[i](( Note: This story contains descriptions of depression, suicide, and reference to combat. Readers uncomfortable with this will need to decide whether to pass on this story. This is dedicated to fallen veterans and other real life heroes, those who suffer from mental illness, and those who have dedicated their lives to its treatment. With thanks to Wil Wheaton for his advocacy. ))[/i]

Gayle soared through the hot, muggy air above the city. She wasn’t looking for trouble, just taking a quick flight to relax before she had to get ready for the Memorial Day concert at the Green Line. The wind controlling mutant pop star was wearing her usual green hero uniform—sheer green spandex with plenty of skin open to the breeze, golden bracelets and winged headband packed with electronics, and a flowing gossamer cape in alternating green and spring green bands. Her strawberry blonde hair was free beneath the headband; long enough to feel the wind rush through it, but not long enough to get in her face when the wind shifted.

The skyscrapers flashed by beneath and occasionally beside her. The wind she made as she flew felt good against her skin, but there wasn’t much breeze otherwise. The weather over the city felt like the proverbial calm before the storm. There were supposed to be thunderstorms rolling in overnight. Certainly plenty of time to finish up her concert and get everything packed off to home before the rains came, she figured.

Gayle tucked her arms in tightly to her sides and flipped herself into a tight, fast spin for fun. “Wheeeeee!” A pang of regret struck her as she came out of the spin and leveled out. “Mom used to say she loved to do that, too.”

The singer sighed. “Well, here’s to you, Mom, and all the other fallen heroes. You gave your lives so that others might live. You’re remembered, at least.”

Something caught her attention and she slowed to a hover. Something was out of place. She blinked and looked around at the buildings of the downtown business district, not quite sure what it was. Then, she spotted it. “It’s Memorial Day. Nobody should be up there on the service roof of that office building!”

A man was standing at a low railing of the Thompson Tower, near one set of the big ventilation units that dotted the roof. He wasn’t in a maintenance worker’s uniform or coveralls; just a faded blue golf shirt and khaki cargo shorts. He was standing quietly, looking over the edge at the upper deck of the parking ramp thirty-six floors below. She frowned. “Uh-oh! I recognize that look!”

She quickly flew in closer and waved. “Hi there!”

The man jerked back from the railing, startled out of whatever he was thinking by a person hanging in front of him in mid-air. “Oh! Uh… hi?”

He had that look of indefinite age somewhere between the late twenties and early forties. His skin was the kind of pale that suggested he didn’t get out in the sun much and his legs below the shorts were even whiter. Not badly built, but a touch overweight, and he didn’t seem to give much attention to his hair or the scruffy three-day growth on his face and chin. His face looked tired, almost drooping, even careworn. Even startled as he was, Gayle was worried by the lack of animation in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t recommend stepping off there,” she offered in a conversational tone. “It’s a long way down.”

“Oh. Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.”

“What’s going on? You don’t get through that access door by accident. And maintenance is off for Memorial Day.”

“Yeah. I suppose I shouldn’t be up here.” He didn’t seem to care much.

“You want to talk about it?”

He gave the barest hint of a shrug. “Not really.”

“I’m Gayle. You might recognize me.”

He nodded with a tiny quirk of one side of his mouth. “Yeah. Gayle Force. The singer and superhero. Everybody knows you.”

“Well, they recognize me, but not that many people actually know me, if you know what I mean.”

He looked confused, so she asked him, “What’s your name?”

“Vic.”

“Nice to meet you, Vic. I take it you don’t come here often!” She tried to tease a smile out of him, to see if he could react.

He shook his head, passing up the joke entirely. Not a good sign, she thought. “No. I work in this building. At least, I used to.”

“What happened?”

He sighed. “I blew a presentation that everyone was counting on to win us this big contract. They did their parts. I just… I couldn’t get into it. I wasn’t prepared, and I was just a drag on the team. We got word on Friday that the client went with another firm. That was my last shot. I know they’re gonna fire me now.”

“That sure sucks. What was the problem?” She asked as if she didn’t already have a good clue.

He hesitated for a moment. Then, he shrugged. “I’ve got major depression, and it’s just getting worse since my boyfriend died.” He looked at her then, clearly anticipating a reaction.

“Oh, man! I’m sorry to hear that. I know how bad that can be. And I’m sorry about your boyfriend, too. What happened to him, if you don’t mind telling me?”

Vic’s eyebrows twitched up a bit. He took a breath. “He died in Afghanistan four years ago, three days before Memorial Day.”

“And you’ve felt alone since then?” He nodded. “That’s a long time to fight the disease alone, Vic.”

“Uh… yeah.” He seemed a little off balance by her understanding of it. “David was really the only one who ever understood me. Especially after my parents kicked me out when they found out I was gay. They said to never come back. David said screw them, you make your own family, anyway. But he got shipped out to Afghanistan, and then he didn’t come back….” Vic choked up and couldn’t continue.

Gayle nodded sadly. “I get it. I don’t know how you feel, but when my mom died I felt so empty for a long time, and like, ‘Why did you choose them instead of staying with me?’ And then for a while it was like I couldn’t really feel anything at all. Just like hollow, dry, gray cotton stuffed inside me.”

He nodded. “You’ve had this, too?”

“Oh, yeah! Heck, Vic, you’re not really alone. It took me four years to get straightened out again, and even now it’s a struggle some days.”

“But it seems like it.” As he said it, it seemed to Gayle like he was a deflating balloon.

“What? Like you’re alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Yep, that’s the disease talking, making you feel that way. Doesn’t even help to know in your head that it’s not true, does it?”

“No. I just feel… dead inside.”

“Nothing there but emptiness? Maybe the pain?”

“Yeah. It sucks, but what can I do? I can’t keep a job because of my depression, and my friends are tired of me sponging off them all the time. I’m three months overdue on rent and facing eviction. I’m just a burden to everyone. What’s the point?”

Gayle gave him a sober nod. “That’s why you’re up here on the roof.”
He nodded glumly and she offered, “Every suicide dies alone, Vic. Like injured animals crawling off into a hole to die. It’s so lonely when the disease is winning. I hate it! And I hate being too late to help others. A hero might die alone, but by choice, not because it’s the only path she can see. It’s so that others can live, instead.”

“I’m not a hero.” He shook his head.

Gayle smiled. “Everybody is a hero to someone, at least once their lives!”

“David was a hero. He helped his buddies get out of the wrecked helicopter before the rebels shot him.”

“That sounds like one kind of hero, all right.” She looked at him closely. “How long have you been fighting depression?”

He shrugged. “Since middle school.”

“You’ve made it a long time, then.”

“Seems like forever.”

“Do meds help?”

“Kind of. But I can’t afford them now.”

“Well, I’m no counselor, but I’ve been pretty close to where you are.”

“Yeah? How did you beat it?” It seemed more like idle curiosity than real hope, but Gayle took it as a good sign.

“I got help. A friend pushed me into it, finally. My dad tried—tried really hard—but I wasn’t really ready to listen for a long time. I finally got to a point where it wasn’t worth the effort to do anything, and it wasn’t worth the effort to fight the people who wanted me to get treatment. So, I went.”

“Guess it turned out okay for you,” Vic observed in a bitter tone.

“Don’t kid yourself. It’s still a struggle, some days. But they did help me get my head around some choices I could make. I still have to fight it, sometimes, especially when I lose big. Your situation is different, I’m sure, but you aren’t really alone.”

A message chirped for Gayle on her communicator. “One moment. Got a call.” She read it with one eye on her wrist display while still watching Vic. She responded by voice, “Yes, I’m still out here flying. I ran into someone who could use some help. I’ll be along when I can. This is important.”

“Who’s that?” Vic asked.

“My guitarist. We’ve got a concert at the Green Line. Memorial Day, you know. I do one every year to remember the fallen. Recognize the sacrifices people have made, that sort of thing.”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Vic muttered half-heartedly.

“Nuh-uh, buster! You think I’m leaving you up here all alone?”

“You’ve got somewhere to be. I’m fine.”

The singer looked at him and scoffed with a grin, “I recognize that ‘fine!’ That’s the ‘go leave me alone to lay here in my misery’ fine!”

Vic shrugged. “So? What’s it to you?”

“I’m willing to help, and too stubborn to just leave you like this.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m not important.”

“You say that now, and it’s the disease talking. Sometime after this, after you’re back on your feet and you say that, then I might believe you.”

“So, what’re you going to do?” he asked, a little irked at her interference. That in itself was a positive sign, she knew.

“I’ll listen to you,” Gayle answered. “Take you to get treatment, if you want. Commiserate with you about David. But I won’t prevent you from jumping, if that’s what you really want to do.”

“What?” he exclaimed with widened eyes.

She shook her head. “Nope. I get it. If you want to jump, if you want to feel something, I’ll let you jump.”

“Vic blinked in confusion. “You’d let me kill myself?”

Gayle laughed. “Of course not! I’ll let you jump and fall, but I’ll keep you from going splat on the parking ramp. I guarantee you’ll scare yourself spitless, though!”

Vic glared at her. Then, his face loosened and laughed. “What have I got to lose?” he remarked. Without a second thought, he stepped up on the railing and launched himself over.

“Not– Wait! I wasn’t ready!” Gayle sputtered. She swooped after him and tried to whip up a windstorm beneath the falling man.

He didn’t mean to, but the terror hit him fast as he tumbled. He yelled out his panic and clawed at the sky. Thirty-six floors down, he fell.

Then it was over. His voice was silent.

As his vision cleared and the dizziness passed, Vic realized that he was bobbing in the air three feet above the concrete deck of the parking ramp. His heart was racing and his chest felt clenched in a giant’s grip. As his senses returned, it felt like he was swimming in the wind.

Gayle watched him warily. She hovered down to his eye level. “It’s not the fall that hurts. It’s the sudden stop at the end. Hope I didn’t jolt you too much, there.”

Vic opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t put any words together.

She nodded and lowered her hand. Vic descended the rest of the way to the ground as the miniature gale that held him dissipated. His legs shook and he wobbled. Gayle set down herself and reached out a hand to help him steady himself.

“Yeah, I’m okay, I think,” he finally responded.

She squeezed his hand. “You’re not alone, Vic. Will you let me take you to get help? It’s next to impossible to beat this disease on your own.”

“I know, but….”

“Hey, people have dedicated their lives to helping people like us!” Gayle told him. “There’s help and treatment available, even if you’re down on your luck.”

“Yeah. I suppose you’re right. When I think of it, that’s what David said, too. I miss him!” The tears started leaking from his eyes.

Gayle hugged him. “He sounds like my kind of hero. Let’s get you help so you can have your chance to be a hero to someone, too. Honor his memory. You’re stronger than you think.”

Vic nodded. “All right. It’s better than dying alone.”