Amid the Recesses: A Short Story Collection of Fear (12 page)

At the hospital there were
arrangements. Empty condolences in the wake of just another death.
I realized it was impossible to be sensitive to every traumatic
loss. It was impossible to be genuine. Another job. Another
body.

“Do you want to see her?”

Lisa said that I didn’t. I
did.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.

“Don’t you think it’s best you
remember her how she was, John?” Lisa asked.

“No.”

I needed the world to be honest with
me. I needed the truth spoken from the mouth of the perpetrator.
When I went, I stood in a room surrounded by the dead, full of
people that were left to be remembered how they were and not how
they’d become. The nurses escorted me to the bed and left. I
watched the white curtain that surrounded the bed with
contempt.

“Come out.” I whispered. “Come out of
there. Stand up and come to me.” I took a step toward the curtain.
“I know you’re in there. I know you’ve been waiting for me. Come
out.” I took another step. “We have a lot of things planned, you
and I. Remember that house? Remember Desirae’s crazy ideas? We have
all that. What about all that? You want to see it, right? Come
out.”

My fingers ran down over the curtain.
It was thin and disposable. I saw her lying silhouette through the
curtain and I expected her to roll over and smile and whisper
something lovingly. But she laid there. Silent.
Indifferent.

“Have you given up on all of those
things? Do you not want any of it? What we’ve worked for? What
we’ve built?” I curled the curtain in my hand and pulled it
open.

Amber laid broken and bloody. Her
bruised head and shattered skull. Her mouth hung open like a
deranged wraith. Her tongue lay like a dry slug behind her bent
teeth. Her body was caved and contorted in ways it wasn’t made to
be. She watched the ceiling like it was coming down on her. I
looked up to see if it was because, goddamn, it felt like it
was.

The funeral was a haze. Black, hellish
figures stood in all shapes, fat and skinny. They wiped their devil
noses and pretended to care but none knew how to care. Amber’s
friend Sara came and cried at me. I felt nothing. My daughter sat
between me and Lisa. She watched me and waited for something. I
know she wanted my tears but I couldn’t produce them. I stared at
the coffin and wished it had air holes. I wish it had a means of
opening it from the inside. I wished I had placed a shovel next to
her for when she decided she would wake up and run back home. I
wished I had rearranged her shoes. It would have changed
everything.

That night at home, Lisa and I
spoke.

“Are you sure you’re alright being
alone for a while?” Lisa asked.

“I have things I have to take care
of.”

“Can I help?”

“No. No, I need to do
this.”

“I’ll keep Desirae as long as you need
me to.”

“I know. I need to take care of these
things.”

Lisa smiled and nodded. She hugged me
for longer than I wanted her to. “Everything’s going to be
alright,” she said.

My arms were limp and dead and sick
with some unnamed disease.

I sat and did nothing on our bed. I
stared at the wall and waited for her to come home. The hours
slipped by. It was midnight. Every static click or groaning pipe
excited my heart. She never came home. I lit her favorite candle. I
played her favorite song. I made her favorite meal. She never came
home. I went to the garage and grabbed my shovel.

I drove. I weaved through cars and
drove as fast as I could. I pulled into the cemetery and scanned
the map. 488C. The name written was so new. It felt wrong. Amber
Crowley. I drove through the cemetery and awakened the restful
spirits. Dead flowers laid amid the maze of gravestones. I went
beyond the history of it all and stopped in the plot of land where
the cemetery looked more like a construction site than a park.
There was no grass. I got out of the car. I pulled my pistol out of
the glove compartment and stuffed it into the back of my jeans. I
grabbed the shovel from the backseat and marched to the fresh dirt.
488C. I felt her there under me. I felt the earth quake.

I dug. I slammed the shovel into the
soft dirt and threw it away. “I’m coming.” Dirt flew. Sweat formed
in droplets on my forehead. My arms ached. I felt the earth quake
beneath me. It invigorated me. “I’m coming.” The hole grew deeper
and wider. The dirt that separated Amber and I piled on both sides
of me. When I felt my muscles start to give, I hit something solid.
I tossed the shovel over the fresh mounds and pushed the dirt to
both sides of the coffin’s face. I pried at the coffin and tried to
open it but it didn’t give. I climbed up and grabbed the shovel and
slammed it against the hinges. “I’m coming.” I shouted. Sparks
flung like escaping spirits. They watched. I broke something and I
fell to my knees again and pried on the lid of the casket. It broke
away, lighter than it seemed.

Her twisted mouth was an abyss below
me and I wanted to fall into it forever. Her eyes stared at
something that wasn’t me. Her gown was beautiful and perfect white.
I straddled her and placed my hands on her cold shoulders and
whispered, “I’m here. Why don’t you wake up? I’m here right now.
Wake up.” She didn’t answer. “Do you fucking hate me? Did you have
to do this, huh? Did you have to end it this way? We didn’t decide
this together. We never decided this.” But her broken head lolled
like an empty doll as I shook her and tried to wake her. I grabbed
the pistol and put it to my head and closed my eyes with my face
lifted toward the white moon. “What else do I do?”

I felt her hand. I felt her sit up and
press her chest against mine. I felt the kiss of her soft lips and
the caress of her touch on my cheek. Her fingers trailed along my
neck, across my jaw, up and to my temple, and her fingers wrapped
around the gun. She pulled it away from my head. I opened my eyes
and saw her smile. Her beautiful, beautiful smile.

“I’m here.” She said. “I’m
here.”

RETURN TO THE TABLE OF
CONTENTS

Binky

Sara sat with Amber in the
local park. It was summertime and breezy and Sara’s daughter leapt
and played at a nearby playground. Childish shouts and squeals shot
through the air like twitching fireworks. Sara watched her
daughter, Willow, as Amber scooted nearer to her with a mischievous
smile.

“
You know you’re going to
tell me about this guy.” Amber said.

Sara’s eyes peeled from her
daughter to Amber for a moment. They shot back to the children.
“He’s a good guy. I don’t know.”

“
Details?”

“
Remember when we were
younger and we imagined how everything would be perfect for us? The
career? The house? The man? The family?” Sara asked.

“
Yes.”

“
I thought Mr. Right would
be there just out of high school.”

“
Well, we thought
everything would come right after high school.” Amber
replied.

“
It didn’t, I
guess.”

“
But the guy?” Amber
insisted.

“
I mean, I love Greg. I
didn’t expect all this.”

Amber smiled with the
admission of love but it faded to a frown as Sara fell to doubt.
“Sara.” She put a hand on Sara’s. “People get divorced. It happens.
Fifty percent these days, you know? Fifty.”

“
You aren’t.”

“
Well.”

“
But you aren’t, are
you?”

“
Don’t think that John
isn’t any trouble, because he’s plenty.”

Sara shrugged.

“
Greg’s a good guy. You
should be happy. Does Willow like him?”

“
Willow likes everyone.”
Sara grinned. Her eyes were steady on Amber now.

Amber laughed. “I suppose
you’re right.”

Sara glanced back toward
the park. She scanned the metal domes and slides. She shot up from
her seat at the sight of Willow’s doll on the ground, absent her
daughter.

“
Where’s Willow?” A tinge a
fear infested her gentle voice.

Amber scanned the playground. “I don’t
know. I don’t see her.”

Sara charged the
playground. “Willow! Willow!” She picked up the sandy doll from the
ground. “Willow, don’t hide from me! Where are you?”

The children looked watched Sara with
bewilderment. Sara leaned to them with the doll shaking in her
hand.

“
Have you seen the little
girl that had this doll? Her name is Willow. Have you seen her?”
She tried to be calm.

The two boys interrogated
on the seesaw looked at each other and then back to Sara. One wiped
at his nose while the other pointed to the public bathroom and to
the men’s side of it. “I saw her go there.”

Sara saw Willow walking
into the bathroom. Sara dashed toward it. The dolls braided blond
hair rattled around its head like a holy cat o’ nine. Amber chased
behind her and they screamed in unison for Willow.

Willow walked in, not seeming to hear
her mother’s cries. She walked with all of the confidence of being
led.

Sara burst into the
bathroom without warning. ‘Willow!” She couldn’t see her. The
urinals, the sinks, they were clear.

Amber shouted over Sara’s shoulder.
“Willow!” Amber ran to the stalls and leaned to look under them.
She saw Willow’s standing behind one of the doors in her tiny red
shoes. “Sara, here.”

Sara ran over and pushed on the stall
door. It was locked. “Willow, open this door now.”

“
I’m busy, Mom.”

“
Open this door right now!”
Sara shouted.

Willow unlatched the door. Sara opened
it to her daughter standing innocently in front of the soiled
toilet. She kneeled on the floor and wrapped her arms around her
daughter. Her heart blasted in her ears and Willow hung against her
as limp as the doll in her hand.

Sara leaned back to examine her
daughter. Nothing seemed out of place. “You don’t ever, ever, ever
do that, do you hear me? You don’t ever run off by yourself.”
Sara’s hand went through her daughter’s hair.

“
I had to do something.”
Willow confessed.

“
What did you have to do?”
Sara asked, befuddled.

“
Binky didn’t like my
ball.”

“
What?” Sara
asked.

“
My ball.” Sara pointed to
the toilet. The water was rising inside of the bowl. It began to
overflow.

Sara swept her daughter up
from the ground. She eyed the toilet and saw Willow’s small red
ball stuffed inside of it. The toilet was clogged. Water poured
from the dirty porcelain.

“
Who’s Binky?” Amber
asked.

“
Willow, why did you do
that? Look at what you did?”

Willow looked back at the overflowing
water and smiled. She burst into giggles.

“
This isn’t funny. The
toilet is flooding.”

“
I’m not sticking my hand
in a men’s room public toilet.” Amber said without
prompt.

Sara carried her daughter and her doll
out of the bathroom. “Who’s Binky?”

Willow didn’t answer. Sara cast a look
of warning to her daughter.

“
Binky is my new friend. He
lives in a well. He’s funny.”

Sara looked around for any sign of a
well. “What does he look like?”

“
Oh, he’s very funny
looking.” Willow said.

“
Where is he now?” Amber
asked.

“
He left when you came in.
He doesn’t like other people.”

Amber smirked and looked to her
friend.

“
So you flushed your ball
down the toilet?” Sara asked. She placed her daughter to her feet
but clamped her small hand in her own.

“
Binky said
that—“

“
Stop it, Willow. That
isn’t funny. Don’t run off and don’t flush your toys down the
toilet.” She handed Willow her doll. Its lifeless head hung to one
side and it smiled at a nearby tree. “What about your doll? You
just left it out here.”

“
Binky said I shouldn’t
play with dolls anymore.”

Sara shook her head.
“Time to go home.”

Willow frowned and looked back to the
men’s bathroom.

“
I guess I’ll head to the
gym. Sorry.” Amber shrugged.

“
It’s not your fault. I’ll
see you in a bit.” Sara smiled.

Greg was outside of the house when
Sara and Willow arrived. He turned from the lawn mower when Willow
ran out of the car and tackled him in a hug. He laughed and looked
up at her. “Well, hello to you too.”

Sara smiled. She watched the two of
them as she gathered the things from the car.

Greg kept his arms around Willow in a
bear hug.

“
Let me go!” She shouted
with a smile.