Remember This✔

Chapter Thirteen

The drive to the hospital exhausts Charlie. He sits at the back of the ambulance towards the farthest corner as Molly sits nearest to the door, far away from him. He can't deny that his body is in pain, especially his shoulder. Every time he moves his arm he clenches his teeth and hisses.

Molly seems fine. Physically, of course. She is buried underneath a blanked provided by the paramedics and has hardly looked away from the door. Charlie watches her silently, wondering if he should say something. He isn't a doctor, he doesn't know much about depression, he's never cared to. Nothing he can say will make a difference to her state of mind. She hasn't suddenly decided to live just because someone finally did something to help her. And she isn't attention seeking either. It was real. Her intentions were real.

In a way, in the strangest way, he now feels responsible for her. That scares him. He takes a deep breath. Screw it.

"I know why you lied," he says. "You want them to think you're alright so you can go home and try again."

"Congratulations, detective," Molly mumbles.

"I also know you're pissed at me. I'm a little pissed off at myself. The things I said about the camera and spending all morning answering questions. . . you won't tell anyone about that will you?"

She laughs to herself. "Unbelievable. Your self-image isn't that important to me right now."

"Does that mean you won't?"

"You don't strike me as the type that cares what people think," she says.

Charlie ignores that. "The story is that I tried to talk you out of it. It didn't work, you jumped and then I grabbed you. If they get into specifics just say I said something wise and mature to try and talk you down."

"Charlie," she says.

"What?"

Molly turns her head to look at him. "That isn't a story, that is what happened. You did say all of those things."

Charlie narrows his eyes. What does she mean? He didn't, did he? All he remembers is babbling about the whole world watching him walk away. Even now he's still doing it, he's still thinking about how this looks for him. But maybe she's right, maybe in his panic he did say something more meaningful.

"Hardly," he says.

"Don't worry," she says. "You'll be hailed as the hero no matter what story I tell. You'll be given praise and glory and everyone will pat you on the back and tell you how incredibly brave you are. And then eventually they'll forget and your limelight will fade and you'll have to go back to being what you really are, a coward."

Charlie blinks. "Is that what you think I want from this? I don't want any of that. I just don't want the wrong light to be put on me."

"Of course it's what you want," she says numbly. "It's what everyone wants. To be known for something, recognized for something great. You'll probably forget my name a year from now but you won't forget what you did. You never will. You'll tell the story for years, you'll add details and twists to make it more suspenseful. Even when my face fades from your memory and you don't even care about who the girl actually was you will be the important part. That is why you saved my life."

Charlie stares at her. She hasn't looked at him once during that and the truthfulness of her words is haunting. Is she wrong? He isn't sure. He wants her to be wrong but maybe she's right. He might tell this story to others for years, he might act the hero and he might claim the credit, but right now? It wouldn't even cross his mind. This isn't his story to tell, it's hers.

"It'll just be a story to you," she whispers. "For me, it's my life. And it should have ended."

"That's the depression talking."

"Depression?" Molly bites down on her lip, glancing over at him with anger. "No, Charlie. You want to know what depression is? Depression is being escorted from a theatre stage at thirteen-years-old to be told your whole family is not just dead but have been murdered. Depression is moving into your grandparents' house, the only family you have left, for them to die in a fire a year later. Depression is living in the homes of strangers for years surrounded by kids that are so traumatized that you start to believe your problems are nothing compared to theirs. Depression is having to remain alive just for the sake of trying to. But today? On that bridge? That was nothing like depression. That was peace. Do you get it now?"

Charlie doesn't know where to look or what to say. Molly's eyes begin to tear up and she rubs the blanket against them. He had heard rumours that she was in the foster care system but he never gave them a thought. She didn't matter enough for him to feel sorry for her. But now something has changed. Charlie looks down and glances at the floor. Thirteen? She was so young. The world crushed her; it broke her. And tonight, he did the same. He stopped her from doing the one thing that would bring her happiness and she's good at making him feel bad for it. Is this a test? Is someone testing him? How did his day take this turn?

"I get it. Some bad stuff happened to you," Charlie says. "But can't you see that people want to help? There's a bigger world out there than a foster home and a girl like you should have the chance to see it."

"A girl like me?"

"Yeah you know, someone that's been through it as badly as you." That isn't what Charlie meant, but Molly smiles even though she can sense that. "You should stay in hospital and get better and one day you will understand what I mean."

"I don't have anyone, Charlie," she says softly. "There's nothing to stay in hospital for. I have family on the other side of the country but they didn't want me. My past is a burden. There is only one way out for me."

"I don't believe that. And I don't think you do either. Otherwise, why wait so long to jump? You were up there a while before I even walked over."

"It doesn't matter how I feel or how I want to feel. Even if I did get better my life is still in danger."

Charlie narrows his eyes but just before he asks her what she means the ambulance comes to a stop. Molly breathes heavily as she clings to the blanket. She doesn't know what to expect but Charlie can tell that she's thinking the worse. That the doors will open and arms will grab her, restraining her in some way to a bed or a wheelchair.

"It's okay," Charlie says. "I won't let anyone hurt you."

The door opens and the morning light seeps through into the van. Charlie squints his eyes as the paramedics stand just a little back, waiting for Molly to exit.

"You want me to go out with you?" he asks.

"No," she says. "I'm fine."

He waits patiently as she plucks up the courage to leave. He holds his arm as he slowly moves through the van and jumps down onto the grounds of the hospital. He flanks her quietly as she enters an entrance to the hospital where the police are already waiting for them. He doesn't care what she tells them anymore, he doesn't care how he'll look. It's gone beyond that now. It's gone further than his desire to sleep or be somewhere else.

Molly has entered his head. She has switched something on inside of him that has always been off. He can't just walk away, not until he knows that she'll be alright. She deserves a chance to heal and even though he can't be the one to give her that chance he knows that he is the reason she will one day have the choice to try.