We All Fall Down

Prologue

Meg Renaud had walked hundreds of rain-soaked streets at midnight. The night of May eighteenth was no different. She usually knew the paths she traced by heart, but London was foreign to her. Her boots made a clacking sound against the pavement. Unlike the other cities she'd haunted by night, London never seemed to rest, even in the shady nightclub district she wandered through. Beggars lurked in the alleys, tipsy teenagers howled with laughter in alcoves. She could have easily fit in with the kids, joined in their fun. She surely could have persuaded a bouncer at one of the nightclubs to let her in, despite being underage. Fully aware that she could do this, she did not. Meg had plans.

A television set in one of the apartments above her blared a newscaster's voice on the streets below as she walked by. "Tomorrow morning the highly anticipated American band Electric Blue will be playing their hit single on BBC Radio 1 at 9 a.m. Make sure you're tuned in-" Meg rounded the corner and didn't hear the rest.

She picked up her pace, walking briskly, as opposed to her usual meandering stroll. She ran across streets with no regard for whizzing taxicabs and bicycles as she made her way towards her destination, the Thames. The alleys got less sketchy as she neared the river, worn-out sneakers and derelict taxis were exchanged for Loboutins and limousines. This part of town was all hustle and bustle, loud music and expensive wine. Meg wanted no part of it.

Once at the river, she walked along it for a few blocks, searching for an inconspicuous bridge. She found one, a sturdy old thing, but rather industrial looking. It certainly wasn't a tourism hotspot. A big smile spread across her shadowed face as she stepped foot onto the bridge. She relished the sound of the rushing water far below her. In the middle of the great, metal structure, she placed her backpack down and pulled out her camera, her expression full of childlike awe.

Meg had always been a photographer, she loved to capture images, but usually places, never events. Her photos trancended time. They were beautiful, and never specific enough to pin them to an exact date. It was her own little way to time travel.

After taking about thirty pictures; of the bridge itself, the full moon, wispy clouds illuminated by the city, water rushing over small pieces of garbage and litter, she plugged a cable into her camera and uploaded the pictures onto her computer. Her blog was set to automatically take all photos she uploaded and add them to her queue with her usual tags: #meg renaud #meg renaud photos #electric blue. She had added two more for this batch: #Meg Renaud 5/18 #Meg Renaud Photos: Thames.

After setting all the pictures to queue, she pulled a tripod out of her backpack. She connected the cable to both her camera and her laptop, and placed the camera on the tripod, setting it to take a picture every five seconds. She took a deep breath. The metal of the tripod chilled her to the bone when she adjusted it, and she pulled her long, black, sleeves down to cover her hands. The camera started snapping pictures of the bridge rail and she peered at her laptop screen, confirming that the photos were being set to queue. The wind whistled along the bridge, ruffling Meg's chestnut colored tresses. She pushed a strand behind her ear and stood facing the railing.

The camera snapped three pictures as she stood there, framing her delicate profile beautifully.

She then turned to face the camera, and posed in ways that looked candid. After six of those pictures, she walked right up to the railing and looked at the stars. Well, actually, she attemped to decipher what was star and what was airplane in the foggy, polluted London sky.

She put her feet on the bottom railing and closed her eyes, letting the wind rush over her. Meg had always loved nature, and being outdoors. As a little girl, she had gone to forest ranger camp every summer.

Four more pictures.

She opened her eyes and grinned. She stepped up one rail at a time, until she stood on the top ledge. She grabbed one of the beams next to her for support. She had always been a daredevil. Rock climbing had been her specialty for years, although she hadn't had much time for it lately.

Eight more.

"God, it's so pretty up here," she murmured. Her voice was pure gold, lilting gracefully on just the right syllables. She had been a regular at the Tennessee State Vocal Festival since sixth grade.

Two more pictures. She glanced at her glowing computer screen to confirm all was going well. She turned back around.

Meg let go of the beam and tumbled into the Thames.