He reached the top floor and pushed open the heavy oak door that led to the roof.
The air was freezing, the wind whipping off the East River. The sky was that deep, electric blue that only happens for ten minutes after sunset—the blue hour.
He was alone.
“Beatrice?” he called out.
Nothing but the wind.
He walked to the edge of the roof, looking down at the grid of lights below. He felt a sudden, crushing weight of doubt. Why would she come? She was a star. She had a life. He was a guy who had signed a paper promising to disappear.
Then, the door creaked.
Beatrice stepped out. She was still in the silver dress, but she had thrown a man’s tuxedo jacket over her shoulders. She was shivering, her breath visible in the cold air.
“You came.” she whispered.
Arthur didn't speak. He just walked to her and pulled her into his arms. She felt small and fragile, but her grip on him was like iron.
“I thought I’d lost you.” he said into her hair.
“I signed the papers, Arthur. I told them what they wanted to hear so they’d let me go to the party. I knew you’d be there. I knew you’d find me.”
She pulled back, looking at him with an intensity that made him ache. “Marcus is downstairs. He’s going to call the police the moment he realizes I’m gone. We don't have much time.”
“Where can we go?” Arthur asked. “They have your face on every screen in the city.”
Beatrice looked at the horizon. “Then we go somewhere where there are no screens. My grandmother has a cabin in Maine. No phone, no internet, no Marcus. Just the woods.”
“Beatrice, you’d be giving up everything. Your show, your career... you’d be a fugitive.”
“I’m already a fugitive, Arthur. I’ve been running since I was twenty. I just want to stop running now. With you.”
Arthur looked at his Leica. He realized then that he didn't need it. He didn't need to document this. He didn't need the world to see.
He took the camera and set it on the ledge of the roof.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving the witness behind.” he said.
But as they turned to leave, the door burst open. Marcus stood there, flanked by two police officers.
“There he is!” Marcus shouted. “He’s kidnapped her again! Arrest him!”
The officers moved forward, their hands on their holsters.
Beatrice stepped in front of Arthur. “No! I’m here of my own free will! Marcus, stop this!”
“She’s brainwashed.” Marcus said to the officers. “Look at her. She’s not in her right mind.”
Arthur looked at the officers. He saw the doubt in their eyes. They knew who she was. They knew the story.
He looked at Beatrice. He knew what he had to do.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He hadn't deleted everything. He had one video left—the one he had taken on his phone, not the Leica. The video of Marcus in the desert, admitting he wanted to sell their story.
“Officer.” Arthur said, his voice calm. “You might want to see this before you make an arrest.”
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