House of Sand: A Dark Psychological Thriller

by Michael J Sanford

  “What happened to us?” she asks, her voice cracking.

  “I think I’m just broken. Doomed us from the start.”

  Joy doesn’t answer right away. “Maybe we’re both broken.”

  It’s not fair that Joy blame herself for any of this. I’m the monster, but I can’t get myself to say the words. Instead, I wait for her to continue.

  “I didn’t love you at first,” she says. It catches me off guard, but I’m not about to argue. Whatever she says, I know I need to hear it. Perhaps it can stitch together whatever is left of me. “I mean, we had fun together, back then, but I don’t know… Maybe that’s where it all went wrong. I knew you had your…issues, but that was part of what drew me to you. You were damaged. But exciting. You looked at the world in such a straightforward and honest way. You saw a lot of things people take for granted. And you were driven.”

  “I don’t remember that version of myself.”

  Joy looks at me and smiles. It feels genuine. The agony is still there, showing in her eyes, but there’s a gentleness there, too.

  “I do,” she says. “You used to fixate on repetitive sounds. Tapping, clicking, that sort of thing. It would drive you nuts, but it was rare back then. Usually just around test time. And I didn’t think it was anything more than OCD or stress. We all had our quirks. It was almost cute in a way. I know that sounds like bullshit now. After we had Aza, it started up again, but Dr. Green put you on medication and it stopped. I… I thought it had stopped for good.”

  “You didn’t know,” I say. “I didn’t know. I still don’t understand.”

  “I guess if I’m being honest, I knew you weren’t right. I just didn’t care. You were willing to provide for us while I finished school. You let me chase my passion. That’s all I wanted. Maybe that was selfish. Even after you told me about Ty… I should have done something then, but I didn’t. And I know you never stopped seeing her. I told myself you had. Made myself believe you had, just so we could keep moving forward, but I knew…”

  “I tried,” I say.

  “Maybe. Doesn’t matter. And when you lost your job, I was just angry. God, I was so angry. I don’t even know why. I should have been there for you. I should have seen what was going on. I should have made sure you were keeping up with your meds. I should have—”

  I place my hand on her leg to quiet her. Joy looks down at it, but doesn’t shy away. Instead, she hangs her head, defeated.

  “I wish I had answers,” I say. “I really do. I know what I did. Well, mostly, I think. And part of me knows how wrong it is. It kills me. But another part thinks it’s exactly what I was supposed to do, like some sort of destiny. And I know how fucked up that is, but it doesn’t change anything. I can’t stop.”

  “So what now? Are you going to kill me? Is that why I’m here?”

  I shake my head. “I guess I just wanted to see you one last time. Because no matter what happens after tonight, I know my story is over. I don’t know if this is just goodbye or a piss-poor effort at making things right, but I’m glad you’re here.”

  She’s crying again. I wish I could see just a glimpse of her inner thoughts. Does she care what happens to me? She shouldn’t, but I can’t help but want her to.

  “I know I’ve failed you in some way,” Joy says. “But Aza hasn’t.”

  Tap. Tap.

  I groan against the sound.

  Joy looks at me pleadingly. “Please, just tell me where she is.”

  Tap.

  “I don’t know. I meant to come back and see her. I wanted to say goodbye to her, but I never made it.”

  “A detective has been hanging around my parents’ house for the last week, ever since you didn’t come home. After they found Ty’s body, they starting monitoring your phone, waiting for you to turn it back on so they could trace it. The next morning, I couldn’t find Aza. We looked everywhere. Even got the police to issue an Amber alert right away, figuring you took her. Then, your phone turned on and they were able to locate it. Said you were in some rural area, a few towns over from here. Then, I get the text from my dad’s phone. The one that said to come here. I didn’t tell the detective about the message, but I wanted to find Aza, so I told them she sometimes would take my dad’s old phone. They tracked it, too, to the same spot in the woods. I know you wouldn’t hurt her. I just want her back. She’s just a kid. She doesn’t understand any of this.”

  I can’t stomach what Joy’s saying. Her words tear at my soul, twist my gut into a knot, and run razors down my spine.

  “No,” I say. “I never made it. And it hasn’t been that long. A day or two since…”

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  There’s a flash. At first, I think it’s lightning, flickering through the drawn curtains, but it’s something else. A fragment of a moment of a day I can’t place.

  “Please,” Joy says.

  Tap.

  My car. I’m in my car again.

  Tap. Tap.

  Ty’s singing at the top of her lungs, belting out every song that comes on the radio. She’s horribly off-key, but completely unrestrained.

  Tap.

  No. Not Ty. Ty’s dead. Long dead. But she’s still singing. I turn to the passenger’s seat. Empty. Still, the singing. It won’t stop. And then I see her. Just a flicker. A flash of understanding. A piece of something that was hidden. Aza’s in the back seat, singing her heart out. Dancing in place, too. So happy.

  “Please,” Joy says again.

  I groan and curl forward, clutching at my head with my free hand. It’s not possible. I never made it back. I wouldn’t take her.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Another shard, glimmering in the early morning light. The park across the street from Paul and Ruthie’s place always looks so tranquil. Dew covers ever blade of grass in diamonds. The air is cold, but so clean I can’t get enough of it. I could sit here forever.

  “No,” I growl. “I never made it…”

  Tap.

  “Daddy!” Aza screams as she runs out from behind a tree.

  I don’t even have a chance to get out of the car before Aza jumps into the backseat. I try to tell her she can’t stay. I try to say goodbye, but I don’t know how to explain.

  “We’re a team,” she says. “Forever and ever. And I know what you did.”

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Joy is still begging, but it’s barely audible above the rampant tapping. It rattles around in my head like a fistful of stones. So fucking heavy.

  I know what you did. I know what you are. And I know that you’re not done yet.

  Like bits of glass, everything falls away, leaving the piss-stained carpet and smoke-charred walls of room thirteen. I smell the whiskey puddled on the carpet a dozen feet away and the sweat soaked into the ribbons of what was once a very nice suit. I hear each drop of rain and taste the electricity in the air. It burns my tongue and sears my stomach.

  But louder than all of this, I hear the door to the bathroom open, a single click betraying its movement.

  Joy gasps. I don’t even turn around. I know what’s coming. Maybe I knew all along. Maybe it was the biggest lie of all.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Aza says, circling around the bed to stand in front of Joy and I.

  Joy reaches for her, but Aza is standing just out of reach.

  Just eight years old, her eyes are full of indignant rage. She looks straight at me. “Did Mom really just talk you out of it?”

  I try to speak, but can’t. Joy squeaks and feebly claws at the air again.

  “I am so very disappointed in you,” Aza says. She cocks her head to the side and laughs. “Well, at least you’re locked up. That will be helpful, since now I have to do your job.”

  Joy manages to gasp Aza’s name.

  Aza turns her attention to Joy, regards her for a moment, then turns around and walks away. She opens the door, unveiling the full torment of the storm beyond. With a curse, she steps outside and slams the door shut behind her.

  CHA
PTER THIRTY

  Just as Aza has left the room, so has the air. I’m sitting in a vacuum, slowly suffocating.

  It doesn’t last long. Joy twists around the bed corner and attacks me. “What did you do?!” she screams on loops, punctuating each cry with a punch.

  I let her beat on me. I’m too stunned to act. I’m not sure I’m capable of thinking anymore, at least not in any manner I can trust. If everything is a lie, does that make it truth?

  Finally, Joy runs out of energy, or perhaps, she’s realized the utter futility of battling against whatever has been set in motion. Somehow, it feels more useless than trying to change what has already transpired. And the past is forever.

  Still splayed across my lap, hand raised in an unfinished strike, Joy blubbers, “What did you do to her?”

  Shaking, I place my hand on her back. “I… I don’t know.”

  “Let us go, please,” Joy says.

  “I can’t.”

  Joy sits up. Her eyes are lined in red, her hair a frazzled mess. She’s still beautiful. I never deserved her. “Where’s the key?” she asks, shaking her cuffed hand.

  “I imagine I swallowed it.”

  Joy punches me in the gut. I bend forward, coughing. She hits me again. When I don’t give her what she wants, she tries to force her fingers into my mouth. I arch back against the bed, but still I don’t raise a hand against her.

  “J-Joy,” I say, twisting my head out of her reach. I cough and spit on the carpet.

  Joy slumps against the bed. “Why did she leave? Why was she talking like that to you? What is going on?”

  It’s there. The answer. I can sense it, but can’t reach it. I know now that I picked Aza up the morning I promised her I would, but very little beyond that. Was anything between that point and now real? Being cuffed to the tree? The man in the liquor store?

  Tap. Tick. Click.

  I feel the knife in my hand as I stare down the liquor store owner. Everything is wavering, like I’m staring through water. But Ty’s not holding the man hostage, knife to his neck. I am.

  Tick. Click. Tap.

  “Cut his throat,” Aza says, standing in front of us. “You can do it. I know what you are. It’s what you want. You should get to have what you want.”

  I try to stop my hand moving, but it doesn’t obey me. Aza smiles as the man strikes the floor, retching blood, grasping at his neck. Dying.

  She dances away into an aisle and the image of her shimmers, shakes, and changes. Ty looks back at me and continues spinning down the aisle. “Hot shit, you should see how many kinds of whiskey they have!” she calls out.

  Tap. Click.

  Joy pounds a fist on my back as I vomit onto the carpet between my legs. It mixes with the smell of hers.

  “I don’t see it,” she says.

  I sit back and wipe at my mouth. The whiskey doesn’t taste nearly as good as I remember.

  “Where’s the key?” Joy demands.

  “I don’t think you should be asking what I did to Aza.”

  “What?” Joy asks, straightening up.

  I shake my head and turn weakly toward her. All I want is to hold her. All I want is to forget. “The better question is, what did Aza do to me?”

  “You delusional, fucking monster,” Joy says. “Don’t you dare try to blame any of this whirlwind of shit on Aza. She’s just a kid. A victim, just like everyone else you’ve left by the wayside in your selfishness.”

  A headache takes over and nearly blinds me. Shit, it came on fast. Flashes of white-hot light come and go with each beat of my heart. She’s right. Aza’s just a kid. I can’t blame her.

  Tap. Tap. Click.

  I feel the lighter in my hand. The long-necked one I use to light our grill. The one I use to light Aza’s birthday candles. I can’t remember her last one.

  A cool breeze buffets my back while the strong scent of gasoline washes over me from the front. Crouched in the doorway, I hold the line between two worlds. One of peace, the other of hate and death. It’s my choice which way this thing swings.

  “You can do it,” Aza says.

  I look up and see her sitting at the top of the living room stairs. I stare for a moment and her image flickers in and out like an old TV set with poor reception. I almost go to her, but then she’s gone.

  “I know what you are,” her voice says.

  Click.

  “The least you can do is own up to what you’ve done,” Joy shouts. Her spittle hits my face and brings me, shuddering, back to room thirteen. “You tried to burn me alive. You succeeded in killing Ty. You kidnapped our daughter!”

  “She wanted to come. I didn’t want to bring her. I just wanted to say—”

  “She’s eight!” Joy shouts. “She doesn’t get a say.”

  My headache worsens. The edges of my vision are white-hot. Everything Joy is saying makes perfect sense, but it’s all wrong. I can’t make sense of Aza having been with me for so long. I can’t make sense of the past few days. I’m still missing time.

  I crane around and look over the bed at the open bathroom door. Squinting, I see an arm hanging over the edge of the bathtub. There’s blood dripping from the fingertips. I look back at the carpet. The blood there hasn’t reappeared. I look back at the bathroom. The corpse remains.

  Tap. Tap. Bing.

  From out of the depths of my mind, I remember kicking in the door to room thirteen. Not Ty. Me. I grab the man by the collar and drive him into the far wall. Ty’s gone, but Aza’s there.

  “I believe in you,” she says.

  The man whimpers, eyes dancing between Aza and I. I force him into the bathroom and shove him. The backs of his legs catch the tub and he topples into it. His head hitting the tiled wall makes a sickening crack. Aza claps her hands and clambers onto the sink.

  “You have to kill him,” Aza says from her perch.

  I look at her and she flickers in and out of view. Ty laughs somewhere in the background, but the sound of it is unsteady, like a radio signal breaking up. Fuck, my head hurts.

  “No,” I say, but I don’t believe it.

  Aza grabs my arm and pulls me to her. She leans close, lips at my ear. “I know what you are. You can do it.”

  I want to disagree. I want to question why she’s here, but my body is leading me toward the unconscious man. Something clatters to the floor at my feet. It’s the penknife. Aza is humming. Ty is laughing. I grab the knife and cut the man’s throat. It takes only a moment and then I’m leaving the bathroom. I didn’t even get any blood on me.

  Aza pats my back as I walk past her. She’s still sitting on the sink.

  “Good. Now finish what you started,” she says as I shut the bathroom door, sealing my eight-year-old daughter in with a corpse.

  Tick. Tap. Bing. Bing.

  Joy is violently shaking me. Her eyes are set and her jaw flexes. I force her arm down and hold her wrist.

  “What is wrong with you!?” she screams. Whatever control she entered the room with is gone. We all have our limits.

  I shake my head, both at her and against the fragments of memories. I don’t know what to believe. I can’t trust myself. It’s only instinct that tells me Aza is real.

  “It’s not what you think,” I say, dry-mouthed and weary. “It’s not what I thought.”

  “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve made Aza witness. How could you?”

  I don’t have an answer for that.

  “After Ty’s… I saw her,” I say. If I don’t say it aloud, I’ll lose the thought.

  “What?”

  “Ty. She came with me. Sometimes I saw her. Talked to her, touched her… But sometimes I think I was her. Like I was looking back at myself. It all seemed so real even though I know it wasn’t.”

  Joy opens her mouth, but doesn’t manage to say anything articulate.

  “And somewhere in all of that, was Aza. I didn’t want to see it. I don’t know why. I don’t understand it. I know I’m crazy. I get that. She was there, but I
couldn’t see her. I just—”

  The sound of metal scraping on the concrete outside tears the moment into jagged shreds. Whatever I was saying falls to pieces and I have to remind myself where I am.

  Joy and I both snap our heads around and look toward the door. At once, my headache vanishes and my vision clarifies.

  The door opens and Aza enters. She’s bent over, moving backwards, dragging something. She’s grunting and cursing.

  “Aza,” Joy says softly.

  Instinctively, I grab Joy’s hand and squeeze it. Surprisingly, she reciprocates. She must sense what I do. It’s unidentifiable, but still there, hanging in the air like a cloud.

  With a loud exhale, Aza lets go of her cargo and kicks the door shut. Water drips off her in sheets, soaking the carpet and making her look even smaller than she is. My eyes slide from her down to what she’s returned with.

  It’s a rusted gas can. Not the one I used, but similar.

  Joy squeezes my hand tightly.

  “Aza?” she calls again, even softer than before.

  I don’t dare speak. I think the time has passed. Words are meaningless. Nothing changes. It’s a lie among lies.

  Finally, Aza turns around and wrings out her hair. “Ugh,” she says.

  “Aza?” Joy is a broken record.

  Aza looks pointedly at her and rolls her eyes. Then she looks at me and gestures at the gas can. “I really could have used your help with that, you jerk. It’s heavy.”

  When I say nothing, Aza sits in front of us, cross-legged, and out of reach. She sighs.

  “Aza, honey, what’s going on?” Joy asks.

  Aza turns to directly face me. “I know what you want,” she says.

  I say nothing, but Joy once more asks for answers. Aza brushes her wet hair behind her ears, continuing to focus on me.

  “I can see inside your head, so I know I’m right,” Aza says.

  Joy’s pleading becomes background noise. I hardly hear it, and Aza acts as if she doesn’t hear it at all.

  “Go on,” Aza says. “Think of a number.”

  I don’t want to, but the number thirteen flits through my mind.