WISHBONE II: ...Some Wishes Should Never Be Made

by Brooklyn Hudson

  No…

  No more.

  There is nothing to go back for.

  If you go back to the day…

  To the anniversary…

  There is EVERYTHING to go back for.

  She will only bring us back…

  The suffering begins again.

  Not if you kill her.

  Now, talk to her.

  I have nothing to say.

  I cannot…

  I cannot look at her.

  You must.

  I cannot.

  Julien sense they were alone now. He didn’t know what Sarah had done with Lind, Arlette and Rachael, but he and Sarah were alone in the house and had been all night. He could feel her sitting on the foot of the bed; the subtle dip in the mattress, the vibration of her restrained movements, but he refused to look her way or acknowledge her at all. He lay there, his disheartened gaze aimed at the windows. Emotionally, he was numb and despondent. He reminded himself, moment to moment, that he deserved every ounce of agony he was in, both mentally and physically. Rachael had been right to send him away each time he would visit her at the hospital. He failed her the night of their anniversary and he continued to fail her ever since, just as he had failed Jessica, and just as he had failed his grandfather, all those years ago.

  Sarah stood up.

  She’s leaving…

  She walked silently out of the room.

  He listened for her footsteps as she descended the stairs. Alone, he could finally let his guard down and breathe. On the bed beside him, the blankets still held the depression made by Jessica’s small body; remnants of her blood stained the sheets. He looked away and kept his eyes on the ceiling.

  I want this to end…

  To die…

  That is my wish.

  He waited, but there was no rebuttal from his thoughts.

  He didn’t have the strength to plot or plan, or to manipulate her into trusting him, or playing the game again. It was becoming more difficult to breathe now, but he wasn’t afraid. He looked down at his body. His chest bore the mark of the SUV’s steering wheel, a dark semicircle of bruising arched across his sternum. Covered in blankets from the waist down, he could trace the outline of the affixed apparatus, holding both of his shattered legs straight. It would only be a matter of time before infection set in and his wish came true; no wishbone nor a need for Sarah.

  The voice in his head returned.

  She will only bring you back…

  Remember?

  He tried to ignore the thought and convince himself it could end, but reality persevered.

  She warned you…

  If you tried to leave…

  There would be an accident.

  She tried it your way…

  Tried to make you happy…

  Gave you your family…

  But she always wanted you alone…

  All to herself.

  She will not let you die…

  She will load you with drugs and antibiotics to get you through…

  She will leave you in agony for a time, as punishment…

  But she will never let you die.

  If I had been thinking clearly…

  I would never have listen to Lind.

  Ah, but you did.

  He could hear her now, working in the kitchen.

  Bah!

  You are a fool.

  The only chance you have is to do it right this time…

  To make the wish and start again.

  I am losing my mind.

  I would have to kill her…

  Then, how do I wish?

  If she is alive…

  She will only bring me back to this place...

  If she is dead…

  Rachael found a way…

  She brought you back.

  Rachael had Jes…….

  Julien stopped himself.

  The voice disappeared again.

  Matt stood at the base of the snow covered mountain. He looked down the long, quiet road as far as he could see, and then in the opposite direction, where it ended at a fork. He hadn’t seen a car since he turned off Route 23, and even if one happened by, unless there was a plow strapped to its grill, they would be of no help.

  Go home, Matt, he thought, your wife is probably filing for divorce as you stand here looking like a dumbass. Do you really need Julien pissed at you too?

  He groaned, it’s just such a far way to have come…I’m right here, for fuck sake!

  He looked up the unplowed, white mountain path and then deep into the forest beside it. Saplings and trees peppered the steep slope.

  If you held onto those trees, you could probably make it up that mountain on foot. You’re already here. Just do it.

  Matt went back to the car and locked the doors. He had no boots with him and the sneakers he wore wouldn’t provide much traction, nor protection from the snow. He moved to the edge of the road and tested the depth. Fairly compacted, he sank in just above his ankles.

  He shrugged, what the hell? Why not?

  He took another step and then another, gripping saplings along the way. The slope took on more of an incline as he continued into the density of forest. From where he stood, he couldn’t see the top to gauge the distance he would need to climb. He set his mind on the daunting task ahead and committed, never looking back.

  Sarah sat at the kitchen table clipping photos from a stack of magazines. She hummed softly to herself, flipping pages and mumbling then humming again. A photo of the Statue of Liberty caught her eye and she snatched up a blue handled scissor, to cut it from the page. She opened a bottle of paste and took a long, drawn out whiff of the sweet, white adhesive, before meticulously painting the back of the clipping and pressing it down against a lined sheet in an open marble notebook. She muttered to herself and flipped backwards through the book, filled with various sites and scenes of New York City. She returned her attention to the magazine. A perfume ad, a young woman dressed in a bright red coat, auburn hair bouncing off her shoulders. Had life dealt her a different hand, the girl could have been Sarah, living in a different time and place. She cut around the model, cautiously trimming close to her kicked up heels, leaping in mid-motion. She painted paste on the back of the photo then placed it on the same page, beside Lady Liberty.

  Matt sat on a bolder to rest for a moment. He had been climbing for only twenty-minutes and already found himself out of breath.

  I have got to start working out again, he vowed.

  He looked up at the slope and still could not see the peak. He sat, catching his breath and glancing around. He looked at a grouping of cracked and broken trees. He saw something jutting out of the snow and got up to have a look. He plucked a tiny pink and white tennis shoe from the debris of splintered wood and took a look at it. He glanced back up the mountain then slipped the sneaker into his pocket and continued on his way.

  Julien looked out over the property from the porch. He felt her standing behind him; one hand resting on his shoulders and the other, softly playing with his hair. Her arms slid down over his chest and she leaned in to nuzzle against his cheek. She hugged him about the neck and hummed softly. He rested his head back against her shoulder, welcoming her touch. She kissed him with soft, full lips as the breeze woke the sweet scent of her hair. He smiled and opened his eyes; Sarah holding him close. He sat forward and pushed her away. He moved to get up in protest, but as he gripped the arms of the chair to stand, his hands brushed the wheels. He looked down at the wheelchair beneath him. His heart began to race; anxiety gripped him. The property around them began to warp and stretch, far and wide. The tree line recoiled and the mouth of the driveway pushed back into the distance, until it was lost in the horizon.

  You will never get away…

  She has crippled you for life…

  And you will be hers forever.

  Julien felt paralyzed, stuck between R.E.M. sleep and awakening.

  Wake up…

  Wake up now!

 
; His eyes snapped open and he gasped for air.

  You aren’t allowed to leave…

  You aren’t allowed to die…

  So, what do you do?

  I do not know.

  That’s it?

  You do not know?

  So, you do nothing?

  “What do you want me to do?” he yelled out loud then listened to the silence.

  He stared at the door; slightly ajar, he watch in fear of her return.

  He tried to prepare and to turn away. He wanted to pretend to be asleep and to ignore her; sure she had heard him yell and knowing she would come running in an instant. He tried to push against the mattress and shift his weight, but gripped with pain, he whimpered, unable to find the strength to lift himself.

  I cannot do this.

  You want to do nothing…

  What is the difference?

  You have chosen to be here.

  I cannot be here.

  The hallway was quiet. No sound of Sarah rushing up the stairs.

  A fire blazing; he had no idea how long he had been asleep. On the bed sat a tray of medical supplies. She had been there, once again manipulating him without his consent nor knowledge.

  She learns from Lind.

  She is very good.

  She is a monster.

  On the nightstand, he spotted a notebook. At first, he decided against the pain and exertion, and then reached for it anyway, compelled by curiosity. He slid it closer, and then onto his stomach. He opened the marble notebook and flipped through the hard, crisp pages, viewing the collage of photos.

  Oh look at this…

  She makes a scrap book for you.

  This is all of New York City…

  You cannot have your wish…

  But you can have the pretty photos to jog your memories.

  Julien closed the book and wondered if he had the strength to throw it across the room.

  DON’T!

  She will be angry.

  I do not care.

  Yes you do.

  Admit this to yourself…

  Get past this bullshit and figure the shit out.

  Julien buried his face in the crook of his arm.

  I cannot…

  I cannot do this…

  I cannot even think about it.

  There is no way.

  Julien whimpered again. Weak and depressed, he lay there hyperventilating. His body began to shiver.

  Suck it up!

  He composed himself, sniffling and wiping at his face. As his eyes opened again, he saw her kneeling at his bedside on the floor. She reached out to him and he flinched. She pouted, but continued, pressing the back of her hand to his cheek, then feeling his forehead. She stretched across him and brought the blankets up over his chest.

  Julien looked away from her, emotion building up inside of him again.

  Do it…

  Let her see the state she puts you in…

  The tears you shed…

  What is to hide from this monster?

  Julien stared up at the ceiling, refusing to face her.

  Sarah reached out again, this time gently sliding her finger from his eye to his hairline, wiping away a streak of tears. She lifted herself to sit beside him.

  Julien closed his eyes.

  I cannot look at her.

  Yes you can…

  You must.

  Beg for forgiveness…

  Make all the promises she is wanting…

  Tell her you love her.

  Tell her what she wants to hear.

  Sarah picked up the notebook from the bed. She muttered to him and opened the cover. She flipped from page to page, turning the book toward him and pointing to the various sites of New York City.

  Julien took a deep breath and allowed himself to look at the pages she flashed his way. She flipped to another and he looked at the clipping of the Metropolitan Opera fountain, lit up at night. His heart lurched in his chest and he felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He looked away.

  Sarah, seeing his expression, took the book away, closing it and putting it down on her lap. She rested her hand over his.

  Do not be a fool…

  Say something to her…

  Tell her you will give her the world.

  “Sarah, the photos…they make me very sad. I do not know how to get through to you. This is not how it works. You cannot make someone love you or force them to stay.”

  You are making a mistake.

  Sarah took her hand back and fidgeted with her fingers.

  “You have taken everything from me. These things that you do…” he stopped. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to continue. The effort was futile.

  Sarah laid one hand on the notebook again. She reached into her pocket and produced a wishbone.

  Julien looked at the bone and then at the book.

  “What are you saying? That you know my wish. That it is of no use because you know that I want my life back?”

  Sarah furrowed her brow, confused. She pouted again.

  “Do you think that if you keep me here…if I am unable to get away and I remain here with you, that I will learn to love you?”

  Sarah stood up. There was no anger in her eyes, only sadness; which surprised him. She folded the blanket back from his legs, leaving his upper body covered, she pulled the tray closer and began preparing to clean the screws burrowed into his skin. Silently, she went to work.

  You have hurt her feelings.

  Fuck her!

  Julien couldn’t watch. He reached for a pillow and dragged it across his stomach to block the view.

  “How can I ever fall in love with a person who does this things to me? Are you really that stupide?” His anger mounted, “So, now, I cannot leave and I cannot stay… What do we do, Sarah? I wish to die. That is my wish, but I cannot have that either.”

  As his temper flared, it became more difficult to speak; his breathing increasingly labored.

  “You are winning, Sarah, but not really. You have me…I am here…but you cannot ever have my love.”

  Sarah reached toward him and slammed her hand down on the notebook.

  Julien kept rambling, “I have said this… I have tried to say these things in a way that will not hurt you…” His fury intensified, “If life were different. If you were different! It is not my fault that you are what you are. Keeping me here, crippled and pathetic, will never satisfy what you really are wanting from me…” He broke into a sudden, hacking cough, rattling his body and bringing with it, an agony he could no longer contain. He felt his lungs rush with fluid. A flooding sensation, like a dam breaking open within his chest. Fear gripped him and he panicked.

  Julien ran as fast as his six-year-old legs would carry him. He dove through the tall reeds of grass, tripping over rocks and twigs as he came out on the mud bank beside the lake. He pushed his grandfather’s small wooden boat, but it was stuck. His father’s angry voice grew louder and Julien shoved at the boat again, releasing it from the mud. It bobbed in the shallow water and began to drift. Water filled his shoes and socks as he lept into the boat. Quickly, he found the paddle and dug deep into the water, attempting to put distance between them. He looked back in time to see his father, drunk and splashing wildly, reach for the boat. Julien tried to paddle, but he began to drift backwards. He let go of the paddle as his father fell in over the side. The boat rocked violently from side to side. Julien lost his balance and dove out, but Jérome was too fast. He reached over the side and grabbed his son by the collar. His father’s guttural laughter sounded muffled and distorted as Julien felt himself being pushed down under. He struggled to reach the surface, only to be pushed down again, and again. He tried to get out from under his father’s grasp, but Jérome was relentless. Julien’s tiny lungs filled with the murky lake water and he fought for his life.

  Sarah jumped up, standing beside the bed. She stared down at Julien; panic in his eyes, he took short, gasping breaths. She grabbed a bottle f
rom the tray and filled a syringe. She dived down beside him and began tapping at the veins in the crook of his arm. He tried to grab hold of her and she couldn’t keep him still long enough to find a vein. She backed away from the bed, shaking her head and watching him struggling to breathe. She bolted from the room.

  She will not let you die.

  Julien, no longer able to draw air into his lungs, gave in and stopped fighting.

  Sarah charged back to his bedside. Tearing open a large needle, she attached tubing to a small sterile bag and connected it to a syringe. She leaned over him, throwing back the blanket and palpated his side. In one fast compression, she slid the needle between two ribs, tapping his lung and instantly releasing the pressure. Blood and fluid filled the sterile bag so quickly, she removed it and allowed the tubing to drain into a bedpan. She took a bottle from the tray and filled another syringe.

  Julien opened his eyes to a crystal blue sky. The sun burned bright, forcing him to squint. He sat up on the dock and looked around at the large boot prints, drying on the wood. His grandfather’s boat sat on the mud bank, still damp and now overturned. He was alone.

  Sarah stood beside the bed watching him and listening to him breathe.

  Matt dropped onto his back in the snow, panting. He opened his eyes and looked up at the bright, blue sky.