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CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Cody Carpenter wears a Yankees cap under a hoodie, and even from twenty feet away Keller can see the dark circles under his eyes, like he’s been here all night. He sits on the ledge, his feet dangling just like in the photo. And the worst part, there’s a straight drop down. No security net. One of the gaps.

The bridge patrol officer stands behind her. Even without turning around, she can feel panic radiating off the young officer. They’re on their own.

“Hey there,” Keller calls out. “Everything okay?”

The boy’s head turns. “I said don’t come closer.” His voice sounds detached.

Keller freezes in place.

She takes a quick look over her shoulder, hoping McCray and the others are close. Not yet. Though people are on the slope above: bystanders capturing the scene on their phones. Outrageous. But there’s no way to chase them off.

“I’m Sarah,” she says gently.

Cody Carpenter doesn’t respond.

She needs to buy time until the others—the ones trained for this—arrive. “I like your hat. You from New York?” she asks. “We just moved here from the city. The weather’s better here, for sure. But they don’t know how to make pizza.”

Keller doesn’t know that, but she’s guessing it’s right. Cody is from Englewood, New Jersey, a commuter town for New York City, but he’ll know a good slice of pie.

Still nothing.

When the boy stares back at the water, Keller shuffles a single step closer. She’ll take this inch by inch if needed.

“Have you been here all night? You must be hungry. Maybe we can go get something to eat, talk.”

“Go away,” he says.

There’s a resolve in his voice, a clench in his jaw. Building rapport isn’t going to work.

He leans slightly forward. This isn’t going well.

She needs to take a different approach. In a split second she decides to be direct.

“Dr. Maldonado’s going to be okay, Cody.”

The boy’s head pivots around in surprise at her use of his name. At the reference to Maldonado.

“Just a few scrapes and bruises, a mild concussion. We know you didn’t mean to—”

“You don’t know anything.” His voice is steady, unemotional.

“I’m with the FBI and I spoke to Dr. Maldonado. He won’t press charges. Said it’s his own fault. We can fix this.” Not entirely true, but desperate times…

Cody has doe eyes that make him look particularly vulnerable. Her heart aches for him. He watched his father blow his head off while his mom was sneaking off with another man. It doesn’t jus tify whatever he had in store for David Maldonado. But it makes it understandable.

The boy looks out at the water again. He is oddly vacant, like he’s dissociated from what’s happening.

Keller creeps another step closer.

“I talked to your mom,” Keller says. “She’s so worried. She said there’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“ I can’t be fixed,” Cody says.

Keller’s mind returns to the sketch notepad. The monsters—the intrusive thoughts—haunting this boy.

“I just want the pain to stop,” he says.

“I know,” Keller says. She inches closer. “But can I tell you something?”

The kid doesn’t respond. Keller is feeling a bit hopeless herself. She’s not equipped to do this. But she doesn’t dare look behind her to see if the others have arrived to help, doesn’t dare take a break in this conversation.

“There have been a lot of people who survived the fall.”

Cody’s jaw pulses.

Keller lowers her voice, hoping he won’t notice she’s edging closer.

“And all of them—every single one—said that in the millisecond of flight they had the same thought.”

He closes his eyes, not noticing she’s so close she could almost touch him now.

“They said that in that fleeting moment they realized that all of the things that had brought them to where you are right now—all of their problems—could be fixed, except for one.” Keller pauses, so close now that the ledge is making her queasy.

He doesn’t move. Is he listening to her?

“They couldn’t fix the decision to jump.” Keller waits a beat. “But you can.”

Cody sits for a long while, says nothing. Then he abruptly stands, his toes touching the ledge. He takes out his wallet, throws it into the grass. Does the same with his phone.

Keller’s heart is jackhammering.

He swivels his head to stare directly at Keller. A look of peace spreads over his face. “You tell David Maldonado this is his fault. Tell him that—”

Before Cody finishes the sentence, she dives for the boy and tackles him football-style from the side, bear-hugging him as she hauls him backward, praying she’s propelled them far enough from the ledge.

When Cody realizes what’s happening, he thrashes about. They start to slide down the embankment, still tangled together, and Keller feels sheer terror that he might pull them both over.

Then she feels hands gripping her arms. Sees more hands securing the kid. Dragging them both from the ledge.

“Nooooo.” The boy is crying and it nearly levels her. As the others put the kid’s hands in flex cuffs behind his back, Keller doesn’t weaken her embrace. A tear escapes her eye.

“You and your mom are gonna get through this,” she whispers.

And she prays this time she’s speaking the truth.