Prologue
Charlie - October
Idon’trealizehowstill I’ve been sitting until the office lights hum above me before blinking out. I glare up at them, tired of the constant need to get up and wave my arms around like a mad man. Whoever created motion sensor lights without the ability to set them to ‘on’ should be shot.
I stand and stretch my arms overhead before turning to look out the floor-to-ceiling window of my office. My reflection in the privacy glass shows my surprise. I run my hand through my hair, realizing I need a haircut. I usually keep it short and neat, but I’ve been running myself into the ground. I should have gotten married this month, but I didn’t. The engagement ended when my fiancée walked out on me because, in her words, “If you’re married to your job, you can’t be married to me.”
At some point, it had not only become night, but it started raining. Not just raining, pouring. A vague memory surfaces of my assistant, Ashley, telling me she was leaving because of a hurricane. Usually, she would tough out the night, stay until I left, but she wanted to get home before the storm got bad and created the potential to shut down trains. Manhattan doesn’t see many hurricanes, so I seldom have to worry about them.
I look at my watch with a heavy sigh; that was nearly six hours ago. Well after a reasonable time to end the day, but truth be told, had she asked earlier, I would have let her go then. Most days, I don’t leave my office and it might make me pathetic, but I do rely on Ashley telling me that shit weather is here. So, you know, I don’t miss things like a hurricane skirting the city. I pull out my phone, and see that my taxi app, PickMeUp!, has surge pricing due to the storm, but I order a black car anyway. I pack up my laptop, grateful that there are even cars available at two-thirty in the morning.
I’m still managing my emails when the car pulls up, honking immediately. They’re just as desperate to get off the road as I am to get home.
“You crazy, man?” the driver asks after verifying my identity.
I don’t answer him, choosing to focus on my draft email to one of the Asia offices I’m working with. I finish the email and look up.
“Crazy rain,” I agree, having only half heard him. The streets of the Financial District are nearly bare, only a handful of cars and pedestrians are braving the storm.
“Rain? This is from a genuine hurricane! I know that doesn’t seem like much after Sandy, but it's still a nasty storm out there. I was working during Sandy, you know. It was a superstorm, nothing like it. A hundred-year storm they call it. You must work in finance. All you Wall Street guys are the same, working until the sun comes up, only to go home and shower and go right back at it. You all have so much money, but what’s the use if all you do is work?”
I’m only catching every other word out of his mouth as I keep working. The driver shoots up the West Side Highway, taking the exit for 96th Street. Usually, they would take the FDR, but I wonder if this driver knows something I don’t.
I’m not paying much attention anyway. My father sent an email telling me not to fuck up the deal, as if I need another reminder. The company we’re looking to buy is a Japanese medical device manufacturer, and my dad is already talking about me taking a trip to Tokyo to discuss the deal in person.
This email, telling me I need to brush up on Japanese business customs, is unnecessary. I’ve already been to visit them when we first started looking, but now he wants me to go to close the deal.
It’s no wonder Ainsley ended things. I try not to think about her, about how we should have been married already, fucking our way through a month in Seychelles. It was excessive, taking a month, but I thought she deserved it; a month of my undivided attention. Though, the way this deal was shaking up, I probably would have been working while my new wife swam naked in the private pool overlooking the ocean.
I have no right to know, but I wonder how she’s doing. My life has felt emptier, filled only with work since she ended things. It was like I abruptly lost a limb the way she cut herself out of my life so completely. There were events I would have seen her at: the January charity gala and other Dartmouth Alumni events I knew had been on her calendar. Our mutual friend, Taryn, let me know that Ainsley wasn’t going to attend those things; she needed space from me. I respect that, but damn it, I want my friend back.
The car slows, and I glance up to see that we’re entering Central Park on the 97th Street transverse. The sheets of rain seem to be falling harder, killing any visibility. Another email chimes on my phone, and I fight the urge to groan. My best friend and coworker, Jack, is emailing me now, annoyed about the thought of having to go to Japan, but wondering if he could swing bringing his girlfriend. Proposing in Japan might outweigh any other engagement plans he was making. I switch from my email to text Jack about his upcoming proposal and ask if he’s serious.
As we near the exit of the park, the driver shouts in surprise, jerking the wheel.
“Oh fuck!”
The impact of the car colliding with something makes my heart twist, my brain already trying to rationalize what we hit. Maybe a trash can blown into the street? The driver slams on his brakes, the car skidding to a complete stop. I don’t think, dropping my phone and climbing out as the driver sits stunned, gripping the steering wheel. He doesn’t let it go, a stricken look plastered on his face.
“Hey!” I shout, snapping at him, trying to startle him back into movement. I know in my heart that it wasn’t trash he hit. I move toward the front of the car, surprised by the rain all over again, but I don’t hesitate, looking out where the headlights shine.
Crushed under the tires is a bicycle and my heart seizes all over again. Lying in the street is a woman, her shattered helmet inches from her head. I rush to her, terrified at the way her leg is splayed to the side, bone sticking out of her skin just above her ankle. I’m shocked by how white it is against the red of her blood. Even in the dark I can see it glowing. Her arm is twisted under her torso, head turned away, eyes closed. Her blonde hair is splayed on the street in a grim halo.
“Oh God,” I mutter, dropping to my knees beside her.
The driver has finally emerged from the car, his eyes wide and panicked. “I didn’t see her! She came out of nowhere!”
I reach my hand gingerly to turn her head. There are scratches down the side of her face, blood seeping from them. For just a moment, she opens her eyes and looks at me, hazel eyes dark with pain.
“Call 9-1-1!” I shout, pulling off my drenched jacket. It’s not much, but it’s something I can use to protect her from the elements. I can’t tell if it’s a tear or just the rain, but she’s wet around the eyes, gritting her teeth. I did this. I wasn’t driving the car, but if I had left work at a normal time with a storm like this coming through, she wouldn’t be lying on the pavement, broken. This is an image I will never get out of my head. The vision of this shattered, dying woman in the street will be something that stays with me for the rest of my life.
I did this.
“You’re going to be okay,” I tell her, trying to sound confident. I hope it’s a promise that I can keep. “Just keep looking at me. What’s your name?” I ask, trying to keep her awake and alert. I wish I had paid closer attention to those stupid medical dramas that Ainsley watched. I don’t know what to do right now besides shield her. I feel like I should be putting pressure on a wound, but everywhere I might try looks like I would do more harm than good.
“El-” She groans and tries to shift her arm. I know enough that she shouldn’t be moved much. I probably fucked up moving her head, but I needed to see if she was still alive.
“Don’t move. You can’t move.” I want to reach for her and hold her still. Distantly, I can hear the sounds of the sirens as they come for us, come for El. I regret asking her her name. It’s clear she’s in pain.