“Hey Rachelle!”

Rachelle Wynberg, reporter for WBBK, NY, looked up quickly from the papers she had been lazily reading. She was at the moment bored to near tears. These last two weeks had been hell on her, having covered nothing more exciting than a domestic disturbance which, it turned out to be, a drunk old man lock out of his house. Sure he had been naked, but that was all. “What a fuckin' waste,” she grumbled. She looked over at a heavyset man hanging out the window of their news van. “What do you want now, Pecker?” she growled. She was definitely in a foul mood.

“Quit calling me that Rach, or I ain't going to tell you what I got,” the middle aged man said. “If you can't be nice and call me Pete, we're through dating.” Pete Wickman, aka Pecker or Pecker head, depending on Rachelle's mood, grinned at his boss.

“In your wet dreams,” she replied. “Just give with it or so help me I'll rip that squirt gun you call your manhood right off its socket.”

Pete chuckled at the banter and looked back at the console on his lap. “Dispatch says we have a possible jumper and to get over to 1st and Main, pronto.”

“Your not pulling my leg are you?” she responded. Her heart rate and breathing quickened noticeably; her face flushing bright red with the extra flow of adrenaline and blood. Had anyone been looking her way they'd have thought she had just been laid.

“I'm not shittin' you, toots,” he said, grinning. “Got in right her in my lap.”

Rachel totally missed the implied sexual reference, she was so engrossed in the possibilities. With her breasts heaving, she wasted no time and jumped into her seat. “Get this crate moving you pervert.” She was so on-fire that she grabbed a cold beer out of a small cooler on the floor and placed it between the cleavage of her large breasts to cool down. Once her body temperature dropped to as by close to normal as it was going to, she popped the can and guzzled the liquid inside.

Pete, of course, couldn't help but watch out of the corner of his eyes as he drove erratically. In less than five minutes, they were rounding the corner onto Main. It was obvious that just up ahead was where all the action was, for a large crowd of onlookers had already gathered. Everyone there had their eyes fixed on something high above them.

“Good job Pecker,” Rachelle said with a grin. She quickly snatched her mic and transmitter, jumped from the van and scanned the area getting a feel for what to expect. “Let's hope we have time to find a good spot to set up,” she called out to Pete. “I don't want to miss the perfect shot if this bozo splats the pavement.” Her testosterone levels had increased to near orgasmic proportions. This was what made or broke a reporter's career and Rachelle so wanted to be a success. Next to her Pete popped a cartridge into his camera unit and hefted it onto his shoulder. The red light came on and he turned it onto Rachelle's face getting the best focus he could.

“We're rolling, toots,” Pete bellowed. “Anytime you're ready.”

Rachelle finished looking the scene over and critiquing the layout. As usual the police and fire departments were there doing what they normally did. In Rachelle's mind that meant getting in her way. At one of the police vehicles she did notice two youths being cuffed and put into the backseat of the car. Hmm, she absently thought to herself, that could be a backup story should the jump be foiled.

“We got a ladder going up,” Pete said, bringing Rachelle back to the main action.

Sure enough a hook and ladder fire truck was getting into position. Out of the corner of her eye she also saw a young black fireman leaping through the front door. Always someone thinking they're going to be a hero and save the idiot from spatting, Rachelle thought. What a moron.

“Look up there,” Pete cried yet again.

Rachelle looked up, squinting as she did, for the sun momentarily blinded her. With hand positioned just so, she got her first look at the jumper. It was a girl, young to by the look of her slim curved figure. Rachelle's heart skipped a beat and a half. “Hot damn!” she said, this was perfect. Chicks plunging to their deaths always made the ratings. She, Rachelle Wynberg, would surely become famous overnight. “Quick, Pete, get some footage of her standing on the edge before it's to late. I want this to be pure gold.” Oh, to have another cold beer, she thought; her temperature rising once more to near record levels. Maybe, if this all works out I'll ball the hell out of Pete. Hell I'll screw every sorry asshole here if I can get this in the can. She chuckled at the very idea.

After a couple minutes of raw footage Pete returned the camera onto his boss. “Time for work, hot stuff,” he said. “Make daddy proud.” Rachelle grinned and took a deep breath.

“This is Rachelle Wynberg of WBBK, reporting live from what this reporter has been told from a reliable source that a distraught girl is threatening to jump to her death.” It was a half lie which she knew would never be checked. Hell, who even cared about the truth? “We can only hope this poor young girl does not succumb to her sorrows and end her life.” She put on her most sympathetic facial expression, one she had honed by years of practice in a mirror.

“Just moments ago a young fireman had entered the building in a mad dash to come to the child’s aid.” Ooo! That sounded believable even to her. “Let us hope he can get to her in time.” NOT.

Just then an older woman being held back by an officer screamed and pointed up. Instinctively Rachelle followed the direction of the pointing finger. Was this it, she hoped.

Above the outline of the girl's body could clearly be seen parting from the ledge. “Oh god!” Rachelle gasped in a near orgasmic state of thrill. This was the moment she'd been waiting for. “You better not blow this for me Pete,” she growled like an animal. “I want as wide a shot as you can get.

Pete didn't need to be told, he knew what was at stake here and he wanted it as badly as his boss. Gazing through the view finder he watched the girl plunging his way. But what was this? “What the fu...” He never finished his sentence as everyone went deathly silent. No one seemed to be able to move.

Rachelle had been prepared to give her best terrified cry after the body impacted the sidewalk no more than twenty feet from her. That scream would never come. Everyone kept their eyes looking up at what was playing out. The girl was not falling as she should be; in fact she wasn't falling at all. What she was doing defied the laws of physics entirely. The girl was standing on the side of the building. Still no one moved, no one made a sound. Slowly and quite calmly the girl began to walk down the wall. Step by step, she came on. Still no one moved. At the bottom the girl hopped onto the sidewalk and stood up. With no seeming interest to her onlookers she walked down the walkway and vanished around a corner.

Rachelle her body released from its stasis and turned to her camera man. “Tell me you got that,” she demanded. Her eyes saw the answer without Pete having to utter one word. The camera was pointed to the ground, Pete's face still looking up. The camera's light wasn't even lit.

“Noooo! Rachelle screamed.

* THE END *