Sure enough, at full speed Charlie streaks through the frame, skids to a stop in the alley, whirls around, and stares at me through the closing aperture. I am halfway there; the opening is much more than halfway gone. The slow guillotine of the closing door slices away my view of Charlie’s face. She is outside. I am inside. I’ve blown it, and the expression on her face shows that she knows it.

But then something unexpected happens. Charlie starts fighting against the insistent thrusting force of the hydraulics. She is mere seconds from freedom, and instead of running she is trying to pry open the door. She shoulders against it; it edges her out. She pushes against it; it does not slow. She tries to wedge her foot at the base; her foot is mashed aside. No contortion, no exertion of leverage, makes any difference. Then, as my glimpse of the outside world is reduced to a narrowing slat of alley I see Charlie’s foot kick up against the wall and her fingers wrap around the edge of the inexorably closing door.

The hydraulics, the closing metal: her fingers don’t stand a chance.

I start to yell this to her but it’s too late. The sound of Charlie grunting with effort changes into cries of terror and pain and then into something incomprehensible, maniacal. I clench my eyes shut against the sight of what I know must come, but when I open them the floor is fingerless. And bloodless. Looking up, I see all digits are present and accounted for, wriggling with the joy of attachment. But the door is not closed. It’s stopped at her fingers.

The incomprehensible sound, I realize, is laughter.

I don’t waste any time wondering about the physics of hydraulics versus finger bone; I just run to Charlie and in unison we kick and push against the door until it grinds open and we spill onto the concrete together. She lands on top of me and I grab her protectively. It just happens. I wrap her up. Against the outcry of good judgment, common sense, and all instincts of self-preservation, I keep my arms around her. I hold her as if I don’t know what’s coming.

Sacrifice

Sacrifice