FATE'S PAST

by Jason Huebinger

  When he had used up all his tears, he stood and climbed out of the hole. The giants remained before him, their cries unfazed by his actions. He turned towards the shovel and considered whether he should cover his mother’s coffin with the dirt he had removed from the ground. But he decided that she was now safe, and that’s what mattered. He walked away from the shovel and towards the giants.

  While stepping past them, he covered his ears, which stifled their cries. Soon, he was far away from the giants and his mother’s body. When he could no longer hear the cries, he realized that he did not understand where to go. His mother had provided him a temporary purpose, but now, he was again wandering without direction.

  So he kept walking, and his mother’s memory followed him every inch of the way. He walked by endless trees and branches, and tried to ignore their similarities. He hoped that fatigue would tug at him, but his legs did not tire.

  After a while, he arrived back at where he begun. His mother’s noose hung from the tree branch before him, and his broken noose lay near his feet. He focused on the rope that once held his mother, which looked much sturdier than the one with which he had tried to hang himself.

  Maybe this is it, he thought. Maybe this is how I end it.

  It was an inviting proposition. He had nowhere else to go, and he had no way of finding Carrie. He walked towards the rope and pulled on it; the resistance it provided seemed ample enough to support his body. A thought pounded his mind: to save Carrie, he had to sacrifice himself. And there was poetic justice in the thought of saving Carrie by ending his life with the same rope that ended his mother’s.

  But before he could finish that thought, a nearby voice startled him.

  IV.

  Carrie walked into an enormous waiting room, which seemed much larger than what the restaurant could contain. The walls and the floors were stark white, and dark green chairs littered the area. She knew this waiting room, because she had waited in it on countless occasions. The sterility of the place always stunned her, considering the horrors trapped within. She had never experienced such simultaneous love and hatred for anything in her short life.

  She recalled how many times she glanced over this exact waiting area and analyzed the faces scattered throughout, which were a blend of hope and hopelessness. Some of the faces gleaned with the light of tomorrow’s possibilities. Other faces dimmed because of the same. Most seemed to be trapped between the two extremes, baffled by how they should feel.

  She usually aligned herself with the group of the dimmed.

  In each chair was the figure of a man, and each man wore the same garb—white t-shirt, black pants, and white tennis shoes. Even more striking than the uniformed dress was that none of the men had a face. She trembled as blank ovals looked back at her.

  Carrie lowered her eyes to avoid seeing the faceless men. While looking down, she noticed the blood continued through the waiting room.

  As she walked, she shielded both of the sides of her face with her hands and concentrated on the blood. After about fifty paces, the blood ended at a wall. She looked up and saw the old man from the hotel standing behind a window. Behind the old man was a blackness that stood in sharp contrast to the whiteness around Carrie.

  “My God,” she muttered. “Help me! Please help me!” She reached through the window, but the old man stepped back to avoid her grasp.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you are going to have to calm down if I’m going to help you.”

  Carrie pulled her hand out of the window and slammed it against the wall. “Where’s Cameron? Where’s Gretchen? Please, tell me!”

  “I’m sorry,” the man said. “I can’t answer either of those questions.”

  “What? Who the hell are you, anyway?”

  The old man smiled. “I can’t answer that, either.”

  Rage built up within her. She suddenly empathized with Cameron’s issues. “Dammit, stop playing games and tell me where I’m supposed to go!”

  The old man lifted his right hand and stuck out one finger. “Now that, Carrie, I can answer.”

  “What? Where do I go?”

  “Well, who do you want to see?”

  “My mother. I think she’s in this place.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Donna. Donna Fields.”

  “Hmm. Doesn’t ring a bell. Do you have any other means of identifying her?”

  Carrie considered the question for a few moments before lifting the locket from around her neck. She placed it on the table dividing her from the old man and said, “Here, this is her picture.”

  The old man lifted the locket and opened it; after reviewing the picture, he said, “Aw, yes. I know her. Very good. You may see her. To your left is the elevator. Press four and you’ll end up where you need to be. Good luck, my dear!”

  “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

  “My pleasure.”

  After an awkward pause, Carrie asked, “May I have my locket back now?”

  “No,” the old man said as he clutched the locket. “It’s your payment for admission. Have a good day.” The old man then stepped away into the blackness.

  “No, stop!” she screamed as she reached in to grab the old man. As she did so, her hand disappeared in the dark. She pulled it out and was relieved to see it still attached.

  Carrie put her hands to her face and sobbed. She tried internally chanting, It’s all in your head, but that mantra was fast losing its effectiveness.

  Carrie shook her head, shielded her periphery view with her hands, and turned to her left. She hurried in the direction the man instructed, and in a few moments she was in front of the elevator.

  Carrie didn’t glance at the old man with his faceless head in his hands, who also waited for the elevator. After a few moments, the man pounded on the up arrow as though the elevator could hear his inner pleas before gingerly resting his head on the gray wall.

  The elevator’s ding was startling; the man awoke and returned to his persistent pose.

  The elevator doors opened and they both stepped in. The interior was white from floor to ceiling. As Carrie stepped in, she imagined that she was walking onto a cloud. She turned and looked at the elevator buttons. The options ranged from one to twenty-one, and she considered for a moment venturing to a floor higher than four. Deciding that she had no time to dawdle, Carrie pressed “4”, and the man next to her pressed “7”.

  The elevator’s lift threw off her balance, and she leaned against the wall to avoid falling.

  As she rode, Carrie’s thoughts focused on Cameron. Is he okay? Does Gretchen have him? Will I ever see him again?

  Beside her, the man remained motionless. He maintained his erectness throughout their brief ride together, and when the elevator arrived at its programmed destination, she looked knowingly towards the man. Even with no face, Carrie noticed a flicker of acknowledgment.

  This corridor was even more sterile than the last, but the sounds were different. Compared to the enormous silence of the entry area, there were many sounds of bustling in the corridor. Carrie heard discussions, walking, stirring, and a far off moan.

  She turned and approached another faceless person sitting at a desk. With an empathetic tone, he inquired, “May I help you?”

  Carrie wanted to ask how he talked without a mouth, but decided she had more pressing issues. She knew the proper response. “Yes, I’m here to visit Donna Fields.” She tried her best to look the man in the face, but could not maintain her stare.

  “Oh, yes.” He handed her a chart. “Please sign in. I’ll buzz you in. Donna’s room is the fourth from the right, number twenty-one.”

  She replied, “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure. Enjoy your visit.”

  Before entering, she paused at the Purell dispenser and rubbed in the clear liquid, hoping to rid her hands of any natural contaminants per routine. Carrie heard a slight buzz, reached for the door handle, thrust downward, and pus
hed. After entering, she looked to her right at the man, who looked back blankly.

  While she walked, Carrie contemplated her surroundings. The dings, scratches, shifts, and clanks were pervasive, but they seemed to get louder during each visit. She appreciated the efforts of those heroes working around her, but she was aware of the utter futility of their actions. No matter how filled, this area always felt hollow.

  Lost in her thoughts, Carrie barely realized that she was in front of Room 21. Instinct had guided her.

  She had to pause in front of the door to brace herself. No matter how many times she entered the room, what lay within always shocked her. Once her breath, heart, and eyes were as still as possible, she opened the door.

  Donna had been a striking beauty in her youth. Short in stature but a giant in presence, her faded blue eyes could strike fear or love. Her eyes could thaw or freeze you, make you feel small and impotent or herculean and prodigious.

  Gone were Donna’s wavy blonde hair, elegantly smooth skin, light tan, and vibrant aura. The body that lay in the bed was little more than a corpse. Maybe just that, but Carrie could not tell.

  Near the bed was an electrocardiogram machine beeping at a slow, rhythmic pace. Carrie moved towards the beep; it was high-pitched, unchanging, and crushing. The continuous beep was omnipresent in her daily drudgery. Her steps paced at the speed of the beep. The beep often invaded her thoughts and crept into the recesses of her dreams.

  A tattered and worn green chair rested next to the hospital bed. As she had so many times, she sat and took her mother’s hand.

  “Mom,” Carrie whispered with a tremble in her voice. “Mom? Are you there?”

  Donna lay motionless and unresponsive.

  “Please, Mom. Talk. Why am I here?”

  Silence but for the beeps.

  “Am I being punished? Is it because I wasn’t here when you left? I should have been, Momma. I know I should have been. If I could do it again, I wouldn’t have left your side for anything.” Carrie leaned in and said, “Please just talk to me. I want to hear your voice again. It’s been so long, Momma. So long.”

  Only the beeps.

  “Come on, Momma. Why am I here? Where is Cameron? How do I get out of this place? Say something, anything.”

  Though Donna said nothing, her hand trembled in Carrie’s grip. Carrie’s eyes widened as she gazed at her mom’s fingers tightening.

  “Mom!” Carrie said louder than she intended. “You’re there! You’re alive! Oh Momma, I have so much to tell you. Have you been watching me? Do you know about Cameron? We started dating three years ago. Three and a half technically, after he had just started law school. He’s really smart. I think you’d like him.”

  Donna’s fingers continued to tighten.

  Carrie continued: “I think he may propose soon. Don’t know when, but I think pretty soon at least. Remember that last thing you told me? That I need to keep living? I’ve really tried to do that, Momma, I really have. Did you see me graduate? Dad said that you were watching and were proud. Is that true, Momma? Did you watch me walk the stage? I got my masters too, passed my CPA. There’s just so much that has happened, Momma.”

  Donna’s fingers tightened more, and the tips of her fingers curled so that her fingernails grazed Carrie’s skin.

  “Momma, what are you doing?” Carrie asked.

  Donna’s fingernails dug into Carrie’s hand.

  “Stop that, Momma,” Carrie pleaded. “You’re hurting me.”

  Donna did not relent. She tore deeper into Carrie’s hand, and blood trickled from the tiny wounds.

  Carrie pulled her arm back as she said, “Stop! What are you doing?” As she pulled, more skin ripped away under Donna’s fingernails.

  Donna moaned and opened her eyes. Carrie stared at deep blue eyes, eyes that were not her mother’s. Carrie immediately recognized them—Gretchen’s eyes had replaced her mother’s.

  “Get away from me!” Carrie screamed as she pulled her hand harder and harder, with more skin tearing away with each pull.

  “Whhhhyyyy?” the body of her mother asked in a voice that belonged to Gretchen.

  Carrie jerked her hand as hard she could, which caused Donna to fall out of the bed, but she did not release her hold on Carrie’s hand. Carrie tried to run towards the door, but the weight of her mother’s body stopped her.

  Carrie turned towards her mother and grabbed Donna’s wrist with both hands. Pulling with all her strength, Carrie dragged her mother’s body a few feet towards the door. The fingernails continued to dive into her skin; blood was now dripping off of Carrie’s hands.

  She looked around for any escape. Next to her, the EKG machine continued its beeping, blasting her ears, which she could not cover because of her mother’s painful grip. Out of frustration, Carrie swung her free hand at the machine, forcing it to topple from its resting place. With a crash, the machine landed on Donna’s arm, and she released her hold on Carrie.

  Now free, Carrie ran to the door and slammed it behind her. In the distance, she saw two faceless nurses point at her. Carrie turned to run as the nurses jogged in towards her.

  The receptionist said, “Excuse me?” as Carrie plowed through the door to the elevator area without waiting for the buzz. Repeatedly, she pressed the down arrow until the elevator opened. Behind her, she heard the nurses nearing, so she jumped into the elevator and pressed the “CLOSE DOORS” button. The nurses rounded the corner, and as they reached out to grab Carrie, the doors shut, almost clipping one of the nurse’s fingers.

  Carrie pressed “1” and cried. Unable to control her body, she shook as she wiped the blood covering her hand. The blood kept coming, and she rubbed harder and harder, which only caused the wounds to open more. Realizing her futility, she stopped rubbing and instead screamed so loud that it echoed within the cramped elevator cart.

  “Why?” she yelled to no one in particular. “Why are you doing this to me? To Cam? What the hell did we ever do to you?”

  Exhausted, she fell to her knees and collapsed into a ball. Sweat dripped from her brow onto the elevator’s white floor, which blended with the tears that fell from her eyes. She did not know how much more she could take, or what else was in store for her. For as terrible as she felt about her last conversation with her mother, that memory was far preferable to the nightmare she just experienced. She did not want her final memory of her mother to be that of a soulless monster that caused her to bleed. So, to compensate, Carrie tried to think of all the good memories of her mother. She thought of the backyard baseball games and the family barbeques. She remembered the long talks and movie “date” nights. She remembered the conversation over dinner during which her mother told Carrie about the cancer, and all the long days that followed.

  Dammit, Carrie thought. Why does my mind always go to that?

  The elevator’s abrupt stop at “2” shattered her daydreaming. Despite stopping, the elevator doors did not open. Carrie pressed “1” again, but the elevator did not budge. She pressed it again and again, but the elevator did not respond.

  Then she heard something. It was the same sound she had heard in the hotel room. The same sound she had heard in the kitchen of the restaurant. The same sound she had heard in Room 21.

  “No,” she whispered. “God, no…”

  The lights went out. Dazed momentarily, she backed up and leaned against the elevator’s back wall. She tried to refocus her vision to adjust to the dark, but it was no use—blackness engulfed her. There was not a shred of light.

  The lights flicked on as she heard the beep again. The beep and lights appeared and disappeared simultaneously as if synchronized.

  Carrie slid down the wall as the lights and beeps fired rapidly. And in the blinking light, she saw a figure. It was a lumpy feminine shape, with unruly hair that hung down over its face. The shape was tall and bulbous, and Carrie had seen it before.

  The blinking outline of Gretchen stood before Carrie. Gretc
hen screamed, “Whhhhyyyy?” and approached.

  “Get away from me!” Carrie screamed, but Gretchen was not persuaded. She kept moving towards Carrie, and when Gretchen was in striking distance, she reached out to grab Carrie by the throat.

  Carrie backed up as close as possible to the elevator wall and covered her face with her arms. This is it, Carrie thought. It’s all over.

  But Gretchen did not attack. The beeping stopped and the elevator doors opened. Through her arms, Carrie saw glimmers of light.

  Carrie uncovered her face. She was alone. The elevator abruptly ascended, stopped, and opened. Sunlight and warmth filled the elevator.

  Carrie remained huddled in a ball, too frightened to proceed. But the warmth assuaged her fear.

  It was the first time Carrie had felt warmth since Cameron swerved and awoken her in the car. She had almost grown used to the dull chill that had inhabited her body, but as the warmth touched her exposed arms and face, a surge of determination flowed through her spirit. She remembered the words of her mother, lifted herself to her feet, and exited the elevator.

  Keep living, Carrie.

  When Carrie exited the elevator, she walked onto a large stretch of flat green grass. A path of blood stained the grass. She followed it until she came upon her destination.

  In front of Carrie was an enormous mountain that stretched endlessly towards the heavens. Green and beautiful, streaks of blood ran up it. Carrie squinted her eyes and looked skyward for any sign of Gretchen, but the blood was the only sign of her.

  Carrie took a few moments to collect herself, thought of Cameron, and continued her journey.

  V.

  Just before Cameron stepped off the precipice of hope and into the pit of finality, he heard it. Faint, but real. He could not detect from whence it came, but he knew he had heard it. It was too quiet to make out, but it was there. He lifted his head, but there was no one to his front. But he had heard it…he knew he had.