Free Ghostwriter by Travis Thrasher Page A

spent the entire day watching football. First the Bears game, then the Packers (cheering
     on Philadelphia to win but to no avail), then the Sunday night game which wasn’t that interesting but provided background
     to make jokes and continue to eat bad food and, at least for Hank, continue to drink beer.
    The big guy usually was pretty good to go after a game, but today he was completely soused. He talked as though he were in
     slow motion. It took him a few minutes to find the door handle before he added, “I’m fine. No problem.”
    “Call me when you wake up.”
    Hank laughed, standing on the curb. He didn’t seem to mind that it was drizzling. Dennis faced him through the open window.
     “Sorry about Julie,” he said.
    Hank held up his middle finger in response to what he thought about all of that. But that was a twelve-year-old’s response.
     Dennis knew his friend still loved this woman who had broken his heart but had nowhere to go with his wound.
    Nowhere to go with his grief.
    Dennis understood that all too well.
    Waiting at a light right before the bridge, Dennis thought about Hank. They’d been friends since their college days at Northern
     University. He only had a couple other friends from his younger days, and he only saw them when he had tickets to play-off
     games. He was struck by how you might choose your friends, but you didn’t choose who would become part of the fabric of your
     life. Most of the time the unlikeliest people stuck around. When he first met Hank, they hardly had anything in common. Little
     did he know at the time that Hank would become his closest friend during the course of the next three decades.
    He drove along Butterfield Road as it wound past the police station down toward the Fox River and over the bridge, the drizzle
     becoming heavier. He flicked on his windshield wipers as his eyes caught something strange ahead.
    At the edge of the sidewalk lining the concrete bridge, a small bike leaned against the short wall. And there, in the rain,
     was a girl. He noticed the blonde hair. The pigtails.
    She stood on the railing overlooking the well-lit northern side of the bridge, the dam fifty yards away.
    Just as Dennis slowed his car down, staring through the blurry glass, not believing what he was seeing, he saw the little
     girl step off the railing and drop.
    W
hat the—
    He jammed on the brakes and jumped out, running around his vehicle and vaulting over the stone barricade between the road
     and the sidewalk.
    Wind blew the rain sideways as he stood at the railing, disoriented and dizzy. For a second he thought about diving in and
     saving her. But he second-guessed what he saw.
    The railing was lower than he remembered. A car passed his waiting SUV, slowing down to see what was going on. Spotlights
     beamed down on the river below, facing the dam and its steady stream of pouring water. The dam itself wasn’t too high, and
     the water levels seemed fairly low. He could see the moving water below him, the eerie glow of the lights on the rising foam.
    “Hey—you okay?” he called out.
    He heard a howling sound, a high, piercing cry. Not a cry of anguish, but one of fear.
    “You down there?” he called out, unable to see anyone. “Hello? Hello?”
    A car honked its horn behind him. He turned around and waved it on, his forehead wet, his hair damp. Dennis watched the car
     move past, then sprinted toward the other end of the bridge. Dark trees guarded each side of the river, shadowed and sinister.
    “Hello? Anybody down there? Hello?”
    Another car stopped behind him, waiting, then passing.
    Dennis peered over the edge and again felt a dizzy foreboding. The darkness seemed to call him, enticing him, urging him to
     jump.
    He shook his head to get out of the slight trance.
    The water looked calmer on this side, but he could barely make out the surface.
    Someone on the bridge blared their horn to make him move his car. Dennis jumped back over the median and climbed into