A Noteworthy Account

The past two weeks had been a constant onslaught of grey, misty, chilly fog, making it somewhat unusual that today, with no warning, had dawned crystal clear with not a cloud in the sky, the air crisp and fragrant with the scent of spring.

It wasn’t that Theo had been feeling down, exactly, he thought to himself as he walked his usual route to work, his morning coffee in hand pleasantly warming the tips of his fingers and his chapped lips as he took a long sip. His dog throwing up repeatedly this week certainly hadn’t helped, and neither had his basement flooding at three in the morning, resulting in days of clean-up which still had not rid his whole house of a certain flat, moldy, stench. Theo was short on both sleep and patience.

Regardless, the sun certainly was a welcome addition this morning. No sooner had he reached the end of the street that his thoughts were broken up not by the screams he noticed later, but an odd, general sense of panic. The side street where his gaze was drawn was almost eerily quiet, except for a quick, scurried pattern of footsteps. Theo looked up from his coffee, which had rather inconveniently at this moment started spurting small brown bubbles from the opening, threatening to leak over his crisp work suit, and decided it would be in his best interest to set the drink aside and placed it gingerly on the curb. Several commuters, also clearly dressed for work, many carrying briefcases, some haphazardly throwing their drinks to the wayside, came running past him, and he flattened himself against the nearest wall, a brick wall protecting a rather intricately curated flower garden. Not knowing why, he looked up from the ground to the tall office building, a handsome modern construction that looked decidedly out of place with its floor to ceiling clear glass panes, the edges sparkling in the early morning sun.

Theo was distracted. He did not notice the large man, who anyone else would have noticed was making a beeline directly for him, until it was too late. The man pushed into him with a barely muttered “S’cuse me”, and Theo, muttering indignantly, was swept off his feet unceremoniously, into the nearest flower bed. “God damn it,” he swore quietly, as he brushed the dirt off himself. He picked up his briefcase and examined the contents. Everything seemed to be in place. Except. In the gap between his laptop and work journal - which he usually left open for any paperwork needing to be brought home from work (all that accursed paperwork) - was a small, unfamiliar black notebook. It seemed to catch the sunlight on the cover, darkest obsidian and yet seeming to give off a faint sparkle. Theo opened the notebook carefully. It gave way easily to the force of his hands, but he felt the binding resist. It felt important, he thought. It opened easily - almost unnaturally easily - to what he immediately knew was the right page, as his eyes fell upon a check. Twenty thousand dollars, written out to the name of Theodore Choi. “What the actual fuck,” he thought to himself, and looked up and around, [as if expecting the person who had written the check in his name, placed it neatly into the notebook and shoved it into his briefcase to be standing there, a grin wide on his face, waiting to shake his hand and congratulate him on his unusually good fortune.] This examination of time and place broke his reverie. He looked around again, this time more cautiously. The panic that had initially drawn his attention seemed to have resolved somewhat. A quiet gaggle of commuters now stood in the parking lot of the modern office building, looking anxious and consulting their phones and every once in a while sneaking a quick, upwards glance as if fearing the worst. Theo followed their glances, up, over the glass panes and the breathtaking architecture, over the topmost flourish on the fifteenth floor, a sharply cut, shimmering, pointed diamond, up still, to the flat roof, a curious contrast to the majestic decoration adorning the building. A woman stood there. Fifteen stories above the ground, she stood still, silhouetted against the bright morning sun, seemingly clutching something in her arms. A feeling of panic rose up in Theo’s throat. He shoved the small black book unceremoniously back inside his briefcase and jogged over to the crowd of people.

“What’s happening?” he inquired nervously of the man standing just next to him, a portly gentleman sporting a walrus moustache.

“She’s going to jump. With her baby.” He stated gruffly, and rather simply, Theo thought, in a manner that did not match the apparent seriousness of the situation.

“Has anyone called emergency services?” Theo asked, the feeling of panic rising higher and higher still in his throat, unbidden.

“I think those two did. They were going to try and talk her down first.” The man huffed, pointing to a man and woman, both dressed in plaid, standing closer to the edge of the building, eyes looking upward, palms up, as if pleading with the woman not to jump.

The woman, barefoot and in casual clothes - shorts and a t-shirt - (not nearly warm enough for this chilly morning, Theo thought) seemed to be teetering on the edge of the building. Theo wondered now if anyone had tried to go talk to her on the roof of the building. Reasoning with her from fifteen stories below hardly seemed to be the most effective way to do this, he thought, especially when there was another life at stake.

I am no help at all here, Theo thought to himself. Why had he turned down that side street and followed the crowd here? Pure curiosity, he admitted, had forced his hand. What life skills did he have to assist a woman who was on the brink of killing both herself and (presumably) her child? He nearly snorted in laughter as he ran through the life skills he had amassed in his thirty years on this earth: Make sure his client’s taxes were completed accurately. Build a (half-decent) fire (but only if it wasn’t raining). Pitch a tent. Clean and cook a freshly caught fish. Break a wooden board in a karate competition with a roundhouse kick (although how useful this kick would be in a real street fight, Theo was still not sure, since he’d never been in a real fight.)

Theo put his hand back in his briefcase and retrieved the black book. I should find out where this came from, he thought. He flipped through, past the page which had the check tucked into it. “(The check!” his brain shouted at him fervently. “Twenty THOUSAND dollars, Theo, in your name. Go deposit the check, for God’s sake!”) The notebook felt alive. It hummed faintly with a gentle, familiar energy in his hands, and as he flipped through, seemed to settle itself on a page almost at the end of the book. A single line of text awaited Theo. He read thirstily, eyes flying across the page, drinking in the words on the page as if they would answer all his questions.

Save the woman and the child, and the money is yours.

Theo closed the book and it seemed to jump away from him, seemed to shut itself firmly with a snap that echoed in the tense quiet of the parking lot. As he held the book in his fingertips, a soft vibration hummed on his fingernails, and began spreading through his hands and then his arms. Before he knew it Theo was engulfed in a warm blanket of electric power, the connections of his new powers forming a network of new abilities, thoughts, feelings and processes all over his body. As he drew himself up to his full height, all of a sudden, he knew. He knew why this woman was about to end her life, despite the fact that he had never before laid eyes on her.

Theo looked up at Lily, still teetering on the edge of the building, gasping quietly, clutching the two week old newborn to her chest. Mark had left her. He had promised her forever. A partnership, a home, a child that was to be the start of their growing family. Days after she had returned home from the hospital, still in a post-partum haze of hormones, but sleepy and happy and content with her new family. He had left her a purple Post-It, stuck haphazardly to the small round bedside mirror she kept beside her. “I don’t want this. I’m sorry,” the note read.

It was understandable that she had climbed the highest building she could find, Theo thought. More impressive, actually, that she had tried to fight through it alone for two weeks before the grief and loneliness overtook her. “I don’t want this either. I never wanted this,” she thought.

A rush, more powerful than any wind he had ever felt, swept through Theo. He strode briskly from the parking lot, breaking into a run, feeling the resisting wind whipping through his hair. He calmly made his way to the back door, and the previously locked door handle yielded easily to his hand with barely a push. He rushed up the stairs. Later, he would try to convince himself that he, Theodore Choi, a man who routinely took the elevator up to his second floor office, had not just run up fifteen flights of stairs in ten seconds.

The morning was still strangely calm as he came out onto the roof, the wind barely lifting his hair, the sun spreading its warmth over the city. A pretty good view of the city from here, he noted briefly as he made his way over to her. As he approached her, she stepped back from the ledge, and seemed to crumple into herself. He rushed over to her and took both her and the child into his arms and back down the fifteen flights of stairs, back to the parking lot, where the onlookers stood aghast, confused as to what had just taken place, where the woman had disappeared to in the blink of an eye. An ambulance had seemingly made its way over to the scene, and Theo escorted the mother and child over to them and in the ensuing chaos, as the ambulance workers fussed over the two near victims of a horrible tragedy, miraculously physically unharmed, Theo disappeared through the crowd and over to the ledge where he had placed his coffee. He took a deep breath of the cool morning air. The rush that had overtaken him previously seemed to have dissipated, and he felt tiredness settling into his bones.

He opened up the black book. On the page where his instructions had previously appeared, were now just two words. Good work. Theo let out a quiet laugh, incredulous. He rubbed his cold hands together, and reflexively picked up his coffee from the ledge. It was still somehow warm, he wondered. The cup radiated its heat into his fingers and hands, and he relaxed. He tucked the book into the crook of his elbow and set off for his office, where he would take the elevator to his second floor office, settle himself into his chair, lock the door, and write a detailed account of what had just taken place. This, he knew, was vital, and the details were not to be missed. This book could handle his written account of the morning, and would not run out of space or pages and his pen would not run out of ink. The details would be key in ensuring that he succeeded next time.

Next time, he thought, a faint smile appearing on his lips, and the book gave the smallest, faintest vibration, a miniscule hum of agreement against his arm.