Page 115 of Serial Killer Games

In the distance a siren wails, and I see a flash of policeofficers, handcuffs, courtrooms.Voluntary manslaughter,Grant’s idiotic voice chirps excitedly in my ear. But there was an altercation beforehand. I’d been screaming at him—I’d backed him up against the parapet. Third degree murder—Second, depending on witness testimony, Grant says again, and I stare at Cynthia. This woman who looks at me like I’m the worst sort of monster—it comes down to what she has to say.

And I watch as Cynthia and Laura and Dodi exchange long glances, and there’s something there…a space, a silence, an understanding between three women on a roof after a close call with a dangerous psycho, the sort of psycho women have to deal with all the time—at home, at work—by smiling and turning the other cheek, or fleeing, or—if you’re fierce and strong like Dodi and Cynthia—standing your ground, taking matters into your own hands, pushing back—pushing—

Dodi called her a paper pusher. But no, she didn’t sayapaper pusher—

I realize something awful about Cynthia, the same moment she sees something redeeming in me.

“What a horrible accident,” Cynthia says without inflection.

I’m like a parade inflatable snagged on a lamppost. I deflate, go limp. Cat wriggles from my lax arms, and Dodi takes her, mutely, clumsily. She squeezes Cat so tight I hear joints pop. I drop to my knees and reach out for Laura, who falls to the turf next to us, and I put my arms around them all.

51

Arrested

Jake

Within minutes, an emergency responseteam spills out of the elevator bulkhead and onto the roof.

“It was all a horrible accident,” Cynthia says levelly over the bustle and din of the EMTs and police officers in her trademark unnerving monotone.

“You’re going to be okay. You’re in shock,” the paramedic says, fluffing a big silver emergency blanket and spreading it around Cynthia’s shoulders. A police officer writes her statement on a pad while Cynthia gazes at me with emotionless eyes.

The hand that touched Andrew’s chest tingles and turns white.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Laura reassures me. We wrap our arms around each other, and I watch Dodi pace back and forth restlessly, distractedly, like a caged tiger, Cat still curled into a ball in her arms, watching Cynthia all the while.

My father is dead. That was a lie for most of my life; now it really is true, but I feel nothing about the loss. Everyone who matters to me is safe.

Eventually, Laura gives a statement to the police too—cool, calm, collected.

“It was all a horrible accident,” she says firmly, squeezing my hand with both of hers.

She seems taller, straighter, like she fills space differently somehow. She hands a business card to the officer and takes one of his. Next is Dodi’s statement.

“It was all a horrible accident,” she says without blinking, leaning into my side.

I feel like I’m watching myself when I give my own statement. “It was a horrible accident.” I’m not lying.

The building manager arrives, carrying Princess in a grubby baby onesie. He scrabbles out of her arms and pelts over to Cat.

“Yes, there’s a security camera, right there,” the building manager says to the inquiring police officer, “but it’s directed at the dog park, not the wall. Jesus. What a horrible accident.”

At last they don’t need us anymore, and we can go. With one final look at Cynthia still swathed in foil across the roof, perched on the parapet like it’s the best seat in the house, I take Cat by the hand, and Dodi slips a protective arm around Laura—one widow supporting another—and we go, passing a pair of police officers as they step onto the roof.

“God,” one mutters, “what a horrible accident.”

—

“Jake,” Dodi says in theelevator. “We need—to talk.”

I look at her. I think what she needs is a change of clothes and a shower, but Laura is in agreement.

“You two go for a walk,” she says, eyes darting between us. She wants a reconciliation. A happily ever after. She wants to keep Cat so badly. “I’ll take Cat back to the apartment.”She darts out on the third floor with Cat and Princess in tow and leaves us.

In a whisper, Dodi says, “Cynthia—”

“Cynthia,” I agree.

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