Never Fear

by Heather Graham

  Her words were cut short by the--sleeping, now awake-- baby’s cries from the converted guest room down the hall.

  “See? He agrees with me,” she said.

  “Oh that’s what he’s saying?” I gave her one more kiss to the cheek. “Give him a kiss for me.” I stepped into the garage hitting the button attached to the wall at shoulder level to raise the garage door.

  I took in the heavy, salty, damp air of the California coast as it swept into the garage, gave Nickie a nod and jumped into the Mercedes. I backed out, closing the garage door via the remote. I knew Nickie would wait until the garage door had nearly touched the cement flooring of the drive before she stepped back and headed for the nursery. She always waited to make sure the door had closed completely, a concern born from watching too many episodes of Forensic Files.

  It took about twenty-five minutes to drive the five miles from the house, until I pulled into the parking space, clearly marked by a sign that read: “Reserved for Ad Lib Vice President,” a perk that put a smile on my face every time I saw it.

  “Hey CJ,” I said, walking into the wall-less space that served as offices for most of the forty or so employees of the firm. I smiled again as I walked by the overstuffed chairs, sofas, pillows and a few draft-style desks that were spread throughout the space—a far cry from the office set-up I had been used to. But this was California.

  CJ was curled up on a red velvet sofa, he looked up from his computer tablet. “Kurt.”

  “How you coming along on the project?” I asked him, stopping just outside of my office door.

  “Great. Let me show you.” CJ flopped off of the sofa and followed me into the office. He sat down on the slick, black leather chair that some designer had placed in the traditional location in front of my desk, long before I joined the firm.

  I eased into the high-tech office chair positioned behind the desk, adjusted a pen that was out of place, leaned back in the chair, “Show me what you’ve got,” I said.

  CJ handed the tablet to me. He had a sly grin that spread across his square jawed face.

  I took the tablet, glanced down at it as a slight rumble vibrated through the office. “Did you just feel that?” I looked around to see if anything was swaying.

  “Nope.” CJ looked to the same places I was looking, “What are we looking for? What did we feel?”

  “I thought it was a quake.”

  “Probably just a big rig on the 5 shaking the place.”

  “Hope so.”

  “Happens all the time. Big rigs, probably over loaded, hit a bump in the road and the whole building shakes. I don’t even notice it anymore. You’ll get used to it too,” CJ said.

  “Hope so. Quakes were never a worry for me in upstate New York.”

  “Maybe so, but look at all you get if you’re just willing to shake a bit every now and then.” CJ grinned, shaking himself in the chair.

  “Oh yeah, traffic and more traffic and…”

  This time even CJ felt it. The building swayed slightly to one side and then back, righting itself. Then a rumble and hard jolt shook the building.

  CJ jumped up and headed for the doorway. “Ok you’re right.”

  I grabbed hold of the edge of the desk, hoping it would secure me to the spot.

  The building swayed slowly in one direction then back and to the other side. Then once again before it righted itself.

  “What the hell?” I said with a bit more volume than I had anticipated putting into my voice.

  A picture frame on my desk followed the motion of the building, and like a chair on a swaying ship, slid from one side of the desk to the other before falling off. It was followed by a gold-plated letter opener. The sharp pointed tip fell directly into the center of the picture frame, cracking the glass and piercing the heart of the images in the picture: my wife, Nickie, holding our son. “Is it over?”

  CJ let go of the door jam. “I think so. Most of the time they’re quick like that.”

  “This building swayed like crazy. Are we safe?” I got up and moved to the window, taking a long look at the cars and people below. Traffic continued moving on the roadways, and people milled about and continued in and out of shops as though nothing had happened. “Fuck!” I let out a long breath.

  “We’re good. A lot of buildings are on rockers, like a rocking chair, so they sway rather than fall down.”

  “I’ll take the swaying then.”

  CJ laughed, came up beside me at the window, slapped me on the back. “Welcome to your first earthquake, boss.”

  “Hope it’s the last,” I said and moved to the desk. “I’m going to check with my wife. Let’s go through the campaign ideas later. To be honest, I’m kind of shaken up by this.”

  “Pun intended, I hope?” CJ laughed.

  I didn’t get it and raised an eyebrow in CJ’s direction before it sunk in. I shook my head, picked up the phone and dialed.

  Nickie answered on the first ring. “Hello?” The sound of a cooing baby filled the slight pause between the “Hello,” and my response.

  “Well you all seem to be fine.”

  “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “Didn’t you feel it then?” I moved the receiver from one ear to the other.

  “Umm. That would be a no.” Then she added, “Feel what?”

  “There was an earthquake.”

  “It must have been little quake, the baby and I didn’t feel a thing.”

  “Good then. I just wanted to check on you.” I let out a long breath as if I had been holding it. Maybe I was?

  “You ok?” There was a slight edge of concern in her voice. “No…” She paused in an attempt to find the right words, “…issues then?”

  “No, I’m good. Just a little concerned and rattled.”

  “Earthquake humor?”

  I hadn’t even noticed that I had done it again. “I didn’t mean to.”

  The baby’s cooing turned to cries. “I’ll see you tonight. The baby’s hungry so let me go.”

  “Ok. I’ll be home right after work.” I held onto the phone, expecting a response. Only the silence of a dead line remained. I put the phone down into the cradle on the desk, then leaned back into the chair and closed my eyes.

  ***

  No issues, she had asked.

  “Issues,” I whispered.

  The panic had come out of nowhere. I was fine and then… I wasn’t. Nickie and I had just entered a cutlery store on West 72nd Street after a great stroll through Central Park. It was our first trip to New York City and before moving to California for my new position with Ad Lib. We put together a quick itinerary and headed off on the first flight we could catch to New York.

  The panic set in quickly. The air suddenly got thicker. I was having a hard time breathing. It wasn’t like I couldn’t get a breath, I could. I just couldn’t get a deep breath and began to feel as though I was slowly suffocating. Nickie smiled at me as we stepped farther into the store. I hoped that she hadn’t noticed anything off about me. I smiled a fake smile back and tried to take in a deep breath. Sweat started to bead up under my arms and above my lip. I casually wiped it away from my face with the back of my hand. Nickie picked up and examined a paring knife.

  “We could use one of these,” she said, then placed the knife down.

  “Let’s wait until we get to Cali before we buy too much and have nowhere to put it.”

  “You’re right.” She put her hand on my chest. “Kurt, what’s wrong, you’re sweating?”

  “It’s just warm in here.” I tried to act nonchalant. It didn’t work.

  “Not really, Kurt. No, it’s not. Are you sure you’re feeling ok?”

  I took in a deep breath, well as deep as I could, then let it out, “Sure, I’m fine. Ready to move on?” I wanted to get outside as quickly as I could. I wanted to run for the door. I wanted out, and I wanted out now.

  “Sure, let’s continue down the street.”

  I held on with all that I could muster. Blades glea
med in the floodlights. Black and silver, brass and gold. So many sharp edges, all around. I wanted to grab them, feel the razor edges slice through my skin. Cut me so deeply that only bone would stop the blade. I stuck my hands into the pockets of my jeans, safe from the blades.

  We turned to walk toward the door, just as a group of Japanese tourists poured into the store, led by a young woman holding a small Japanese flag on a stick high above her head. The throng followed her into the store, blocking the way out. Nickie stepped to the side, allowing the group to parade by. My chest grew heavy. The air in the store felt depleted. The Japanese tourists were taking in all the oxygen and I began to suffocate. I bolted for the door, smashing into the little Japanese men and woman still streaming into the store. I pushed at them, not caring at all if they fell into shelves, or cursed at me with vowel-filled words. I needed to get out, and I needed to get out now. I could faintly hear Nickie in back of me calling my name. I couldn’t stop. I reached the door and squeezed out shoving people as I did. I stumbled onto the sidewalk, gulping in great breaths of the silt-filled city air. I leaned against a street sign, closed my eyes, and a moment later, heard Nickie’s voice. She was standing right next to me.

  “Kurt? Kurt?”

  I opened my eyes, looked at her. She was flushed with both concern and anger.

  “What the hell was all that about?”

  I breathed out, felt the weight lifted from my chest. “Sorry Nickie, I don’t know. I just had to get out of there.”

  I saw the look on her face soften. “Kurt, you’ve got me worried.”

  “Don’t’ worry. It’s just the stress of the move and the new job. It just got to me.” I took hold of her hand and kissed it gently. “Come on we’ve got a lot more city to see.” I held tightly to her hand as we moved away from the store, heading uptown. In the back of my mind I could hear the blades calling me back.

  ***

  I walked in expecting Nickie with the baby in arms to be standing in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner. I was wrong. “Nickie. I called out, expecting a response from the nursery just down the hall. I was wrong again. I closed the door behind me and walked through the kitchen into the family room and then down the hall toward the nursery. No one. I pulled my cell phone out of my back pocket--I had a terrible habit of carrying it there and I’d broken more than one screen by sitting on the phone--and hit recent calls. Before the phone could connect, Nickie called from the kitchen.

  “Kurt?”

  I came around the corner to find her holding the baby in one arm, a bag dangling from her hand in the other and one leg stretched back, keeping the door from closing fast. “Let me help you.”

  “Take the baby, my arm is going to break,”

  I grabbed the baby from her arms, planting a kiss on his head as I did. “Where were you?”

  “Oh, I took the baby for a walk around the block and we passed a garage sale,” she said, coming into the kitchen and plopping a bag down on the counter. “I have one more in the garage.” She retrieved it and return.

  “So what’s all of this?” I asked pointing to the bags. I set the baby in the playpen, handed him a favorite toy and brushed his head with my hand.

  Nickie pushed a few sweaty strands of hair back from her face. “I don’t know what got into me, I’m not really a garage-sale-girl, but I stopped to look at a stroller for the baby. I just couldn’t buy it even though they offered it to me at a really good price. I got a bit skeeved thinking about the baby in someone else’s stroller and not being sure if they kept it clean. Kind of stupid I know, but I’m a new mom, what do you want?”

  She gave me a look that made me unsure if I was supposed to answer or agree. I remained silent.

  “But I did get a really good deal on these,” Nickie continued. “I thought we could use them and they’re still wrapped.” She pulled a cellophane wrapped wooden block from the bag and plopped it down on the counter. “Look.” She spun the block around.

  My face went flush as though all the blood that could rushed to it, and then just as quickly drained away. I took several steps back hitting a small table as I did. The vase that had sat atop the table, filled with dried flowers, tumbled to the floor. Only the thick carpeting kept it from breaking.

  “Kurt? Kurt!” Nickie’s voice was filled with question and concern.

  “No. No!” I kept my voice soft and low at first. It sounded like I was strangling. “No! Go! Get that out of here. Get away. Get away.” I turned and dashed out of the room without a second thought.

  I could hear Nickie following. She came up behind me as I fell to the bed and buried my face into the comforter.

  “What is up with you?” She sat next to me, softly rubbing her hand along my back. I could feel the cool damp fabric of my shirt press against my skin.

  “I don’t know.” My voice was muffled by the comforter. “I took one look at the knives in that block and it just freaked me out.”

  “We have knives. They’re in the drawer. Those don’t bother you.”

  “I can’t explain it Nick, but when I see them I want to run. I don’t know how to say it.” I paused waiting for the right words, “They want me to do… things.”

  “The knives? The knives want you to do things? What?”

  Those weren’t the right words. I should have chosen better, but that’s how I feel. The knives try to take hold of me. Control me. I couldn’t tell her that. “That’s not exactly what I meant.” I hated to lie to her. “I just don’t think straight when I see them. That’s all.”

  “Why? What do you think will happen?”

  Immediately words filled my mind, trying desperately to escape, to be free from my thoughts, to be spoken. “Sharp.” I held back as much as I could but that one word got by me. It came out slowly, almost growling. I felt the pressure alongside of me on the mattress easy up, and Nickie stood. She kissed me on the back of the head and left the room, closing the door behind her.

  The room fell quiet, only the sound of my breathing accompanied me. I counted my breaths, trying to find a rhythm and comfort in the slow in and out of my breath.

  The panic slowly dissipated. My heart beat steadied and my eyes closed.

  When I awoke, it was morning. I was still dressed in the clothes from the night before. I rolled to the side and almost fell from the bed. I hadn’t even crawled into the covers. I awoke where I had fallen asleep.

  “Nickie?” I spoke her name quietly as I stepped out of the bedroom. No answer. I stood, frozen for a moment in my own thoughts, before a sound from the kitchen brought me out of the stupor. Nickie was attempting to put the dishes from the night before into the dishwasher with as much stealth as possible. It wasn’t working. “Good morning.” I couldn’t think of another way to let her know I was there. It felt stilted and I’m sure my words came out that way.

  She turned to me, startled. “I didn’t know you were up.”

  “I know.”

  A pause followed. When neither of us knew how to break the awkward silence. She gave it a try.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  It was an attempt. “Um, yeah,” I responded.

  “Feeling better too?”

  I knew where this was going so I just went there. “I think so. I also think that I should see someone, you know, a doctor or psychiatrist.” I waited a moment for her to respond, when she didn’t I added, “Maybe I could get some meds or something?”

  “I think that would be a good idea.” She came over to me and wrapped her arms around me, laid her head on my chest and squeezed me. “You have me really worried.”

  I kissed the top of her head and hugged her back. “I’ll make an appointment today.”

  ***

  The cold tiles of the shower stall chilled my naked body as I leaned my back onto them, then slid down to my hunches. I eased the paring knife up to my mouth. Then smiled as though a photographer was demanding, “cheese!” I slid the paring knife along the smooth surface of the tooth. The tip
pierced the gum, slicing into it. I pushed on the handle; the knife point dug deeper. When I felt the blade hit bone, I eased the pressure and tilted the handle away from my face, causing the blade to pivot in between the fleshy bleeding gums and the roots of the tooth. I pushed down, prying the roots loose from their footing. The gums tore, blood dripped in constant droplets that threatened to turn into a stream. The blood covered my hands and my grip on the knife slipped. The blade fell from my hand, spun as it did and lodged into my thigh. I muffled a scream, pulled the knife from tightened muscles and muffled another scream. Breath came to me heavily, Sweat mixed with blood. The smell of fear and cooper. A pair of long-nose pliers lay just in reach, left behind from some forgotten task Nickie had asked me to complete. I grabbed at them, tightening my grip on the pliers in my left hand, spread them apart and pushed them closed several times. Then I raised the pliers to my mouth, reached in, with what reminded me of a heron’s beak, and clamped down on the tooth and yanked. I strained, applying more pressure, and the tooth slipped out--actually a bit more easily than I had thought it would. I opened the pliers, dropping the tooth to the shower floor and went back in applying the same technique on the tooth next to the first, and it too slipped out. I felt the pliers scratch against an incisor and like the heron stabs at a frog or fish, the pliers took control grasping onto the tooth. I pulled, it didn’t budge. I pulled harder, feeling a scream that came up from my gut, escape my mouth. Blood and spit sprayed out over the shower tiles. I pulled harder, this time twisting the pliers to the right and left as I did. The tooth ripped from my gums and the screaming stopped. Without emotion I examined the tooth, studying the roots, blood and tissue that clung to it. I tossed the tooth to the floor, reached in for the next, grasped it tightly. The tooth cracked and splintered. I turned my hand twisting the pliers and the tooth creating a gap between my gums and the root of the tooth. I tried to scream but blood and spit muffled the sound. I pulled. The tooth came out with a pop. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I spat it out, and before the blood could fill my mouth again, gagging me, I went in for the next tooth. “Sharp,” the word gurgled from my mouth. “Sharp.” I could not stop. The knives would not let me. They commanded me. They controlled my thoughts and actions. They wanted to hurt me.