"Don't jump," yelled Artemis, running from his car.

"Don't jump," yelled Artemis, pushing the man up the railing.

"Don't jump," yelled Artemis, smashing the man's clinging hands until they let go.

"Oh, my God, help," yelled the man.

"Crazy fool," yelled Artemis. "You had so much to live for."

The man hit ice below like a garbage bag full of gravel. You could hear the head crack solid against the ice floe, and then the body went splash and the man went flowing downriver, wedged beneath the ice.

Only for a moment did Artemis Thwill regret what he had done. This was not a high enough bridge to be absolutely sure the man was dead. Next time it would have to be a certain death. For Artemis Thwill knew, even before the man hit the water, that he would do this again.

Thwill knew what made him such a good football player back in college. He liked to hurt. But most of all, he discovered on this chill delicious March day, he loved to kill.

There was of course an investigation. Artemis told the police he really didn't want too much recognition for trying to save the man's life. He thought it might disturb an already disturbed widow. "If only we had more psychiatric counseling," said Artemis Thwill.

"The wife says he didn't commit suicide," said the Pontusket chief of police, who did not believe in psychiatric counseling, and felt himself a hypocrite for not announcing that the police department ought only to protect people from other people, not people from themselves.

"Poor thing," said Artemis.

"She says he always went to that bridge to walk," said the chief.

"Poor thing," said Artemis.

"She says she thinks you threw him over, Mr. Thwill."

"Poof thing," said Artemis.

"Did you?"

"Of course," said Artemis with the chill cutting edge of one of the town leaders to one of the town servants.