Alec sat on the rooftop of his sixteen-story apartment building. He kicked his feet over the ledge against the brisk gusts that passed between the skyscrapers. The cars on the road below looked like the toys he played with decades prior.

Neon signs littered the view, slicing through what otherwise would’ve been a beautiful night. The stars were blotted out by the persistent glow of the city. The moon—curved into a picturesque crescent—was a white beacon in the yellow-black night sky.

If Alec were to do it, tonight would be the night.

He peered over his knees to the streets below. He longed for the release the pavement would give him. His burdens would vanish and the twisting ache inside his heart would bleed away into the earth.

Blissful as it would be, he could never bring himself to do it. Emptiness—the promise of everything, but the guarantee of nothing—scared him.

Alec fished in his pocket for his cell phone. The screen flashed to life at his touch, spilling a sharp blue hue over his sunken face. His fingers danced across its surface in precise keystrokes. He knew the number. It was familiar enough for him that he didn’t need to search the internet for it.

A robotic buzz hummed for a single tone. “Welcome to the crisis prevention hotline,” a robotic voice crackled over the speaker, “someone will be with you momentarily. Estimated wait time—“

Alec held the phone away from his face, expecting the familiar upbeat tune of being put on hold to play. This time, however, there was silence.

Hesitantly, he pulled the device back to his ear. “Hello?”

“Alec. I’ve been expecting you.” The voice from the phone was bassy. It swayed through each word like a swingset swishing in the wind.

Alec looked to the screen, his brow furrowed. Maybe he pressed something accidentally.

“You have the correct number,” the person confirmed, “just now you have… the correct representative.”

The chilly wind that steadily blew past Alec felt a bit colder than before. “Who is this?”

“You don’t know?” the voice chuckled. “I figured someone as obsessed as you would know.”

Alec’s head felt light. His stomach churned with anxiety. “I’m hanging up,” he said. He reached for the red “END CALL” button.

“No you’re not,” the voice responded.

An icy chill jolted through Alec’s spine. His finger hovered over the button, but he couldn’t press it.

“You’re too afraid. It’s in every look you take over a building’s ledge, in every momentary glance you steal at a roadside tree, in every double-take you give the bottle of pills on your bedside table every morning, and it’s in every phone call you hesitate to make,” the voice hissed condescendingly. “It’s ironic. Your fear is what killed her, yet it’s the only thing keeping you alive.”

Alec heaved as dense breaths forced their way out of his lungs. His legs, still dangling over the edge, were numb.

“I… I didn’t know… s-she—“ Alec stuttered, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes.

“You knew she needed you. She was a phone call away, and you let her down,” the person interrupted.

A quiet moment hung in the air like a thick blanket wet with tension.

“Would you like to talk to her?” the voice asked.

Alec choked back the tears. “Y-yeah…”

“Then all you have to do is take a single… weightless…” the velvety voice enticed, “step.” The voice was crystal clear. Alec felt its exhale graze his ear.

He scrambled to his feet. His balance shifted, his body daring to rip him off the rooftop. For a brief flash, a figure nine-feet tall appeared before him, cloaked in shadows. It carried an enormous, curved blade over its shoulder. It had no face, but Alec sensed its satisfied grin.

A gust thrust Alec forward onto the rooftop. He wheezed as he collapsed to his hands and knees.

“Remember,” the voice hissed distantly, “I am only a phone call away.” The words echoed in Alec’s head before fading into the idle noise of the city below.

He looked up, but the figure was gone.

Several feet away, Alec’s phone screen illuminated. He crawled to it, scooping it into his hand. He frantically tapped through menus until he reached the call log.

Nothing. Just one missed call that he purposely never deleted.

The figure was right, Alec was afraid—but not of death. What he feared was letting go.

A notification from his daily affirmation app dropped from the top of the screen.

“Forgiveness begins within oneself,” read the alert.

He pushed himself to his feet. The red circle hovering over “Missed Calls” made his heart sting. As foreign as the concept of forgiving himself was, he knew where he needed to begin.

Alec slid his finger across the missed call icon. A prompt appeared.

He exhaled low, holding his finger over the button. The breeze swept at his arm, nudging his finger closer. He closed his eyes and tapped “DELETE.”

Alec slipped the phone back into his pocket and headed for the stairwell.