Meeting Moons and Shaking Hands

A short story I wrote for a class last year that I’m rather meh about. It’s a rare attempt of mine at writing something serious (read: not comic), so I always worry about it turning out badly, or, worse, funny. I’d been waiting to use the ending for a while, but I’m not crazy about how I ultimately got there. Thoughts?

- – -

A rippled version of the clear night sky reflected by the bay expanded out in all directions, creating a sphere of stars encompassing both halves of the horizon, a perfection ruined only by the astronomical faux pas of a doppelganger of the half moon, as if both halves couldn’t agree on where to meet. Jumping, he thought, the three hundred sixteen feet off the bridge would be just like jumping into the sky.

Always the person to find himself in an inexplicable situation, Dane Renault had managed to come to a crossroads in the middle of a bridge. Traffic was never very heavy in this part of the city, and he was largely concealed in a small nook between two of the poles along the side of the bridge. His position by the side of the bridge gave him a clear view of the bay beneath him and the sky above him or the bay above him and the sky beneath him. If he kept his head far enough to the left, he could support this space-like illusion, although he was not in the mood to reflect on the insignificance of a single person against the scale of space. Instead he kept his head to the right, where he could just people watch, and had for the past eight hours, watching what other sorts of people would find themselves by the bay between sunset and sunrise, like the creepy old nun walking her dog, the gang of skinny-dippers with somewhat unflattering physiques, and a young couple most likely out well past their curfew, agreeing to meet again at sunrise, but arguing about where. Renault checked his watch. The sun would probably rise in another twenty minutes or so. If he was going to jump, he told himself, it would have to be sometime soon, while he could still jump unnoticed and fall into the sky.

He jerked forward at a loud bang, then sighed and slunk back down as he realized it was only a car backfiring. He hated the city. He hated the gradual increase of crime. He hated moving his family here. He hated himself.

Five fifty-six AM. He buried his face in his hands as police sirens reverberated throughout the city. Exactly nine hours ago, his wife and son were murdered. He had only registered the event to the point where he knew it took place nine hours prior, and he was now standing on the edge of a bridge, and had been since the event. He wasn’t capable of considering an alternative, yet he had stood on the bridge split between whatever that might be and jumping down into the sky.

Shaking, Renault advanced and gripped the railing. It was cold and wet, and he was unable to figure out whether he regretted not bringing gloves, almost terrified at the thought of determining his fate based on his feelings towards a forgotten pair of gloves. He was distracted again by more voices from the right side of the bay, and decided he could afford putting it off a moment longer to listen to the two men, who promised to be interesting based on their trench coats.

“Well, someone certainly took their sweet time getting here!” The shorter, pudgier one remarked. “You think I’m-”

“Shhh! Shut up!” The taller one said in a considerably more muted tone and a vaguely out-of-place accent. Renault had to lean forward to hear better. “You think we can just run around in the open shouting out our business?”

“Aw, calm down!” Renault also noticed the shorter man’s voice was rather nasally. “The crime rate’s soaring! Nobody’s even going to be here anyway. Who gets up this early?”

“Or who stays up this late.” The taller man said gruffly. “The cockiness isn’t very becoming, by the way.”

“Eh, screw you too. So you got it or what?”

“Just saying, you be careful. I’m in this for myself, okay? I’m not going to help you out when you throw your ass on the line.”

Renault saw light out of the corner of his eye and jolted back into the crevice. A truck drove past, shaking the pole Renault pressed himself up against to conceal himself, who then breathed a sigh of relief as the truck drove past, and allowed himself to sink down right as he heard the gunshot.

He rushed forward to the railing again and looked down. The two men in the trench coats were there, the shorter one with a smoking gun, and an oddly familiar body lying face up a few yards from them.

“What the hell are you doing?!” The taller man shouted.

“I don’t know! Where did she come from? Oh, Jesus, it’s a kid too.”

Renault then recognized her immediately. It was one of the people he saw earlier, the couple who were going to meet up at sunrise. Renault looked up at the horizon, and noticed it was definitely nearing sunrise. His task momentarily forgotten, it occurred to him that the boyfriend would arrive any at any minute, and certainly meet a similar fate.

“What did I tell you?” The taller man stomped his foot. “I said we’d meet quietly by the bay. Quietly! What part of that word did you not understand?”

“What part of the word ‘Five A.M.’ did you not understand?”

“Don’t turn this on me, I haven’t shot anyone yet.”

“Oh, I’ll turn it on you, showing up an hour late! If you got your ass down here when you were supposed to-”

“Don’t get cocky with me; you see where that’s just gotten you.”

“First, I’m not being cocky, and second, so what?”

“Right, you’ve only shot the one kid.”

“Sophie?”

Another gunshot. The boyfriend fell.

“Oh, Christ, another kid!”

“Then quit shooting that damn thing!”

“Hey, this is just as much your fault!”

“Oh, really? Which one did I shoot, again?”

“Well, smartass, if you just showed up when, you know, I thought we agreed to, this wouldn’t have happened! We’re in this together, like it or not.” The short man trotted to the side. “Now help me hide these bodies. Drag ‘em in the river or something.”

The tall man sighed. “Well, you clearly haven’t heard a single word I’ve said.”

Another gunshot. The short man fell. The taller man pocketed his gun and fled.

Renault stood staring at the three bodies as the night sky began to fade away, then left the bridge fifteen minutes later, deep in thought and unable to shake what he had just seen from his mind. He walked aimlessly through town, following the cracks in the sidewalk. Whatever the alternative might be, he thought, it certainly beat being those bodies. His head tilted up with the rising sun. He took a deep breath, and entered the first store he came across. There was only one man in the store, sitting behind the register staring away from Renault at a television.

“With you in a moment.” He called back in a dried out British accent. Renault stepped up to the counter as the man listened to the news.

“… three bodies by the side of Rodion Bay. There are no clear suspects as of yet, although authorities have already begun to consider the possibility of links to last night’s double homicide of Lisa and Marten Renault by husband and father, Dane Renault, of whom police are still in pursuit. Authorities say he was last seen wearing…”

“Scummy bugger. Anyway, good morning to you.” The clerk muttered and turned to the counter to find himself staring straight into a gun.

“Good morning. All the money in the register. Please.”