by Nate Allen
Chapter 17
Grant opened up the door, and stepped outside. Chelsea laid in the fetal position for five minutes, and then got up. Loosening her grip on Kali, she wiped her eyes clean of tears, and sniffled.
Grant and Bobby stood outside, wandering aimlessly. The house was quiet, as was the surrounding sky. The Insane did not growl from the corn fields, or the barn. They didn't hide and wait. It was just the three of them.
Slowly, Chelsea crawled from the back seat, and stepped outside. She had wrapped Kali back up in the blanket, holding her loosely.
"I want to sleep." she said with deflated eyes.
"Okay," Grant nodded his head, and shone the light attached to his gun in front of him. He walked up to the house, pulled open the lopsided screen door, and grabbed hold of the door handle. It was locked. Calmly, he flipped his gun around, broke the window on the door, and unlocked it from the inside. The door opened, and he stepped in.
They no longer worried about the chase. No one admitted it, but the truth was simple: they went there to die. Grant didn't enter the house with a fast beating heart, and sharply set eyes. He entered a dark house, tired and sad.
The fridge barely purred, and the air around them smelled of rotten meat. Grant shone his light around the house. The floors were stained with hamburger blood, and the counters were smeared with peanut butter and jelly.
Bobby closed the door, and the three of them wandered past the kitchen, and stopped in the dining room. The table was round, and stained maple. Sitting in between four empty plates was a pan of crusty, old macaroni and cheese. The scene perfectly captured what life had been like before 7:00 pm on April 15th of 2014.
It was heartbreaking, and placed a lump in Grant's throat. He swallowed, sighed, and walked into a living room lit by a nightlight. Sleeping bags were spread around, and a set of brown teddy bears lay next to the other. The pictures on the walls were of a family of three: a father with thin brown eyes and glasses, a mother with a bun in her hair and bright blue eyes, and a little girl holding two teddy bears while also holding a joyful grin.
Grant heaved a sigh, seeing what he couldn't have: a family. Chelsea was a mannequin compared to what he had proposed to, and Kali was dead because he didn't hurry. But, now that he saw a family that almost mirrored what he, Chelsea, and Kali could have been, Grant felt the pain of his loss.
"Where do you want to sleep?" asked Grant.
"Alone." answered Chelsea coldly.
"Alright," Grant turned down the hall on his right, passing the basement stairs, and coming to the first room. Slowly, he opened the doors, shining his light out in front of him. The door opened, and the light caught dust shedding from the ceiling. A queen sized bed was against the farthest wall, and placed in the center of the room. Grant shone the light on the bed; it was empty, and the blankets were thrown about.
"Goodnight," she entered the dark room without a light in her hands, closed the door, and found the bed. Grant walked away, scratching his growing beard, and rubbing his face.
"Is she okay?" Bobby asked, lying on the couch, resting the back of his head on his palm, and kicking off his shoes.
"I don't know," Grant sighed. "I wish I could help. I wish I could save her." Grant sat down on the floor, resting his head against the other couch, while shutting off the light, and setting the gun on the floor.
"If you want to save Chelsea, you first have to know what you want. Maybe you don't want to save her."
"No. Deep down I miss what we had. But, I was never able to be the same after coming back from the war. It's not an excuse. I just never really returned."
"I know," Bobby answered. "No one ever does. I didn't. I returned to a dead father, and in many ways, a dead mother."
"What can I do then? How can I make it okay?"
"Kali is dead, Grant. Things may never be okay. To save Chelsea, you may have to let her go."
"What does that mean?"
"Let her die."
"How does that save her?"
"It stops her suffering." Bobby spoke candidly yet blank.
"? How?"
"Grant, I once had a cat. It was before I knew you, and before I moved to this town. I was just a little kid. My cat was my best friend. He was a furry black cat. We named him Senior, since he had been born with gray fur on his face that looked like wrinkles. One day I was playing in the backyard. Senior was with me, until he wandered out into the street. A car hit him, and broke his insides. I ran out to the road with tears streaming down my face, pulled him by his paws onto the sidewalk, and watched him whimper once more before taking his last breath." Bobby paused.
"What is this about, Bobby?" interrupted Grant.
"Just let me finish." said Bobby. "? My dad came home later that night, mom told him about Senior, and he came over to me. He said 'Bobby, death is God's way of ending somebody's suffering.' He later told me about how Senior had been sick. But, I didn't understand it then. I do now?" another pause. "I wiped my eyes and looked up at him. He smiled, and led me to the side of the garage. Senior was lying by a pile of dirt. His eyes were hard, and flies were already buzzing around him. Dad got down on both of his knees, put his hands on Senior's stomach and began to pray. Soon, he had me pray along beside him. We prayed for five minutes, and then left. He told me that if it was God's will, then God would bring Senior back to me. I went to bed that night feeling at peace, and when I woke up I had a feeling that Senior was alive. I went outside and ran over to the garage. But, he was still dead. Dad told me again that if it was God's will then Senior would come back. Two more days passed, and each day came where Senior was still dead, until the night of that second day. I sat in my room, praying, when I heard a meow. I knew it was Senior's. So, I ran down the steps, and outside. Sitting by the garage was Senior, alive and well. We had him for another two years, and then he just disappeared."
"So God healed your cat?"
"That was the day when I knew that He existed and cared about me. But, when my dad died, I expected him to raise the same. It turns out, it wasn't God's will. Death is God's way of ending somebody's suffering."
"No matter what you want to believe, Bobby, God only cares about certain people, and I am not one of them. He let Kali die."
"See, Grant, I lost the faith I had from seeing Senior rise, because my dad was a much bigger part of my life. And I couldn't understand why he had to die. I wanted explanations, and a reason. But, there is no reason. God took my dad to end his suffering."
"How does this apply to me?" asked Grant.
"I am explaining my faith to you. Believe, Grant. If it is God's will to save Kali, He will."
"Thanks, Bobby." answered Grant, hiding his disbelief.
"Yeah," he sighed, and closed his eyes. "Goodnight, Grant."
"Goodnight, Bobby." Grant replied.
Bobby stared at his feet with his lids half open as he drifted off into a deep sleep.
Grant surveyed the room, seeing shadows shape shift on the wall, and drain into the ceiling. He stared at the TV set sitting in the corner. The television acted as a mirror, reflecting the hallway behind him. Caught in the reflection was the seven and a half foot sloth like man, standing hunched over in the hall, waiting at the door where Chelsea slept with their dead daughter in her hold.
Grant blinked his eyes, and when he opened them again, the sloth man had disappeared. Had he ever been there? Or was it just Grant's imagination?
Grant closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and opened them again. He looked at the TV once more; the hall was empty. It was like he was being beckoned to the room. But, Grant was scared. He didn't know if he was insane or dreaming. Any other option wouldn't fit into his view on life. He still didn't believe in the supernatural. It wasn't a logical thing to believe. God was still nothing but a large man in the clouds; the devil was just his red counterpart.
Although reluctant, Grant grabbed hold of his gun, clicked on the light, and stood up. Slowly, he walked past the couch, pointing his gun at
the end of the hall. The house was quiet; the air was cold and heavy. He walked past the carpeted basement stairs. A shiver shot up his spine. Goose bumps grew on his arms. He imagined something grabbing hold of him, and pulling him to his death.
No matter what Grant said, the only reason he was alive was because he was scared to die. He wasn't scared of drawing his last breath. He was scared what would happen after. Grant was a man who avoided everything.
He passed the carpeted stairs, only being touched by fear, not grabbed and pulled away by it. The door the sloth man had been staring at was fifteen feet away. Grant stopped walking, and looked back. Bobby lay on the couch, and the night light displayed shadows growing tall on the walls.
Grant shone his light ahead into the darkness. The doorknob glistened. He walked ahead, keeping his eyes sharp, but his periphery sharper. Fear clenched hold of him, draping him in a shroud of dark thoughts, and morbid images. Grant imagined that when he opened the door, he would find Chelsea with a hole in the side of her head, or slits across her wrists.
Reluctantly, he continued. The door was in his reach. The second hall intersected with the first; it was on his left. Two doors were opened, both presenting black rooms. Grant shook away a shiver, clenched hold of the knob, and turned.
The door started to open with a slight pinch of sound. The room was lit by a circle of candles sitting on windowsills, dressers, and chairs. The closet and dresser drawers were opened. Grant looked at the bed. Chelsea was not sleeping. All he saw was the blanket Kali had been wrapped in. All at once, a thousand different possibilities came into his head.
His hands began to shake as the door continued to open. He looked right, seeing metal hangers and clothing thrown on the floor. Scared of what he would see when looking left, Grant closed his eyes, gained composure, and opened them.
Chelsea stood in front of a full bodied mirror, dressed in an elegant red dress. Her hair was flipped up into a matted bun. Her reddish blonde bangs draped her eyes. Her brows were plucked of uneven hairs, and outlined. Her eyelashes were pulled into an even arc, and painted with mascara. She turned to Grant with her lips red and pouty.
"Hey, babe." she smiled. "Kali's ready to go out."
Sitting in Chelsea's left arm was Kali. Her skin was tough and gray. Eyes that had been a dark ocean blue were glazed over. She was painted up like a beauty pageant queen. Her pudgy little cheeks were now powdered red; her dead and blue eyes were outlined in black, and her thin lashes were standing in an arc. She wore a dress that nearly matched Chelsea's.
"What are you doing?" Grant asked, mortified.
"I know, Grant. You think she's too young to have make-up, but she's my little princess, and she has somewhere she has to be today."
"Do you know what you are doing?!"
"Please don't yell, honey, you'll scare Kali."
Grant blinked his eyes in mortified disbelief. His tongue was lost somewhere in his throat. It was a moment in which he realized that the Chelsea he fell in love with was no more. She was now insane.
"Snap out of it! She is dead!"
"We don't say that word in my house." she smiled obliviously.
"What word?"
"Dead? you shouldn't say such things. Kali will pick up bad habits. She doesn't need to know about? that."
"What are you doing this for? Why are you doing this?"
"Because," she screamed. "Kali needs to look good when we go out."
"Put her down, Chelsea. Lay her on the bed, take off the make-up, and wrap her back up in the blanket."
"No. She can't breathe. She wanted out."
"Where are you go-going with her? Why are you dressed in someone else's clothing? Why is she?"
"What are you talking about?" she smiled, no longer even considering that she was putting make-up on her dead daughter. "This is our dress up room. Kali is a princess. She needs to look like one."
"Come back to me, Chelsea. Please." he was humble and honest. "We'll bur-bury Kal-"
"Stop it!" she shrieked. "Just let us have our fun." Chelsea sat Kali on the bed. Kali tipped over, and stared at Grant. The back of his throat filled with Sick. His stomach felt bottomless.
He stared at his dead daughter, and cried a tear. She looked so innocent, yet so objectified, like a morbid doll.
"I'm sorry, baby." he whispered, now avoiding eye contact with Chelsea. "Daddy loved you. I did."
Callously, Chelsea grabbed hold of Kali, and put her up to the mirror. "You look beautiful, baby."
Grant grabbed hold of his hair, and pulled. He rubbed his pale face, and backed away from the room. Chelsea soon disappeared as he shut the door, and backed away feeling cold. His daughter had been reduced to a mannequin.
He backed up a few more feet, and then turned toward the living room. Grant was ready to leave Chelsea to be alone with her delusional mind. Quickly, he walked out to the living room, and over to Bobby.
"Bobby?" he whispered, still looking at the end of the hall. "Come on, buddy, wake up." Bobby didn't wake.
"Come on, Bobby. We gotta get out of here." Suddenly, Grant realized that Bobby wasn't breathing. "Bobby?" he asked quietly. "Let's go." Grant looked down at Bobby. He looked peaceful, and content. His chest didn't rise up and go back down, but he was still warm. Grant put his head on Bobby's chest. His heart wasn't beating. Desperately, he pounded on his chest, trying to jump start an already dead engine. "Please don't go. I need you."
Every person Grant loved all died in the same way: they found solace; they found God.
Grant looked at Bobby, trying to find some delusional realm where death was a forbidden word. He envied Chelsea. Even though she was completely disconnected from reality, she was fortunate. Grant wasn't.
He looked at Bobby, realizing that his best friend, his brother had died. He hadn't said goodbye, or told Bobby all the things he wanted to tell him. And now it was too late.
As he laid his head on the couch, the last words Bobby had said entered his head:
"Death is God's way of ending somebody's suffering." In that moment, Grant realized that there was nothing he could have done. The sad and simple truth was Bobby Jackson wanted to die.
"Grant?" the voice was deep and familiar. "Turn around."
With wet eyes and a sniffle, he turned around to find his father sitting on the couch. He was without his monster: a warm presence.
"What, d-dad?"
"Believe." he smiled sincerity, and then stood up. He walked to the hall, and down the basement stairs.
"Dad?! Help me! Please!" Grant followed after him, but stopped at the top of the steps. He stared down into the darkness. "Dad, come back!" Suddenly a cold chill swept up the stairs, and engulfed him. Grant became cold, and looked back at Bobby. There was nobody there. It was as if the last thirteen years of friendship all became irrelevant. And in that moment his memory began to fade. "Dad, save me!"
"I can't, kiddo."
Appearing from nothing, the sloth man grew before him. It grabbed ahold of his arms, and threw him down the stairs. Grant landed on his head. The floor was carpeted, but the fall had been hard.
Blood gushed from his broken nose, and his eyes felt as if they were being pried from their sockets. Grant searched desperately for his gun, but it was upstairs by the sofa.
"Dad?" he called. "Help me."
No one answered. It was silent and dark. But a presence lurked all around. His arms were covered in goose bumps, and his body was now a broken frame. He could barely move his right arm, and his wrist popped out of place, nearly poking through the skin.
It was excruciatingly painful, but Grant didn't cringe or wince. He felt an urgency to escape, but when he turned to crawl back up the stairs, he saw the seven and a half foot sloth man standing at the top. It looked at him with hollowed out features. Its face was thin and long. Its eyes were gone, and its arms nearly touched its knees.
Grant attempted to crawl up the stairs, but the sloth man opened its mouth wide, revealing jagged teeth. It smiled.
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br /> Nearly petrified, Grant ran his hands up and down the wall, looking for the light switch. When he finally found it, he flicked it up. The lights didn't come on.
But, out of the darkness, a white light glided toward him. It was radiant and warm. In the center of the light was a woman with bright blonde hair: an angel?
"Dad?" he called with a cough.
"Grant." she said as she walked over to him. "He will save you." She bent down, grabbed his arms, and pulled him to his feet.
"Who wi-will?"
"He has heard your call. He can save her. He can save you."
"? How?"
"Grant!" his father screamed from the darkness. "It's a-"
"What?" he looked at the lady of light, and then at the darkness behind her. He glanced up the stairs. The sloth man stood with a wide, knowing grin. "What did you say, dad?"
It was quiet.
"Grant." the woman grabbed his chin, and smiled pleasantly. "This is what you've been looking for your whole life. He can save you."
"What do I have to do?"
"You have to choose."
"What am I choosing?"
Suddenly, she changed. The light intensified. Grant blinked. And when he looked again, Bobby stood in front of him.
"Hey, buddy." He smiled.
"Bobby?" Grant stared with wide eyes, and disbelief. "You died."
"He brought me back. He can save you. He can save Kali? just believe."
"In what?" asked Grant.
"You know what comes after death, Grant?"
"No."
"Nothing." Bobby smiled with a scoff. "Everything I believed was just wishful thinking. I died, but wasn't rushed off to heaven. My father wasn't sitting and waiting. Heaven doesn't exist. God doesn't exist."
"You pledged your life to Him. You believed."
"I was wrong, Grant. All there is? is this, this world around us, the sky above us, and the ground beneath us. Heaven doesn't sit in the clouds. We die, and that's it."
Grant averted his eyes from Bobby, glanced at the stairway, and then closed them. He thought about it all. What had it been worth? What was it worth now? If it was all a trick, what was he actually losing? Did he believe in souls? Did he believe in the afterlife?
Even though Bobby stood in front of him, resurrected, Grant knew it wasn't Bobby. Maybe it was a trick. Maybe it was all a lie. But, all that mattered to him was the result. God hadn't answered his calls. But, this other being was. He was raising people from the dead; he was saving them.
Grant opened his eyes. Bobby grinned pleasantly, brushing his bangs from his face, and taking off his thick rimmed glasses.
"What do I need to do?" asked Grant.
"Dedicate yourself to him. Pledge yourself to the choice. Worship the idea. He will save her. The three of you will be a family again."
Grant stood silent, staring up the stairs. He thought about his life, his family, and his choice. The failure that he had been could now be undone. He was a father who could save his daughter, and a partner who could save his fianc?e. Finally, he had control over the things he loved most.
"Will you dedicate yourself to him?" asked Bobby.
"He has to prove himself to me."
"Go upstairs. She will rise. Your family will be restored."
Grant looked up the stairs. The sloth man was gone. When he turned around, Bobby was gone as well. The basement was dark. The presence was gone. His broken arm was repaired, as was his nose.
Without strain, Grant walked up the stairs. He looked right, seeing an empty couch where his friend had died. Was it possible that he was alive again? Was this being really the answer? No longer afraid of his surroundings, Grant turned left and walked down the hall. He grabbed hold of the handle, and opened the door.
Chelsea sat on the bed, holding Kali, still delusional. Grant looked at Kali. She was still dead. But, soon something happened. Her finger moved, and then her hand. She began to cough, her eyes brightened to a dark ocean blue, and she looked at Grant.
Suddenly Chelsea awoke from her delusional state of mind, looked down at her daughter, and then at herself.
"Kali?" She lifted her into the air. Kali smiled. "It's a miracle."
"Yeah," Grant smiled, crying a joyful tear. Finally his prayers had been answered. "He saved her."
"God?" she looked at him, and then at herself. "Why am I wearing this red dress?"
"No," Grant said. "God doesn't exist. Something else saved her, something real."
"What?"
"I don't know. But, I choose to follow him."
Immediately, Kali began to die again. Her blue eyes faded to a glazed over gray. Her skin darkened and toughened. Grant's eyes widened as he turned around. Sloth men stood in each doorway smiling.
"She's dying again, Grant!" Chelsea screamed. "Save her!"
"I can't." he whispered, looking at the sloth men, and then back at Chelsea. "I've failed." Suddenly his legs gave out beneath him, his eyes blurred, and his body began to ache.
"I have saved you." the voice was somewhere deep inside. It was distorted. Grant looked up at Chelsea, reaching out his hand as he got to his knees.
"Run." he whispered.
Chelsea sat on the bed, and watched her daughter die for a second time. She then looked at Grant. His eyes had blackened. They were burnished rabid stones.
"Grant?" she asked reluctantly. "Is that you?"
"Fear!" he was one of them now. "Mrk Frong Dore. Cos Legk Nith. Codor Sie Fore." Grant got to his feet. Chelsea began to back up on the bed, grabbing hold of her daughter, holding her close like a little girl with a teddy bear.
Grant knew nothing of what he did. He stared at Chelsea, seeing only a blur. He lunged forward, grabbing hold of Chelsea's thigh.
"Don't, Grant. Pl-please don't!"
He bit down. Her leg shook violently as his teeth tore it open; blood squirted free.
"Help me, God!" she pleaded. "Numb the pain."
Grant heard her cries. Somewhere deep within he was aware of what he was doing, but he couldn't stop. He was controlled; he was Insane.
Chelsea soon died, holding her daughter close. Maybe she found peace. Maybe she found God. But, Grant Smith was never able to. He had made his choice; he had embraced his freedom; he had been saved by a lie...
