by Amy Cross
I wait, but there's no reply. Although I can't see anything in the next room, I think I can feel a very faint, very cold breeze blowing through against my face. In fact, as I lean even closer to the hole, I realize that the air on the other side seems positively icy. Finally I reach my right hand through slightly, although I pull away quickly as I feel my fingertips almost starting to freeze. I hesitate, before reaching through again, and this time I find that I was right: the air in the next room is absolutely freezing cold. It's so cold, in fact, that I can barely believe anyone could survive in there.
“Hey,” I whisper, not wanting to startle whoever's on the other side, “are you okay? Don't be scared, I'm only trying to help you.”
Again I wait, but the space beyond the door seems completely still and quiet.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “Are...”
My voice trails off.
Are you okay? That question was so dumb, but at the same time I couldn't hold back from asking.
I know someone's there, however, so I reach my hand through the hole once more and this time I force myself to fumble for the lock. I'm hoping that there might be some kind of key or latch, but I don't have any luck, so I get back to the task of pulling away more of the door's wooden pieces. It looks like I really managed to cause some damage, so I pull and I pull until finally I hear a clunking sound and I find that the entire locking mechanism has come away. I only have to fiddle for a moment longer, and then the door clicks free.
I pull the door open and step forward, before stopping again as I feel the icy air.
“Where are you?” I ask, staring into the darkness. For some reason, I can really taste peaches now. “Hello? I'm going to get us both out of here. Did Jerry lock you up as well? Are you okay? Can you walk?”
I know that someone's in here with me, but there's still no reply. I guess the person must be scared, so I turn and head back across the basement. Picking up the lamp that Jerry left down here, I pull it as close to the broken door as possible and tilt the main section slightly so that some of the beam reaches the cold room that I've just uncovered. Somehow, despite everything that has happened, I feel completely calm and focused, as if nothing else in the world matters right now. All I care about is whatever's in this room.
Peering through, I see that there are old shelves hanging loosely from the brick walls, and that some of the shelves have wooden boxes and glass bottles sitting precariously at their edges.
“Hello?” I call out. “There's no need to hide. My name's Maddie and I'm going to get you out of here. I'm going to get us both out of here and -”
Before I can finish, I hear a faint scratching sound nearby, followed by the sound of something hitting the ground. Turning, I look over at a set of shelves, just in time to see that an old box has indeed fallen down.
“It's okay,” I say, stepping forward, “I'm going to help you. We're going to get out of here together. I'm just -”
And then I freeze, as I see a frail, terrified face staring back at me from the shadows. I was right. There's someone in here.
Chapter Nineteen
“Doctor Charles Grazier”
“Delilah! Delilah, where are you?”
I can hear a woman's voice now, calling out across the park. She sounds far away, although a moment later I hear her again and this time she seems a little closer. I should turn and look, I should care whether or not she comes this way, but somehow I'm not quite able to look up from...
Delilah.
She's so beautiful.
“Delilah? Where -”
Suddenly I hear footsteps stopping nearby.
“Delilah, there you are! Why are you bothering this gentleman? Get down from there at once!”
I don't bother to look at her. Instead, I sit stroking the little dog as it sits happily on my lap. She's panting slightly and her tongue is sticking out, but she seems happy enough. I've never really spent time around dogs before – other than chasing away the wild beasts that used to break into our yard for food – but this dog is named Delilah, which makes me want to sit with her forever.
“Come down, Delilah,” the woman says. “I'm sure this man doesn't want to have you making him all dirty. Look at you, you're covering the poor chap with hair!”
“I don't mind,” I reply, finally looking up and smiling at her. She's very well dressed, she's obviously a real lady, although I can see from the discomfort in her eyes that she doesn't much like the look of me. “It's a very beautiful name, isn't it? You don't often meet people called Delilah.”
“I would be grateful,” she says a little stiffly, “if you would return my dog to me at once.”
“I heard you calling out to her,” I explain, looking back down and continuing to stroke the creature. “You were shouting her name over and over. Then she came close and I just had to pick her up.”
“You stole my dog!”
“It's such a pretty name. She's so -”
Suddenly I feel a jolt of pain in the left side of my head. I flinch slightly, and for a fraction of a second I see mud and blood all around. The image fades quickly, and I'm left still sitting on the bench and still stroking the dog. At the same time, I can feel something trickling down the inside of my skull. I'm starting to get accustomed to that sensation, although it's still extremely uncomfortable.
“If you don't give my little Delilah back to me at once,” the woman says firmly, “I shall call for assistance. Is that quite clear? I shall have somebody come and cart you off to the nearest jail cell!”
“Can't I keep her?” I ask, as I run my hands through the dog's smooth, soft fur. “I'll look after her properly, I promise. I just like the name so much. I let her down before, but this time I'll do better, I'll...”
My voice trails off. For a moment there, I forgot that this Delilah was a different Delilah. Why is it so difficult to keep these things separate in my mind?
“Excuse me!” the woman calls out. “Could somebody help me, please? This man is attempting to steal my dog!”
“I'm not stealing anything,” I mutter, feeling a flicker of annoyance now. “I just want her, because of her name. I just want her forever, so I can look after her and make her happy. I'll be a gentleman and make her proud, and she'll see that everything I promised came true. All I want is to get my Delilah back, and then everything will be alright. I'll even give her my jacket when she's cold. Look!”
I take hold of my jacket's lapel, expecting to find that it's beautiful and clean, but instead I'm shocked to see that it's caked in dried mud. I think I remember how that happened.
“What's going on here?” a man's voice asks. “Is there a problem?”
“This scoundrel wants to take my dog away!” the woman protests. “Look at him, he's some kind of rough creature. He won't listen to me at all, I think perhaps he's not quite right in the head!”
“I say,” the man barks, stepping closer to me, “give this fine lady her dog back, do you hear? You've got no right to be bothering her like this!”
“She's mine now,” I whisper, leaning down and kissing the top of the dog's head. “Her name's Delilah. She's -”
Before I can finish, something hard hits the side of my head. Startled, I pull back and the dog jumps from my lap. A moment later I feel the impact again, and I look up just in time to see that the gentleman has begun hitting me with his cane. For a few seconds I'm filled with a sense of blind panic, and I scramble over the back of the bench before landing hard on the grass.
“Disgusting creatures,” the gentleman says as he helps the lady take her dog away. He casts one final glance back at me, his face a picture of hatred. “I don't know what is the point of these wretches. They're about as clean as rats, too.”
“And the smell,” the lady adds. “What an awful smell!”
I don't chase after them. My head hurts too much, and in truth I can barely even remember how I ended up here in this park in the first place. All I know is that I heard the name Delilah and I had to run t
o find her. The dog wasn't the real Delilah, I know that, but it still felt good to be around someone with that name. All I want is to get Delilah back, and then to become a gentleman. Maybe she left me because she believed I never would be a gentleman, but I'll show her. I'll make her see. I'll get Delilah back and -
Wait.
Delilah's gone.
For a moment the pain comes back, and when I blink I briefly see Delilah's bloodied body being lifted from cold gray mud. Then I blink again, and I'm back in the park.
No.
Delilah's not gone.
I'll find her somehow. I don't know what's wrong, but I'll make it all right again.
Getting to my feet, I feel as if the whole world is swinging wildly around me. I start stumbling across the park, with no particular destination in mind. I can still feel something wet in my head, and there are occasional flashes of light that cover my vision. I have to find somewhere I can rest. I have to get my old mind back, and then I'll find Delilah.
Delilah will make everything better again.
***
Sunday October 7th, 1888
Delilah Culpepper's body has been buried in the garden.
The bones of Doctor Charles Grazier, having been picked clean by ravens, are also in the ground.
The various symbols and markings are in place, guaranteeing that the creature cannot escape from the room down in the basement.
And now Doctor Grazier's notebooks have all been placed securely in the hidden storage area in one of the bedrooms, where they can rot for the rest of time.
I am ready.
Standing in the study, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I might be wearing the clothes of a gentleman, but now at the very end of my life I can finally concede that I am not a gentleman, nor could I ever have been one. I was born in the mud and that is where I should have remained, and all my dreams were foolish. Perhaps if Delilah had survived all those years ago, we could have built a reasonable life for ourselves, but I was wrong to aim for the life of a gentleman. I should have – I would have – been happy just with her.
At least my mind is my own now.
I do not know how, but I have regained my former sharpness. I am back to being the smart, bright, sane man I was before those police officers cracked my head ten years ago. Perhaps all men, no matter how lost, become themselves again at the end. Perhaps this is the body's way of offering a little dignity. I cannot confess to understand, but I am glad that I have my full faculties back, because this means I can die with no doubts and no fears.
I understand now that when I met Delilah Culpepper, I became enthralled by her name. It was her name that made me want to stay close to her, that made me want to serve her in any manner possible. In some strange way, the merest mention of that name – in any context – makes me feel calm and happy again. Perhaps I appeared reasonably normal to other people, but my mind was a whirling cesspool of fragmented memories. I could not stop myself, I could not hold back; I was drawn to the name Delilah, and it seems that in turn Mrs. Culpepper was drawn to me for reasons of her own. My madness, which so consumed me, now falls like ashes around my feet, and I understand it all.
I also understand what will come next.
It is my belief that when a man dies, his mind is destroyed. However, it is also my belief that in that final moment, his mind is freed from the constraints of time itself. His final moment of oblivion never registers in his consciousness, so he exists forever in that last millisecond. What happens to his mind at that point is a matter for conjecture, but I imagine that eventually a man is able to go back into his own lifetime and relive everything over and over again, coursing through each and every moment. Perhaps that is why it is wise to live a good life, since one would not want to be trapped in a nightmare. I have had some dark moments, but also many good, and I am not afraid to spend eternity experiencing and re-experiencing it all again.
Perhaps one eventually gets to choose, and can let one's mind rest forever in the most perfect and blissful moment that one ever experienced.
Taking a deep breath, I realize that I am delaying the moment. My theories do not matter; all that matters is that I get this over with.
And then, as I turn away from the mirror, I spot another face staring back at me.
Doctor Charles Grazier – the real Doctor Charles Grazier, the man whose body was picked clean by ravens and whose bones were buried in the garden – is standing just behind my shoulder. I only see him for now through the corner of my eye, but there can be no doubt, no mistake. He looks deathly pale, and there are dark rings around his eyes. I remain completely still, although I can feel the hairs starting to stand up on the back of my neck. I wait for Grazier to say something, or to do something, but he seems content to merely watch me. Finally, unable to stop myself, I turn to look directly at him.
He is gone.
I look back at the mirror, but again there is no sign of him. I hesitate for a moment, in case he reappears, but it is as if he chose to come to me for just a few brief seconds.
“Are you here?” I ask, my voice filled with a sense of fear. “Show yourself if you are. I want to know.”
Again I wait, but again there is no reply.
I must have been wrong. After all, if my theory of death is correct, there can be no such thing as ghosts. Then again, perhaps different men have different experiences of the afterlife. I know that I most certainly do not intend to haunt anyone or anything.
I want to be done with this world.
Finally I turn and make my way out of the study, and this time I am not accosted by any kind of vision. Indeed, as I make my way up the stairs, I am starting to feel more and more confident that I am doing the right thing. By the time I reach the top, I am feeling none of the fear that I thought would accompany this action. Instead I feel strangely calm, as if for the first time in many years I have a purpose. My death will ensure that the creature remains trapped in the basement forever, that the house will remain sealed, so at least I shall contribute something to this world as I leave. And I already know how I shall depart.
Stopping for a moment, I realize that somebody is watching me.
I turn and look into the master bedroom, and I find myself staring at the bed. I removed and burned the mattress earlier, since there was some blood on the fabric. Now the bed is just a bare metal frame, although I cannot shake the feeling that I am being watched by a pair of eyes. I stay completely still, focusing on the empty space, and after a moment I am suddenly confronted by the vision of Catherine Grazier. She has her eyes fixed on me, and there is great sorrow in her expression.
“Where is he?” she asks. “Please, tell him to come to me. Tell him I forgive him. He's a good mean, truly he is. Tell him to come up here.”
I hesitate for a moment, before reaching out and pulling the door shut. Then I turn away and walk into the next room. I am still wearing Doctor Grazier's suit, which I had intended to remove before this moment, but I suppose now I shall die in this garb. Perhaps that is somehow appropriate; after all, I always told Delilah that I would be a gentleman, and there is some irony in the fact that I shall meet my end while dressed in another man's clothes. Heading over to the far side of the room, I pull the window open and look down at the metal spikes that run along the top of the railing at the front of the house.
Perhaps this is a rather dramatic way to end my life, but I fear I might alert the creature if I try to use the front door. I also wish very much to not die within the walls of this house, so casting myself from the window seems to be an appropriate compromise. And if I aim just right, I shall land on the spikes and damn near rip my body apart. That, it would seem, might be an appropriate way for me to go.
“I am coming, Delilah,” I whisper, “I -”
And then I stop myself.
Although I would dearly like to see Delilah again, I know that this will not happen. It remains my utmost belief that when a man dies, he exists forever in that final moment between life and death.
He re-experiences every aspect, every second of his life over and over for what feels like eternity. Perhaps he becomes aware of this after a time, perhaps not, but I truly believe that he becomes caught up and looped in the life that he made for himself. My life has not been without its darker moments, but I do not fear reliving any of it. So as I climb out onto the window's ledge, I feel utterly prepared for this moment.
I think I can feel the creature reaching out to me from the basement now, using her thoughts to lure me back inside. She has begun to have her suspicions. If I wait, she might succeed.
So I cannot wait.
I jump.
As I fall toward the spiked railing, I hear the creature screaming in my thoughts. She knows that I am her last chance to escape, and that all is now lost. Her scream gives me strength and confirms to me that I am doing the right thing.
When I land on the railings in about half a second's time, my life will end. There will be nothing to come after, there will be no ghosts and no paradise. I will not be reunited with Delilah, nor shall I find myself in some other world where good is rewarded and evil is punished. There will be no meting out of just consequences for the actions of the life that is behind me. Of that I am certain. I must simply turn my mind inward and relive everything.
When I land on the railing I shall die. But until I die, I shall live forever.
Chapter Twenty
Maddie
Today
“What are you doing here?” I gasp, hurrying over and dropping to my knees next to the woman. “How long have you been here?”
She opens her mouth and tries to say something, but all that emerges from her mouth is a very faint sigh. That's not surprising, though, since she looks awful. She's so thin, her leathery skin is clinging tight to her bones, while her gray hair is long enough to reach all the way down to her waist. She's completely naked, and there looks to be blood smeared all around her legs and thighs. I want to help her, but I honestly don't know where to begin. I'm scared that even by touching her, even by disturbing the air around her, I might make her fall apart.