'Til Death Do Us Part (90 page)

The thin wisp of what some may construe as a smile vanished. As her arm came back down, I could feel the reneging of the offer. She approached slowly. I was going from freedom to food. My brain screamed for flight, the fight portion was nonexistent. This was no battle of wills, I was helpless, like a fear-frozen marmot I waited for the screaming eagle to descend and sink its claws deep into my flesh. I did not even have enough control to close my eyes. I watched in increasing horror as she approached; death would not be swift. My bladder burned to be released. I was denied even that last suffrage of indignity. A fly crawled into her nose. She paid it no more
attention
than the lice that swung freely from her dirty matted hair. A beetle plowed its way through a small hole in her neck holding a small nugget of meat, a trophy garnered from who knows where. The only thing still working was my olfactory sensors. This had to have been done on purpose. Gorge tried in vain to roar up and out of my stomach. The fetid odor was so palpable, I could see it, I could taste it. Like Campbell
’
s soup
,
it was so thick I could eat it with a fork. Yeah, she hadn
’
t cut off my sense of sarcasm either. Thin strips of flesh which used to be lips parted, revealing black cracked teeth from which strings of meat hung in decaying strands. Her charcoal gray tongue flicked over them, attempting to pull away some of the tastier morsels. She stood toe-to-toe with me, not six inches from my face. Sweat coursed down my body. I shook from impotence and then that stilled. I wouldn
’
t die fighting, but at least I
’
d be standing, small consolation. It
’
s like
‘
winning
’
a participation trophy in Little League baseball. Who gives a shit.

What would it feel like to have your face ripped open? Would she still my pain centers? Doubtful. I couldn
’
t te
ll much from her near-
frozen features, but still I sensed that she was taking some form of perverse satisfaction from these events. She moved in closer; I would have offered her a mint if I had one. My eyes still were not allowed to close. My vision of her blurred as she moved in even closer. A fly landed on my eyeball. It was singularly up to this point in my life, the most disgusting thing that had ever happened to me. Then my zombie girl topped it, she kissed me. My innards roiled in protest, my guts churned like a washing machine on spin cycle. If I wasn
’
t allowed output through my intake or outlet valves this was going to blow a hole through my midsection
a la
Ripley
’
s Alien. The kiss was not so surprisingly, very cold, but very surprisingly tender. It was literally the kiss of death from the dead. It doesn
’
t get much more ironic than that, does it? A Brillo pad wrapped around coarse grit sandpaper applied at
a hundred and ninety
re
volutions per minute under skin-
scalding hot water would never allow me to feel clean again. I was tainted, for fuck
’
s sake a zombie is kissing me. Didn
’
t she get my bio? I
’
m a card-carrying germaphobe!

As she slowly pulled away, a dark viscous fluid kept us tenuously connected. The fly finally descended from my eye to land on this small bridge. Her tongue shot out, incredibly long, and pulled the fly into her canines. I swear I could hear the small crunching of its delicate exoskeleton. The spin cycle was in full throttle. A whoosh of haunted air escaped her lips. She was laughing, she had known exactly what she had done and she found humor in her dark actions. She pulled back another foot and let loose her controls. I fell to the ground, afflicted with crippling cramps. I rolled into a protective fetal position hugging my midsection. Mount Vesuvius erupted. Hot refuse steamed on the cold ground; the whoosh of air which accompanied her amusement persisted. Glad I could be her entertainment. For long minutes I alternated between evacuating my stomach and pulling in long
,
cold drags of air. How long this happened
,
I
’
m not su
re. The pain lessened minutely—
small fractions of degrees is the best way I can explain it. Each breath was better than the previous but only in infinitesimally small measures. It might have been minutes or days, all reference to time was lost, although my cheek touching the ground was rapidly becoming cold and my refused refuse was not steaming anymore.

“
Mike?
”
I heard a tenuously thin voice try to break through the paralyzing grip of insanity that was beginning to blanket my mind.

“
Mike?
”
There it was again, a disassociated voice speaking an incoherent word.
“
Grab his legs, I
’
ll get his head.
”

I felt myself being lifted and then
,
mercifully
,
blackness sheathed my capacity for thought. I was floating in a white void, but I was not a
fraid, I was free;
free from burden, free fro
m sin, free from responsibility…
and then I think I puked again. Not because I could
‘
feel
’
the sensation
,
but because I heard the disgust from one of the people carrying me. I found it funny the same way an insane person finds humor in slinging shit at walls. How different was this from that? I was close to the edge, maybe I had even taken that first perilous step over and gravity had finally worked its magic. I was being pulled down into the abyss. There wasn
’
t a drug invented that would raise this sinking ship. I spiraled down. Whiteness faded to black, cognitive thought became an illusion.

***

Eventually, I will tell you what happened while I traveled the netherworlds, but that all hinges on what happens in the foreseeable future. I had come out from under my unnatural hibernation in remarkably good shape. There were no ill effects that I knew about; they would manifest later. I had lost weight and I was as thirsty as I had ever been, but after downing three huge glasses of water I felt right as rain, even more so. Now I know this sounds weird, but power is the word that comes foremost in my mind. Maybe healthy would be a better descriptive
,
but not as accurate, or as powerful. I just don
’
t know
,
and I really don
’
t have the time to dwell on it.

***

These are as near
to the events as I can remember.
Having
lost the majority of my journals
,
I am thankful that I have found the power of an almost photographic memory with which to recreate the events. Some of them are indelible
;
it would take more than death itself to erase them from my mind. I should know.

A lot h
as happened since Little Turtle.
I
’
ve lost a lot of friends, loved ones
,
and even a significant portion of myself. But we
’
re the closest we have ever been to a vi
ctory.
Okay
,
scratch that, we are the furthest fro
m defeat that we have ever been.
We’ve
almost pulled into a stalemate. I consider that a huge improvement. Hey
,
we take what
’
s given to us and do the best we can.

For three earth days I walked in Eliza
’
s world, on her side it was significantly longer. My thoughts are that it had much more to do with the perceived passing of time rather than actual, but to
may
to, to
mah
to…
who gives a shit when you
’
re in hell. Okay
,
not literally
,
but it wasn
’
t a walk in the park either. Henry
just perked his ears up when he…
what? Heard
me think that? Is that possible?
He was sitting with me doing his best to absorb the cold that flowed through me.
He gave me a wide grin and laid his massive head
back
down
on my lap
.

“
Son of a bitch,
”
I said aloud.
“
You can read my thoughts.
”
Henry
’
s little tail wagged furiously, his eyes were shut. The economy of movement in this dog was a study
in perfection;
it w
as damn near an art form.

But I’
m digressing and it
’
s pretty much on purpose.
I sat down here today with the express reason of relating all the events that happened while I was under Eliza
’
s spell? W
as that
it?
More like poison. But do people that go through traumatic events like a car crash really want to relive the whole damn thing, like when the safety glass shatters and chunks of sharpened fragments imbed themselves in the side of your face, rupturing your eye? Or how about when you
’
re thrown
violently sideways and the gear
shift goes up and under your rib cage busting out your sternum, bone fragments cutting through the aorta, your life blood bleeding out inside of you. Are these things you want to revisit? I don
’
t.

My wife says it will be cathartic, I say bullshit, she just wants me to get
out
from under her feet. I have not come out of this last battle as well as I went
in. I know it and she knows it.
I
’
ve been diminished
,
that
’
s the best way I can put. I need to be around those I love CONSTANTLY and I think I
’
m driving Tracy a little nuts. But even in the best of times I had that effect on people. At least Henry doesn
’
t seem to mind my constant ministrations.

“
Damn
,
with the tail again
, Henry?
You’re
not even awake, I can hear you snoring.
”
His tail didn
’
t stop.

Fine, I
’
ll corral my thoughts, kicking and screaming mind you and I
’
ll probably lodge a formal protest when I
’
m done but let
’
s see where this journey brings me. Back from the edge or over it, right now both are viable alternatives to the way I feel now.

The kiss…
that damned kiss, it would have been more humanly (humanely?) of her to just rip my face off and be done with me, but cruelty is (was) Eliza
’
s game.
She
survived the centuries with it as her guide, her driving force
,
and she was adept. She knew where I would end up, my guess is/was that she was hoping that I would never recover, that I would always be left to wander there
,
but she never took
into account the power of love.
How
could she? She only ever had a taste of it, a morsel from her brother, whereas the Talbots basked in i
t like a Spring Break co-ed in c
oconut oil. (Good visual? Tracy probably won
’
t appreciate that, but she
’
s the one making me write this damn thing so she
’
ll have to damn well live with it!)
S
orry
,
honey
,
if you read this

The damned kiss, I felt myself slipping away the moment our lips parted. Black
dots began to invade my vision.
First
they were barely bigger than a black fly (which I have since come to loathe here in Maine
. W
ant to know the seasons in Maine? It goes, Summer, Fall, Winter, Mud and Black Fly, I shit you not!) I should have picked a better locale for my last stand
or final resting spot
. Sorry
,
I am avoiding this trip down memory lane like a fat kid avoids
fourth
period gym.

So t
he spots began to expand—black
fly, mosquito, house fly, horse fly
, fucking wasp, crow—
then the sensation of my head bouncing off the frozen tundra. For a while there was nothing more than the sensation of pure and utter blackness. I was aware
, but I was alone.
It’s
hard to describe
.
I did not have the sensation of falling
,
but I also wasn
’
t rooted to anything.
I was afraid to move not knowing if I would fall into an abyss or into a wall. Terror began to
mount;
I had nev
er felt so powerless in my life.
There
was nothing I could do. If she had just left me
t
here
,
I would have been gone in a matter of hours
,
though the concept of time meant nothing
t
here either.