Inkling

9.1 The Brooklyn Bridge is Falling Down, Falling Down

New York City 1888 9:30 P.M.

Max hurtled onto the bridge at breakneck speed, crashing into Adam and sending them both sprawling. Adam swore profusely, looking around to make sure no one had seen Max appear out of thin air; but the Brooklyn Bridge was all but abandoned at this time of night.

"What is wrong with you?" Adam growled, keeping his voice low.

"I didn't know who else I could come to, you are the only one looking for Lincoln just because you want Lincoln." Max sat down on the bridge and was wiping his nose on his sleeve in a way that gave Adam the impression he was crying. Adam got closer, ready to smack him upside the head, when he saw that it was not due to sniffling.

"Why the fuck is it blue?" Adam whispered, not wanting to get closer but also needing a better look. His rage was gone, replaced by an intense confusion. He wanted to know, quite badly, but he also very much did not. It looked goopy and grainy and completely revolting.

"I do not know, nor do I have the time to explain what I do know." Adam scowled at this but kept quiet, coming to sit a couple feet away from where Max sat.

"Then why are you here?" They both looked out over the water. Adam was exhausted, emotionally drained. He had neither the strength nor the will to be angry or pressing or short tempered. He had only the patience to sit and listen.

"I think he's dead." Max noted the surprise on Adam's face and added quickly: "No, not Lincoln. Ira."

Adam did not care to ask who this Ira was, he only sat and listened to whatever it was he had done.

"They found his body, I should have just accepted that he was dead when they found the body. I simply thought Ira was smarter than that, I thought he had faked his death to escape some evil plot or some such thing. The bastard." Max laughed a sad kind of laugh. "But I went home, I was looking for something rather important, and in an old hiding spot I found this."

"A piece of paper?"

"I think it's a letter. You see I have not opened it yet, but Ira always addressed written correspondence to me as Mr. Wayde. He said no one would bother to call me that unless I made it known that I expected it." He was staring off into the distance now, seemingly remembering something that made him want to laugh and made him want to cry.

"Why would it be bad if he wrote you a letter?" Adam leaned forward, trying to catch Max's eye. "What did he do to you?"

This was not the Max who had chased after Lincoln with intensity. This was not the Max who had thrashed against a magical hold because someone was going to hurt a friend. This Max looked like he was being torn apart from the inside out, and did not know how to tell anyone.

"He promised me things I could never have. And worse: he made me believe they were things I could have."

"There are worse things a person could do." Adam thought of Daisy suddenly. Of her terrified expression when she noticed the blood on his knees.

"Yes," Max whispered, "someone could make you believe in such things and then that person could die before they ever had a chance to finish teaching you how."