by Carrie Lange
“Do you think she’ll come over soon to check on you?” Tar asked.
Dan blinked, and whatever it was that he almost saw, vanished. “No. She’s four hours away, in Indianapolis.”
Four months ago, he moved to Nashville to start a new job as a website developer for the state of Tennessee. It would be a great opportunity, he had told her. What he hadn’t told her was that he hoped it would give him the will to live. Her love had saved him before, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t tell her that.
When starting the new job, as when starting their relationship, he had been hopeful. This job would define him as a man. This would save him. It was evident almost immediately, however, that it would not.
Creeping anxiety, self-loathing, weariness, soon bored their way back into his mind and body. An undefinable pressure pushed in from all around. Every day felt heavier. Some days he could barely move.
Neither Anne, nor the new job, had taken away his will to live, but he had expected both to give it back to him. When they hadn’t, he finally lost hope.
“We can stay for as long as you want,” Tar said. “Although, I don’t know why anyone would want to stay in this God forsaken place.”
Dan’s attention snapped back to Tar. “Did God really forsake it? Is there a God? What about Heaven? Will we go there?”
Tar sighed. “It’s just a figure of speech.”
He walked over to the couch and sat next to the body, looking at it. “You know, it’s a simple answer, but as soon as I give it to you, you’ll just have more questions. And there are just as many questions here, as there.” He nodded toward the body. “Yes, there is a God, and no, it hasn’t forsaken the world. Is there a Heaven? Yes, I suppose so. Will we go there? Well, I guess we are there. Right now.”
“This is Heaven? In Nashville? Please tell me there’s more to Heaven than this.”
Tar laughed. “There’s much more, Dan. More than you could’ve imagined in that broken brain of yours. I can take you to a place where there are no more questions. But you have to let go of this mortal life, before you can move on to that one.”
“Let go of this mortal life? How do I do that?”
“I can’t answer that for you. I don’t know what you’re holding onto.”
Dan thought about what Tar said. It didn’t make sense. This was just more mumbo-jumbo, psycho-babble bullshit. Was there no escape from it, even here?
A tiny spark ignited inside Dan. “Look at me!” He flung his arms out wildly and pointed at the body. “How could I let it go any more than that?”
“You didn’t let it go. You ran away from it. There’s a big difference.”
They glared at each other. Dan’s hands curled into fists and he clenched his jaw.
Tar leaned back on the couch, smiling, and relaxed. That smile, like Tar’s laugh, like Tar himself, radiated through Dan. He smiled back in spite of himself.
Besides, Tar was right. He hadn’t let go of it. He already missed it. Like a tempermental child who ran away to live in the woods forever, he now wanted to creep back through the window hoping that no one had noticed his absence. “Tar, why do you even care about me, anyway?”
Silence.
“Tar?”
“You remind me of someone,” Tar finally said, his smile fading.
“Who?”
Tar only looked at him, his head cocked slightly to the side, his eyebrow raised as though daring Dan to press the issue.
Dan shook his head in resignation and sat down on the other sofa, half expecting to fall through it onto the floor. He looked down at himself. The pressure of his body pushed against the couch, the solid floor against his feet. Let’s figure out God first, then the laws of physics in the afterlife. “If I do this. If I ‘let go’ of all this, will I meet God then?”
Tar chuckled. Radiant in his perfection, flawless, full of light, Tar had power and raw energy. Like a spark of electricity, it touched Dan, and moved through his body, filling him with the sensation. Warmth. Joy. Peace. Dan expected Tar to tell him at that moment that he actually was God, come to take him away from all this.
“Well, you know, Dan. God isn’t an old man sitting on a cloud granting wishes to the righteous and punishing the wicked. As a matter of fact, God isn’t a person at all, or even a spirit like us. God is...like the ocean, and we’re the creatures living in it. It surrounds us, protects us, gives us life.”
“So...you aren’t God?” Dan asked, crestfallen.
No halo of light shone over Tar’s head. No wings sprouted from his back. No choirs of angels sang over his shoulder. He didn’t wear a billowy white robe. He wore blue jeans and a faded black sweat shirt. But there was a certain quality of divine-ness, a more-than-human-ness about him that Dan couldn’t define.
Tar tilted his head back and laughed. One of those full-bodied laughs that sends a shiver of joy through even the grumpiest of souls who hears it.
“No,” he said, his eyes still sparkling. “I told you, I’m just like you. I was a man once. I died and came here. I’m a spirit, nothing more. God is…” He looked up, searching for the right words. “Much more.”
“Are you talking about the Tunnel and the Light?”
“Well–– “
The staccato trill of a ringing phone splintered the moment.
“We can talk about God later,” Tar said with a wink.
The phone rang several more times over the next hour. Each time Dan heard Anne’s voice from the answering machine, echoing through the quiet apartment, bouncing off the ear drums of the dead man on the couch.
Anne had a three-year-old daughter, Alexandra, from a previous marriage. The lilt of her sweet, baby voice stirred him, and he felt his first twinge of shame. Would she miss him?
“Hey, Dan.” She giggled. “Mama says you s’pose to be at work. Get your butt up! Out of bed, Dan. Call us!”
With Alexandra, he could relax. She would direct him when they played, tell him what to do, what to say, even what to feel. A bossy little thing, he loved her.
The longer he waited, he had told himself, the harder it would be on her. If he was going to kill himself, it had to be while she was still young and would forget him quickly.
He thought he was doing her a favor. She would be better off without him.
Dan’s friend, Rick called. “Anne’s really starting to freak out. You should have been here three hours ago. Where are you?”
They had been best friends since grade school. Rick worked with Dan, had helped him land the job. It was supposed to be great working together. Why hadn’t it been enough?
Rick said he was coming over to check on him. “Dan. You better not have done something stupid again.”
“What’s he talking about?” Tar asked, after Rick hung up.
“I don’t know. What do you mean?”
“I mean, the part about you doing something stupid. Again. And why are they all so worried about you. It hasn’t even been that long.”
Before Dan could answer, the phone rang.
“Listen Dan,” Anne’s voice said. “Your sister’s gonna be here any minute to babysit Alexandra and I need to go to work...You know, Sarah’s gonna freak when I tell her I don’t know where you are...You better be okay, because I don’t know what I would do without you...If you’re listening, pick up the phone… Damn it… I shouldn’t have let you leave here last night, but you told me you were glad to be alive… Remember? Nothing’s changed, right? Listen I just want you––”
The answering machine cut her off, and silence enveloped the room.
As Anne spoke, Tar studied the large section of carpeting that had been cut away from the floor. A look of dawning seemed to be creeping over his face. “Well, well, what’s this, then?”
He got up and walked over to get a closer look. The carpet and padding had been removed down to the bare hard wood. Tar scrutinized the dark stain on the floor. “Blood, I believe…”
He walked back over to Dan’s dead body, leaning over
and examining the hands. One long red slash was deeply embedded in each wrist. Tar shot him a withering look.
A rush of nausea and shame swept over Dan. He wished it would sweep him away into nothingness.
The phone rang.
“Okay, Dan I’ll make this short before the machine cuts me off. If you can hear me, just know that me and Alexandra love you. I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night, I was really tired. If you do something stupid, I’ll just die. I couldn’t live without you. Okay…well…I know I sound stupid and you’re probably just out driving around or something...Call me as soon as you get in. I’m going to work. I’m sure you’re fine, and we’ll laugh over this later. I love you.”
Tar never took his eyes off him. “So. Second time’s a charm, eh? You tried to kill yourself before, by cutting your wrists.”
Dan wished he could somehow make himself smaller. What the hell kind of ghost am I, anyway?
He had sat right there on the floor three weeks ago, bleeding to death.
Drinking wine, smoking cigarettes one after another, watching his blood casually flow out of his body.
At first the blood jetted out with alarming power. It sprayed across his face and arms. However, it soon weakened. Like a gentle, throbbing river, it meandered its way onto his floor. A vague feeling of wonder had floated around in his fuzzy mind at how long it took for him to start fading away.
He woke up in a hospital bed.
Muddled thoughts. Bandaged arms. Disappointment as sharp-edged as the Cold Steel knife used to cut them.
They told him 9-1-1 had received a hang up call from his apartment and sent the police. He didn’t remember dialing the number.
I’m a complete failure, he had thought. I can’t even die right.
Chickening out at the last minute. Even his most hidden, unconscious self was weak. He would not be weak again. Next time, he promised himself, he would not hesitate.
“You wanted a second chance,” Tar went on. “To go back and be alive again. But you already had a second chance, didn’t you? And them?” Tar pointed angrily at the answering machine, as though they all lived inside it. “Now they can’t say ‘We never saw it coming’. Instead, they’ll say ‘We should have seen it coming’. They’ll say ‘How could we have let this happen again?’ “
Dan shrank before Tar’s increasing and unexpected fury. His throat tightened and stinging tears pricked his eyes. “I…left a note––”
“Oh! A note. Lovely. Where is it?” Looking around the body, Tar saw the small piece of paper on the table beside the couch. “Oh, how nice. I’m sure this will explain it all beautifully. Let’s see, shall we?”
Tar started to read the note and Dan caught his breath. This was going to be embarrassing.
“‘Mom, Dad, Rick, Anne, Sarah’,” Tar began. “Well, that’s efficient. Get them all in there, in one shot.”
“Please,” Dan begged him. “Stop.”
Embarrassing wasn’t the right word.
Humiliating. That worked.
“Oh, no, I really want to hear your explanation. I have so many questions about why you did this. I’m glad it can be summed up in just a few short words. How succinct. ‘Mom, Dad, Rick, Anne, Sarah. I tried and I just can’t do it or deal with it. No one is to blame but me. Forgive me, I’m sorry. Dan’.”
Tar kept looking at the note, perhaps trying to find more meaning in the few words written there. “Yes,” he said softly, “Everyone’s questions answered. Don’t you feel better now?”
Dan could only shake his head. “What have I done, Tar?”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The front door thundered and they both jumped.
“Daniel Smith! This is the Nashville police department. Open the door.”
“Yes, I’m coming!” Dan shouted, running to the door and opening it.
Instead of seeing the officer on the step outside, he only saw the closed door. Grabbing the knob, he tried to turn it. This time, his hand slipped over the smooth metallic surface. He looked curiously at his hand, and reached for the knob again.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Daniel Smith! Can you hear me? This is the Nashville police department! Open the door immediately!”
“Yes, I’m trying! One second!” He furiously tried to make contact with the door. “There’s something wrong!” he shouted. “My hand isn’t working!”
Chapter 4
As Dan tried, without success, to open the front door of his apartment, he heard Tar chuckling.
“What are you doing?” Tar asked, an amused look on his face.
“Damn it! I’m trying to answer the–– “
As he turned to shout at Tar, Dan saw the dead body. Its eyes had large bruises around them. The blood was dry and dark. “Oh my God. I forgot.”
Dan and Tar watched, unseen, as the officers came in, looked at the body, and did a sweep of the apartment. The search didn’t take long. The apartment was small, and sparsely furnished, a testament to Dan’s tidy, well-organized existence.
Watching the men touching all his things made Dan feel violated. Though he noticed his anxiety was surprisingly less than he expected. When he was…alive…this would have caused so much physical discomfort that his skin would have crawled, and his stomach would have turned.
After his suicide attempt three weeks ago, doctors had labeled him ‘Clinically Depressed’.
They had also labeled him ‘Obsessive Compulsive’.
Dan found it ironic that his clean, tidy nature indicated mental illness, while the majority of the population’s slovenly nature indicated well-adjustment.
There were logical reasons for everything he did. Neither obsession, nor compulsion drove him.
In his closet were exactly as many shirts and pants as he needed. Twelve pants, twenty-four shirts. They hung on matching hangers, facing the same direction, spaced a finger’s width apart. The reasons were simple. First, it was faster and easier to decide what to wear, and secondly, his clothes did not get wrinkled.
There were two dirty clothes hampers in his closet. In the black one, he placed his darks, in the white one, his lights. This was efficient, because when it was time to do laundry, he didn’t have to separate them.
The shower curtain was always closed so that it would dry completely and mildew would not form on the plastic lining. Only liquid soap was used because it was sanitary, and did not collect lint, and hair, and germs. He had to use that certain brand of toothpaste, because it was the only one that retracted the paste slightly after squeezing. Clutter only collected dust. All matching glasses and plates and bowls fit neatly in the dishwasher, and stacked neatly in the cabinets.
There was a damn good reason for everything he did.
True, he didn’t exactly have a reason for counting all the steps he took. Or why it bugged him so much when journeys ended on an uneven step count that he would force himself to add another step or skip the last stair all together.
Yeah, yeah, be honest with yourself, Dan. Everything had to be even, not just steps.
Stirring pots, adjusting volume levels, adding shakes of salt, clapping. He cringed just the tiniest bit every time he saw a digital clock with an odd numbered minute showing. For the longest time, he couldn’t use a clicky-top pen because there was no way to open it by clicking it twice. Until that glorious day when he realized he could count the downward click as one, and the upward click as two.
Light switches were the bane of his existence.
Okay, so possibly the counting thing was kind of weird, but didn’t everyone have their little quirks of character? And it’s not like counting had a negative impact on his, or anyone else’s life. There were probably a lot of people who did these kinds of things, but who talks about stuff like that?
The officers finished their initial sweep of the apartment and Dan followed one of them outside. Rick sat on the steps that led up to the front door, looking pale and sick.
Dan sat next to him. A baby blue, cloudless Tennessee
sky hung above them – a canopy of color that almost seemed to cool the waves of heat that shimmered up from the white concrete.
“Rick.” Dan touched his shoulder, the cotton fabric a thin covering for the muscle and bone that Dan felt underneath. “Can you hear me, Rick?”
Dan slid his hand down to Rick’s forearm and gripped it tightly. He could feel each individual hair, the muscles flexing as Rick nervously clenched and unclenched his hands, the pulsing rhythm of blood coursing through veins. It was like he had a superhero’s power of perception. If he looked closely enough, he was sure he could see the cells that made up Rick’s arm. Dan’s fingers dug into the skin.
Why couldn’t Rick feel it?
The police asked Rick lots of questions about Dan’s mental state and recent suicidal behavior. They often had to repeat the questions because Rick couldn’t seem to stay focused on their words. His eyes kept flitting back to the open front door, through which the faint image of Dan’s dead body could be seen. Every time he looked through the door, he grew paler and seemed to wilt a bit more. Dan had never seen him appear to be falling apart. Until now.
Dan did find it amusing, however, when they asked Rick if Dan played Dungeons and Dragons. He turned to Tar, shaking his head. “Why would they want to know that?”
Tar shrugged. “I’ve no idea. I never heard of it. What is it?”
Dan looked at him curiously. Well, maybe they don’t have the game in England.
Still.
“Exactly how long have you been dead, Tar?”
Tar raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose. “A while.”
Dan realized how little he knew about him. “That’s not your real voice, is it? Are you even British?”
Tar chuckled. “Do I sound British?”
“Yeah, you have the voice of the man you look like.”
“Ah, yes, did you know him well?”
Dan shook his head. “No. He’s a famous movie star.”
“Really? Well, I’m coming up in the world then. Is he very attractive?”
“Ummm.” Dan looked at Tar for a moment, wondering if spirits felt things like vanity.“I don’t know. It’s not really what he’s known for.”