A few yards down and the wind began to pick up, right off the Great Lakes, carrying more Canadian snow with it. Egon kicked off the bridge support, the light from his subway worker's helmet staining the weathered concrete yellow as the two lights that circled him in his downward descent began to flicker.
Kick.
Another few yards.
Rappelling had been one of the few good things that he'd managed to salvage from the mandatory Army ROTC classes he'd been forced to take once he hit 18. Things had gone so badly on the physical training end that even his instructor, a large, loud, optimistic man had given up on Egon – seeing to it that he didn't have to take the remaining courses in order to graduate after Egon broke both thumbs and his nose on the basic confidence course twice and concussed himself on the rifle range.
Kick.
Another few yards.
Ropework had been a different story. There was something soothing about hanging on a single rope high above the world.
Nobody bothered him.
It was just the wind.
No puzzling social codes he never could break in time.
No looks of parental disapproval when he failed at something he should have understood.
No tripping over his own big feet.
No being taken for an adult because of his size – no fights that he didn't start.
Just the wind.
Kick.
Another few yards.
Flying.
With a single rope to keep him from drifting off into the stratosphere.
Kick.
Another few yards.
It was a useful skill with a logic all it's own.
Kick.
Another few yards.
Physics made physical.
Not quite freefall, but close enough.
Still, maybe he shouldn't have wrapped his coat around Janine before going on rappel, though by now he was coated with a thin layer of sweat, one part physical exertion, two parts influenza.
Kick.
Another few yards.
The lights circled again, the larger one giving off angry, hissing buzzing sparks tinged with red, he was halfway there.
Kick.
Another few yards.
Squinting, Egon looked up; there were distant faces yelling at him over the railing. Somebody must have seen Janine and rescued her.
Kick.
Another few yards.
Another pass from the lights, the smaller between the larger.
Kick.
Another few yards.
Uh oh.
The rope he was on wasn't as long as he'd calculated.
Swinging back and forth in the snow filled wind, Egon looked down at the jam of ice and branches caught against the current side of the bridge piling.
He looked up. Janine, was yelling at him, words incomprehensible in the rising wind, a fireman or paramedic on either side of her.
Whatever it was she wanted, it would have to wait.
Hoping that what he was about to do would work, Egon dropped the trap that he'd hooked to his belt so that it dangled in the open space above the source of the haunting and activated his proton pack, the roar of the river all but drowning out it's accelerating hum.