4:45 p.m.
"Richie?"
The eager question was the first thing Duncan heard when he entered the loft. Not wanting to get Tessa's hopes up any further than his entrance already had, the Immortal quickly called out in response. "It's just me, Tess."
"Did you find out anything?' The Frenchwoman asked anxiously.
As Duncan rounded the corner and got a good look at her, he was surprised at how frazzled she appeared. A woman who prided herself on her appearance, Tessa was not one to go without makeup and a fashionable outfit. Today she wore old jeans and a ponytail. He realized that she was dressed for action. If Richie was somewhere unsavory, she was more than prepared to go get him herself. He had no doubt that she had been sitting by the phone since he left, anxiously awaiting a call from the teen.
More than anything, he just wanted to get on the road and find the boy. But as he looked at his lover, he realized she deserved an explanation. This was not an Immortal challenge or a case of his past coming back to haunt him. This was about Richie and, as he looked at her anxious face, he realized that Tessa's feelings for the boy were as strong as his own. Yes, this woman deserved to know what was going on.
"Quite a lot actually. I'm gonna have to give you the short version, though. I think I know where Richie's headed and I need to beat him there."
Tessa looked at him in anticipation, more than a little anxious to be let in on the knowledge Duncan possessed.
5:30 p.m.
Richie was very happy to note that he was no longer leaving wet footprints behind him. Not that he was entirely dry, but at least the rain had stopped and he was no longer soaked to the bone. Looking into the distance, he was more than a little relieved to see a truck-stop diner. The coffee he had hours earlier had been far from adequate in providing the energy he needed to complete his marathon walk. A few more miles and he might have given up, but that diner was a welcome reprieve. He was sure that after a hot meal he would be more than ready to continue his journey. He was determined to cross the bridge if it killed him. All hope he had lay on the other side.
5:45 p.m.
While slowly driving the thirty miles to the Tacoma Narrows Bridge, Duncan found himself scanning the sides of the highway, hoping against hope that he would spot the teen along the way. When he realized he was doing it, he used all his restraint to stop himself. Realistically, he knew it would be better for everyone in the long run if he met Richie on the other side. As illogical as he thought Richie's desire to cross the Tacoma was, if it would make him feel more secure with his life, Duncan was willing to allow him to cross. But he had no doubt that if he saw the boy walking alongside the highway there was no way he was going to have enough restraint not to snatch him up then and there. Despite his realization that it would be best if he didn't recognize Richie, he just couldn't quite stop himself from scanning the perimeters.
6:30 p.m.
As Duncan crossed the bridge, he couldn't help but wonder what the appeal was. Sure, Jason had given the short version of the story behind its significance, but he couldn't wait to question Richie about it. For the streetwise teen to have such an unrealistic expectation of a bridge was very out of character. There had to be more to the story than he had been told. If only he could question Richie. As he pulled off the bridge and into a nearby lot, he realized he didn't even care. Questioning the boy was only a very minor fringe benefit. Now, what he wanted more than anything, was just to find him. He prayed fervently that he had come to the right place. If this wasn't Richie's destination, he had no idea where to go from here. As he walked up to wait at the end of the bridge, he found himself scanning as far as the eye could see for a glimpse of the missing teen.
7:10 p.m.
Passing another road sign, Richie was greatly relieved to see that he was within five to ten miles of his destination. Still unsure if he could make it that far, he trudged forward. What else was he going to do? There was no Plan B.
8:45 p.m.
Duncan impatiently paced up the walkway leading to the bridge. He found himself both grateful and annoyed by the ever-increasing darkness. As nighttime began to fall, he found himself unable to see to the other side of the bridge and therefore unable to spot Richie from afar. Darkness had provided him with hope that Richie could only be a few yards from him. But that darkness also reminded him that Richie was walking down the cold, dark highway by himself. That was far from a comforting thought.
10:20 p.m.
For a few moments he thought he was hallucinating. He had actually reached the bridge. As the teenager neared the place he had only seen through colorful descriptions told in bedtime stories, he found himself fighting off reality. Throughout his entire journey, he had allowed himself to believe that crossing the bridge would make things clear for him. He was relying on a belief he had formed as an idealistic child. Cold, exhausted and still slightly damp, Richie was beginning to question this leap of faith. What could the other side of the bridge hold but another road to walk down and possibly a park bench to sleep on? He shook the nagging concern off and focused back on what he had been taught the bridge represented. Hope. He had walked nearly thirty miles to reach this point. He had left the only relative safety he'd had in as long as he could remember to come here. He needed this bridge to provide the fresh start he had always believed it would. Trudging forward, he slowly stepped onto the bridge. His pace was that of a snail, partly from exhaustion and partly from fear of what he would find, or more likely would not find, once his journey across was complete.
10:25 p.m.
Duncan paced impatiently as he once again checked his watch. 10:25 p.m. It had been dark for hours and there was still no sign of Richie. He had been worried when the boy had been on his own during the daytime, but the fear he felt at this hour of the night was beyond description. He could barely breath as he thought of Richie being picked up by a passerbyer, or mulled over, or passed out somewhere along the edge of the highway. The scenarios that he had previously been able to keep in the back of his mind had fully surfaced. No longer able to simply wait, he had made up his mind to get in his car and drive up and down the highway when he noticed a very slow-moving figure nearing. A few hundred yards away, he realized that there was someone crossing the bridge. As the figure neared, he realized who it was. Ever fiber of his being screamed at him to run to the boy. But something deep inside ordered him to wait. Richie was only yards away from completing his journey. The Immortal contented himself to wait at the end of the bridge for the boy to come to him. He found himself watching the teen's every movement.
10:30 p.m.
As Richie stepped off the walkway at the edge of the bridge, he knew that he had reached the end of the line. He had ruined the only dream he had ever had. He had crossed the bridge and still had no idea where he was supposed to be in his life. All he had was a profound sense of loneliness. Well, that and hopelessness. And shear exhaustion. From here on in, he had no idea where he was going, how he was going to get there or even if he would make it through the night. He was, after all, standing at the end of a bridge with no place else to go. He was so consumed in his own sense of hopelessness that he didn't even see Duncan standing only a few feet in front of him. He simply succumbed to his exhaustion and sat down on the edge of the bridge.