Just before he jumped Gerald cleared his mind of everything except the image of Claire as he’d last seen her dressed as Mr Spock at a Star Trek convention.
For years Claire had plagued him with her obsession but the look on Leonard Nimoy’s face when she’d asked him to autograph twenty-three books was the breaking point. He’d get his revenge by making her the subject of ridicule as the woman whose husband had killed himself dressed as a wombat.
He’d considered dressing for the big day as a Vulcan just to get his message across but instead he'd randomly chosen a wombat. Claire wouldn't be able to figure out why - no matter how much “logic” she applied. In fact, she'd probably write to Leonard for advice. As usual, he’d reply with a signed photo with the postscript “Live long and prosper” which, for once, would have a certain irony.
Gerald took a final glimpse over the cliff edge, imagining Claire behind him, phaser wedged between his ribs. Then propelling himself forwards, he stretched his arms wide and fell into space.
But instead of his life flashing before him as he imagined would happen, Gerald began to fly, soaring on the crest of the wind like a heavenly seagull.
“Fuck you, Starship Enterprise!” he screamed, riding the currents with childish delight until, with a gentle flop, he lay giggling in the breaking surf.
He’d tell Claire he’d discovered how the transporter worked.
Then he’d go on a mission. Where he’d explore strange new worlds, seek out a new life, a new civilization, and boldly go where he had never been before.
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