Hunter moved quickly but quietly, trying to get as close as possible before the jumper noticed him. He got to about fourteen feet when the kid broke eye contact with the nothingness in the distant darkness and turned around.

Hunter stopped moving and looked at the kid, trying to establish eye contact, and as the kid looked back at him Hunter froze in place for the briefest of moments. At that precise instant Hunter cursed the lack of prep information on the subject. He knew nothing about who that kid was, or what possible motives had led him to be on that bridge, ready to end his life. That would’ve better prepared him for what he saw.

Then Hunter cursed himself, because with or without prep information, an LAPD Homicide Special detective, especially one with a PhD in Criminal Behavior Analysis and Biopsychology, should’ve been prepared for anything. Prepared to expect the unexpected, no matter how shocking.

During that split second of hesitation, Hunter became terrified that his face, his eyes, his demeanor, his expression, anything about him at all gave away how surprised he was. If anything did, he knew that his chances of talking the kid down were already dead in the water.

Hunter’s surprise had come because when the kid finally turned and looked at him, Hunter saw that his face had been completely disfigured by heavy scars, as if he’d been thrown face first through several sheets of glass. It was the kind of disfigurement that would attract pitiful, shocked and even disgusted looks anywhere he went. The kind of disfigurement that gave bullies a buffet of abuse and name-calling to throw at him. A disfigurement that would scar much deeper than anyone could see – psychological scars capable of destroying self-esteem and throwing anyone into the deepest of depressions. The kind of disfigurement that could make anyone’s life seem unbearable, let alone a teenager’s.

If any surprise had been shown by Hunter, the kid didn’t seem to notice.

‘Hello,’ Hunter said. His voice was calm and warm, but loud enough.

No reply.

Hunter gave it a moment. ‘Do you mind if I step a little closer? It makes it easier to talk.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t.’ The left side of the kid’s mouth barely moved. Hunter guessed that the cut that had produced the large scar he could see traversing the kid’s lips had cut through nerves and muscles, paralyzing part of his mouth, maybe even part of his face. The kid’s voice was in contrast strong, determined.

‘That’s fine,’ Hunter said, lifting both hands in a ‘no problem’ gesture. ‘I’ll stay right here.’ A very short pause. ‘My name is Robert.’

Nothing.

‘Could I ask yours?’

A few silent seconds went by before the kid replied. ‘Brandon.’ He hesitated for a quick moment. ‘Or you can call me freakshow, slashface, scars-r-us, or make up one of your own. Everyone does.’

Hunter felt a disconcerting sadness drown his heart. He slightly tilted his head to one side and tried to sound upbeat. ‘Well, a lot of people call me idiot, imbecile, or my personal favorite – dumbass. You can use any of those if you like.’

Brandon didn’t reply. Didn’t smile. He simply looked back into the distant darkness.

Hunter took a step closer. ‘Brandon,’ he called. ‘Look, I was just going to get some pizza. What do you say you come with me? I’m buying. We can talk if you want, and you can tell me what’s going through your head right now. I’m a great listener. Actually, if there were a world listening championship, I’d walk it.’

Brandon looked back at him, and for the first time Hunter could clearly see his eyes.

Hunter knew that about seventy-five percent of all suicide attempts in the USA were preventable by the most simple of actions – listening and being a friend. One argued that most attempts are, in fact, a cry for help. In truth, those people didn’t really want to commit suicide any more than the next person along, but at that particular moment in their lives they are experiencing a great deal of emotional and psychological pain. They might be feeling rejected, misunderstood, neglected, depressed, alone, abused, forgotten, scared or any combination of very strong sentiments, none of them good. The emptiness they felt inside grew to such an extent that they reached a point where they believed that they had no other alternative, no other way out. Unfortunately that usually happened because they were left alone with their dark thoughts for too long. They had no one to talk to, and no one was prepared to listen when they did. That made them feel unimportant, uncared for, unappreciated and insignificant to everyone. Most of the time they genuinely wanted someone to help them, but they just didn’t really know how to ask for it. Nevertheless, if help were offered, they’d grab at it with both hands. They just needed someone to be there, someone who could show them that they mattered.

As Hunter locked eyes with Brandon, his heart seemed to stutter. Hunter saw none of that inside the kid’s eyes. What he saw was extreme sadness, and total and utter determination. Brandon wasn’t looking for help anymore. He was way beyond that. His decision had been made, and nothing and no one would change his mind. He had only one thing burning inside his eyes, and Hunter felt at that moment that not even God would be able to dissuade him.

No more sugar coating.

‘Brandon, listen to me.’ Hunter took another tentative step toward him. ‘You don’t want to do this. I promise you there’s a better solution for whatever it is that made you believe that this is the only way out. Trust me, I’ve been there. I’ve been as close as you are right now . . . more than once. Give me a chance to talk to you. Give me a chance to show you that there are better choices than this.’

‘Choices?’

If Brandon’s eyes were laser beams, Hunter would’ve been dead.

Hunter nodded, and then said the words he would regret forever.

‘We always have a choice, and right now you don’t want to make the wrong one. Trust me on this.’

Brandon peeked at the distant darkness again. Only this time it wasn’t darkness. Two headlights had appeared, coming fast toward them. Brandon’s demeanor changed slightly – relieved of something that had been worrying him.

Hunter’s eyes checked the headlights for a fraction of a second, and then he understood what Brandon had been waiting for. The oncoming train should’ve been passing under the viaduct at around 01:21 a.m. But a short delay caused by a late driver meant that it would now be at the bridge at 01:23 a.m. – 0123.

Hunter tensed.

Brandon chuckled. ‘People always try to feed others this bullshit about everyone always having a choice.’ He put on a silly, childlike voice. ‘We are in control of our lives, because no matter what, we always have a choice.’

‘Well,’ Hunter said. ‘You have that choice right now.’ He checked the headlights again. They were almost at the bridge. ‘Please, Brandon, don’t make the wrong one. Come down from there and let’s talk about this. I promise you there’s a better solution.’

‘Really?’ Brandon was sounding angry now. ‘We always have a choice, do we? What about the choices that other people make that end up completely changing your life, not theirs. Where is our choice there, then?’ Brandon paused and swallowed hard as tears came to his eyes. ‘He chose to run that red light, not me. He chose to be drunk and high that night, not me. He chose to not give a shit about what could happen, not me. He chose to be speeding like a maniac, not me.’ Brandon wiped the tears from his face. ‘His choices changed my entire life. They changed my entire future. They changed who I was. Things I knew I could accomplish, I physically can’t anymore. Because of his choices, I have to face the world looking like this . . . for the rest of my life.’ He punctuated the last four words with hand stabs toward his face.