Extra Life by Derek Nikitas

Action.” All I had to do was lift the latch, push the gate, and I was in. Then I found the access ladder, and I started to climb.

I CLUTCHED the rungs of the radio tower high over the Cape Fear River. The red beacon blinked above, urging me to climb. The river below looked calm on the surface, but its undercurrent was known to swallow people stupid enough to take the plunge.
    My attempted cell phone video recording was a flop. I needed two hands to climb so I held the phone between my lips, meaning I couldn’t run commentary, and my mouth was going numb, and I was probably fogging up the lens with my breath. At least I’d get a good panoramic shot when I reached the top. I’d have my proof.
    Anyone watching from the windows of nearby warehouses or apartment buildings could’ve spotted me. And if they wanted to stop me, they’d call the police or at least yell out. I was prepared for that. Cops gathering around the tower, begging me to climb down—it would make better footage than the climb itself.
    Truth is, heights freaked me out, especially when nothing but my balance kept me from a fast and fatal drop. But that’s exactly why I climbed, my knack for rushing blind into whatever scared me. It wasn’t the ascent. It was the after party, the hours of delicious adrenaline and the conquering spirit I’d be filled with.
    Connie would’ve stopped me but Connie wasn’t here. The angel on my shoulder fluttered off. Finally I could hear my own will at work. I had to prove I could take the same crap I was always dishing out to Connie. Had to prove myself apart from everyone else. And if I got arrested, well, it would prove my point, wouldn’t it? I was already on the tower that would transmit my news across the Carolinas. I wanted Savannah to hear all about it.
    Four stories up, I saw the hazy green outline of the Cape Fear Bridge. So far away, I could make it vanish under my thumb, but when I tried, a wave of vertigo made my palms go slick with sweat. I had to keep wiping them on my jeans, one at a time. Another twenty feet and the winds kicked up. The cars in the lot below were die-cast toys. My jaw ached with the strain of holding that phone, and it was slippery with spit. I’d drop it any second.
    When a gull landed on a beam just overhead, I tried to shoo him away. But he claimed his perch and twitched his head as if deciding exactly when he’d drop his milky white crap load.
    I chanced another rung upward and the bird flew off.
    Then, my cell buzzed in my mouth. It felt like my own shuddering nerves, until I realized what it was: a text message. Could be Savannah, apologizing for ditching me. Or Paige, apologizing for blaming me. But most likely it was Conrad, fishing for an apology.
    Even as I thought not now , I still had to check, because who knows? What if? I hooked a rung by the crook of my elbow, dropped my slimy phone into my palm like a dog giving over a tennis ball. The fact that I’d somehow pressed stop on the recording only barely registered in my mind. Instead, I was focused on the animated envelope icon on the display. And below that, the sender’s name: Horace Vale . Me.
    Never before had I gotten a text from my own phone. I’d seen it happen with email, but always in some virus or spyware switcheroo. My anticipation sank. All that risk for nothing but some stupid piece of spam like great work study opportunities for high school grads. $$$ .
    But that’s not what I got when I tapped the icon.
    The text was just three words long:
    Take the leap.
    Somebody was screwing with my head. Had to be.
    But that made no sense. No stranger would know my phone number, not to mention how to send a text using my ID. The only keyboard cowboys I knew were Conrad and my father. Neither of them had any clue where I was, and neither would callously encourage me to jump to my death. At least I hoped not.
    Take the leap.
    I kept reading the message. It had to be a coincidence, something like: Take the leap into a