I'm writing this in order to make it as clear in my mind as possible. I begin the first line of my note, feeling as though I am writing it in my blood. I don't know how many of these days I have been through, but there have been many. Every morning it is the same. I replay the event in my head. I awake refreshed without a care in the world.
Then I trudge to the bathroom where I am greeted by the blood soaked body of my wife laying lifeless in the bath tub. That's when I remember all the times that I have been through this ordeal and yet, it never dulls. The pain remains as sharp now as it did the first time, like a knife that continues to saw at the flesh of my heart.
After my tears run dry I return again to this desk and write these words as they are unwritten come the next morning. I hope against hope that some hidden meaning will reveal itself. I do not understand the extent of this anomaly and my options are quite limited. All I can do is ride out the storm and wait for the dawn of the next day. Whereupon the cycle repeats itself.
I stop, not because of a lack of ink, but because of a cold feeling that has crawled up my spine. I feel as though there is someone else in here with me. I turn sharply, but see nothing. Perhaps this last time had a much stronger effect upon me than I had at first anticipated. I hold still and listen intently.
Then I hear it, the downstairs refrigerator, rattling as it's being closed. A distinct sound that can only mean that there's someone else present in the house. But this drawn out play has always started and ended with myself, alone. This sudden incursion leaves me feeling cold and I bolt from the room and look down over the banister.
A light pours from the kitchen and down the hallway as though inviting me to come and have a look. Slowly, I creep down the stairs, using all the skills I have acquired from a lifestyle that promoted no such discretion. Still, all in all, I believe I conducted myself well enough, at least until I am nearly down the staircase.
"You know I can hear you, right?" a voice breaks the stillness.
I freeze in place halfway between a sneaking motion and a less conservative step. I right myself and stride down the hallway as quickly as is prudent. I'm soon in the kitchen and staring at a total stranger munching on a sandwich, completely at ease.
Who he is I do not know, as his appearance is unfamiliar to me. As far as I can tell, he's a squat man who's fairly pudgy, he reminds me of a Buddha, open shirt and all, which is why I know he is male. All the while, his eyes remain fixed upon me as he chews upon his food with teeth that look quite unnatural.
"Who are you?" I ask as I try to understand where this man fits into this nightmare I'm living in.
"You wouldn't know even if I told you," the stranger in my kitchen speaks before taking another bite.
"Could you at least humor me?" I'm surprised how snippety I'm being after the terrible shock I had endured, for the umpteenth time as I do my best to keep from shaking.
"My name is long since forgotten by your generation," he informs me and tilts his head. "And I am not one to dredge up the past."
"So what am I to call you?" I find myself asking, even though it's the furthest thing from my mind, but it helps to shuffle the pain, to make it bearable.
"You needn't bother as I will not be around long enough for it to matter," his words hold still within the air while casting a look that says you bore me.
I haven't the means to contend with him nor the will, and in turn he's silent as he finishes the last of his sandwich. A wipe of his mouth and a snapping of his hands finishes the rest of his ritual. "Well then, now that I'm done…" my visitor speaks no further, as he simply stares at me.
"Is there anything more?" I finally ask, as I can bear the silence no more and clench my hand.
"Just waiting to see when it will dawn on you," he returns and shakes his head in a sassy fashion.
"What?" I inquire, feeling as though an animal that walked into the midst of a trap.
"The reason I'm here," he relays as he smiles wide, while continuing to stare at me.
I return the gaze and say nothing as I'm completely dumbstruck.
"So, you do not recall?" he says while looking quite disappointed.
I shake my head.
"Well you'll remember sooner or later," he replies and leans backward as he pops his bones. "And if you don't, well, no sweat off my back."
I strain my mind, but the only image I can find is that of my wife laying in blood, which frustrates and angers me, more so than it saddens me. I look up with a blank expression.
My guest, for lack of a better term, takes the cue. "I see you have no idea," he remarks as he returns to his previous position. "Well as I said before, I'm not one to dredge up the past. Especially since the future is what I'm interested in. Your's to be exact."
Still, I have no clue who he is or what is even happening.
"I take it from that dumb look on your face you still have no idea what I am talking about?" he registers my confused state and shrugs. "Oh well. Just know that you did me a very wrong turn and this is the payback."
I stare as I try to think of what I could possibly have done to deserve this.
"You will live with this for as long as I am never bored by it," my visitor speaks up and gives a slight smile. "But I wouldn't count on me losing interest any time soon."
I need to do something. "Look whatever I did, I'm sorry," I assure him and hold out my hands to show I am no threat, as if I could be. "I'm eternally sorry and I would never have done it had I known."
"You mean the deed that you do not recall?" he retorts and stares with a blank expression.
I'm silenced once again.
"Of course you're sorry. After all, I ensured it," he states and places a hand to his temple as though dealing with a headache. "But still not sorry enough. Not yet that is."
I'm crushed inside and I turn to rage. "Am I to suffer this pain for the rest of my life?!" I spit and clench both fists this time.
Laughter fills the room and my strange guest nearly topples off the counter. "Look at yourself!" he finally breaks out, once he is able to take control of himself. "How long has this gone on?"
I search my head, but no specific date comes forth.
"Longer than the span of a mortal life," he informs me with a sickening sneer.
I turn and stare at the oven door which reflects back to me my image, a scruffy looking man who is no older than thirty-five.
"You haven't changed," I hear him speak the words and they land solidly in my head.
He's right. I don't know how long it's been going on, but I do know long enough.
"Do you see?" he asks me. "You have not changed."
I turn, my eyes as wide as they can be.
"You said the rest of your life," he speaks again and shifts his legs. "But that is an end. This has no end. This is the closest to immortality a mortal man can ever be and you are the lucky recipient of this once in a lifetime opportunity."
The air is stagnant all around me and I feel like choking. I want to grab the smiling weasel and throttle him until my rage subsides.
"Not advisable," he says as though he sensed my intentions.
I stop dead and for a moment, I even forget to breathe. If that weren't enough he just stands there. He does nothing, says nothing, he doesn't even have an expression. "What?!" I finally blurt when the anxiety becomes too much and I angle sharply forward.
"I'm just admiring my little game," he remarks and relaxes his entire body.
I've had enough. The pain, the anguish and this self-centered smug son of a bitch's smile. It has gotten under my skin and I have to do something. That something is taking him by surprise with a blunt heavy object and exerting all my pent up frustrations.
Each blow feels more satisfying than the last and my hand comes down faster and stronger following the continuous repetition. I start with the smug smile and knock out every single tooth that allows for its existence. After that, I just go stark raving mad and by the time I'm finished I am breathing heavily and sweating profusely.
My kitchen is covered with globs of blood and the body now resembles some strange object covered in a thick red syrup. I drop to my knees and hold there a few moments as I take it all in.
I let out a sound that is both a laugh and cry at the same time. It's small at first, but builds up until I'm nearly screaming while my body shakes from the effort.
This is it, the culmination of everything. The very zenith of my pain and suffering stemmed down to this one horrifically violent act. My eyelids grow suddenly heavy and I fight to keep them from closing, but I am losing the fight. My head bobs back and forth, I've never been so tired and I can't stop myself from falling.
I awake, tired and disheveled, but still refreshed. My pajama bottoms are all I have on as I make my way to the bathroom. I open the door as I give off a monstrous yawn. The room is dark so I click on the light. I fall upon my knees. I can't believe what I'm seeing. My dear Stephanie is immersed in a tub filled with blood.
I crawl over the edge of the tub and dip my hands into the cool, thick water. I take hold of the body and cradle it near as I cry upon the cold shoulder. Little by little I start to realize something, but that something is still far too vague for me to understand. Try as I might, I cannot rise above the sorrow and everything else is forgotten.
Then I hear a strange sound grow louder and louder. It's laughter and… applause? It's growing, filling the house and leaving me cold inside. I don't know where the laughter is coming from, as it seems to be everywhere at the same time. I simply hold my darling in my arms as the realization grows stronger bringing with it a sickening revelation.