The day started as most usually do. We all woke groggily and apprehensive to the day but languidly took to throwing shirts on, laborious jean wrangling and messy short brushes to mops of hair that were too far gone to take the task. I, like the rest, tediously meandered around the clothes, knit picked through socks, even though there was a gleaming pair right at my feet, I let time hang like a tenuous thread of lacquered wax. This had become my new tendency, my new norm, the languid act of being. I made very little attempts to giving a damn. I’d of course make lunches, tidy up the house, get the kids ready, but all to get them out of my hair.
I was more than sure that the Mrs knew. Of course she knew, she knew everything. At least that was the mannerisms and the behavior of the household, Mama knew all. But still the day started the same. Mom get into the makeup, me the husband scrounging up the rest of the household and getting everybody ready. I’d say it was a task but it was them that made it easy. The boys hurried and hustled to get ready, their little sis following suit so as not to be left behind made work all the easier and the tasks lighter for the load after they hauled to the car and left.
The day was barren though and left the taste of iron in the mouth. Teeth gritting, mind spinning, and exhaustion that knew nothing but fatigue hampered the rest of the day, that was until I took to going outside. I had taken to the dogs, Fed them, made sure they had enough water for the rest of the day, and decided to treat myself. I loaded myself a bowl of fine weed and took to stoking the blaze until it ran dry. I loaded another one, call to a dog or two, I gave them some pats and a treat and took to lighting the second bowl and enjoying the day. Enjoying my morning as quiet and somber as it was. But then an inkling took to me, something hung on the inside of my aching brain that had me think something was a mess.
I took to the back door and could have swore I saw a movement behind the glass.
I burst open the back door and scuttled in going as quickly as I could through the kitchen into the living room swearing I saw something. But nay, there was nothing. I look to the front door and my gut sank, the front door was unlocked. Did I not lock it when I kissed the kids goodbye, signed I love you to my wife, did I not lock it? I could have swore I locked the door. But then I heard a creak and a movement inside my home. Silence took, my ears rang, my breathing slowed, and I swear I heard the shuffle of the feet.
Was today my demise? Was there somebody in the house? What’s the intention? Is there a scythe, is there a blade, is there a gun? Is there someone brooding in the darkness waiting?
I should be doing something productive but instead I sit here twiddling my fingers like an idiot monkey waiting to be shot into space.
Simon Hããt thinks to himself spinning a pen in his fingers. The damn computer froze he thought. He tells himself the computer froze, fooled himself to believe it so and shot a message to his professor late. He didn’t mind the lack of urgency shining in what he typed. It was the fact. The computer froze and he’d deal with the paper tomorrow. He ignored the buzz from his phone, likely the professor answering with vehement retort and inquiry, and shoved a cigarette in between his lips and reached for the window.
Simon Hããt liked his sticks of death, even splendored within the vapors in the night when the lights were low and the smoking mist whipped around his fingers and lapped at his tongue. There was something he enjoyed too much from this activity but Simon didn’t have much.
It was work, work, work. School and more work. He was peckish with the drain school brought that work brought that was his chaos of life. He’d managed a positive GPA (a whopping 3.2), he didn’t bring anything but the bare minimum.
With the window wide open Simon hauled himself out the second floor and stood stop the roof until he sat along the hanging ledge. He grabbed his lighter that was left in the drainage pipe. He wiped off the leaves, blew once or twice at the top and flicked.
The thought of school and the turmoil of finals was getting to him. He managed a good front but his time outside, alone, above the world, helped absolve these worries unlike that front, unlike the bullshit smile he showed the world. Taking the time to breathe in something of his own choice brought a kind of rebellious tone to life that couldn’t be taken away.
He sat there and pulled in at the death stick occasionally trying and failing at a smoke ring until he was about done until he saw something moving below.
There was someone hooded beneath the trees, standing there and Simon could see them looking up, watching him. He shood the figure away to no avail and started hissing at the dark figure. He begged for the figure to move and finally stopped. Simon decided to forget about it and go inside. He turned away but felt a creeping sliding halting chill come over him and heard the tree. He was climbing the tree!
Simon burst through the window falling on his face and slammed the window shut, latched it and grabbed the curtains throwing them over the window as quickly as can be done. He can see something dark out the window but refused to look closer and instead took to the hallway until a thought came to Simon.
What if his window was the only one shut? What if someone else in the dorm had their window open? What then? Simon stopped, held his breathe and crouched down…
† These are the recordings of Joel D. Braunagh. Patient #19-374222. Case #9119 Det. Milton # 617
Discussions encase “the box”, admittance of guilt to victims: Brother -Michael Braunagh, Wife – Celeste Braunagh, Daughter – Zappy Braunagh
Date/Time – May 13th, 2009, 8:00 p.m.
Pt. #19-374222 J.D.Braunagh
† Pt. #19-374222 J.D. Braunagh was given 05.12.2009 for Temporary Leave upon approval from D.A. Kingsley with police detail to coroner facility and grave site of both Celeste Braunagh and Zaporah Braunagh for funeral services.
Discussion 2
-+-Good Evening Mr. Braunagh, again, as a formality, this conversation and all details will be recorded and held to the courts for delibierstions on sentencing. I, again, am Detective Rachel Milton and will be having today’s inquiries and details scribed and recorded. Now, may I get you a pack of smokes, a pop, maybe some coffee? Anything Mr. Braunagh?
‡Braunagh gives a heavy sigh, scoffs, rolls his head over his shoulders and nape of neck, shakes his head.
-+-I heard you had the privilege of joining your family yesterday and sharing some goodbyes. How are you holding up Braunagh?
‡Silence, shoes shuffling, a heavy sigh. Braunagh whispers incoherently.
-+-Would you speak up Mr. Braunagh.
‡ Braunagh lifts up two fingers, assuming a notion to quiet the talking.
— Detective Milton, if I have to ask you again to call me Joel, I’ll never give you a thing, doesn’t matter what the judge, D.A, or your captain ‘Surly‘ says. Do you have any idea the amount of isolation my entirety has dealt with?
-+-I didn’t mean to offend, my apologies Joel. I do have to ask though how was their isolation if your family was in the house with you during…well (hmmm), elaborate if you can Joel.
— No, I’ll get to that, to the box, the evidence, all the content agreed with the department and courts. I had assumed you wanted me to answer the other question about saying goodbye.
‡ Braunagh quits, shuffles his feet and stands up and starts to pace.
— Sorry, is this allowed? Me walking around?
-+-Yes, Joel, stay behind the table, the cameras are on too, as long as you stay composed, rational, and don’t give an excuse to who’s watching from there.
‡ I issued a finger toward the camera above me, Braunagh nods with acceptance and understanding. Smiles and continues.
— Saying goodbye was, it was a weighted ordeal detective. You ever have to say goodbye to a loved one?
— The thing is Detective, yesterday was more for me confirming what I had done. I had seen the condition they were both in at the house not but four days ago. But, they had already unraveled, I’d already known, I knew I was losing them every minute I couldn’t get that f****** box controlled, or contained.
-+-Okay, thank you for your honesty, so you had already said goodbye? But just the other day, the 11th, you run this whole line how you didn’t get to say goodbye. How can you say one thing and then confirm with another statement today setting a stage for falsehoods? What was that for Joel? We need a 100% type of relaying the information, everything’s recorded Joel, you asking one thing the other day readjusting a statement to fit into your needs later on not remembering the things you had said prior are just going to set you up for failure with me. You need to be 100% with every word you share, every single bit is going to be weighed measured and will be the determining factor of how long you’re behind those bars. You do know that Mr. Braunagh, right?
‡ Braunagh scowls and shows a meek smile of disgust.
-+-Sorry, Joel, you know right? You have to be able to confidently relay all details, to tell me the whole truth, okay?
— Yes, yes, a thousand f****** times Rachel, yes! I’ve already agreed to the entirety of the deal, I will give you all the details.
-+-Okay then, so where would you like to start Joel. The other day you had shared the loss of your son. I couldn’t even be able to find a way to understand that kind of a loss, especially such a harrowing and terrible way in losing him, I am so, again, very, very sorry about that Joel. What was it that happened after?
— I’ll tell you this Rachel, if it wasn’t for our little one, Zappy, I would have ran back up that hill and jumped off to end it all. But I know I couldn’t have left Celeste like that. Can I assume you’ve already looked at the files for that incident with my son?
-+-Yes, Joel. And before you ask, yes, all evidence points to signs of a natural incident to the cause of your son’s death. I truly am sorry for your loss. Most of us at the department don’t think you’re a killer Joel, I know I don’t. Being a mother and having my baby, there isn’t anything in my gut that tells me you’re a bad person, that’s why I’m the one here, I begged my captain to give me this detail, I had a gut feeling that there was something we were missing, so please continue Joel.
— Celeste was at home was happy when he died. It was a little dad and son adventure up in Beulah, we were collecting butterflies for his collection. Those f****** butterflies.
-+-How do you mean?
— After I called 911, after the police and EMT crew, after his body was put on the gurney, I was put in the back of a police squad car and driven back home. I knocked on my f****** door not with my son’s hand in mine but with a box of fluttering butterflies and a cop behind me some really hanging his head down. I couldn’t f****** look at her. My heart could barely stand being there. I had still had the blood on me his blood, my hands were caked with it, and the look on her face was in absolute horror. She wailed, screamed to the f****** skies, and made sure that I felt every bit of pain that she was dealing with. It didn’t matter that the cops were there, it didn’t matter that the lights were still dancing on the house, it didn’t matter that my grief was right there with her, she started throwing her hands atop my head, my face, my chest and everything of me she could wallop on. I wrap my arms around her, begged for her forgiveness and we fell to the floor together in a heap while the cops tried to handle the chaos of my house.
— I knew then, I knew that she had hated me, the moment that door opened and my son wasn’t in my hand standing there as well, I knew there was no way she could ever forgive my failure and saving her baby. Even still the pit that is my heart remains as empty as it was that day, I know it’s not fair, I knew it wasn’t fair to my daughter, I knew it wasn’t fair to my baby, my f****** wife, I failed all of them, the s*** has a dad who couldn’t keep his hands on his f****** son to make sure he didn’t fall had just lost any respect, any love, any regard to being a part of our family. I completely failed. F***, how long am I going to have to do this before it stops hurting?
‡ Braunagh pulls a Djarum, a small cigar, from behind his ear, strikes a match, pulls at the flame, and starts to inhale the clove scented smoke and continues.
— Sorry Rachel…just need to breathe, just breathe Joel.
— The police had us sign some forms, and gave us a day or two to settle after our son’s passing. Next we went to the coroner, that day that day too I wanted to die, there was such a guilt, there was such this tremendous and excruciating weight in all of the failure, all of the action not taken that led to us being there at the Coroner’s office, I did everything I could to keep my lips shut, my jaw tight and just stood behind her, behind Celeste in case she was going to faint, or in case any more chaos was to come from her or the both of us. It wasn’t easy then and even going over it now I can still see her face, see the tears flooding down, collecting at her chin, the snot that blended with all of it and all she wanted to do was kiss her baby. All she wanted what’s the fill that warmth again from him, and I can I can still see your hands with this tremor of a shake trying, just trying so so painfully to touch what is now about as cold as the metal he was laying on and she trembled, Rachel she f****** troubled so much. And I didn’t know what to do, I had no idea what in the flying hell was to be done to help rectify this? There wasn’t anything Rachel, sorry Detective.
-+-Would you like a minute Joel? I can step out if needed.
— No, no thank you, I just want to get this done.
— That first day after she saw him and confirmed the horrors for herself, was one of the worst days of my life, and the week, weeks, the weeks and months that came after were no more better. She refused to close his door, refused to hide it, and eventually begged me to seal the door and replace it with the wall that essentially created a tomb of a past that neither of us would ever be able to return to.
— I did exactly that, I listened to the wishes, called my brother Michael after ignoring his calls since our Luca died. But, then after the funeral, it was a lot harder to ignore him, a lot harder to shut the door and recoil in the grief, because Michael was a very involved family member, he was Uncle Michael and we let him share that grief. I did have him help me seal up the door, he too like myself wasn’t a fan of the idea, but I think both Michael and I knew it was the only way we could have Celeste find some type of composure, some type of peace even if it was more of a falsehood than actual peace.
-+-What about your daughter, where was she during all of this?
— This is something I’m not proud of, because of the good amount of years that were between Luca and Zappy, we had told Zappy that Luca had gone away for a very long trip. And yes she did go to the funeral with us, but I still feel that at the age she was at during that time the understanding of loss just for my wife was too much so sharing that grief and loss with zappy, I feel that both the voice as parents wanted to keep her protected, so we lied, lied about Luca leaving on a trip.
-+-She didn’t ask about the door? She didn’t wonder where her brother’s room had gone to? I would assume that any kid could see very obvious things were happening, why? Why was that your take why did you shut her out in such, such a way?
— I don’t f****** know, God damn it Rachel you seriously think I hadn’t gone through all of this, I haven’t questioned myself, my actions, every f****** day I don’t know. I wish I do and God how I wish there were so many f****** things I didn’t take to heart, didn’t take into action, and yes I failed my daughter just about as much as I failed Luca I’m well aware of that Rachel and I will forever question why I agreed with my wife and keeping her distant. And in all honesty I’m pretty sure she knew, Uncle Michael was a pretty conscientious one, constantly ragging on both Celeste and I to fix it with Zapp. Pretty sure he was the one who told her, and tried to tell her to keep it quiet that he was the one who told. But in all honesty I think he meant well, it did eventually make it easier down the road for Celeste, at least I’d like to think that it did.
— After his funeral everything went quiet. The chaos…it’s not that it stopped, it’s not that the turmoil within drifted or evanesced into the drink, it just became a part of us. A couple months after the funeral her night terrors started, the blood curdling screams and howlings that permeated through our doors down the neighborhood streets and echoed, affecting the entire neighborhood. And I needed to find an outlet, whether it was an outlet for us, whether it was something that could be used for just her I need to find a conduit that could be associated with Luca. So I did research, research, reading, so much f****** reading so much tinkering and tailoring to pulling apart machines and breaking down old game sets and I just lost myself in trying to find my family again.
— And this is where the isolation began, I shut the basement door and let Celeste take care of Zappy, having no idea of the detriment that I was creating, of the toxicity and spoiling of my little darling that I had just devised, thinking that her mom would find some resolve in making sure Zappy was better, but that idea of replacing one with the next was something else. I couldn’t fathom that my wife wouldn’t be able to see through the grief, I didn’t have the capacity in thinking Luca dying the way he did was so egregious that it made Celeste unable to look past that loss. And sadly I found Zappy cleaning up after her mom, cleaning up after herself, making her own little lunches for a homeschool system that was self created by my daughter, because Celeste was beside herself, creating a needing to grow up far too soon before a 5 year old needs to grow up and I stayed in the basement groveling in the loss trying to find a way to better this for Celeste, and for me.
— I think I’m done today Rachel. I had thought going over this, especially in a more one-on-one basis would help, maybe be cathartic and finding a grasp of all of this, it just makes it that much more real and terrifying and that I single-handedly ended my family’s lives by accident. I didn’t f****** mean to, I need that to be known I didn’t mean to hurt any of them. Especially my baby girl and wife. I’m sorry Rachel, I’m going to ask that we stop and we’ll pick it up tomorrow. I’ll go over… f***, I’ll tell you about the box tomorrow okay?
— You’re not going to like it, I know I don’t but I’ll give you every detail I can.
-+-Okay Joel, we’ll respect your wishes, we are running out of time though so I am going to need you to start truly getting into detail about what I’m hoping will start giving us some bread crumbs to building up a sort of detailed schematics of where it began and how it ended.
— You and me both Rachel, you and me both. Mind if I take another cigarette with me before I go back to my cell?
‡ I nod and issue toward the cigarette box where Braunagh take a one and awaits his guard to be ushered back to his cell.
-+-Tgank you Joel, you have a good night, try to remember all you can from the box and making whatever that thing is. Want to try to get as much as I can recorded all right? I’ll see you tomorrow Joel.
Scribed May 13th, 2009 -9:00 p.m. signed: R. T. Milton
End of Discussion 1 Time – 9:00 p.m. 05/13/2009
Songs listened to during Writing Forget -Me-Naught Pt. 2
The blaring alarm shatters through the thick web of dreamland that David finds himself falling away from while he wakes drenched, drool cakes around his lips and beard, and shakes his entirety. Disregarding the mess on his face he grabs the phone immediately hoping that there would be a text message missed, in hopes a line of missed notifications. A hopeful meme or the goofy and dumb gifs the kids have sent in the past. The phone screen barely registers his finger jousting and to his dismay, once the screen blinks on, nothing. Just his usual weather alerts and breaking news alerts notifications.
However David was wanting to feel sorry for himself and started with staring up at the popcorn ceiling, something he still neglected to fix and instead vied for a moment or three to wallow while doing so. David wanted to sink into the blankets and drown on grief. But instead he brought his body up, walked steadily to the bathroom and started a shower. He had to figure out what to do, not just what to do but how to get his wife to understand that he took care of the problem. That problem smoldering and rotting downstairs.
He’s already gotten a call from his sister calling him scum, calling him the trash of the Earth that is meant for nothing but spoil, his brother threatened his life, and his parents have refused to answer the calls he’s made everyday since she found out. What troubles David and what has lingered even after she had left with the children, and what will become of him if she found out what really had come to be the night at question, at fall, at the end.
The stinking and gnarled claws pick away at the darkness surrounding its mass, overwhelming it, it permeates the air, down to that last iota of the sogging mass. It is thrumming through tip to tip and thrashing, a hunger covets the beating heart above. Eyes covered, mouth sewn it struggles to breathe, but continues to suck at the agony and grief, the lies and the filth fuel enough, it sends for food another way, always to the next day, growing, reading and it grows while he ignores, ignores and neglects the need. His need.
Her – day 14 processed through Wombo.AI and self prompted from what’s written in red.
The shower did well, he came out feeling refreshed and partially awakened. David found himself still needing food though, needing to get his body moving, and make an effort to manage the shit storm he’d created in the last week or two. He’d have at least a week or two before she even tried to contact him if ever, but knowing the kids and how the state felt both parents needed involvement, she’d make due the effort if it made her look good. He knew that, meaning he’d have to get downstairs sooner than later…definitely sooner he thought. But he went to the back yard once the clothes were on and the coffee drip started, he slid the heavy backdoor along its rail and peered over the drooping Austrian Pines he’d hated since they moved to the house. The branches took direction with the wind and leaned heavy with the snow, it left him usually trimming and chopping down peculiar and slanted branches that scraped the gravel and hid the windows. He then checked that onto the list he’d started early in the morning of steps to finish before his family got back, maybe, maybe he’d be able to close the door and play it off as drunken stupor and a mistaken person. He’d pile the yardwork up and bunch it with other mess, it’d distract from the obvious, he smirked and breathed in the pollen of the morning, the low hanging dew that forgot to stick to the blades of buffalo grass, and scuttled back toward the kitchen with a grin, leaving the door to the back open.
A metal camping mug, a favorite of his held the coffee, a dark, thick and placid liquid stared up at David while he lingered back to the door. He wished for a taste of menthol, looked toward the steps that went to the basement and back to the trees, to the San Isabel mountain range thinking. Pushing the piping hot coffee mug against a temple wondering what could be possible and who could he call for help. His brother would likely kill him through the phone with a call, his sister would call his wife, and as for friends, well they were all her friends too he thought, and would likely call with concern, more questions that didn’t need peering into. He didn’t need that, couldn’t have it like that, it was already spinning out of control, he was far past being at a loss. Suicide was about of question and he knew she’d laugh, she’d mock and snivel with a smirk and smile at his funeral, it would only hurt him, she wouldn’t let the kids know, he’d become a figment of an idea after a year or two. He shook the thoughts from himself and slid the door shut, he sipped at the coffee and now stared at the steps leading down. Leading to the darkness. Leading to a mess.
There’s rhythm to the shuddering above, a tremble steady, another tremble deeper, louder, closer, the shuddering stops. There’s a heave, a pull, a lunge of the heavy darkness that swallows and masticates what’s there, it gnaws at the fat, bone, skin and the viscerally revolting. It gnaws and waits in the darkness while up above comes a pacing, a striking, counting down, stacking, planning, to erase, to be rid. To remove it, remove her, burn her, leave it smoldering and rotting far, far, far from here.
Her – image from day 22, processed using prompts from red highlighted using Wombo.AI
There was a moistness in the air that latched to his arms halfway down, the next step brought a reeling to his guts as a smell hit his throat and shoveled thus directly to his nose of rot filth death in a putrid that he knew he wasn’t going to be able to get away from for months. It only been 2 days, and he had no idea how to get that smell out of anything. The panic started to set in. He looked down at the black sticky bag and prodded it with the toes of his boot. The peculiar plastic of the bag squelched and crunched, nothing else moved. He pushed again this time with the back of a heel to make sure there wasn’t a pooling beneath the bag, David knew he was a lucky f*****. He smiled knelt down, patted at the plastic bag, threw an arm around it, grunted and hoisted it up.
Jacob woke before the rest of the home did, as he often did, and went about doing his morning routine. Jacob packed the lunch for his son, the assistive tech device, and nestled that into the convenient pouch with a peanut-butter cup in the tiny hide-a-hole. He prepped the iced protein coffee for his wife and sliced some fruits & veggies for her knowing the day would be long and grueling while making sure to pack an extra protein drink in her lunch sack. After that was done he grabbed his favorite mug, a white and black dog head capable of holding 28 ounces of coffee, and started his personal prep before hitting the office.
The second, no the third alarm for his wife and son, had just gone off and with a smile, he kissed her gently giving her a bit of a nudge telling her he’d turned the shower on. After that he egged his son out of bed with a chiming of his name that had the young boy pad into the parent’s bed. There he pulled the blanket up to guard him against the light and Jacob left a pair of jeans and the boy’s school shirt along with some fresh socks, on his wife’s side of the bed he left a pair of rolled panties and long socks for her, a pair of gray slacks and a tank-top. He kissed them both gently knowing they’d still likely lay in bed for an additional ten minutes but knew he couldn’t just gaze in wonder at them and hustled to the office across the house. His piping hot coffee and a water bottle in hand, he gently plopped in his office chair and got settled for the day. Headset already atop his crown and the coffee pad warmer on, he got his computer warmed up and put in the needed keycodes, waited for admittance and while that took a moment longer as it usually did, he ran back to his bedroom, kissed his wife and son one last time and wished them a good day.
He hadn’t looked at Emily, their dog, hadn’t noticed the rotting scent yet and plopped down at his chair, entered in the appropriate codes for the VPN, got the virtual desktop going, and started his morning with a cheery “Good morning, my name is Jacob Vincente. Thank you for calling…” and went his next two hours uninterrupted while he punched in credentials and policies over and again, patching this client to this team and this agent to the third-party group and so on till his first break.
When he came out of the room to freshen up with a fresh cup of coffee, the house was empty and quiet. Thinking his son or maybe his wife had forgotten to flush he checked the bathroom but already knew the smell wasn’t emitting from that room. He looked at the dog bed, and gazed at Emily hesitantly inching toward her as though she had turned into a feral beast but once he stepped a foot closer was walloped by her dying body’s reeking mass and inhaled through his shirt, already bunched and at his lips. The tears were pouring uncontrollably while he grabbed at the nearest blanket that was left draped across one of the couches. He knew, or at the least, hoped his wife wouldn’t get sully about a sherpa being used to adorn their dog with but knew she’d ladle gold over the old girl if it was deemed appropriate.
He saw this moment, many times through the last few months, and had assumed he’d carry this weight more adequately, he couldn’t contain his grief however and curled next to Emily’s decaying old body for far too long. If it wasn’t for his landline ringing thirty minutes after he began swaddling her he’d have stayed there til his wife and son got home. He jolted in horror at the ringing but quickly came to realize it was likely a team member or TL trying to find out if he’d fallen or worse. Grabbing the phone, he first looked at the caller I.D. and was heartbroken that it was actually his wife calling. He’d done this so many times, but still in every dream never found the words right to tell her, never knew how to console the situation in a manner that wouldn’t have her getting weak at the knees and being able to hear the tears drop over the line.
“Hey Babe, everything okay? I tried texting you to let you know our boy and I are at the school, and just in time too, you gotta really shake me up sometimes Boo, you know how I get when it’s cold. Everything okay?” His wife had such a cheerful disposition and all Jacob could do was inhale as silently as he could and put a knuckle to his teeth trying so hard to not elude to the saddening development but knew the next thing he’d utter would tell her something was definitely not right.
“I’m sorry Honey, she’s gone…Emily passed away sometime through the night…I couldn’t bring… myself to call you when I realized…I just fell to the ground and cradled her til you called…I’m sorry Honey.” Jacob stated it all through sobs and sniffling, doing what he could not to choke, and was at the least, thankful that he had the words now. Regardless of the dreams he’d walked through night after night, at least he finally had something to say with emotion and a steeling of recollection to the moments before just blurting out that their dog was dead. He could hear his wife sniffling through the phone, asked if she was okay, and said he was sorry again. He could hear her start to sob and felt wretched that he didn’t see Emily earlier in the morning, or god forbid, smell her before his wife and son left for the day.
He didn’t want her driving in this state of grief, the last year alone hadn’t been all that kind as his wife lost her mother early the year before and then near Cabrini Day lost her Grandmother as well. Those were the last of her family and many times had she uttered to Emily not to take that path for at least another year. She begged to have a year, at the least to gain her feet, but no Emily chose her own time…and Jacob could feel a deepening pit inside as the monumental loss was likely hitting his wife in the heart heavier than anything he could equate an understanding to.
“Leave the car, we’ll pick it up later, I’m going to call my boss and ride over to the school and get both you and our boy okay? Honey? Just stay there, if you can tell your Trina what just happened and I’m sure she’ll cover your room. I’ll be there within twenty minutes, I love you.”
He could hear her sob a gobbed and wet love you too and okay into the phone before hanging up, afterward he quickly grabbed his keys and hustled to the car. He was thankful that they at least got two vehicles as one of those nightmares he wrestled with had shown his wife dealing with tears flooding her eyes and losing both his wife and child in a horrific accident, at the least, he was able to turn the finger to fate and say it wasn’t taking them today. He pressed on the gas and barely noticed getting to the school with all the chaos that was flooding his head and how he needed to start reconsidering some of the recurring dreams that have been following him through the nights as of late.
That wasn’t something to think about now. He needed to get his wife and kid from the school, thankfully and tragically they were outside waiting under an umbrella while the morning rains were starting to come in, he ushered them into the car, thanked Trina for the assistance, and consoled them while he sped there as legally as possible. She gave him a tight hug and pressed her hand against the passenger window blowing kisses at his wife and boy while he got back in and headed back home to dig Emily’s grave. His head burned with worry and dread as he last night knew this was going to happen. But unlike all the other times this dream had happened, it came to a full fruition, what had changed, or what was it that Jacob had done or not done that made it happen? Was it something so easy to consider that a lack of action made this happen? Did this mean that fate caught up, that his path was turning to point of fitting the nightmares that kept him sweating through the night and restless every other?
He drove through the soft rains, hearing both his wife and son sniffing quietly, the radio was muted and all that could be heard was the pattering of droplets from up above while they drove home…to say goodbye to dear Emily.
Luca and Tyler Sykes were playing monkey in the middle with a friend while anxiously awaiting their mom to pull up post haste. She’d reminded them to be ready so they can get to the fairgrounds quickly and get in before the lines were beyond a patient wait time. However, once again, Angela neglected them, as she so often did when she’d sounded so collected and ready to have all set.
Luca, the oldest of the two, kicked the grass of the green that wrapped around the pickup lane and peered past parents already waiting for their own children to file in like any other day. Most of the kids for both his 7th-grade and Tyler’s 6th-grade class were all cheering for the rides and elated that it was Friday. Most bragged about how much they’d likely be given for the Ag Palace; known by all to have the best candy grabs a kid could find in town and embarrassingly neither of the boys had even known if they’d had enough for tickets to the rides let alone candy to lug back home after. They’d skirt the inquiries as they both so often had to, knowing they came from little money and it showed every year when they’d come to school wearing shirts from the year before or Tyler would be seen gluing his sole of the Adidas he treasured so much, again. They didn’t like drawing attention to themselves and both were happy that they managed to get some part-time jobs cleaning up the alleys around the neighborhood and the park. The crap of the matter though was that neither of them started until next weekend after the fair was gone. So they both made sure to dress in the cleanest and best clothes they did have for their excursion to the fair. Luca figured it wouldn’t matter how good they looked if they ended up missing out on the startup like their mom had promised would be taken care of perfectly. He kicked at the grass again and gritted his teeth when Angela blared her horn, rolled the window down, and told them to run to the side of the school and jump in.
Both the boys looked at each other with shock and a smile and quickly adhered to the demand made by their mom.
“Hurry it up you two, get in get in.” she said, ashamed of her lateness but elated to grace them each with an additional 40 dollars to split aside from the amount she scrounged from the couches and cleanup earlier that day. Turned out her parents had set aside some funds for this very day to make sure they could be kids without the worry of making ends meet as they usually did every other day and week. “Open the glove compartment Luca, give half to your brother, and make sure to keep that for you. Let’s get you two to the fair, make sure you have your tickets too, and I’m sure you’ll both have more than enough to get those ride bands so you can be having a blast till it’s shutdown time.” Angela was excited for them and didn’t think bringing up her reason for being late would need to be shared, her intention was to get the boys to the fair, and her investigation would be her own, even if her pops had eluded to hearing something too after sliding her that 40 dollars for the kids before she peeled out on the pavement and sped off to pick them up moments ago.
Luca, with a smile and grimace, said thank you while passing Tyler his portion and asked her what had been the hold-up.
“Don’t worry bout that son, let’s get you boys to the fair so you could have a good time, but don’t you two forget to thank your grandparents when we all come to get you tonight. Maybe we’ll even cap the night with a stop at DQ before crashing for the night. Sound like a plan Lu and Ty?” They both smiled at the idea and grumbled at thanking their grandparents, they never would dare to forget or else they’d get a chonkla, they’d both learned that lesson the hard way and didn’t want their mom to fret any more than she already does and had.
Angela swerved and faired a good time after all and found that she was just in time to drop them off before the rides were starting to rev up. They both happily wished her a thank you and kissed her curly-haired head avoiding a lip print she loves to leave them. She waved at them and told them to keep track of time and to be ready for pickup, same spot at 10:30 tonight.
“Me and your Gramps will be waiting for you. I love you boys, be safe!” they quickly thanked her, scrunched their faces up to hers, and shimmied out of the car. She watched them shuffle in, get stamped, and disappear into the crowds with smiles. She was elated to have been able to do that at the least, whispered a secret thank you to her Pops, again, and drove off back to the shanty home. It had only been a bit over 45 minutes since she heard the scream and god forbid there were screams still, but she had a tug at her heart that something was afoot. She pulled up slowly to the house while peering around at the familiar houses she’d grown up watching. She knew most of the houses were old and filled with elders. Only a few had new residents, mostly young and loud groups of college-fueled ideals needing to make noise or cause a ruckus for the sake of attention. Her assumption was that the scream came from a house with the younger renters in lieu of an elder who’d likely not have the strength to hurt anything but kick a dog away or push a cat off a couch.
She pulled into the driveway, slowly rolling the windows closed and anticipating a curdled scream like she heard before she ran to get the boys. It was silent, eerily quiet except for the man pulling that dog again and avoiding eye contact as she waived again and walked up the steps to the front door. Once in the house, she peeked through the blinds to see if the neighbor and dog were in view and decided to go on a small walk up and down the block to see if she was just losing her mind or making things up for the joy of dismantling the monotony she’d come to know so frequently. She took off her slides and grabbed an old pair of sneakers, put her bare feet in them, and went looking for anything out of place. Realizing she’d have an hour if not more before her parents would need a pickup she decided to make it a three-block walk and took her time. Trying not to be a Gladys Kravits, but still needing to know if there was someone begging for help, she mozied about glancing through yards, looked for broken windows perhaps. She felt crazy doing what she was doing and blamed her decision on the old joint that brought her curiosity to this point.
Once she hit that third block, she rolled an eye inwardly at herself and chuckled at her mere stupidity, turning tail to go back home and get cleaned up. She decided she needed to clean up, her feet were already sweating in the shoes tore-up shoes and she could feel the squish between her toes but then came a loud crack and what sounded like a gagged scream, or was that just the shoes she thought.
She turned her head slowly, pinched her eyes shut knowing she likely looked like a mad woman, and waited to hear something out of the normal everyday hum of the city. The cars rumbled by, echoing in her ears, the critters, birds, and televisions within the block could be faintly heard but then there was a faint muffled whine and an angry growl. But it was further back, closer to the house and she clenched her knuckles tightly thanking her intuition. She straightened back up, faced her house, and slowly stepped forward quickly. She knew she couldn’t run, she had to find the source of where the trouble came from, but also knew most of the neighbors were bored and either starting to come out to watch the sun head down or cool off with a beer. Her assumption was that it was only houses away and likely in a shed or a basement. Most of her side of the neighborhood was either falling apart, broken down, or barely hanging together. Meaning that the structures thankfully had cracks enough that the sounds were audible. Even to her. She prayed for her tenacious endeavor and hoped she’d be quick enough to find whoever it was being harmed. She couldn’t tell, not yet.
The laundry had been tossed across the master room, the sopping washer load had been strewn across the linoleum leaving puddles to be traipsed over and across. Harold looked at his girlfriend Lucy with an ambivalence that could have anyone else’s skin molt and wither. Lucy wasn’t that type of woman though as she continued with a tenacity admirable even to the grump of a man glaring at her as he followed the wreck left behind going through pairs of sweats and jeans to no avail in a search of a wallet. A velcro-sealed wallet so easily purchased at any Wal-Mart from their city to each coast of the states. They both knew this. They both ignored the beguilement one another felt as they tore through the bedsheets, the hamper, the couches, and the rest of the small apartment. Harold went to the bookcases after soaking up a good amount of moisture in the socks he continued to wear on his stinking feet with an indistinguishable grumbling that neighbours under and above can hear but not even Harold was aware of. They needed this wallet.
Harold needed it, and at the moment could care less if Lucy was in the apartment or was attesting to his pulling the books down lazily and so carelessly. Lucy’s cries and wallowing were ignored as Harold; the brute began tossing them over his shoulder unabashed by where or how they landed. They had no difference to him than that of the sopping and likely still seeping wet load of laundry aside the washer. These were wastes of space in Harold’s eye, an argument that had continued since they moved in together. He didn’t get the sense of such a collection if she just let them bask atop a shelf. Rarely did he see her open them let alone know or share what they were about, but that was Lucy’s secret and not something she cared to waste his time discussing. Luckily for her, until today, her covering rent while he was still job searching kept them safe, kept her secrets and loves untainted.
Gibran, Dumas, Bradbury, Vonnegut, Morris, Christie, and many more met their fate to a blind toss with a flutter of pages let loose from their bindings. Tolstoy and the older collections she most treasured were luckily tucked in a footlocker hidden in the back of a closet but still, Lucy raged on. Lucy infuriated, screamed for Harold to stop, and begged for him to quit his childish fit and look at what he was doing all for a silly wallet. It was just money, something a week’s worth of working and slouched behind a counter or stocking shelves could replace, but unbeknown to Lucy that wasn’t the full truth.
Harold, only knowing Lucy for but two years of his thirty lived, felt that minute aspects of his life needed to be told. Histories of his family and what they carried were to be kept to sealed lips until he chose to wed if ever that came to be his choice. He whipped his head around and started to shout at her, baring down on her with ridicule only an idiot man can stoop to. Kicking and stomping on Palahnuik and King, shredding Tolkein and Yeats with his teeth and a smile. He spit out the papers with a grin, told her she couldn’t understand and continued looking through the shelves while throwing the last of the books to the floor with a behooving and dripping in vile sweaty anger.
“It’s not just a wallet Luce! It’s not just money! It’s my family’s legacy!”
Lucy wide-eyed and starting to quiver began to give him a look of curious audacity, an almost incredulous expression wanting to pull that statement yelled at her, still feeling the spittle on her cheeks, she wanted to know exactly what that meant. She mocked him with a meek scoff and rolled an eye pulling herself to the wall, knowing, more unsure if the books would be the only thing abused and shrugged.
“Meaning? Your family legacy, really Harry. You damage most of my books all for a velcro-sealed wallet cheaper than a joint on the street and you state it’s a family legacy!” Lucy looks at the torn and tattered smashed books she’d taken years to collect and slumps to the floor with tears falling quicker than her knees gave out.
“And you do this?” Luce waves her hand across the living room, looking up at Harold with hate he’s never seen protrude from her tear-strewn eyes.
He looks at her remorsefully, ashamed and confused of how he got so angry and so quickly.
“You can’t understand, Okay? I’m not excusing this bullcrap, I know, I fucked up, I’ll replace them all okay? I just need that wallet. It’s not a foolish want, I need it Luce, that wallet has so much and I can only show you if we find it.”
Lucy scoffs again and slowly, ignoring Harold now, crawls delicately to the broken collection and starts stacking them while tracing her finger across the spines. She sniffs at the nasal drip pouring from her nose and almost chokes.
“Find that fecking wallet then Harry! Get out of this room and find that stupid wallet and then you’re going to show me what’s so special and allow you some shit excuse for damaging these. She holds up Stephen Kings Carrie, its binding nearly torn in half, a first-edition hardback she bought after getting her first grant for college, and starts to cry. Harold still stupidly negligent to the emotions flooding her senses nods and goes about the apartment continuing his search in silence. All he hears aside from his movement and the slapping of his still wet socks is Lucy’s sniffing and begins to feel a heat exude from the woman he owes an explanation to.
Dream Dark Stories 