might not have decided right after rescuing me from an eight storey drop was the best time. 56

“I-I'm sorry-” Now he was the one stammering.57

“Shut up,” I said playfully, putting my finger on his lips.58

As my own set of lips took the place of my fingers in a mind-blowing, indescribable first kiss, I glanced up at the night sky. And decided that after this twist, I was ready to use the metaphor 'a black sky tumbling on for an eternity, punctuated with diamonds'. Because now, my mood had taken a decided turn for the better, and the tequila was no longer a prerequisite.