Bottled Abyss (21 page)

The room darkens—have I fallen and hit my
head—? Can’t be dying for real, can I—?

“While Styx has gone dry, new waters run and the God has reinvented herself—I belong to the old waters and will perish soon enough—so tell me, who gave you this coin—? Where is he—?”

“Coin—?”

Brain heats inside my cracked skull—“Her name is Janet Erikson—” Look to the counter, my cell phone—“Her number is in there—”

“I will use this—” says the Fury, reaching for the phone—

“Will you help me—?”

“Can you sing my song—?” it asks—

 
“I know lots of songs—”

“Do you know mine—?” Blood dribbles from its fish eyes, the bathroom lights reflecting soft pale globes in their black center—

“What is… it—?”

“Your unnatural theft is punished now—” It reaches forth and slides a coin onto my tongue—

“But Janet gave me that coin—!”

Something inside me has held back until now, keeping me alive—this creature, this Fury monster, has been containing everything from flowing out: my organs, my fluids, my lectures, my music, my wish to learn all the great composers by heart, my dream of a man to love me for my body, plans to see Shakespeare in the park, to take a tour of Italy, to feel young again, everything, every little thing, all things Renee Horrace—but now the Fury lets them loose—feel them slide and slither out of my lacerated stomach—can hear pounding little fists on the bathroom door—two holes tear open in my heart and I hear blood spilling over the tile—feel the coin growing cold on my tongue—hear my faint breathing—hear the Fury fading from the room with its own scream of anguish—hear the high pitched voices of children outside the bathroom; imps rejoicing over my final moments—hear so many things for somebody who is dying—truly—can even hear the sound darkness makes when it finally holds you.