The impact was not as sharp as he had expected, and he began to sink quickly. After what felt like minutes, his descent slowed and he opened his eyes. The rain had warmed the water, and the steady fall of the drops on the surface allowed him to see only a blurry outline of the moonlight above him. The ringing in his ears and the panic in his lungs began to overwhelm his thoughts, and for the first time in days, he smiled. He had never felt so alive, and this is what he was after. He closed his eyes again, so he did not notice when the figure of a man covered the light from the moon. He heard a splash, and before he could react he was being pulled to the surface.

He was thrown into the mud next to a black leather jacket that was all too familiar, and he rolled over coughing and laughing at the same time. "My hero." He coughed out.

"What are doing?!" The man who was now lying beside him yelled, shoving him so hard he nearly rolled back onto his stomach. "What were you trying to do? You inconsiderate, selfish-"

"Swimming." He laughed and tried to open his eyes to see the full moon through the raindrops.

"Right, Damon. In the rain, with your clothes on at 10:30 at night?" His "rescuer" was standing now, putting his jacket and jeans back on.

"I was remembering what it's like to feel again, Stefan." Realizing how upset he had made his brother, he sobered up from the adrenaline rush. "I wasn't going to drown, idiot." He couldn't be too serious if he had any chance of Stefan laying off of him about this for the next month. How did he even know I left the house? He stood up and followed his brother, who had stormed off down the road. It was a half a mile to the shoulder where he had parked his car, and knowing that this was the only place to safely pull off the road to get to the bridge, he assumed his brother's car would be parked there as well.

They walked in silence; Damon trailed behind Stefan wondering what really would have happened had his brother not showed up. Truly, he hadn't thought that far ahead. He had not had a clear head in days, and tonight after his third glass of scotch he decided what he could do to make the thoughts go away. He would jump off the bridge, and see how long it took before his conscience stopped screaming. He had always been an outsider, a troublemaker; he never felt much remorse for the things he had done in the past, but thoughts of that night would not leave his mind. All he wanted was not to care and on the walk back to the car, with somewhat of a new outlook on life, he made the decision to stop caring once and for all.

The cars were in sight, and just as Stefan pushed the button on his key ring to unlock the door, both men stopped cold. "Did you hear that?" He turned around quickly.

"It sounded like-" Damon turned to look back in the direction they had come.

"Go, Damon." Stefan demanded and began to run back towards the bridge.

"What, why? You're not going alone, Stefan!" He started to jog as his brother doubled back past him, but Stefan stopped quickly, grabbing Damon's shoulders.

"If that was what I think it was, there will be police soon and the last thing you need right now is any questioning. Not in this… state of mind."

He was right. "Don't do anything stupid. You can't save everyone." Damon frowned, but remembering his newfound outlook he somewhat gladly returned to his car. A few miles down the road as he was nearing the estate, four police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck buzzed past him.

...

I was 17 the night my parents died. There was nothing normal about that night. It was the night my cheerleading banquet had been scheduled, but the town council canceled the banquet after the events of the previous week. A body had been found washed up on shore the next town over, identified as a graduate of the state university two hours north. He was known to run in bad circles, so my friends and I knew not to be too concerned our own safety. Our parents, however, panicked and canceled every town event scheduled for the next two weeks. They placed an 8:00 curfew on the teenagers, and held an emergency town meeting in place of the banquet a week later. This is where my parents were returning from the night their car hydroplaned off of Wickery Bridge.

When I arrived at the police station, my brother Jeremy ran to greet me at the door. He threw himself into me and sobbed uncontrollably, my face buried in his shirt. I stood there motionless; I couldn't even wrap my arms around him. None of this was real.

An officer pulled him away, realizing that I needed space. Jeremy sunk to the floor and continued to cry. I looked around at the faces of the officers, their hats removed and their faces sullen. I had never experienced that look before - the look of deepest sympathy, coming from people who knew they couldn't possibly understand but had to try anyway. My eyes stopped on a boy around my age, maybe a year or two older wrapped in a blue blanket on the opposite side of the room. The officers had told me the story standing in the front foyer of my house, and it replayed in my mind during the drive to the station. I knew this must be the guy who called the police. Not knowing what I was doing or why, I found myself walking over to him. Initially, my first emotion about this man was anger. Why couldn't he have gotten there sooner, why couldn't he have opened the doors and pulled them out? He was there; they weren't alone. There had been a chance, but he failed. Now, seeing him here, I suddenly felt sad. The first real feeling of sadness I had felt since I found out my parents weren't coming home ever again, and I felt it for this boy - not myself, not my brother. Him. I walked over to him, and when I reached his chair he stood up, dropped his blanket to the floor and stood unsteady, wondering what I was going to do to him. I stopped, contemplating for a split second whether or I wanted to slap him or hug him. Before I could make up my mind, he held his hand out and took mine.

"I'm so...I'm so sorry... I tried to... but the doors..." He stammered.

I looked up at him and nodded. Immediately, tears started flowing. I covered my face with my hands, fell to my knees and watched the tears bounce off of the tile floor. I felt like a child all of a sudden, and I did not want to be here in this room full of people - especially with him. I still did not know what I felt towards him, but I realized suddenly that didn't matter - my parents were gone. After what felt like hours sitting on the floor of the station, I lifted my head when I heard the front door close. There was another man, definitely a few years older in his late 20's standing there, looking terrified and confused. He had dark hair and piercing blue eyes that were bright even from across the room. The most intriguing thing about his eyes were the secrets that I could tell he held behind him, and the way the stress of the world showed ever so slightly in his expression. We made eye contact, and for the first time since I opened the door to the police at midnight, I received a look of empathy. He didn't feel sorry for me, he understood me and the slight frown in his expression was more honest than anyone else had been all night.

"Are you finished with him? Come on, Stefan." He put his arm around his brother's shoulder and led him to the exit, looking for approval from the officers at the front desk. They nodded, patted the boy on his shoulder as he passed, mumbled words of condolence and appreciation and with that, the two were gone. Still staring out into the night, the next face I saw was that of my Aunt Jenna, my mother's sister. She ran through the front door and stopped, looking around for my brother and me. Both of us stood up and ran to her, and for the first time that night my family mourned together.