Short Story

 “Eidolon” Excerpt

Published in The Pulse Literary Magazine of Lamar University 2018-2019

Office Alvarez

He stood there at the edge of the bridge looking at the rushing water underneath him.

“Dispatch, this is Officer Alvarez on-route home,” I said as I pulled over. “I’ve got a possible 10-56A on Willow River Bridge. Going to check it out.”

Another suicidal civilian. Just what I needed on my way back to base. I took a long drag of my cigarette as I stared out at the figure standing by the bridge’s railing. Suicide bridge, the townspeople called it. Haunted by a ghost who made people do strange things. At least, that was the tale. That was what everyone always said to scare the kids. But the statistics added up, and that’s why everyone chose to avoid this route. It was an abandoned road with only the suicidal making their way here to enter their eternal sleep. Twenty or so a year jump off this bridge. That was enough to keep townspeople a mile’s distance from this place. No one wanted to get sucked in by the voices calling out to them. Me, I didn’t really care for such nonsense.

After a final drag of the cigarette, I open the cruiser door. The damn rain would extinguish it, and I had just lit the damn thing. I had to act fast with this guy. I didn’t know who he was; the rain blurred his image even with the headlights shining on him. The lights alerted the man staring down the bridge. He stared, and as I drew near I could hear a faint mumbling.

“Sir,” I said. “I’m Officer Alvarez. Step away from the railing.”

“War. Death. Bombs. Bullets,” said the man to himself, not acknowledging me but staring past me toward the cruiser. “Bill. Dead. Death. My fault.”

A distant siren sounded, causing the man to go into a frenzy. He thrashed on the ground, as if the sound of an incoming siren was his cue to completely lose it. Pounding the ground with his fists, he couldn’t take it. The noise. The lights from my cruiser. The rain. It was all too much for him, and his panic forced me forward. I rushed forward while he was distracted. Until I recognized him. His behavior.

“Charles” I shouted over the man’s panic, acknowledging his episodic behavior. “Charles, it’s alright.”

I drew near him, inspected him for injuries but found none. I knew his trauma. His pain. His trigger. The rain and the lightning brought back the demons: the images of the war. And then I wondered what he was doing out here, miles away from his home. So far away from our neighborhood. After all, he lived four houses down from me, and that was no walking distance from here.

“Charles, listen to me,” I said as I looked up and noticed the crashed railing where Charles had been standing. I rose to my feet and followed a car’s tracks that crashed into the bent railing on the bridge. Looking down, I managed to catch sight of a pair of tail lights before they disappeared under the surface of the water.

“Oh God, Charles! What did you do?” I said. “Dispatch! I need backup and paramedics at Willow River Bridge!”

“Charles, where’s Nancy?” I yelled back to the man rocking back and forth on the ground. “Charles! Listen to me! What happened?”

More sirens sounded in the distance, and the scene became infested with officers. Charles was removed from the scene, too distraught to say anything. There was no more we could have done. We searched for the submerged vehicle, but it was too late. I was too late.