New York was plunged into an unprecedented gloom this morning. At dawn, a luxury limousine carrying James Patterson, the world-famous detective writer, suddenly lost control in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge. In just a split second, the car crashed straight through the steel railing and fell into the cold East River. When the rescue team arrived, all efforts were in vain. The police confirmed that James Patterson died at the scene. The terrible news shocked the entire literary world.
The scene of the accident was shocking like something out of a dramatic novel: smoke rose from the water, debris floated amid the flashing lights of ambulances and police. The sound of sirens echoed throughout the city. Hundreds of people gathered on the bridge, many fans burst into tears, calling his name in the cold wind. Paparazzi competed to pan their cameras, flashes continuously piercing the early morning mist.
“The limousine started to swerve violently, as if the driver had lost control,” a witness said. “I saw it crash through the railing and then disappear in a loud bang from the river.” Emergency divers dove into the water while firefighters lowered a boat. But when they pulled Patterson out, he was motionless. The sight of paramedics performing chest compressions and placing an oxygen mask on the riverbank stunned the crowd.
The red alarm monitor blared continuously in the ambulance. Doctors administered multiple shocks, but Patterson’s heart stopped responding. “We did everything we could. The impact was too strong, he couldn’t survive,” a doctor said through tears.
At the Manhattan hospital, the ICU was lit up all night. His colleagues, who had collaborated on major literary projects, quietly arrived. But as the clock ticked past 4 a.m., the hospital’s board of directors announced the end of the emergency. The bad news officially spread outside, touching millions of hearts.
On social media, the hashtags #PrayForPatterson and #GoodbyeJames soared to the top of the global charts. The White House issued a special statement praising Patterson as “the man who ignited the imagination of millions of readers.” Stephen King, John Grisham, and many other great authors expressed their grief. Fans shared the torn novels they had read dozens of times as a farewell.
During the night, a “double incident” occurred: thousands of fans gathered to light candles at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge. A sea of people jostled, a section of the auxiliary bridge temporarily collapsed, injuring at least 25 people. Firefighters had to set up additional barriers to prevent tragedy from following tragedy.
When the sun rose, the entire city was still shrouded in an atmosphere of mourning. White flowers, candles, and a portrait of James Patterson covered the bridge entrance. Choking sobs mingled with the strong wind of the river. A scrawled line on a banner read: “Your stories will live on, James.”
The sudden death of James Patterson is not only a great loss for the American literary world, but also a spiritual wound for millions of readers around the planet. From now on, his thrilling detective stories will forever be immortal memories – both as a farewell and as an elegy about the fragility of life.
