okayyy! here it is! chapter two! and thankyou to everyone who reviwed! and sorry to all u H/Hr shippers – maybe next time.
anyway, i put my disclaimer on the last chapter – i don't know if i need to put it here gain, but i will anyway – i don't own anything (xcept my own characters.)
Chapter 2
"I dunno. It doesn't look like there's anyone up there," Lieutenant David Sanders said.
"Look, Dave," his partner, Miranda Eisley, sighed, "I know what I saw."
Sanders shook his head.
"Thompson's on his way up," Eisley told him, "We'll know soon enough."
She was sitting in the driver's seat of their car, which had it's light flashing but the siren turned off. Sanders was leaning against the side of their car. About half an hour earlier, he'd been shaken awake from his nap in the back of the car by Eisley, who had a woman behind her, claiming they'd both seen a woman on the top of the Financial Center.
"Mrs. Crosby saw her and came to get me," Eisley told him, "We're afraid she'd gonna jump. Call for help."
And so that was how they came to be waiting in the midst of about five police cars, a huge crowd of gaping bystanders, and two big searchlights combing the roof of the building.
"If you ask me, its just a big mix up," Sanders said casually, "Probably just one of the employees, coming up to take a breather."
"She was wearing a sating evening dress," Eisley said, slowly, voice tight with frustration. Sanders sighed. He reached behind Eisley for the thermos of coffee. He poured some into a paper cup and handed it to her. She took it without a word. He poured some for himself and threw the thermos onto the passenger's seat.
"How could you see from all the way down here?" Sanders asked, continuing the conversation.
"Dave..." Eisley's warning voice trailed off.
"Hell, how can you be sure it was a woman?" Sanders sipped his coffee cautiously. He hated it when the coffee was too hot. Eisley, on the other hand, liked to scald her tongue, so they always came to a disagreement about the coffee that went into the thermos they had to share. It was Eisley's thermos, so she usually got her way, and Sanders would have to wait for his portion to cool down.
"Why don't you just go get one from the kitchen?" Eisley asked grumpily, after Sanders had complained about the temperature of the coffee earlier today.
"Because there are none. They're all being used," Sanders had said bluntly, and that was the end of that.
"No, sir, I'm sorry. We can't let you through!"
Sanders glanced at Eisley, who rolled her eyes. It was John Salman, who just come out of police academy. A fine young man, but a little too strict when it came to following the rules.
"I guess I'll go see what's going on," Sanders said, pushing himself off the car.
"Have fun," Eisley said dully.
Sanders walked towards the voice. He could see Salman holding back a young man wearing jeans and a sport's jacket, and carrying a backpack that was half open. The thing that caught Sanders' eye, however, was the man's vibrant red hair.
"What's going on here?" he said, in his best authoritative voice. Salman glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw his superior. He let go of the red haired man to stand to attention. The man fell onto his knees. Sanders glared at Salman before extending a hand to help the red haired man up.
"I'm terribly sorry," Sanders apologized, "I'm Lieutenant David Sanders, can I help you?"
"Yeah," The man said, brushing off his jeans, "I'm with the FBI," he flashed a card at Sanders, "And I want to get in. I heard you've got a suicidal woman up there, and we believe it to be Linda Graham, who disappeared three months ago. If you want to check my story, you're welcome to, but it is vital that I get up there."
"If you don't mind me asking, why?" Sanders asked.
"We believe Mrs. Graham is suffering amnesia. She's been spotted a few times before, not knowing who she was or what she was doing. I've brought pictures of her family and home," he flashes these at Sanders too, "and I need to get up there and stop her jumping and try to get her memory back so she'll come back with me to her home."
"Why aren't her friends and family with her?"
The young man blew out air, obviously in a hurry and very frustrated. Sanders didn't care. He didn't want to let anybody in without a very good reason for them to do so.
"They've all stayed behind in hopes that she comes back. They don't know I've found her yet."
"Very well, you can go up, but I'll escort you."
"There's really no need - "
"I insist," Sanders said firmly. The last thing he needed was some psycho running around pushing suicidal women off rooftops.
Stupid stupid stupid! Hermione beat at the wet ground with her fists. Sobbing helplessly, she sat back against the wall, wiping at her dripping face with a stinging hand. A disgusting mixture of mucus, blood, tears and rainwater was smeared across her palm. She wiped it on her dress. She must look a mess. Viktor would think - who cared what he thought? In a few minutes, he wouldn't be a problem. Nothing would be a problem. All her problems would end with a final rush of adrenaline and a sickening thud.
Hermione returned slowly to the table, after making another quick stop to the restroom to check that she still looked presentable and to take a few deep breaths. Viktor was laughing at something Mr. Richerdly had said. She was about to join them, when Hermione saw something that made her stop in her tracks. Only half hidden by the saffron tablecloth, Viktor's hand was on Isabella's knee, stroking it, caressing it. Hermione glanced at Isabella's face. She looked uneasy, as if she was not sure what she should do.
Tell him! Hermione's mind screamed, tell your husband! But she remained silent. At that moment, Mr. Richerdly noticed her.
"Hermione!" He smiled at her, and beckoned to her to join them. Viktor twisted in his seat, hand leaving Isabella's knee. She looked relieved. But Viktor knew Hermione had seen. He had a way of reading things in her mind. It was like he was psychic or something. He was glaring at her, eyes flashing dangerously. Hermione swallowed hard, forced a smile, and sat down.
During the dinner, only Viktor and Mr. Richerdly really talked. Mr. Richerdly was a very cheerful, outgoing man, and Viktor somehow managed to copy his manner and was almost as cheerful all evening. Hermione sat silent, afraid of upsetting Viktor, thinking about his hand on Isabella's knee. Isabella was also very quiet, and slightly pale, as if panicking inside. Hermione guessed Viktor's hadn't taken his hand away.
Sometimes, no matter how much Mr. Richerdly laughed, or Viktor joked, there were small silences. They reminded Hermione of the awkward moments she had when she first started dating Ron. The thought almost brought a smile to her face. Almost.
She had dated Ron all through the sixth year. They'd broken up over the summer. A summer Hermione would never forget, full of tears on her part. She'd really loved Ron. She hadn't realized until later, until it was much too late.
But he'd accused her of cheating on him with Viktor Krum, and , in a way, she had, although she hadn't meant it. It'd started as a harmless correspondence, which soon turned into love letters. Ron found a love letter she'd written to Viktor, and he'd blown up. The summer they broke up, Hermione went to visit Viktor, and she fell in love. Or at least she thought she fell in love.
Hermione had been thinking of Ron a lot lately. Ron and Harry and all her old friends from Hogwarts. Viktor had forbidden her from writing to them, and she never visited. As far as they knew, she'd disappeared. Viktor allowed her to stay in contact with her parents, but he closely monitored her phone calls, and read the letters she sent them.
Hermione raised her head, closing her eyes, feeling the rain fall on her face, cleansing her. She remembered Hogwarts. She remembered back when life was good. Back when she had lots of friends, a boyfriend who really cared about her. A time when she woke every morning eager to get on with the day. Now she dreaded mornings. She hated every day more and more. Eight years of fear and anger and hate building up inside of her had finally exploded it. Viktor had driven her over the edge. What he'd done tonight had been the last straw.
Isabella excused herself to go to the ladies' room halfway through dinner. A few minutes after she left, Viktor excuse himself too. With him gone, Hermione relaxed a little. She talked to Mr. Richerdly for a few minutes, about how she liked the USA compared to England. Then she excused herself as well, this time to use the bathroom. She walked into the ladies' room, and froze, her very blood running cold through her body.
"Hermione!" Isabella cried, breaking away from Viktor's rough kiss. She was being harassed by Viktor. Viktor whirled around, his eyes were practically on fire. He grabbed Hermione, and began to hit her. She screamed. Isabella screamed. Hermione tried to get away, but Viktor grabbed her dress. It tore. Viktor hurled her across the room. She hit her head on one of the sinks. She felt the blood trickle down her face, and put her fingers up to feel the huge gash on her forehead.
Isabella was still screaming. Hermione, though dizzy from the impact, scrambled up and ran for the door. Viktor caught her.
"BITCH!" He screamed, and hit her hard. Hermione tasted blood. At that moment, a small group of people who'd heard Isabella's screams opened the door. Hermione took the opportunity to scrambled out the door, pushing past people. She ran out of the restaurant, fully aware that Viktor was chasing her. She kept running, and didn't stop until she reached the exact spot where she was standing now.
Out in the rain, she knew exactly what she was doing. Her life was shit, and she was going to end it right now.
i'll try to get the next chapter out sooner. as always – please review!