Jack swung himself out onto the girders and balanced on the bridge, staring down at the reflected streetlights spangling the water.
Shut the fuck up, he told the nagging voice. The river ran silent, chuckling quietly only where it stroked the shore. A breeze flapped his trenchcoat, slapping it against the ironwork, and brought with it the bite of salt. Salt on mud on fish sliding through the water, tasting its brininess, changes in temperature like a watery map laid out to their senses--
'Shut up!' His words echoed off the waterfront, mocking him. The water invited, dark and cool.
I'll shut you up. He jumped, caught a crossbrace, and swung. River, bridge. River, bridge. The voice seemed to be holding its breath.
Madness doesn't breathe.
Still he swung, to and fro, flexing his hands, feeling the will in them not to let go. Cold iron. And still on him, the scent of the woman he'd paid for that evening. Her distant touch, as if falconer's gloves bound her hands. The insipid conversation.
Was it only that she wasn't--
His phone trilled Rachel's ring. Letting out a puff of breath, an almost-laugh, he dropped back onto the bridge concrete.
Be cool, like she is. Be strong. 'Yes?'
"Jack, I need you back at the lab right now." The urgency of Rachel's words sliced through him like razor blades fashioned from the ice of an ancient Canadian glacier that—
"Did you get a hooker tonight, Jack?"
"Did you tell her about the lab, Jack?"
"Why? Because her pimp's here right now, Jack. Holding a gun to my head, Jack. And he says, and I'm quoting here Jack, no manic depressive super intelligent trenchcoat wearing talking monkey is gonna pay his bitches with fucking bananas, er, yippee yo."
Jaaaaaaaaaaack, you MONKEY
"I told him you were a chimp, Jack."
Liar. "The bridge downtown. I'll be waiting for both of you."
It won't be his body they find in the river. Nobody calls him a monkey.
Opening: BuffySquirrel.....Continuation: Blogless_Troll