The girl next to me at the bus stop is crying. I can tell she’s trying to be discreet, but it’s not working.
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I keep my head down.
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A bus stops in front of us with the words “Pier Express” flashing on its LED board. The girl gets up from her seat and onto the bus. I lift my head as the bus drives away. I look to my left where the girl was sitting, and I see that she left her backpack.
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Hopeful to find something to identify her as to return the bag, I find a note, folded and written sloppily in red marker.
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“To whoever finds me…” it begins. “…please tell my mother I’m sorry…”
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I know what this is. A million questions run circles in my mind. Who is she? What was she going through? Will she do it? Though the loudest question of them all - “Can I stop her?”
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I put the note in my pocket, grab her bag, and run to the corner where a cab is stopped at the traffic light. I bang on the trunk but the man in the backseat yells at me through the glass.
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“Miss, do you need help?” asks a woman hanging out of the passenger side of the car behind the cab.
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“Yes, I need to get to the pier right away.”
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The woman looks over to the man driving. He nods and I hear the back door unlock. I get inside and the man races to the pier, treating downtown like an obstacle course.
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As I finish explaining the situation, we arrive at the pier. “We’ll wait here for you.” the woman says as I hop out of the car.
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Surprisingly, the pier isn’t very busy making it easy to spot the girl off to the right gripping the guard rail tightly, sobbing.
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I grab the girl around her waist as she begins to climb over the railing and I bring her down to the ground. The girl squirms, trying to break away until I whisper in her ear, “Please don’t. Whatever it is, you’re not alone anymore.” The girl continues trying to fight until the couple from the car comes and joins us on the ground, hugging the girl and me.
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The girl relents, cries, and hugs us back. “Thank you. I’m so sorry.”
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“Shhh,” the woman says to the girl, “you’re okay now. You’re going to be okay.”
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We all sit on the ground crying with each other as the sun sets in the distance. Eventually, we all left the pier and found a restaurant for dinner, giving the girl a chance to tell her story and share her struggles. We exchanged information and promised to keep in touch. Afterward, the couple drop me off at home and offer the girl a place to stay for the night.
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The next morning, I wake up with a smile on my face and a warm feeling in my chest, a feeling that grows even warmer after my first cup of coffee. I reach for the coffee pot to pour my second cup and turn on the morning news. Two people found dead in their home last night after a neighbor heard screaming. My heart sinks at the thought. It isn’t long before pictures of the couple from last night, the kind couple that helped me save…
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…It isn’t possible. There’s no way. It can’t be true.
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But it was. Moments later, the girl’s picture with the words “WANTED” above it appears on the screen with the number for the police tip line underneath.
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Before I could reach my phone to call the police, there was a knock on my door. Soft at first, but quickly got louder, harder, and more aggressive.
“Open up!” the voice of the girl is angry and vengeful, “it’s your turn!”
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Flower pots break on the other side of the door until the sound of breaking terracotta is replaced with laughter. I fall to my knees on the floor as I hear the hidden key slide into the lock.
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I’m scared.