Deep Cuts by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror, Dark Fiction, Short Stories, Collections & Anthologies
Goodreads: 17249430
Publisher: Evil Jester Press
Published: 2013-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Lost Daughters

James Chambers

Three young women in black party dresses stood by the side of the “suicide bridge.” They were looking into the darkness over the guardrail. Drew dropped his Audi to a crawl as he passed them then stopped, put it in park, and watched the women in his rearview mirror. His tail lights gilded them electric red. It was well after midnight, and there were no other vehicles or pedestrians around, but they paid him no attention.

He opened the door, stepped halfway out of the car, and called against a chill wind, “You ladies okay?”

Together, the three turned and looked at him.

Black streaks of makeup ruined by tears lined their cheeks. Their dark hair was mussed and wild. Their stylish dresses were torn ragged along the hem and spotted with dry leaves and flecks of mud. They were barefoot, and their feet were scratched and streaked with blood and dirt, but the youngest, who wore a beaded shawl across her exposed shoulders, held a single pink sneaker. It was torn across the front, and it dangled from her right index finger by a frayed lace. The women possessed the inherent beauty of youth—but spoiled and bruised. They weren’t much older than Drew’s two daughters in high school.

“Did you have an accident? Are you hurt?”

The women didn’t answer.

“Want me to call someone? The police? An ambulance?”

The women only stared. Drew thought maybe he’d frightened them by stopping.

“I’m not going to harass you or anything. I’m on my way home from work, and I…thought you might need help.”

Nothing.

“You want me to leave you alone? Fine. Whatever. It’s none of my business why you’re out here, but people sometimes throw themselves off this bridge. You’re not going to do that are you? Tell me you won’t, and I’ll go. Tell me you’re not here to kill yourselves.”

Nine people in the last two years, and more before then, had dropped themselves onto the desolate railroad tracks more than a hundred feet below the bridge, a guaranteed lethal descent.

Times were tough, Drew knew well enough. The recession claimed its victims. Drew had worked down the hall from one of them for six years: Carmine Price. Drew and Carmine were analysts, and then Carmine wasn’t—he was laid off from his six-figure, eighty-hours-a-week job, and then he came to this bridge, over which Drew drove almost every day. His funeral was still vivid in Drew’s memory. Sometimes when he was out shopping he ran into Carmine’s wife and three kids, and they always looked trapped in a state of shock, as if they would never come to grips with their loss. These women have people who’ll be haunted the same way if they lose them over the side of this ugly bridge, Drew thought.

Drew sighed. “Have it your way. But if you won’t talk, at least listen. Whatever you’re thinking of doing, there’s nothing that could’ve brought you here tonight that’s worth throwing your life away over it. You can get help. Call a hotline. People care what happens to you.

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