Page 44 of Already Lost

Nate looked him over, approaching closer.The man lay out flat, his hands still reaching above his head, touching thesurface of the bridge. With a swift movement, Nate took one hand off his gunand frisked the guy’s pockets.

A cell phone and a wallet.

No rope, no sedatives, no cloth to holdagainst anyone’s face.

This wasn’t the killer.

Nate stepped back, holstering his gun.“Alright, you’re clear,” he said. “I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. Youcan go on your way.”

The runner scrambled to his feet, stillwide-eyed. He looked like he wanted to ask what was going on, but instead hejust started running again, no doubt in fear of being shot if he lingered.

Nate raised his hands to his head, buffingthem over the top of his short hair, looking around in all directions. He spunin a circle. There was no one else here. Of course, that didn’t mean that thekiller wasn’t here, that he hadn’t retreated when he saw Nate come out, but…

It had been the perfect set-up. A man anda woman kissing on the bridge, exactly like in the song. And no one had emergedfrom the shadows to go after them.

The killer wasn’t here.

Which meant that in all likelihood, he wasat Laura’s bridge.

Nate turned and rushed back towards hiscar, knowing he needed to get to her as soon as possible.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

He parked carefully, far enough from thebridge that he wouldn’t raise suspicion but close enough that he would be ableto get the next one back to the car. He had to make sure he wasn’t caught. Heknew the police were looking for him, of course – he wasn’t stupid. But he hadto make this final one work.

His grandmother was depending on him.

He got out of the car, tracing the lyricsof the song like an old favorite mantra in his head.They were on thebridge, their breath was misting/When I looked up and saw them both up there.Assoon as he thought about it for even a second, he’d known where he needed togo. It had to be here.

The oldest bridge in town. A bridge thathad been here when Nena Flora recorded the song. An authentic place.Grandmother would have appreciated the symbolism so much. She would have calledit romantic. She still could, when he told her about all of this later. Whenshe was better again.

He walked to the foot of the bridge andthen under it slightly, on the banks of the river, where he could look up. Heneeded to look up and see them. That was how it would work. He had to see themfrom below, like the song said.

He settled in, ready to wait. To wait allnight if he needed to. And if nothing came along, he’d wait tomorrow night aswell – though he had a feeling that someone would come. They always did. It waslike the universe wanted him to complete his mission, too.

It would all end with this one. It was astrange thought. He’d been preparing for this for so long. He’d started tocollect the records when he noticed his grandmother was getting sick, longbefore she agreed to go to the hospital. When she started to lose things. Whenshe said the same thing to him three times in the same day because she keptforgetting.

At first, he hadn’t known why. He was justcollecting them because he loved her and because she loved the song. Loved itso much it had become a soundtrack to all of his memories of her. She played itagain and again, and when he knew that she was starting to fade he bought moreand more of them with the cash he had saved in a piggy bank since he firstmoved in with her, as if that would help.

It had only been recently that he’d beenshown the way – realized exactly what he could do to help, and how the recordswould play into it.

The song played in his mind perfectly,note for note and word for word. He didn’t need to set it on one of thegramophones his grandmother had spent her life collecting in order to hear it.It was so much a part of his very being that he could play the whole thing inhis head without pause, knowing he hadn’t missed so much as a beat.

A few people walked over the bridge, buthe ignored them. They didn’t fit. It wasn’t them he was looking for. He wouldknow when he saw the one he needed.

Sitting there gave him time to think. Toremember. And wasn’t that the most fitting thing, to sit and think about herwhile he prepared to make the final connection that would save her? Heremembered dancing to the song together, how she would snap without provocation– so much more lately than she ever had. He could replay the slaps like amontage of himself growing from a boy to a man, and all set to the soundtrackof that song.

How could he have heard it so many times,and yet taken so long to notice the actual meaning behind the words?

He had almost missed the connection,almost missed the roadmap that was saving his grandmother from the demons thatwere plaguing her. How many years had they spent, both of them, suffering forno reason?

At least he was making up for it now.

His memory touched on the day he’d firstheard the song, the day he’d gone to stay with his grandmother, and he jerkedaway from that thought like he had touched a burning coal. It was too rawstill, even after a decade. The day he’d been taken from his own home, hisbedroom, and told that his parents were gone. Grandmother had been his onlysolace. His protector. The black dresses she wore those months had soaked upall of his tears, until he’d been able to dance with her to the song and evensmile, and one day even laugh.

She had saved him from that awfulemptiness. Now he was repaying the favor.

Another person stepped onto the bridge andhe lifted his head, but dropped it again. A dog walker. Not his target. Hecouldn’t just take anyone. That wouldn’t do. This one, most of all, needed tobe special. He wasn’t even sure who he was waiting for, but he knew that hewould understand when he saw them.

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