Prologue
Katherine O’Reilly had never contemplated suicide. But now the professor of Cosmology and preeminent expert on dark matter had prepared to kill herself.
Closing her laptop’s lid and pushing back from her desk, she walked to the wall where the image hung. Her crowning achievement of 57 years. The first true photograph of dark matter. Stretching over the brown leather couch beneath, she pulled it down and slid it behind a bookcase.
Pictures are hung to be remembered, people hang to be forgotten, Katherine thought.
She turned for the window, passing her desk with her planner opened to tomorrow, April 14th, a day she would never see. Two lectures, an interview with The Astrophysical Journal, and lunch with her boyfriend.
Outside she saw the blue sky of the warmest April day on record, and eight stories below busy students followed pathways to classes or lunch. Young men and women, beaming with optimism on the pleasant day, wore shorts and t-shirts to soak in the sunshine. Some of them she recognized.
She placed her hands against the top of the window’s frame, pushing it up a crack, then positioned her fingers under to lift it open completely. It creaked with age and tossed dust.
The air rushed in and woke the skin of her face.
Katherine placed each palm on the windowsill and lowered her body. Pushing forward, she stuck her head out and rested her stomach between her hands. The wood pressed against her diaphragm, making every breath more laborious. She stretched her back, arching herself further out of the building.
Like a fulcrum. The load from the epiphany a burden too heavy.
With a gentle nudge from her feet, her weight shifted enough to send her body out. Katherine closed her eyes and relaxed her muscles. She sensed her body rolling as gravity pulled her.
Or maybe it’s less of a pull and more a push.
Among other bloody and messy consequences, the intense impact of the still frozen ground on her back sent the air out of her lungs. But before she could feel pain or hear the students’ screams, she was gone.
