Chloe feels she ought to show them the proper way to travel this terrain, which is to leap, joyfully or in panic, coat flying, from roof to roof, never losing momentum, but they’re all so heavy with their caution and their belts and boots and holsters. Maybe the leaping, the flying, was actually not possible, like a bumble-bee’s flight, and now they’re being told, Janey and she, of their own weight and the laws that bind it. Life from now on will be this struggle up and across and down, planting each foot where the preceding people placed theirs, bending and balancing and climbing, admitting the existence of gravity. There’s a terribly ordinary van, not even an ambulance, without even a revolving light, into which Janey is slid. Isaac and Chloe don’t speak, with police beside them, with the panoply of emergency all about them. Isaac’s face is tearless and smooth. He has resumed his normal face, whereas Chloe’s, from inside, feels irrevocably warped. Then he turns and looks to her, and it’s as if he’s holding her upright still.
