House of Sand: A Dark Psychological Thriller

by Michael J Sanford

  “I don’t know. Almost seems like she’s just giving up on me altogether. I can’t even call what happened this morning a fight. It was nothing. And I’ve never once gotten through bill-paying time without visible wounds.”

  “Ah, maybe you’re better off without her.”

  I finish my beer and toss the can at Ty. He bats it away and throws his at me. It’s still half full. Beer sloshes over my shoes. Ty doubles over laughing, clutching at his golf club to steady himself.

  I kick the can aside. “It’s not that easy. You’re not married, you don’t have a kid. What’s the longest relationship you’ve even been in?”

  Ty stops laughing and looks at me straight-faced. “Relationship?”

  “My point exactly. I don’t need to be a genius to see Joy resents the shit out of me, but I’m not about to just bow out. Maybe if it weren’t for Aza… Not that I can afford to leave now, anyway. And besides I—we have a life here.”

  “Take it down a notch,” Ty says. He resumes his pre-shot routine. “It was just a joke. All you need is to get back on the horse. Job-wise, I mean. Then she’ll see you’re not just a hard body and respect you like the hunk of man you are.”

  “Your shameless flattery is always appreciated,” I say.

  Ty looks up from his golf ball and winks at me. I roll my eyes in return. I know he’s joking, but when Ty and I met for the first time, he hadn’t been. It was not far from the spot we’re standing at now, shortly after I’d lost my job. First, he complimented my swing, then he offered to give me a few pointers. He overemphasized the word pointers and was staring at my crotch when he did so. I carefully explained that I was both straight and married. Neither seemed to make much sense to Ty. He’s, as he calls it, an equal-opportunity lover, convention be damned! Whatever that means.

  “Always,” Ty says. “And I’m still happy to come over anytime. Sometimes adding a third is just what a marriage needs.”

  “Still no.”

  Ty takes a swing and misses the ball completely. The force of the maneuver spins him around like a top. He shakes his head and combs a hand through his platinum-blond hair.

  “Practice swing?” I ask.

  “Of course. Now, in all seriousness, how’s the job hunt going? Doesn’t sound like we have much time. You don’t want Joy finding someone else.”

  “Joy’s not like you,” I snap.

  Ty feigns offense. “You make me sound like a monster.”

  “No, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” In fact, I envy Ty in just about every way. He’s unconventional, but I’ve never seen him down. And he always manages to pick me up. Eventually. I’d never want his life—too unpredictable—but I can’t help but desire his attitude. “I have an interview tomorrow. Some office downtown. I don’t know. Joy set it up.”

  “Of course she did.”

  “Hey, only I can use that tone when talking about her. She’s my wife. You’ve never even met her.”

  Ty shrugs and fishes out another pair of beers. “Sounds awful, but I can get you a job. It’s technically in an office, but not office work.”

  “Yeah? What is it?”

  “Well, the building I work out of employs an outside company to clean—”

  “You want me to join a cleaning crew?”

  Ty stands tall and puts a fist to one hip. “It’s a very respectable job. They have a union now, you know.”

  “I can’t go to Joy with a job as a cleaner. Shit, she already thinks I’m a failure. At least unemployed I can make it seem like I’m holding out for that perfect fit. If I take that job, I’m basically saying I’ve given up. I used to be a paramedic, for fuck’s sake. I can’t go from saving people’s lives to cleaning up their shit.”

  “Go back to your old job, then,” Ty says. “Gotta imagine they’re always looking for people.”

  “You know I can’t,” I say.

  “Oh. Right. My bad.” Ty downs his beer, sets the can down, and hits it with his golf club.

  “That one almost went straight,” I say.

  Ty bows elaborately. “Well, if this office thing doesn’t work out, let me know. My offer remains on the table. I think you’d look cute in a maid’s uniform. You have the legs for it.”

  I thank Ty. I know he’s trying to be helpful, but there’s no way I can take a job like that. She’d never allow it. I can just hear her now. If she doesn’t leave me soon, she will if I settle for anything less than her sky-high expectations.

  “And how’s the whole hearing voices thing going?” Ty asks, circling his ear with a single finger.

  “I don’t hear voices, you prick. It’s just repetitive noises. I just can’t get some things out of my head. It’s like OCD or something. I’m not crazy.”

  “OCD?” Ty asks, eyebrow arched. “Oral Clitoris Destruction? Yeah, I know of it. Probably just what Joy needs, in fact. I could give you some pointers, if you want.”

  “Fuck you,” I say with a laugh.

  Ty’s the only one who knows about my propensity to fixate on stupid sounds and mundane things like that. It never happens when I’m with him, though. Must be a stress-related thing because I can’t get it to shut off when I’m around Joy. As if I needed one more complication in our marriage. I’m running out of time and can’t help but think the clock I often hear is counting down to just that.

  “Think Joy would take Aza with her if she left?” Ty asks. Sometimes it seems like he can read my mind. Or he just remembers the last dozen conversations we’ve had, all centered around Joy. “I mean, mothers usually do, yeah?”

  “Shit. Aza.” I haven’t given her much thought in the whole thing. “Of course she would. And it’s not like I could stop her. She’s got the stable, high-paying job. I’m unemployed and—”

  “We’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen, then,” Ty says.

  “Fuck, I really need that job tomorrow. If not for Joy and I, then for Aza.”

  “I’m sure it will all work out. Now, most importantly, you and Joy still…you know?” Ty asks, eyes giving away more of his meaning than his words. Nearly everything with Ty works its way back to sex, in one way or another.

  “I can’t even remember the last time Joy let me see her naked. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “Damn, this is more serious than I thought,” Ty says. “Better put that new suit to good use. I could swing by, help you get all dressed up. Make sure the fit is just right.”

  “You’re relentless, you know that?”

  Ty shrugs. “I have always been and always will be.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  For all its three hundred dollars, my new suit is stifling and restrictive. I’m mummified in false prestige. I’ve left the jacket in my car and I just know it will be the sole thing that keeps me from the job. It’s a feeling I can’t shake.

  The ground leading up to the building is polished stone. Marble. Granite. I don’t fucking know, but every one of my footfalls echoes.

  Tap. Tap.

  I stop just short of the entrance. Not because of my clacking shoes—I don’t need to move to still hear it—but because there’s a doorman. Christ, how nice a place is this? I tug on my sleeves and resist the urge to flee screaming into the streets. With as much of a breath as I can take wearing a tie, I step up.

  “How are you today?” he asks, stepping aside and pulling the glass door open.

  “Not much.”

  It runs on a loop in my head. The more I try to stop it, the louder it becomes. I can’t breathe in this godforsaken suit. I don’t dare loosen my tie, though I am sure it is getting tighter by the moment. If I loosen it too much I won’t be able to retie it. Joy thought it faster to do it herself than teach me. Fuck. I haven’t worn a tie since my mother’s funeral, and that was ages ago. It might have even been a clip-on.

  How are you today? Not much.

  It doesn’t matter that I answered like an idiot. That’s not why I can’t silence the echo. Even the most innocuous interactions tend to
cause the repeat button in my mind to stick. I don’t hear voices, but I sure as hell think them. Over and over. I’m generally able to shake it after a couple minutes, but not today. Not with the pressure heaped upon me, piled on higher than the twenty-story building looming overhead. If this was just to placate Joy, it’d be one thing, but it’s not. Aza is a part of this, too. This is for her.

  I’m in a lobby, staring at a placard of floors and names. I turn to look back at the entrance a dozen feet away. It’s a short distance, but I can’t recall covering it. I check the time. Still early, but I’ve lost ten minutes in the distance between the front door and here. Have I been staring at the sign this whole time? Or have I been worrying about a world without Aza and Joy?

  I clear my throat and search the list. Now is not the time for my neurotic bullshit.

  “Aha!” I shout, stabbing my finger at the list.

  A passing group of businessmen stare at me. I open my mouth to say something clever, but come up empty, and I’m left to watch them walk away.

  The elevator is out of service and my interview is on the fourteenth floor.

  Fuck.

  I check my watch again. Still early.

  How are you? Not much. How are you?

  My pant legs hardly bend enough to let me climb the stairs, and after the first flight, sweat breaks out across my forehead. I stop for a moment, arms extended at my sides, hoping to allow some airflow into my armpits. I cannot show up bathed in sweat and smelling like a gym rag.

  Not much. Not much.

  I slowly climb the stairs, trying to find that perfect point of exertion right before sweating. Others pass by on their way up. I wonder if they’re interviewing for the same position. Part of me wants to race them up the stairs as if it would increase my chances. Another part wants to push them back down. You can’t make an interview when you’re lying on a landing with a broken neck.

  How are you?

  The receptionist on the fourteenth floor stares at me as I ask where I’m supposed to be. My suit is clinging to me, stuck in every nook and cranny. I’ll never dig it out. There isn’t a dry spot on my body. And I still can’t take a full breath. This tie is going to be the death of me.

  “Uh, are you okay, sir?” she asks.

  I swallow a dry gulp of air and nod. “Fine. I’m here for an interview.” I can’t even remember the job title, company name, or who I’m supposed to be meeting with. I only hope the young woman with strawberry-blonde hair that can’t stop staring at my pit stains understands.

  “I know who you are,” she says.

  “Really? From where?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t recognize you. How do you know me?”

  The woman wrinkles up her face. “Uh, I don’t, sir.”

  “But you just… Didn’t you just say you know me?”

  “No. Are you okay, sir?”

  “Oh. Uh, yeah. I just… Never mind. I… I’m sorry. I’m here for the interview.”

  “Sure… Just sign in here and have a seat in the lounge.” She points to a circular area nearby with chairs and sofas. “You’ll be called when they’re ready for you.”

  “They?” I ask as I hastily scribble my name on the form in front of me. My fingers aren’t shaking. They’re twitching. I manage to get my full name out before the pen leaps from my hand to clatter off the receptionist’s keyboard. I’ve left a wet mark where my hand touched the paper.

  I don’t bother waiting for a response or another long stare. I don’t even apologize.

  The lounge is nearly at capacity. There are only two seats left, tiny gaps between other interviewees. I stand on the outskirts, trying to decide which will unsettle me the least. I opt to lean against a nearby wall. The one closest to the stairwell.

  How are you? How are? Not. Not much.

  I close my eyes and focus on slow breaths. I still can’t get the cycle of words out of my head. There had been a moment of distraction as I had climbed the stairs, but now, in relative silence, it starts again.

  “You look nervous,” a voice says.

  It sounds like a shout and I jump at it.

  “Oh, sorry,” a woman says. She’s nearly standing on top of me and smells sweetly of lavender.

  “No…it’s—uh—it’s fine.”

  She smiles—it reeks of pity—and leans against the wall next to me. She sighs and adjusts her perfectly pressed blouse. She’s about my age. I can’t decide if she’s attractive or not. The room is slowly swaying from side to side. It’s difficult to get a good look at her.

  “I hate interviews like this,” the woman says, nodding at the dozen people packed into seats in front of us. “Sitting around, waiting for them to call us in one at a time. Like we’re cattle, waiting for slaughter. Just one step from having our brains blown out.”

  “Them?” I ask. My heart flutters. I wonder if I’m suffering a heart attack or stroke.

  “Moo,” the woman says. She laughs. It’s a repulsive laugh, like nails on a chalkboard, but it’s far better than the silence.

  I grab at my tie and will it to let me breathe easier. I swear it tightens. I still can’t stop sweating. Rivulets run from my forehead. My toes squish with each movement.

  “Here, let me loosen that,” the woman says.

  She reaches for my neck and I swat her hand away. She holds her ground and stares at me.

  “Did you just snarl at me like a wild dog?”

  “What? No, I just don’t want to mess up my tie.”

  The woman seems nonplussed and leans back against the wall. She closes her eyes and tilts her head upward. “You gotta take a chill pill, man. I got some if you need something to take the edge off.”

  “No,” I try to say calmly, but I shout it instead.

  Everyone in the lounge turns to look at me. A dozen sets of eyes reflect back, flickering under fluorescent lights. They look like demons called up from the pit of my own despair. Which one will take the first bite? Will the taste of my flesh repulse them or incite a feeding frenzy?

  I close my eyes and push against the wall with my back. I focus on my breathing. I know I look like a mess. A monster of a man, sweat-drenched and trembling. I have to rein it in. If I don’t get this job, then Joy is going to leave me. I’m certain of this fact now.

  I’m surprised she hasn’t left already. Maybe she already has. It’s my own voice taunting me now, but it still feels foreign and I hate it. Worst of all, it might be right. I might be right. Not physically left, but perhaps Joy has moved on from me, found someone else, like Ty joked about. It’s only a matter of time before she leaves me altogether, and Aza with her. But if I were employed, I could at least retain partial guardianship. Right? I have no idea how the system works in that regard. I never thought I’d need to consider it. But the more I perseverate on it now, the more I’m convinced it’s an eventuality. Like death, I stand no chance.

  “Are you all right?” I hear the woman ask me. There’s a touch on my arm. It sends lightning racing up to jab at my temples.

  “Not much!” I yell.

  I open my eyes. Everyone is staring at me. I don’t stare back for fear I may learn what each is thinking. I have a terrible ability to read people at a glance. It’s almost never pleasant.

  I turn and run.

  It’s raining as I burst onto the street. I don’t remember getting here, but I’m still running. The doorman calls after me as I tear down the sidewalk. How are you today? Not. I’m not much today, you prick.

  The more I run, the easier it is to breathe. It’s electrifying. I feel like I’m flying, moving too fast for anyone else on the street to see me. I’m invisible.

  My foot catches on something hard and immovable. I pitch forward onto the concrete. Whatever breath I gained is now lost again.

  “Fuck!” I guess I’m not out of breath after all.

  Hands pull at my arm. A man helps me to my feet.

  “You all right?” he asks, giving me a look-over. I know
what he’s thinking.

  “Not. Fucking. Much,” I say.

  I turn and run again.

  I find a tight alley and duck into it. It does little to shelter me from the rain, but I embrace it, face turned toward the heavens, hoping to drown.

  I claw at my tie and tear it away from my neck.

  My suit is ruined. There are tears in both knees. The fabric is more mud than not at this point and I’m missing more than a few buttons on my shirt. But at least I got my tie off. I swear it was going to kill me. I toss it aside and stomp on it for good measure.

  My heart is still racing as I huddle against the rough brick of a shoe store, hidden from passersby. The rain is coming down in sheets now and the wind has picked up, blowing debris around my feet.

  I watch the people pass by on the sidewalk as I try to gain the courage to continue on with my day. No one is running or taking shelter from the deluge. I don’t see anyone opening umbrellas or hiding beneath folded newspaper. I’m soaked to the bone, but no one else in the world seems to be as bothered by it. I envy them. I hate them. I wonder if I could pull one into the alley without anyone else noticing.

  I pinch my eyes shut and squeeze my temples. Why would I think that? Just breathe.

  My phone rings. The sound echoes and a mustachioed man looks at me from the alley’s entrance.

  “Fuck off!” I yell.

  My own voice gives me a start and I retreat further into the alley, tripping over garbage as I fish out my phone.

  “Hello?”

  “Where have you been?” It’s Joy, yelling again.

  “I—uh—what do you mean?”

  “You were supposed to meet me at Aza’s school last night. It was important.”

  I don’t know what to say. She’s not making sense.

  “Where were you last night?” Joy asks. She’s fighting to keep herself from screaming. Hearing the restraint in her voice is worse than the unbridled rage.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I called you all night and you never picked up. Aza was home alone for an hour before I got home from work. And when you did get home, it was past midnight and you wouldn’t talk to me. Passed out on the couch. So, I’ll ask you again, where were you?”