Page 51 of Eternal Surrender

The first hammer struck one of the smaller bells, and I pressed my hands against my ears, knowing that any second the largest of the three bells would strike.

He stared back wildly, squeezing his hands against his ears.

Despite being in his mid-twenties, the lines around his eyes aged him, and his fragility hinted at misery.

There was a mutual sigh of relief when Big Ben finished announcing it was quarter past the hour, though the ringing in my ears was still terrible, and from the stranger’s expression he too was suffering the aftereffects.

His attention fell once more onto the city below. “To die. . .” he whispered with a Welsh lilt, shifting closer to the edge. “To sleep.”

I took a step toward him. “Perchance to dream.”

He tipped back, frowning. “Don’t come any closer.”

I peered to my left and a wave of vertigo struck again. I turned back to face the man who was now squinting at me. He pulled his grey worn coat around him.

I glanced at my wristwatch.

“You don’t need that.” He pointed downward. “You’re standing on one of the world’s finest time pieces.”

“Can’t see the clock face from here.” A wave of vertigo hit and I coughed it off. “Nice view.”

“Yeah right.” He gestured. “You first.”

I pressed my fingertips against my forehead, trying to decide whether to go back inside the bell tower.

“What’s your reason?” he asked.

I ignored him.

“Not so easy, is it?” he said, interrupting my thoughts. “What if we jump together?”

“I came up here to think.”

“Sure.”

“The vista’s something else.” I found myself drawn to him, as though his dark irises might just answer all my questions. His eyes held an ocean of pain, and in some quiet, inexplicable way, I felt drawn into it, able to recognize it, able to understand it.

He raised his hand. “If you take one more step. . .”

“I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“In my own time.”

Lost amid his rambling thoughts, gauging where to go from here; I noticed his worn shoes.

“This is not who I am.” He tugged his tatty shirt and his eyes glistened as though dwelling on what had led him here.

“Not that it matters now,” I said.

“Does to me.” He adjusted his footing, revealing an unsteady gait as he favored his right leg.

“Trust me, whatever I’m thinking right now will be surpassed by those who stroll past your mangled corpse.” I pointed. “Down there.”

“Grief counselor, are you?”

“Is that why you’re here? You’re grieving?”

“And you?”