Free The Brokenhearted by Amelia Kahaney

the balustrade. His leering face lunges toward me again, only to be pulled away by a set of strong arms reaching around his huge paper shoulders.
    “I said to leave her alone!”
    From the ground I watch as the birdman turns and fights back, flailing his paper-covered arms. After a short struggle, a punch lands squarely between his lunatic eyes. He falls backward, whimpering in that same high-pitched, piggy squeal, and lands face-up on the bridge, arms spread wide, eyes rolling into the back of his head before shutting altogether.
    “You okay?” My rescuer stands over me, his teeth stark white against his olive skin in the moonlight. He wears a thin, black long-sleeved tee with a rip at the collar, his wide shoulders straining against the fabric. His forehead gleams with sweat, and a bead of it crawls down his smooth cheek. He looks like he’s been out jogging.
    “Yeah,” I say, still slumped on the ground, shaking a little.
    “They never should have closed the asylums,” he adds under his breath. He crouches down to my level, taking care to be gentle as he studies the cut on my forehead, his brow creasing above his dark eyes. He offers me his hands, gently pulling me onto my feet. “You’re going to need stitches.”
    “Thanks,” I croak, bringing my hands to my throat, rubbing the places the birdman squeezed, the sensation of his fingers crushing my windpipe still lingering.
    He nods, his eyes zeroing in on my neck. I reach up and feel the delicate chain of the heart necklace Gavin gave me, miraculously unbroken.
    ”You shouldn’t be out here alone late at night,” he says, his eyes landing on the glinting gold. “But since you’re here, and we’re meeting like this, I’d accept a little reward.”
    I shake my head, hoping I’m misreading the covetous expression clouding his dark brown eyes. “I don’t have anything,” I whisper, panic ricocheting through my torso.
    “Come on,” he coaxes, impatiently shifting his weight from one sneakered foot to the other. “Nothing at all?”
    My heart racing, I take stock of him. He’s tall and built to hurt. My eyes flick past him, toward the South Side. No way am I going back there. I’ve got to get across the bridge and head north.
    Adrenaline flooding my veins again, I do the only thing that makes sense. I pirouette around on the narrow pedestrian walkway, and I run.
    “Really?” he shouts, incredulous. “Hey! I’m not going to hurt you!”
    I sprint harder than I ever have before, my lungs burning with every step. Behind my own ragged breath and the slap of my shoes on the cement, I hear him following me.
    “Wait up!” He catches up to me easily and grabs my hand. “Calm down, I’m not—”
    “No!” I twist desperately away from him, lunging backward toward the bridge’s worn stone railing. The stone has crumbled into nothing, leaving a gap in the railing that puts me on the edge of the bridge. “Get away from me!”
    His eyes wide with alarm, he offers his hands to me again. “I’m sorry I scared you.” His voice is quiet, no longer playful or irritated-sounding like before. “Come away from the edge, okay?”
    “Walk far away from me, and I will.” I shudder and almost lose my balance before I grab onto a section of the railing to my right. The chemical decay of the river hits my nostrils. He shakes his head again and backs away, raising his hand to show he means no harm.
    Just as I’m about to move away from the edge, the corner of the stone railing I’ve grabbed onto breaks off in my hand. I look down at it, dumbfounded, as a strong gust of wind pushes me backward, sending my right foot out from under me. I flail, my arms reaching wildly in front of me as my body careens into thin air.
    I try to grab onto the bridge again, but my fingertips barely graze it. I see the jogger’s face twist in horror as he races to the edge, and then all I see is the starless sky.
    He’s too late. His hands clutch at the air, his mouth a black