Free Sara's Game by Ernie Lindsey

Hawthorne Bridge.
    The slight decline of Jefferson increased her momentum, but it also made for an awkward running position and caused more painful heel strikes that sent shockwaves up through her shins and into her lower back.
    Pain is temporary, pain is temporary.  You have no choice.  For the kids, for the kids.
    Sara worked her way back through her past interactions with Teddy and tried to remember what she’d done to him.  All the times she had called him ‘Little One’.  All the times they had sat in meetings together and she’d proved him wrong.  All the times she had removed his hand from some part of her body with a cautioning tone.
    The number of instances where he could’ve taken offense were endless, but was it enough?  People killed for less, didn’t they? 
    But Teddy?  He’s not...he’s not smart enough for something like this.
    Sara’s lungs felt like they were turning themselves inside out.  Her quads and calves were melting into mush, but the adrenaline allowed her to keep pushing, pushing.  Pushing past the light rail stop and across intersections.  Past apartment complexes and empty office buildings.
    Sweat ran into her eyes and soaked her shirt so much that it hugged her skin like a wetsuit.  Feet swelling, muscles straining, but she kept putting one leg in front of the other.
    No, it has to be Teddy .   Has to. 
    Was that why he’d kept her in the meeting so long that morning?  So his plan would have time to work?  And he mentioned the breakaway.  His baby.  His idea.  His big contribution.  One of the rare times he’d contributed something useful to a project.  One of the rare times the senior staff had given him credit instead of chiding him.  He had to be throwing it back in her face.  Enough of a hint to say, ‘See what happens?  See what happens when you push too far?’
    All of it was there.  The admonishments, the chiding, the years of subtle insults to pop his inflated ego. 
    But the more she thought about it, the longer she analyzed their past, and as she sprinted toward her destination, she couldn’t shake the sensation that no matter what their history might be, Teddy Rutherford was just too lazy and self-absorbed to bother with something like this.
    ***
    She played an impromptu, live version of Frogger crossing Naito, and then made a left at Riverfront Park, angling her way up the entrance ramp to the Hawthorne.  Her body ached and she was so thirsty she could’ve buried her head into the Willamette and chugged until she regurgitated the less-than-pristine river water.
    I was so sure it was Teddy, but now—
    It has to be him.  He’s the only one with the slightest bit of motive. 
    But it doesn’t feel right.
    When would anything like this ever seem right?
    I don’t know, but if it is him, I’m gonna show him what ‘ flick, boom , done ’ really feels like.
    She passed the line of cars waiting for their turn.  The exhaust fumes polluted the air around her, leaving a thick, burnt-fuel taste on her tongue.  She coughed and spat, wiped the dangling saliva from her lower lip.  She looked south, toward the Marquam Bridge. and saw that a number of small, private yachts and boats were parked at the marina. 
    Teddy has his own boat.  Good place to hide your children.
    Too obvious.
    Sara approached the center of the Hawthorne Bridge.  Cars zipped past her on the rattling, clanging steel-grated deck of the bridge’s center.  The sound blasted its way into the side of her head, beating against her eardrums.  The red paint of the hand railing hadn’t been touched in years, worn away by the elements and the passage of time. 
    Time that slipped faster and faster away as she ran, though it had crawled like molasses back in the Shakespeare Garden.
    She stopped at the middle.  Doubled over, inhaling through the coffee straws her lungs had become.  The breeze was cool and penetrating out over the water as it whipped past, heightening the chill of the