Grief: Five Stories of Apocalyptic Loss (6 page)

"Suicide on a scale we can scarcely imagine."

***

Suicide.

The word had been echoing in David's head since his interview with the professor.

Why not? Why not kill himself? Why not beat the rush?

He sat in his chair, holding his glass, listening to the ice-cubes tinkle when he tilted it.

He had a gun. Right there. In his living room closet, left side, third shelf, locked away in a box. Even out of view he could feel it there, feel its presence, feel its weight, imagine it in his hand.

It'd be easy to get up, walk over there, open the closet, take out the box, unlock it, pick up the gun, load it, put it to his head, and pull the trigger.

Nine steps. Nine steps to oblivion.

Maybe he would.

Maybe tomorrow. The air felt so thick, and his limbs felt so heavy. He ran through the steps in his head again and again, imagining his death, but it seemed like it'd take a herculean effort just to put his tumbler down on the coffee table.

***

David wore his suit and tie sharply. There was no way for the audience to tell that, just off camera, the studio was staffed by a skeleton crew of two interns. He didn't know where the rest of the staff had gone. Maybe they were home with their families. Maybe they'd been killed in the riots. Maybe they'd taken their own lives.

Part of David envied them, whatever the case. It would be so much easier to shut down. To go catatonic, or to take his own life. He wasn't afraid of dying. He'd been a war correspondent. He just had a job to do, and he'd do it for as long as he could.

"We're mere hours before Comet X/2014 K2 reaches Earth. No statements have been released by the White House or the city's mayor, leading some to speculate that there won't be any more word from governmental authority. Rumors abound that the government has a bunker deep enough to protect them from the comet's impact, though later we'll speak with a geologist who claims that there will be enough disruption to the earth's core to render any such shelter impossible.

"But first, let's talk to an astrophysicist and get some insight into--"

The lights went out. David blinked, and spoke through the darkness. "Did we lose our feed?"

He could hear the booth's door open. "Sorry, Mr. Bright. That's it."

"But the generators--"

"Out of fuel," the second intern said.

David could hear the men stumbling towards the wall, towards the studio door. There was a creak, and a sliver of light appeared as they found it.

"Mr. Bright?" one asked, holding the door open, while the other slipped out.

David was framed in the pale rectangle cast by the windows in the hall. He squinted against it, and waved them off. "No, No. I think I'll just... Just sit here a spell."

The intern nodded, stepped through, and left, taking the light with him as the door closed.

David sat in the dark, alone, unthinking, unfeeling for a long, long time.

Acceptance

Elizabeth and George arrived to find the party already in full swing, lights and music reaching them long before they arrived at the isolated estate's main gate. Drivers who had held no illusions about ever driving again had wedged their cars carelessly about with no regard for order or safety; someone had even parked the front half of their Prius in the decorative cement pond, knocking one of its cherubic statuettes over to stare forlornly up at its former perch.

"I told you that nobody would have cared if we'd had a few before coming over." George grinned, oblivious to the dark look Elizabeth was sending his way, not caring that she was in No Mood. "We've got a lot of catching up to do."

The haphazard parking made for an impromptu metal labyrinth up to the front doors, George dancing a little to what music filtered out from the inside as he rounded the cars, stopping now and again to bounce in place as his fiancée caught up with him. Elizabeth lacked any such sway in her step. She seemed to move forward only with tentative steps, following George up to the front door with a sour expression on her face.

"I'm glad we have the chance to see everybody." George inhaled deeply before ringing the bell, earning himself another sour look.

"I can't believe you dragged me here." Elizabeth broke her silence while checking her makeup in the door's reflective tinted glass. George hadn't let her turn on the car's interior light on the drive up for fear of being followed up from the city. "Words cannot even convey how disappointed I am in you right now. We had plans, George. Those tickets weren't cheap, and it's been so long since we've had some time just for us. Why can't we have just... just turned off the lights, shut the blinds, and held each other? Why can't you just be there for me for once?"

The smile dropped from George's face and his eyes closed for a moment, banishing the need on his fiancé's face from his mind's eye. "Liz--"

George's eyes snapped wide as a well-dressed young man opened the door, smiling broadly. "Ringing the bell?" He sounded bemused. "Come on in."

***

"Sorry, Ross, old habits die hard." George grinned, stepping past his fiancé and into the house. "Sorry we're late." He took off his jacket, tossing it onto the pile of coats already heaped in the foyer closet. "Liz wanted to... uh... she wanted to make sure that everything was locked up tight before we left. And feed the cat."

"Oh," Ross said. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"You know how it is." Elizabeth frowned, her voice rising. "All the rioting. And then George insisted upon driving most of the way here with his lights off – thank god there was a full moon tonight. It's a miracle we didn't end up in a ditch."

"Oh, good idea." Ross nodded towards George. "We're pretty far from the city here, but you can never be too careful."

Elizabeth slipped her own jacket off and onto a clothes hanger, leaving it to dangle alone from the otherwise bare bar high above above the heap of jackets spilling out of the closet. She made a few token attempts to recover those that had slipped out into the foyer before turning to George.

"I need to freshen up."

***

"You'll want to use the downstairs bathroom." Ross stepped over the coats, leading his friends from the foyer into the parlor. Several Tiffany lamps illuminated the room with a warm but dim glow, casting slight shadows that crossed and intermingled with one another while bathing George and Elizabeth in a number of subdued hues. Power-strips had been plugged into every visible outlet, and the lamps connected to them crowded tables, bookcases, and counter-tops. Paper lanterns hung from hooks set into the ceiling. Previous parties had seen the house decorated with a number of themes that Ross had arranged with an almost neurotic eye for detail, but this year everything seemed haphazard.

A large flat-screen television dominated the wall opposite the foyer. It was currently turned to a cable news station and Elizabeth averted her eyes – the audio was drowned out by the stereo's music, but the close-captioning had been turned on, and subtly misspelled subtitles flitted across the bottom of the screen. A small group of party-goers gathered around the front of the screen, watching and discussing whatever it was the anchors were talking about. Just like my friends, Elizabeth thought, watching television in the middle of a party. At least they didn't bring the video games this year.

As with the decor her fellow guests lacked any sort of uniformity in outfit or manner. Many of those present had decided to dress up, but what exactly "dress up" meant seemed to vary from individual to individual. A trio of men in t-shirts and jeans were seated on cushions around a hookah, and from the smell it wasn't tobacco they were smoking. Elizabeth tugged on George's sleeve, glancing over at them with some trepidation.

"I offered you a hit before we left," George whispered. "Go ahead and join them if you want."

"Ted over there with Mark and James," she whispered back. "He's been straight-edge since the day we met! And they're just... smoking in the middle of the room. In front of everybody."

"Honey, I really don't think that anybody cares."

***

Elizabeth gave the pot smokers a final glare before marching stiffly out towards the hall leading to the bathroom. She wasn't exactly sure what was behind her strong negative reaction -- she was, on occasion, a recreational pot smoker herself -- but in past gatherings they'd had the class to sneak out to someone's car for a few hits. Sitting out there in the open was just... it was just crass. She didn't know if she was bothered more by the sheer vulgarity of the act, or the fact that nobody else seemed to be bothered by it in the slightest.

"Sam!" she called with relief, rushing past the bathroom into the kitchen to give her oldest friend a warm hug. Sam, at least, was a constant, standing in the kitchen in an off-the shoulder sweater and black skirt, face made-up, hair coiffed.

"Oh Lizzy," Sam returned the embrace warmly, pretzel she'd been munching held awkwardly in one hand. "Oh god I'm so glad you're here." She stepped back, holding her friend by the shoulders, concern scrawled across her face. "How are you doing?"

"Oh god, it's nothing," Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm just mad at George. He's been in such a... I don't know, mood lately. I mean, I'm glad he's snapped out of his 'bleak pit of despair', but since then he hasn't been able to take anything seriously. This party is the only thing in weeks that he's seemed actually enthusiastic about. Where's Pete?"

"Church," Sam said with a half laugh in her voice. "He's one of those that got really religious all of the sudden, if you know what I mean. He refused to even talk about coming to the party, so I just left him with his new prayer-buddies and flew out myself. Ross picked me up at the airport a few days ago."

"Huh, Pete?" Elizabeth mused. "That's odd. A few of my coworkers became really religious a few weeks ago too. I don't know, it's such a weird trend."

"It came out of the blue for Pete," Sam shook her head. "I'd expect him to want to go out with a bang, not a hymnal."

"That's awful," Elizabeth said with a laugh, pushing Sam away. "Anyway, it's not that I don't miss everybody and don't relish the opportunity to see everyone every year, but... priorities, you know? We've been having these parties since we were practically kids, but now we're adults and we have our own busy lives. I mean we bought these tickets for Blue Man almost a month ago, and we were FINALLY going to have a night to ourselves, but no, here we are."

"Oh god Lizzy, I'm so sorry."

"Oh no! No no, don't cry! You'll ruin your mascara! It's the Blue Man Group! What's wrong?"

"I... I just don't think I can help you. I don't think we have enough time?" Sam reached over and pulled a paper towel off of the nearby roll, dabbing at her eyes and sniffing a bit. "Okay. I'm-I'm going to get back to the party, Liz."

"Okay," Elizabeth nodded, more than glad to put the disturbing exchange out of mind. "I'm going to go freshen up and I'll be out there with you shortly."

***

The bathroom stank of frantic and recent sex. "Oh god," Elizabeth gasped, closing the door as quickly as she'd opened it, wringing her hands with slight revulsion. The parties her friends typically threw were wholesome because her friends were wholesome. Aside from the occasional joint smoking and binge drinking, she couldn't imagine that any of them would do something as daring as slip into the bathroom for a quick fuck in the middle of a party.

What should she do? Her hand wavered, reaching for the doorknob again. Should... should she let it air out? Should she tell someone? Her hand fell back to her side as she turned and walked back past the parlor to the stairs. The second floor bathroom. Yes. Let someone else discover and... and deal with the first floor.

***

She still felt somewhat uneasy as she let herself into the upstairs bathroom. It was still difficult to believe her peers' wild uncharacteristic behavior. Unsteady hands splashed cool water back up into her face, though it didn't make her feel much better. She stared into the mirror for a long tense moment, desperately holding back the anxiety bubbling up from beneath her skin, filtering through her blood, threatening to escape out through her mouth in the form of a wordless scream.

Eyes squinched shut, she deliberately slowed her breathing, taking in long deep breaths through her nose, holding the air in her lungs before letting it out slowly between her lips. It seemed to be working, it seemed to be calming her down.

Elizabeth opened her eyes and locked gazes with her reflection in the mirror. Everything was okay. She was okay. She'd go down, rejoin the party, and enjoy the company of Sam and Ross and all the other friends she hadn't seen in almost a year.

As her gaze fell it locked onto traces of white powder standing out clearly against the black marble counter-top. She brushed her fingertips across the granular substance, sniffing it before bringing it to her lips and tasting its bitterness.

Cocaine? Was someone doing coke up in the second floor bathroom? Sex in the first floor bathroom, coke in the second, pot smoking in the parlor... what was this? The parties were never like this. Sure, sometimes Bill or George or Dave drank a little, and sometimes Mark or Bill or Jeremy would sneak out to their cars to smoke a joint, but it was never like this, never so open. Her calmness fled, the anxiety returning with increased urgency, and she all but ran out the door. She'd find George. He'd... he'd know what to do. He'd take care of things. He always took care of things. He always took care of her.