Ropes in the Attic

by Edward Flora

  “No, I mean it doesn’t matter. Whether you make the right choice or not, once you make it you can’t undo it,” he said monotonously staring down at his hands. He formed circles on his desk with one finger.

  Dani no longer had to fight back her proud smile. Instead, she tried to keep her composure under the uncomfortable feeling lurking from the back of the room.

  “What about redemption?” she continued. “Carolyn, do you think people have the chance to make up for choices they make? Can they still choose which road to take once they’re already on one?” Dani shifted the focus of the conversation away from Mark, but he continued.

  “You can try to fix a decision you didn’t like, but that doesn’t make the effects go away. You can’t just run away from things you don’t like.”

  Dani felt as if this student was addressing her directly. That’s silly. Of course, he’s not. What does a 13-year-old know?

  She straightened her shoulders and used this discussion as an opportunity to get everyone in the class thinking.

  “Okay everyone, I have an idea. By the end of the week, I want everyone to come up with an argument. Is it better to take the road less traveled or play it safe? We’re going to break into teams and debate this question. Making choices is a challenge, but this assignment is to challenge the opposing theory. See you all tomorrow.”

  TWENTY

  The music playing on his headphones was louder than usual the next morning. Peter typically had an eclectic list of music selected for his runs. Most of the time, when he was trying to beat his record pace, the music reverberated louder and faster. Or when he was trying to distract himself.

  It wasn’t working.

  He replayed in his mind what unfolded after he took the key.

  Nothing.

  He recalled standing in front of the chest submerged in guilt.

  5 minutes…10 minutes…an hour…longer.

  The key he took from the cabinet. The key he stole. It had to have been locked away for a reason…but the cabinet was left unlocked. Peter wasn’t a thief but he began to feel like one.

  He didn’t even rationalize the moment he took the key from its box. He just did it. It was an impulse move. He remained inconclusive whether he even regretted it. It was as if the key had called out to him from its home in the cabinet. The only thing of any concern in that moment was finding out what was inside the chest. This key may not even be a fit. However, it burned away in his mind. It had been his only chance to find out, so he took it.

  Despite the pounding tempo of the music, Peter’s pace slowed.

  He tried to rationalize his actions at dinner.

  It’s a stupid idea. Don’t tell her, she’ll know you’re hiding something.

  “I found something at the book shop today.” I said don’t tell her!

  “Was it something to do with our house?” Dani half-joked.

  “Actually, it was,” he said as he watched Dani’s mood sink with his response.

  “An old key, it looked like it matched with that chest from upstairs.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Peter.” Flashbacks of the nightmarish statue came back and she went on the defensive.

  “Well I wanted to ask Tony about it, but I couldn’t find him so I left,” he continued.

  “And you left everything the way it was right?”

  Peter remained quiet.

  “Right?” she reiterated.

  “Yes, yeah of course I did.”

  “Okay. I don’t want to be a nervous wreck here, but we shouldn’t mess with stuff we don’t know.”

  The regret of lying to Dani weighed more on Peter than the feeling that he stole from Tony. However, it wasn’t his fault. The key called out to him. It wailed so loud that he couldn’t ignore it. The key had a hold on him and it wouldn’t let go until he opened that cryptic box.

  Before even reaching the halfway point of his run where he would simply follow the roundabout back home, Peter stopped. Dead in the road. He stared off into the distance, his two-and-a-half-mile mark within sight just down the road. It didn’t matter. He turned around and walked home. The number on his watch became irrelevant. The only thing of importance now was the key and what was inside the chest…if the key even opened the chest at all.

  Upon returning home, Peter bypassed the kitchen and his post-run meal. Even skipped the bathroom to splash his face (which was reacquainting itself with facial hair in the form of scruff). Instead, Peter headed directly for the second-floor. Gazing up at the hatch which led into the attic, he determined he needed answers now. He pulled the string, letting the wooden stairs fall in front of him. As he climbed the stairs, he trembled, thinking back to the day of the accident.

  Peter scooped the key off the table where the typewriter stood at attention. The wooden boards of the attic floor creaked as he approached the chest. He knelt-down in front of the mysterious box, his breathing significantly heavier. It was as if he was trying to fill his lungs with as much air as possible before diving into a pool. He had no idea what was inside, and that terrified him. Anticipating the unknown was something he couldn’t shake.

  Now in front of him rest either the answer or great disappointment. He fidgeted for a second before inserting the key. It went right in.

  Peter let out the breath he had been holding in. With the anxiety of the situation building, he almost had to remind himself to regulate his own breathing. He took another deep breath before proceeding to turn the key to the left.

  It clicked.

  He let out a huge sigh of relief, closing his eyes. He couldn’t stop shaking.

  Peter reopened his eyes and focused on the key…then the chest as a whole. A feeling of melancholy swept over him and he didn’t know why. This was the answer he had been waiting for, yet he couldn’t proceed.

  Why was it in the bookshop, locked away?

  How am I going to tell Dani I really did take the key?

  Peter took a step back away from the chest. A sudden jolt in his arm shot right through his body. His legs shook so badly he was barely able to stand upright. The adrenaline spiked through him and he began to hyperventilate.

  “Not a panic attack” HUFF HFF. “You’re okay.” HUFF FF FUU.

  “It’s not a panic attack,” he convinced himself out loud, wheezing. His uneasy voice bounced off the attic walls.

  Except it was a panic attack. The cold sweat and labored breathing disputed his argument.

  It had been a long time since his last attack. Not since talking to Dr. Urbridge in Brooklyn over a year earlier. He’d learned to overcome his attacks, or at least get ahead of the symptoms before one arose. However, once the anxiety set in, it was a different battle altogether.

  Several thoughts swirled around in Peter’s mind, jousting for attention. He stood there frozen, unable to direct himself.

  He snapped out of it, taking long minutes to recover himself. Kneeling back down, he turned the key back to the right, locking the chest. He stood up still shaking and sweating but able to walk back down the steps to the second-floor.

  The key left in its rightful home.

  TWENTY-ONE

  They sat at the table, finishing up the dinner prepared by Peter. For the second night in a row, in silence.

  Peter had spent a majority of the day up in his office writing. He had all but locked himself away. Dani felt him closing off.

  She looked across the table at her husband. The dark circles returned under his eyes. His facial hair growing thick and unkempt. He looked worn down as if he hadn’t slept in days, yet he had been by her side every night. She thought he had been sleeping…was he lying there awake? Was his anxiety back, preventing him from resting? She was all too familiar with this behavior from Peter.

  “How are you feeling lately?” She broke the awkward silence. “I mean…is everything okay?” Screw being passive.

  Given Peter’s history in dealing with issues, if there was a problem she didn’t want to let things build until they boiled over. Sh
e wanted to help.

  Peter glanced up from his plate and nodded.

  “I’m okay, just tired.” He sounded exhausted. “I’ve been doing a lot of research. Thinking. I’ve found a lot of information about the house and the woman who lived here before us. It’s some pretty crazy stuff. You wouldn’t even believe half of it if I told you.”

  “Like what?” Dani asked eager to crack the code of Peter’s walls.

  “I don’t even know where to start,” Peter continued as he got up from the table, bringing his plate over to the sink. “Honestly, it isn’t that important.”

  A blatant lie. As the words exited his mouth Peter could still see the blank pages of the book he read flipping in front of his eyes. The imagery branded in his memory.

  Dani sat at the table as Peter washed off the dishes. As dusk approached, the sunlight was at its strongest. Ultraviolet rays beamed through the window casting a silhouette around Peter. The room felt much bigger than it had before. Cold and empty the more Peter disconnected. A deep sense of aloneness pervaded Dani for a moment. Peter was avoiding the issue and she knew it. He had become a mystery to her. Much like the house itself.

  She had to think of something to bring him back from whatever it was. Or at the very least be his support system.

  “You should give Jeremy a call,” she blurted out as fast as the idea came to her. Dani kept talking even though this wildcard of an idea could backfire. “You guys haven’t spoken in a while and I’m sure he’d be happy to hear from you. Let him know about the house and your book. Maybe we can have him over for dinner one night.”

  Peter returned from the sink and Dani could finally see his face again. His cheeks puckered in and he’d turned pale, and she felt a tinge of regret about bringing it up. They were college roommates and best friends but drifted apart in the months leading up to graduation. Dani never knew the reason why. She didn’t think Peter knew either. Just a case of falling out of touch with someone was her best guess.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Peter replied, shaking his head. “He’s got his own thing going on. Probably really busy and all. It’s best that I don’t bother him.”

  Dani sighed. “Okay.” She forced a closed-mouth smile.

  “I’m just going to run back up to the office really quick. Just want to save my work. I’ll be down in just a few minutes,” he said.

  “You’ve been working so much lately though and you look tired. Why don’t you take a break?” Dani suggested. “I can make you some tea. We’ll sit and just relax. Maybe even watch your favorite movie. You owe it to yourself.”

  Peter’s eyes crinkled at the sides. “I’ll be back in just a minute.” Although the idea of sitting on the couch with some tea and a movie playing was tempting, there was no reaching him. Not when he was in writing mode. Determination sung through his veins—nothing was going to stop him.

  Dani got up from the table, bringing her own plate to the sink as Peter retreated upstairs again. She turned on the faucet and began washing the dishes hoping Peter wouldn’t spend the entire night up in that office. She harshly scrubbed at the dishes. She remembered when they met how he would always write to her. Poems, letters, little notes. It wasn’t much but each piece of writing was a tiny peek into his world. Even when he began writing more seriously, each idea he wrote down he would share with her. The dish slipped from her hands and rattled against the sink. Cracked.

  “Dammit.” She reached for a cloth to clean up the shards, shaking her head. Tears filled her tired, hazel eyes. Lately, he had shut that part of his world away from her. She missed him, even while he was right upstairs.

  #

  Peter pulled his chair back from the desk and sat down. Something immediately clicked in his brain and his focus fixated on the words on the screen again. “Chapter three” was still displayed on the monitor.

  He began typing again, breaking his promise to Dani of “just a few minutes”. Re-writing the same chapter which had given him some trouble before. It was just never good enough. Every time he looked at it, there was one more thing to improve on.

  A dull headache arose and Peter rubbed his temples. Looking up from the computer screen for a moment, he snapped out of his trance long enough to glance at the lake outside the window. The girl was back, in the same place he saw her wandering the first time. She wore the same clothes and shoes. Her hair was pulled back in the same manner except a few messy strands got away this time. She walked across the grass again and towards the fence. Her pace was less energetic than before as well. He recalled her animated body language previously. Whimsical almost. That of your average 10-year-old out to play. This time, her feet dragged through the grass as if being outside was a chore and not fun in the least.

  Peter stood up from his chair, his eyes following her closely.

  “Honey?” he called out to Dani.

  He didn’t break his line of vision with the visitor at the lake this time. That fence was not meant to be crossed. The girl continued on and neared the edge of the water. Peter’s hands tightened around the edges of his desk the closer she drew to the restricted area.

  “Dani? You see the girl outside?” Peter raised his voice, just about yelling.

  Something had to be done.

  He hurried down the stairs, still calling to Dani.

  “Do you see that?” he shouted as he passed through the kitchen and rushed his way out the back door.

  “What’s going on?” Dani dropped the sponge into the running water. She ran out after her husband.

  “Hey! Hey you, stop it! Don’t go in there!” Peter called out to the girl who was now waist deep in the water. Calmly, she descended down into the depths of the lake. Peter accelerated to a sprint trying to catch the girl before she became fully submerged.

  He hopped the fence, darting towards her, diving head first into the murky water. His body reacclimating itself with the action it used to be so familiar with. His arms guiding the rest of his body like a beacon into the cold abyss.

  The moment he entered the water, he understood the reality of the situation.

  She was gone. The little girl had been swallowed up by the depths of infinite darkness.

  Peter thrashed his arms in a panic. He hadn’t swum in over two years, since the accident. He’d avoided being in any body of water at all costs. The cold water dousing his skin shocked him into this realization. He furiously kicked his way back to the shore.

  As he reached the edge where land met water, Dani was there, hand outstretched to help.

  She pulled with all her strength to get Peter out of the lake. They fell together onto the grass, tears running down Peter’s face, his body rattling uncontrollably. Dani held him close.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered as her hand passed through Peter’s dripping hair.

  Assuring him was all she was able to do as he continued to bury his face in her shoulder. He was lost in the idea of where the girl had come from. Where she had disappeared to. Dani’s voice though comforting, felt distant.

  “There was something else I could have done,” was all Peter was able to say.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “I want you to be open with me,” Dani said as she placed a hot cup of tea in front of Peter.

  Sitting there in dry clothes, Peter hunched over the tea and rubbed his temples even though the headache had now ceased.

  “You didn’t see her?” His voice cracked.

  “Who? What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know.” He slouched down further knowing exactly what Dani would say next.

  “You can’t answer me with ‘I don’t know’. If something’s going on we need to communicate. That was part of our deal.”

  Peter fiddled with the mug in front of him. He didn’t know how to explain this craziness.

  “You are keeping up to your end of the deal, right? You only talk about the book. Are you actually making progress? You’re starting to make me wonder.”

  “It’s almost done,” Pe
ter grew defensive. “I’ve just been distracted. Having a hard time focusing. I’m not lying though.”

  “Don’t shut me out. I’ve seen this before and it scares me.”

  Peter stood up, putting his hands on her shoulders “I’m sorry. I won’t hide anything from you anymore.”

  She lifted her hand to his. She believed him. Besides he wouldn’t lie to her now.

  “I want to be part of your journey,” she said. “Show me your work. Like you used to.”

  “I will.”

  A drop of water fell from the faucet and splashed onto the broken plate in the sink.