Copyright © 2013 by John Mc Caffrey
First Edition, June 2013
This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people or events are purely coincidental. All right reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced without the express written consent of the author.
Ripples
by
John Mc Caffrey
Natalie shot up in bed, arms flailing in front of her as if to ward off an unseen attacker. Her eyes fluttered as she glanced around the bedroom. Had the nightmare followed her into the waking hours like some living thing? She could still hear the roar of the car as it bore down on her, the asphalt biting into her hands as she tried to crawl away. The oily reek of the pavement as well as the engine exhaust still filled her nostrils.
She closed her eyes and tried to swallow, her throat as dry as the blacktop she could still feel in her palms. She put a hand to her head and tried to calm herself, her heart skipping in her chest.
“David,” she whispered, laying back on the damp sheets. She glanced around the room, still looking for assurance she was alone. The shadow of the nightmare still clung like late morning fog, drifting just at the edge of sight.
She looked to the digital clock on the nightstand. Its softy glowing read-out showed four-thirty PM. She spotted the scotch bottle and accompanying glass that stood next to it, the ice in the latter long since gone to water. She looked longingly at the bottle, wanting to drink again. When drunk, the pain was not as great. The memories of that night receded deep into blissful oblivion. She found temporary comfort in the bottom of the scotch bottles but knew she should stay sober for Alex’s sake.
A headache tapped a cadence deep in her skull which was due to more than last nights drinking. She hadn’t slept properly in weeks, the sleeping pills Hendrickson prescribed for her did little more than add to her headaches. Although Dr. Hendrickson was supposed to help her with her grief, she found him full of lies. He possessed a condescending demeanor, and did little more than nod at odd times and stare at her legs. She hadn’t told him about the nightmares she’d been having. She didn’t need it explained to her because the dreams were always the same. She would be crawling on the pavement trying to escape, but never could. The same car would always find her. She knew it was her own guilt she was dealing with in her subconscious for not being with David on the night he died. It had been her fault that caused the accident as surely as if she had been driving rather than one of the teenagers out for a joyride in their mother’s car. She should have been there. Destiny had been cheated and Destiny was a jealous lover. It would always find a way to claim its own.
She heard a car horn outside and visibly shook. She hated cars now.
She glanced at the mess in her bedroom and thought about cleaning it up and taking a shower. She clicked the nightstand radio on, nearly knocking over the scotch bottle and listened for a moment as it played a slow country song. It was one of David’s pre-sets. He'd loved country, it'd been his favorite music. She'd chastised him for listening to it, insisting they needed to set a better example for Alex. They needed more cultured music. Besides, it reminded her too much of her mother and the tenement she grew up in.
If only you were alive, I 'd never say another word about your choice in music.
She'd urged him to do a great many things in the hopes that Alex would have a better youth than she had. She'd often thought David’s family regretted his choice in marriage but if so, they hid it well. She'd not started drinking until after Alex was born and David took on more responsibility with the firm. He was away too much and the new house left her feeling lonely. David would say she had Alex to keep her company but it wasn’t quite the same.
Alex and David were her whole life, the younger a clone of the older, so similar, yet so different. Both blonde and blue eyed, both addicted to chocolate. David was easy going and quick to smile, Alex however was brooding and quiet. Natalie knew, he'd seen too many nights of fighting. Listened to too many one-sided arguments over what was best for him.
If I could take those nights back I would. I swear I would.
Natalie sighed deeply and looked yet again towards the bottle on the nightstand. It'd been the drinking that sent David and Alex out that night to begin with. She'd broken her only bottle earlier that night and was getting dressed to go out and buy more. Alex had cried at their arguing and David finally told her he would go as she was in no condition to drive. He'd taken Alex along for the ride and she could still recall her son’s eyes as he held David’s hand when they left that night. They'd been filled with anger for causing yet another fight.
The young policeman who had been dispatched to the house had given her the news of the crash and driven her to the hospital. They hadn’t told her David was dead until shortly after she arrived. The doctor who'd treated him sat with her in a small conference room off the triage center and told her how sorry he was. He'd discussed Alex’s condition with her and told her she needed to focus on the living but she barely heard him. The young boy was in a coma, clinging to life and they weren’t sure if he would make it, but he was home not long after she buried David. She remained sober for awhile after David’s funeral, that is, until the reality of what she caused rose to embrace her like some dark serpent of the deep.
She threw an arm over her eyes, trying to block out the memories as well as the meager sunlight that filtered in through the blinds.
Circumstances left her with a son whom she had never really been close to and who she was certain, blamed her for the death of his father. If only he'd talk to her about it. They could grieve together and maybe she wouldn’t need to drink as often. It seemed he preferred talking to himself. She could hear him through the vents when he was in the basement, whispering. She would try to call to him and ask him if he was okay, but he wouldn't answer. He never answered anymore.
Let it go.
She looked again at the digital clock, it now read five fifteen. She should get up and make Alex dinner. He'd been quiet the entire day which she was thankful for. She had needed the quiet to recover from last nights bout with the bottle. The only noise he made the entire day was moving things around in his room earlier as if looking for something. She sighed deeply and rose up on her elbows.
With a final glance at the scotch bottle, she got out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. She washed her face and ran a comb through her hair, trying to look a bit less haggard. She held a hand out in front of her, looking for any signs of the shakes. Satisfied there were none, she brushed her teeth and then left the sanctity of her bedroom to brave the downstairs.
She could hear the television on low as she made her way down the stairs. She stopped on the bottom riser and surveyed the empty room. She had turned the television on last night before retreating to her room to drink her depression numb, he must have left it on. She noticed that the bars of chocolate she left out for him were untouched.
She moved through the room switching the television off and picked up a pair of her shoes she'd left lying on the floor. She placed them close to the stairs to take up later. She went down the hallway to the kitchen and surveyed the mess. Dishes were stacked in the sink as well as on the kitchen table. A box of cereal stood on the table next to Alex's favorite bowl. She could vaguely recall placing it out last night for his morning breakfast when she'd come down for more ice. He hadn’t eaten at all it seemed, the bowl was still clean.
She began to straighten the kitchen up, taking the dishes out of the sink to run hot water. She moved the mess off the table, onto the counter and wiped the table down.
After washing the dishes, she walked across the kitchen to sit at the table, picking up a towel to dry her hands. She wished Alex weren’t
so angry. She needed to talk about the accident with him, but he refused. She just wanted to apologize, she needed to.
Oh David I miss you.
She ran her hands through her hair and lowered her head. Tears fell yet again, though she had thought she couldn’t possibly have anymore left inside her. They'd gone out for her that night for more scotch, always needing more scotch. Had it not been for her...
The thought trailed off, for it had nowhere to go but its logical conclusion, and she had walked the path of guilt far too often since that night.
The telephone rang, its sudden shrillness in the empty house startling her. She crossed the room
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