Drained, I manage to drag her to the river’s edge and pull her out of the water. She’s lifeless, her skin a bluish gray evident even in the darkness. I have no concept of time and no clue how long she’s been under. Her luscious lips are now a dingy purple, and her face is grotesquely plump.
“Sera,” I bellow at her, hoping to elicit some sort of response. “Fucking talk to me goddammit. Breathe!” Shaking her violently in an effort to resuscitate her, I need help. I crawl across the ground naked, every inch sending pain though my knees and hands. Reaching my jeans, I pull out my wet cell phone, desperate for it to work.
Phone in hand I go back to her. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”
“I need help. Please send an ambulance.” My voice shakes, my body endures agonizing pain. The rain continues to spike my already frigid skin, knifing pain after pain.
“Sir, I need you to tell me where you are and what’s going on in order to help you.”
I begin to cry, convulsing from the intense cold, teeth chattering. “We’re on the river bank under the Main Street Bridge. She fell in. I searched. I tried. Please send someone to help me, please.” I choke on the words unable to fathom I might have been too late.
“Sir, I need you to try to calm down so you can help your friend. I’m dispatching an ambulance now. Do you know how to do CPR?” Fuck, I took the classes in high school to become a lifeguard but that was years ago. “Sir, do you know how to do CPR?”
Setting the phone down, I allow the voice to come through the speaker as she begins to walk me through the steps; I follow her instructions to the ninth degree.
“It’s not fucking working!” I wail into the empty night sky. Vaguely, I hear the operator’s voice in the background as she urges me to continue my efforts until EMS arrives. I breathe into Sera’s mouth and compress her chest endlessly. The fatigue so great I know I won’t be able to continue much longer. My ability to move her breastplate in a struggle to restart her heart is failing. Straddling her wet, lifeless body, I try to breathe life back into her. “Damn it, Sera—fucking breathe! Don’t you leave me, goddammit! Breathe!”
The operator’s voice continues in the background but nothing she says registers. The sirens in the distance are foggy, a figment of my imagination because no one is rescuing me from this hell. Abruptly, men in blue shirts and dark pants surround me, all carrying equipment encouraging me out of the way. Standing, I move to the side to allow them to work, suddenly aware of my nakedness. One of the men brings me a blanket. Wrapping me up, he tries to escort me away from the scene, hovering under a large umbrella.
“I can’t leave her. I’m the only one fighting for her.”
“You have to let us do our job, sir.” I don’t budge. He’s going to have to physically remove me if he wants me to leave her side. I willingly move far enough away to enable them but not far enough that she’s out of sight.
Ignoring the EMT’s suggestions to get out of the rain before I get hypothermia, I stand waiting, hoping she’ll cough, or throw up, or show some sign of life. The guy beside me is talking but I can’t focus on him. If I see any movement, I’ll know she’s still there.
“Sir!” he yells in my ear.
I turn my head sharply. “What the fuck do you want?” My voice is angry and unforgiving, emphatic.
“I need to know how long she was in the water.”
“I have no fucking clue. I didn’t check my watch before diving in after her.” My sarcasm is not going to save her. I shake my head and close my eyes, trying to wrap my mind around what’s going on. Opening them, I face him. “I don’t know, man. I have no idea. I don’t even know what time it was when I left my house chasing after her.”
“Would you say it was longer than two minutes?” His solemn look tells me the answer to this question is critical.
I nod my response as I choke back a sob that escapes my lips despite my effort.
“Longer than five?” Fuck, I don’t know. It seemed like hours from the time she jumped in until I got in behind her. Being in the water seemed an eternity. I know in my heart it was longer than five minutes although I’m reluctant to admit it.
“Yeah.” In that moment, that very second, the instant I utter that one syllable…I concede she’s gone. Falling to my knees I scream at the God who let me down, again. I bellow in anguish, for love lost, to a God who takes and takes, leaving nothing but suffering in his wake. In utter defeat, my forehead on the ground, I release six years of pain into the universe, cursing it for giving and taking with no rhyme or reason. Wracked with sobs, desperate to catch my breath, I begin to heave over and over on the ground next to my dead angel.
With nothing left to expel, I lie on my side, staring at the black tarp covering her lifeless body. The rain continues to pour down, but the sky’s now illuminated by red, white, and blue flashing lights. Never in my life have I hated the colors of this country until now. The never-ending kaleidoscope bombards my vision. There’s commotion surrounding me but it’s as if the world is playing on mute. Stretching my arm out, I find her hand under the blanket; clutching it tightly, I apologize for not being enough, not realizing sooner how dark she had gotten. I express my sorrow for not seeing the depths of her pain for fear of invading her privacy. I beg for her forgiveness as I’m loaded onto a backboard and pulled away from my Seraphim for the last time.
The lights inside the ambulance are blinding. Closing my eyes, I fall into the obscurity hoping never to wake, begging the darkness to be the end, to allow the suffering to stop.
40
I realize the cops are doing their job but answering their questions while I lie in a hospital bed is the last thing I want to do right now. I know I’m not being terribly cooperative, but surely they understand. I just lost someone I love. I saw her end her life. I felt the blackness of that river, the cold etched into my brain. I will never un-see her blue body, the way death grayed her beautiful skin, dimmed her bright eyes. The way her body bloated and her eyes bulged from their sockets will forever haunt me the way Sylvie does.
“We just need to ask you a few more questions before we go.”
“Does it really matter if this takes place tonight or tomorrow when they let me out of here?” I can’t help but lash out. “She’s dead. She’s not coming back and she’s not going anywhere. Your questions can wait until my ass cheeks are no longer frozen together and my teeth have stopped chattering.” Looking away from the officer, I stare at a blank spot on a stark wall.
“Mr. Thames, an officer will be back to pick you up when the hospital releases you.”
Waving him off, it doesn’t dawn on me until after he leaves what he implied. I can’t bring myself to give a shit that I’ll be detained for questioning the moment I leave this sterile facility.
Several hours later, I wake to a nurse in my room, checking my vitals. Her morose smile indicates she’s aware of what took place during the night. “How long before the cops come get me?”
Patting me on the arm, she says, “You’ll be here at least forty-eight hours. Hypothermia isn’t something to play around with. While yours was mild, we still need to keep an eye on you and make sure your core temperature stays elevated and there’s nothing erratic going on with your heart.” She waits for my questions but I have none. “Are you hungry?”
I shake my head.
“How about something to drink?”
No again. I appreciate her willingness to make me comfortable but nothing she can bring me will remove last night from the calendar. There’s not a meal or beverage in the world that will take the agony away.
The hospital discharges me from care two days later into custody of the Greenville Police Department. The guy is nice enough but it’s evident he isn’t sure if he should be sympathetic or condemning. He escorts me into a small room inside the station before offering me a cup of coffee. When I decline he goes to get one for himself, returning with a recording device, pen, and paper, and another deputy.
They confirm
what I already knew. Sera was pronounced dead on the scene. They were unable to resuscitate her and, based on how long she had been in the water, there was no chance her brain would ever regain function even if her heart had.
I wait for them to continue. I have no idea what they think I can offer them. I can’t resurrect her.
“How well did you know Seraphim, Bastian?” the original officer asks me.
“We’ve been very good friends for about a year, I guess.”
“Just friends?” I don’t like the condescension in his voice, but being an ass in return isn’t going to get me out of here any sooner. I’m too weary to fight.
“Yes, sir. Just friends. I loved her but she was in a relationship with someone else from the time we met.” I offer him a bone to show I’m trying desperately to cooperate even though I want to rip his face off and gouge his eyes out.
“Any idea where all those bruises came from?” I quickly mull over ratting Ferry out. Had he not beaten her repeatedly, she might still be here whole, but I also know where that will get me in the newspapers.
“I would say you guys should check with the county about recent reports. I’m sure you’ll find the name you’re looking for there.” I lean back wondering what the fuck these guys have been doing for two days. This is all information they could have ascertained without bothering me.
“How well do you know, Ferry Koops?” Tweedle Dummer chimes in.
So they have done their homework, they’re just looking for me to collaborate their story since the accuser is now gone.
“Until recently I would have claimed him as a friend, certainly colleagues. We’ve worked together on several projects but I’m sure you know that since it was all over the papers each time a new one was released.”
Resigned to the fact I’m not getting out of here until I give them the information they want, I tell them what little I know. The reality is, I never saw Ferry and Sera together. I can’t confirm or deny his involvement in her life based on firsthand knowledge. All I have is her account, which she never admitted to before last night. I can confirm they knew each other because we’re all artists, but beyond the casual acquaintance, I’m unable to provide them with any firm account. I admit to having seen Ferry’s camera in her car so at some point they were certainly together enough for it to be left in her possession, but that’s all I can offer.
Exhausted, they release me to Nate. I have no idea how he got here or who called him. “We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions, Mr. Thames. Most likely you will be called to testify.” Acknowledging the officer, I follow Nate out to his truck.
Nate follows me into the house. Without a word he closes the door behind him. I walk straight to the shower, stripping my clothes; I stand under the scalding water, hoping to rid myself of the chill that hasn’t left me since I jumped in the river. It roots itself in my bones…down to my very core. When the hot water’s gone, so is my will to stand any longer. Drying off my hair with the towel, I walk naked to my bed dropping my lifeless body on the comforter.
“You want me to stick around?” Nate asks from the bedroom door.
“You want to watch me sleep?”
“I’ll be back later. If you need me call. Your cell’s on the nightstand. I charged it when they gave me your shit.”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Hey, Bastian?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m still here, man. Don’t leave me again.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I just nod my understanding against the bed. He doesn’t need me to vocalize anything. He knows I heard him and he feels what I’m feeling.
Tapping his hand on the doorframe, he mutters, “Yeah,” and then lingers, hesitating to leave. “I’ll be back.”
41
Rolling onto my back, I stare at the ceiling I spent so many years studying after Sylvie died. Every breath in hurts, like ribs cracking from the force of the crushing air as I exhale. The place in my chest where my heart should be screams in agony every second it continues to beat. Not even the solitude found in sleep eliminates the distress anymore. Her face horrifies me as soon as I close my eyes; I see the blank stare from her dull eyes. The vacant look haunts my every waking moment. Nothing alleviates it. If only I had run a little faster, maybe if I hadn’t taken the time to put jeans on before chasing her, maybe if I hadn’t taken them off before I dove in…every second counted and I wasted the precious few we had.
Endless obsession.
It’s far worse than anything I ever felt with Sylvie. I knew there was nothing I could’ve done to save my wife. Her getting cancer wasn’t a mistake I made, but Sera’s a different story. I wasn’t valiant enough to confront her about the abuse, I wasn’t courageous enough to make sure she knew someone loved her, and I allowed her to get drunk knowing how emotional she was. I gave her the security to trust nothing would happen to her, and for fuck’s sake, I let her walk out my front fucking door, completely inebriated to her fucking death.
I think about her incessantly.
I wonder if she was aware of the choice she made, then I contemplate whether her decision would have been different had she been sober. I’ve spent hours meditating on what went through her mind as the water took over, if she was in any physical pain or if she simply gave in to it. It’s torture. I will never have any answer—only blame and gut-wrenching guilt. I will forever feel the weight of my inability to man the fuck up and guide her the way she needed to be lead.
Had I been able to assume the leadership role she needed, even if it hadn’t been in a BDSM capacity, had she seen me as a dominant figure, maybe she would have seen me as a choice. Maybe she could have loved me the way I love her. I continue to maul myself with mental abuse; should have; would have; could have, but didn’t. The anger and frustration far supersede anything I’ve ever experienced, but I have no idea how to manage it and parts of me don’t care. Actually, the majority of me doesn’t. The tornado of emotion brewing inside me is going to meet the world at a category five and I have no idea how to stop it.
My head falls to the side, eyes landing on The Seraphim. Tears flood my face, racing down my cheeks, pooling on the sheets beneath me. I’ve never cried as much as I have in the last two days. The reality of Sylvie’s death was numbing, there is no word to describe the anguish, affliction, and melancholy Sera’s passing has brought. Rolling off the side of the bed, I manage to sit on the edge, facing the statue. The pad of my thumb traces her delicate features, stopping on her cheek while I admire the pain, the desolation the clay exudes, the solidarity of the stone angel. God I miss her.
Nate stops by around his normal calling time with food but I refuse to pull myself out of bed. “We can’t do this again, Bastian. You have to get up. I’m not going to let you immerse yourself in grief.”
“Fuck off, Nate.” The monotony of my own voice bores me.
“No! Fuck that, Bastian. I fought for five fucking years to get you back to the land of the living. You are not resurfacing in purgatory.”
“What’s the point? Nothing is ever going to change. The pain is never going to leave. It might dull but it’s always there and now I get to multiply that by two.”
“You’ve been living again. Didn’t it feel good? Didn’t you love working again, painting, engaging your hands? Jesus, Bastian, for the last year you’ve been semi-human. Don’t you know that’s what Sylvie would have wanted for you? Sera absolutely wanted you to be happy.”
“I wasn’t enough for either one of them. Don’t you get it?”
“No, I’m sorry, I don’t get it. Sylvie loved you until the moment she took her last breath and you’re a selfish bastard for not recognizing many people never experience that kind of love, myself included. There was nothing, nothing, you could have done differently to fight cancer. That wasn’t your failure and you were everything to her.
“I don’t know the ins and outs with Sera; I know she had issues. I had seen it along the way, but B, if she wouldn’t let you
in, you couldn’t stop it. Hell, you couldn’t have stopped it unless she wanted you to and obviously, she didn’t. You can’t take that on as your failure. You were a good friend to her, always around, there whenever she wanted company. Besides hiring a body guard, or following her around, what else could you have done?” He’s incensed with me.
“I did.” I can’t believe I’m admitting this but I have no pride left.
“You did, what?”
“I followed her in an attempt to find out who was hurting her. I stalked her, Nate. It was my feeble endeavor.” I grab the back of my neck insecurely.
“This isn’t your fault, Bastian. No matter what you say to try to accept the blame, her committing suicide was not a reflection on you or your friendship.”
“It was so cold in that water. Even if she had made a mistake and wanted to get out, I don’t think she could have.”
“Maybe not but we both know, you can’t rewrite history, and you can’t write destiny. Her fate was sealed long before she ever met you. You’re not the author of her story, nor the editor. You were simply a reader. She chose to end the book with no epilogue or cliffhanger. You have to accept that.”
“I don’t know that I can.”
Nate doesn’t say anything else. He eats in silence after dragging me to the living room. I listen to the silence, the noises the house makes. I wish for another day. If I could only go back three days and have that one day over again, I would do so many things differently.
“Stop, Bastian,” Nate says with a mouth full of food. He knows I’m torturing myself, I’m sure it’s written all over my face.
“Do you want a drink? I think I have some tequila. Maybe some vodka.” I hop up with more pep in my step than I’ve had in days.
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