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Humpty Dumpty


The truly irksome part was that Zvolen was right. Ford's strength was tapped by the strong winds of the Bay before the first half hour had passed. There was no room to sit down, hardly anything to hang on to, and he was forced to stand, swaying in the breeze. The added weight of the sword did little to help the situation.

As the night rolled on, Ford thought several times that he heard the squeal of a squad car siren, but never was there a shout or a rescue worker.

After the first hour, he started with "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," as a way to keep himself awake, but soon realized he knew few of the words other than "A wheem a way," and gave up. He made guitar noises in the back of his throat, belting out Edgar Winters' "Frankenstein" as loudly as he could, but that got repetitive, so he gave up on that one too. He finally settled on playing a game of "I'm going on a picnic" with himself, and was up to Q before his eyes started getting too heavy to keep open.

Zvolen, tucked securely in the recess of the workers' platform, sat silently, and Ford had to keep concentrating to see him in the darkness. His eyes weary, his strength gone, Ford's head got heavier and heavier until it dropped to his chest all together.

The realization that he was asleep hit him like a train, and he jerked upright. Zvolen was nowhere to be seen. He jerked his arm up, holding the sword at the ready, and started to look around for him.

"Damn!" Ford shouted.

A loud clang on the workman's platform brought him back around to it. Ford could see, in the dim light of the coming sunrise, Zvolen's eyes peering back at him. It took a moment, but Ford soon realized the eyes were much higher than they were before. Either Zvolen was standing on something, or...

It was a creature out of every goofy vampire movie Ford had ever seen. Four or five feet tall, the man-bat crept out of the shadows until Ford could see it clearly. The face was vaguely human, and the arms were a frightening mixture of human and bat; long, thin membranes swept out of the wrists and back behind the shoulder, making a wingspan of fifteen or twenty feet. The body was squat and covered in thick, black fur, and the legs had been shortened and twisted, looking almost canine.

The creature hissed at him as they locked eyes. Neither one moved for what seemed to be an eternity. Then, with a shocking speed, the bat-thing leapt at him. Ford was too stunned to react, and the left claw scratched at his face as the right one slammed against his chest. As he fell backwards, Ford twisted around so that he landed on his stomach, grabbing at whatever purchase he could. He lifted himself up onto the I-beam, and then turned to prepare for another attack.

This time, he was ready. The bat-thing charged at him, teeth bared, and Ford slashed from over his left shoulder with the sword, cutting a burning arc down the creature's chest. Howling, the beast charged him again, this time wrapping its arms around him and pulling him off the beam. Entangled, they fell another ten or twelve feet to a beam joint below. Ford was stunned for a moment from the fall, and was sure the creature had the advantage. However, when he looked up, the bat-thing was staring off into the distance. It took a second for Ford to realize what had it's attention; the sun, deep orange with its first lights, appeared over the horizon and was climbing into the sky at a rapid pace. Ford could see, over Zvolen's shoulders, a demarcation of light creeping its way down the face of the bridge.

Suddenly, the bat-thing howled and jumped off of Ford. It hopped to the next I-beam as Ford got to his feet, then shook its wings for a moment, as if remembering how they worked.

It's trying to run away, Ford thought to himself. As the creature jumped off the bridge, wings outstretched, Ford did something that surprised even himself; running to the farmost beam, Ford launched himself off the bridge and into space. A second later, he collided with the creature, and the sword bit deep into its back, just below the wing joint. The creature let out a high-pitched shriek, almost like an eagle's cry. Ford pulled himself onto its back using the sword, and wrapped his left arm around its neck. It soon dawned on him, however, that, while the creature's wings were outstretched, it wasn't flapping them.

As that realization sank in, a second epiphany involving Sir Isaac Newton and an apple tree occurred to him. The bat-thing and Ford, both screaming as loudly as they could, fell away from the Golden Gate Bridge and toward the water below.

"Here," someone was saying to him. "Drink this slowly. It'll warm you up."

A styrofoam cup was thrust into his hands and Ford gingerly took a sip. It was hot cocoa, and it was warm. He would have preferred a bottle of Carffee, but you take what you can get. Looking up, he noted that he was on the back of an ambulance next to Crissy Field.

"You're lucky," an EMT said to him, shining a penlight into his eyes. "If that boy's kite didn't crash on the rocks they wouldn't have found you for a couple hours maybe."

"I'm sure the city will be grateful I chose to wash up here," Ford said, taking another sip of hot chocolate. "I bet the Trust is having a shitfit that you parked your ambulance on their lawn."

"They'll get over it," the EMT laughed.

"Oh my God!" a voice from the side of the ambulance said. It was Jake. "You're alive!"

"If you call sitting in Crissy Field with a felt blanket and a pair of borrowed long-johns living."

"Well, it could have been worse," Jake said, looking at Ford's face the way the people on "Antiques Roadshow" look at a Maxfield Parrish print. "You could be sitting on the bottom of the Bay being eaten by fish, and what would that get you?"

"Thank you Bruno," Ford replied. "Speaking of Fish, how is he?"

"Couple broken ribs, but he'll live," Jake said. "There's someone else here to see you."

"Hi, howyadoin'?" a shorter man in a bad suit said. He was wearing a trenchcoat and carrying a notepad. "James Norwalk, Chronicle, can I ask you a few questions?"

"No," Ford said, returning to his hot chocolate.

"You're big news!" James said. Then, punctuating each word with his hand as if displaying a miniature marquee, "Super Cop Falls From Golden Gate and Lives!"

"Get out of here," Jake said, pushing the reporter away.

"You'll be famous!" the reporter said, as a pair of officers led him away.

"Sorry about that, Chris," Jake mumbled. "That wasn't who I was talking about."

"Oh," Ford said. "You mean I don't get to sell my story to Lifetime Television?"

"No," Jake replied. "Besides, you're not a woman, they won't buy it. But there is someone else here to see you."

"Hi Chris," Lorna said, walking around in front of him. "You, uh... you look good."

"Thanks," Ford replied. "I feel good. Been workin' out, you know. Getting in shape."

"Well I'm glad you're all right," Lorna said, laughing. "Listen, I need to get back to work so I'll see you l..."

"Lorna," Ford said, interrupting her. "I miss you."

"Oh, Chris," Lorna said, shaking her head. "Please don't..."

"I mean it," Ford continued. "I know I've been a goof-off in the past, but you really mean a lot to me. I want you to give me a second chance."

"Chris," she said, "if I didn't know any better, I'd think you'd gone serious on me."

"Yeah, well, falling a thousand feet on the back of a giant bat can have that affect on someone. It really put things in perspective for me."

"I don't know, Christ. I don't know if I can trust you."

"Come on," Ford said, standing up. "It'll be good for your Electra Complex."

"Oh yeah, that's helping your case."

"And going out with a woman ten years my junior will do wonders for my self esteem."

"Ten? Try fifteen."

"Ok, so I fibbed," Ford said, taking her hands in his. "I mean it Lorna, give me one more shot."

"Ok," she smiled. "Saturday at seven. You get one date. Make a good impression and I'll consider a second one."

"Sure," Ford said. "So I guess mini-golf is out of the question?"


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About Christopher Ford, Amateur Paranormalist

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