by Casey Lane
I hesitated. I felt so weak. I wished that I could spew out the entire mess right here in front of her and be done with it. I wished that I could tell her how I felt like I had failed, not only my mother, and my brother, but David, as well. Hell, I failed myself. I failed everyone, even that poor soul in the trunk of the cab drivers car. Who knew what would happen to him tonight?
I could have been a hero.
My eyes lowered. “No, it’s just been a bad day, I’m sure tomorrow will be better.”
And there it was, the lie that would change everything.
I swallowed hard, and she stepped out the door and gave me a quick nod before she closed it. Mrs. Thorn came with the building, or so it seemed. I still remember when I moved in, over six years ago. I was still in nursing school, and struggling financially, so the rent was affordable. She immediately took to me, and we had spent a few nights over the course of the past few years having heart to heart talks after some of my hardest nights came and went. Some when I was drinking and some when the abuse at the hand of whatever controlling boyfriend had cycled through left me with a bloody lip or a black eye. Everyone else bought how clumsy I seemed to be, but not her. She knew the truth.
I guess in a way she was the mother that I never had. Mine was often high on painkillers and alcohol. She would be passed out before I came home from school each day. This went on until…well until she died.
I lifted my arm and turned it over, running my fingers over the scar on my right wrist then I repeated it on the left. I had cut myself many times, but these had been the worst. I almost died and often I wish that I had.
If I had succeeded, then I wouldn’t have buried my mother or my brother. I wouldn’t have endured a trial as my father sat accused of killing her and ultimately was found guilty as he should have been. I wouldn’t have allowed myself to be abused by so many men, disregarding my worth just as my mother had. I wouldn’t have found myself diagnosed with a terminal brain tumor, and I could have skipped watching the light fade from David’s eyes.
I scanned the bathroom and spotted her razors on the sink. I felt my fingers tingling, and my heartbeat jumped in my chest. This could be it; this could be the relief that I needed, but no.
I couldn’t possibly do this to Mrs. Thorn. She didn’t deserve that. Travis, he was someone who deserved it, but knowing him, he would slap me around even in death, pissed off that I had finally escaped his torturous nature.
No. I can’t. I’m bound to die a horrible death, and why? What could I have possibly done to warrant this type of ending? This is exactly why I don’t believe in a God. No God would allow such suffering, and all that talk about trial and tribulation for a reason is complete bullshit.
Unless God is a sadist.
Now the devil? The devil has a clear agenda. There’s someone I could believe in, not as a follower, but as someone who would enjoy this chaotic mess and the suffering that comes along with it.
Yes, maybe the jokes on us. Maybe there is no heaven, only hell.
“I surrender,” I muttered before I closed my eyes and allowed the water to encase me as I slid beneath the surface.
All sound faded. All worry subdued. Death doesn’t have to be messy. It can be quiet and peaceful. Coming like a thief in the night.
Chapter Five
I woke on my back spitting up water as Mrs. Thorn shook me, pulling me up into a sitting position. I took a deep breath, not knowing exactly what had happened. I coughed up a bit more, and along with it, a little blood. I touched my lip and pulled my hand back, staring at the glossy red stain on my fingertips.
“You almost drowned.” She said as she helped me to my feet. We made our way over to the bench, and I sat down on it, taking one deep, painful breath after the other.
“I must have drifted off.”
She touched my hair and moved it out of my eyes. “What a blessing that you came here tonight.”
I nodded to her and touched my chest. It ached from the water that had filled my lungs.
I looked up at her and half grinned. “Thank you.”
She leaned down and stared into my eyes with curiosity. “What did you see?”
I paused. I had seen nothing, nothing at all, but the look on her face forced me to lie.
“A light…bright white at the end of a long tunnel.”
She nodded to me, and the smile that followed made me feel calm. There was something about her that offered more than safety; it was an oasis. Mrs. Thorn had lost her husband years ago, and she longed to be with him again. She was faithful to the church and to giving all that she could to those around her. Being in her presence made me feel like a better person, but here I was lying about what I had seen and what had actually happened.
It was the same when I had slit my wrists. There was no light, no warm feelings of peace and tranquility. Just darkness. It was like flipping the light off. One moment I was here and the next… gone.
So how could I be afraid of nothing? Nothing seemed like a welcomed relief from this life.
“You need rest.” She added.
I nodded and stood up without any trouble. No dizziness, no nausea. I was grateful.
“I’m going to sleep in my bed tonight,” I whispered. She didn’t argue with me. That was another thing I appreciated about her. She was just easy to be around. No conflict at all. I know that I tend to crave it with my relationships, but not with her. What I craved the most was her stability, of which she had in abundance.
“Very well.”
She helped me into one of her husband’s many robes. They still smelled like him. Sandalwood and myrrh. I closed the robe and clutched it against my chest. She walked me to the door and out I went into the chilly hallway. She stood in her doorway until I got into my apartment and closed the door. I leaned up and peered out the peephole as she lingered with a sad look on her face.
She had saved my life and asked for nothing in return, but the look on her face told me everything. She knew the truth, just as well as I did.
I sighed as I turned to look at the mess in the living room. I wasn’t exactly a housekeeper by any means. In fact, I acted more like a first-year college student, living on ramen noodles and pizza.
I walked to my bedroom and leaned against the doorframe. The wood creaked as it always had. This place was disintegrating all around me, not so unlike my life seemed to be doing without much effort at all.
Everyone I cared about was slowly being taken away from me, one by one.
My mom, my brother, David.
Very little ties to this world remained, and maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. It makes it so much easier to let go.
My eyes scanned the room, and I spotted the picture of David and me on top of my old dresser. I walked over to it and picked it up, staring at the two of us leaning into each other’s shoulders with goofy grins on our faces. I touched his face with my fingertip. The glass was cold and lifeless. It sent a chill through my hand and up my arm.
“David,” I whispered as one tear rolled down my cheek and I wiped it away with the back of my hand.
I finally decided to lay down with the picture lying next to me. I didn’t invite the dreams in, but they came, one after the other in the form of nightmares. I watched David die over and over again as I stood helpless.
Then the haunting words struck me as the man stood before me with his arms raised in submission.
See you in hell, hound.
My red hair whipped up around my face, and the hot flames lapped at my feet. The pain was exquisite, yet I accepted it without complaint. I felt a hand slide across my stomach. Red hot skin against mine. I trembled as pouty lips grazed my ear. A man’s voice consumed me.
“I see you, Halo Bay.”
I sat straight up on the bed and sucked in my breath. My chest still ached from the nearly fatal drowning earlier in the night. I rubbed my eyes until they focused in on the time. 3:33 was staring back at me in red. I closed my eyes and whispered good luck ten times. It w
as something my brother always did when all the numbers were the same, and old habits are hard to break. Especially for me.
I made my way out of bed and dropped the robe to the floor. I replaced it with my black leggings and a white t-shirt. My hair was still damp, so I grabbed a hair tie and twisted it in a large ball and secured it on the top of my head. I should cut it, but my father hated long hair, and I keep it out of spite.
I walked into the living room and stared at the mess. I immediately started to collect the clothing and shoes. I made a few trips to the bedroom, shoving them into the closet until the door was stuck and I had to jam the rest in as I used my shoulder to brace it. I paused and closed my eyes as another dizzy spell tried to overtake me. Then something new happened…a sharp pain rushed between my eyes and back up again. I moaned and pressed my fingers against my forehead, and it alleviated some of the pressure. I opened my eyes, and everything became fuzzy and then came back into focus.
The pain was a reminder of my inevitable fate. I placed my hands on my knees and stared at the floor. The dull ache finally faded. I stood up and sucked in my breath then let it out slowly. I had practiced some Yoga at one point, pretending like my health mattered. I tried to recall the relaxation techniques. I held my arms out to my sides and tried to imagine a beach and rolling blue waves. I sucked in my breath when the water turned blood red and lapped at my feet. I took a step back and blinked, the image immediately disappeared, and I decided to ditch the meditation.
I returned to the living room and stared at the barren scene. Without the mess, it was modest at best. I had two chairs, a couch, a small TV on an even smaller stand and a short table by the front door that housed all of the mail that I ignored. The room was painted white, but over time the walls had started to crack, and thin fissures ran the length of the wall just above the three windows overlooking the street down below. It had a small ledge protruding inward of which I once planned on utilizing for reading, but me and books never seem to make it very far. I get distracted or bored, and then there’s my life, which appears to be the perfect storm. The past twenty hours had been a quick catch-up since things had been so calm when David and I…
“David,” I whispered as I placed my hand on the glass and felt the vibration from the oncoming train. The rail ran above the street and close enough to be annoying to most people. That and the neighborhoods unsavory characters made this more than affordable in New York City. A place where rent would usually be financially devastating.
This wasn’t my first choice when apartment hunting, but seven years later and here I still sat on the east side nestled between a liquor store, a porn shop, and St. James Cathedral that effectively blackened out the sky on a sunny day.
The vibration strengthened and the train came barreling across the rails suspended above the street. I narrowed my eyes as the bright light in each car blurred into the next. I could see shadows representing people that I would never know. Then the lights blinked a few times and the train went dark. I leaned forward and studied the darkness as whispers rose up all around me. Suddenly the train lit up in fiery red, flames lapping at the frame. Hands slammed against the windows, one after the other, and the screams of terror…God, the screaming made my teeth grind. My hand balled into a fist and slammed against the window, one, two, then three times.
“Stop!” I yelled, and with that, the train returned to normal right before the last car barreled out of sight. My heartbeat raced in my chest, and the sweat rose on the surface of my skin. I felt feverish, and the chill followed forcing me to cross my arms over my chest.
“What the hell?” I whispered as I leaned forward and placed my hands on the paint-chipped window sill and stared into the street below. The dizziness faded. I swallowed and rubbed the side of my neck then I spotted a pimp who was becoming aggressive with one of his girls. I tugged on the window and finally got it opened. I leaned out and pointed a finger at him.
“Stop messing with her you piece of garbage!”
“Shut up before I shut you up!” the man screamed back at me. I cocked an eyebrow and yelled down with a smile. “You promise? I mean, honestly, if I come down there will you try?”
He waved a hand and dismissed me as he reached out and grabbed the girls arm. She yelped in pain. He lifted his hand and smacked her across the face, not once, but three times. I leaned back and rushed to the kitchen, jerking the drawer open and letting it fall to the floor. Silverware shot out in all directions, but my eyes caught sight of the only thing that I was looking for, a butcher’s knife with a long thick blade. I reached down and gripped it firmly in my hand. Something new overtook me, and I felt no fear. In fact, I felt like I was obligated to help this girl, even though I didn’t know her at all.
I ran to the door and left it wide open as I rushed down the hallway and hit the stairs. I navigated them with little issue, only pausing once when a dizzy spell hit me. Finally, I pushed on the front door and made my way out into the night air. The heat of the city immediately forced a sweat to well up on my face and arms. I didn’t care about anything. Especially myself. If this was the one thing that would end this then so be it. At least I would have stood for something.
I turned and spotted the pimp roughing the girl up as he had her pinned against the side of his car. An old man stumbled past me with a brown paper bag, concealing his liquor bottle. He took a swig and muttered some gibberish. I made my way over to the man who was roughing up the small girl. His size was, even more, intimidating now that I stood behind him and had to look up. I stopped, and the muscles in my jaw tightened until my teeth ached.
Do it, Halo. Do something that matters.
“Hey,” I said as my voice cracked. He ignored me. I shook my head and spoke again, only this time with more aggression. “Hey, jerk!” My knife shook in my hand as it floated between us.
The man half turned with his weathered hand wrapped around the young girl's throat. Now that I stood face to face with her I could see that she was barely legal. Maybe nineteen, twenty at best.
I lifted the knife between us. “Let her go, now.”
He laughed, I guess I would have, too. His dark eyes gave me a once over, and he turned back and lifted his hand, ready to slap the girl again. Then he balled his fist, and that old familiar crack of bone on bone rang out in the night air. The girl groaned, and I could see her knees start to buckle.
“I told you what would happen if you became lazy, you whore.” He said without mercy. “You are a worthless little piece of ass. Maybe I can train you a little harder on how to please a man.” He hit her again, and the whimpering followed.
“Please, please.” She choked out, and he laughed.
“Please…please.” He said mockingly as he cocked his head from side to side, mimicking her high timid voice. “Please doesn’t do me any good, whore. Money…money is what matters.”
“Make…me…money!” He hit her between each word.
Suddenly something came over me as the girl's eyes landed on mine. “Please, help me.” She whispered through bloodied teeth. The knife shook in my hand, and my grip tightened. I stared at it in horror and then back to her. His laughter lifted into the night sky. I looked to the left then to the right. No one would save her. No one could. No one but me.
I gripped the knife firmly in my hand and jabbed it forward, cutting through his black leather coat and slicing into the side of his back. He yelled out in pain and let the girl go, quickly reaching down and fingering at the fresh cut. His fingers lifted and I could see the blood. I knew that I hadn’t fatally wounded him, but maybe I should have.
Maybe I should keep stabbing him until he can’t stand anymore. Maybe I should do it until he chokes on his own blood and begs me for mercy. I lifted the knife, not so unlike Norman Bates, and prepared to aim for his heart. Revenge and anger overtook me. A deep hatred for him and anyone like him. The serpents on this rock, the demons. I should make him pay for what he’s done and the suffering he’s inflicted on so many. I could jud
ge him. I should judge him for his sins.
He balled up his fist and reared back. I shifted my stance and prepared to take him down without worry of retribution or consequence.
A calm voice interrupted me just as I stood on the edge of no return. “It seems that the nights keep getting hotter and hotter.”
We both paused. “Shut up, old man.” The pimp grumbled as he wiped his bloody hand on the side of the girl’s skirt. The wound was more of an annoyance for him than anything. It annoyed me. I wanted him to tremble before me, beg for mercy. I grit my teeth, and the ringing rose in my ears. I spoke louder to combat it.
I wagged the knife in his direction. “Be respectful!”
He glared at me. “Respectful?” his laughter made my entire body tense up. I wanted nothing more than to kill him. I wanted to make him beg for forgiveness where none could be found.
I took a step toward him, and the old man positioned himself in between us. He faced me without fear.
“Halo, please.” He whispered as he eyed the bloodied knife in my hand.
“Give it to me, please. You’re better than this.” He added.
“He should be judged,” I whispered back to him. My eyes remained glossy and my stance firm. I felt regret. If I had only stabbed further in then, I could have punctured his liver or a kidney, and he’d be writhing in pain. I could have sliced through an artery, bleeding him out in a matter of minutes, but no, I merely gave him a flesh wound, a warning shot fired without consequence.
“Judgment is not for you to decide.” The man spoke and broke through my anger.
I stared down at the knife. Suddenly it hit me dead in the chest, and the weight of my hatred nearly knocked me to the ground. I cleared my throat and tried to regain my composure. The deep wrinkle between my eyebrows started to fade and along with it the hate and willingness to take a life that wasn’t mine for the taking. I’m not sure what came over me, but this piece of garbage was about thirty seconds away from finding out how far I could go.
I took a long breath and then handed him the weapon. “He started it, Father Keith.”
