by Carrie Lange
The truth is most people don’t say anything. I don’t know if it’s because he was “just my boyfriend”, or because it was a suicide. Most people don’t even acknowledge that I have lost anyone. It’s kind of weird when I think about it.
I guess maybe if he had been killed by a drunk driver, or died of cancer, or some other “proper” form of death people might be more compassionate. Who knows...I don’t really care anyway.
It seems weird, but I actually keep thinking about shooting myself in the head. I feel like I want to die the same way he did, and experience the same thing. Crazy, huh?
~ Anne
Dear Anne,
I think about dying all the time. Kim didn’t commit suicide, but since she drank herself to death, in a way she did kill herself. I didn’t realize she had a drinking problem, but no one believes me.
I found out after she died that she was a “functional alcoholic”, which means she acted normal when she was drunk. Her brother told me that, before I met her, she almost died from liver damage and the doctors told her she could never drink again. Unfortunately, no one told me about this until it was too late.
After she died, I searched the house, and found bottles of rum hidden all over. Apparently, she drank all day while I was at work and I never knew. I only drink beer myself. But, like you, I have developed an obsession with how Kim died.
I would never tell anyone else this, but I started drinking her rum. After I finished off her bottles, I bought more. This stuff tastes like shit, but I keep drinking it anyway. I wonder how long it would take to die.
~ Chris
Chapter 41
Since Dan’s confrontation with Tar, they had maintained a quiet distance from each other. More often alone now, Dan searched for a way to talk to Anne.
As she searched her mirror for images of him, he ran his hand over the smooth glass, trying to find a way inside.
Once, Rale had taken Dan’s hand and brushed his fingertips lightly across the surface of the mirror. An icy coldness jetted up his arm and he instinctively pulled away from Rale’s grasp, just as he saw a flash of recognition sweep across Anne’s face.
She sat up straighter, blinking, and looked deeper in the mirror. “Dan?”
Dan turned to Rale and stretched his hand toward him. But Rale only smiled and faded away.
At first, Dan thought he made an impact on the tape recorder she used to record white noise in the apartment. She would hold the recorder up and ask a question to the empty air. Dan would stand close to the microphone and answer.
He strained his ears along with Anne as they listened together to the play back. Strange voices and muffled words whispered in the static.
Or did they?
Finally, he realized he was deluding himself even more than Anne was.
The first time he put his hand over hers as she held a pencil over paper, he felt a rush of excitement quicken his pulse as he easily and deftly wrote out the words ‘I love you. I’m sorry’. Until he looked down at the paper and saw only a scrawl of gibberish.
Dan vowed to keep trying. If Rale had made her see him in the mirror, if only for a moment, then it must be possible.
But this night, she did not light any candles, or pull out her tape recorder. Instead she sat in front of her computer sending messages back and forth to a man named Chris.
As Dan watched her, an uncomfortable feeling crept through him. She smiled as she read the messages from Chris, something Dan had not seen in many days.
He leaned over her shoulder, scrutinizing the newest one.
Her pack of cigarettes is still sitting on the table. Her antacid, and brush, and face cream. I don’t want to get rid of any of it. Her brush still has her hair in it. I know it would creep people out if I told them that. I flipped when someone threw away the diet coke can she was drinking from right before I took her to the hospital. I had to dig it out of the trash can.
Anne giggled.
Dan looked at her with irritation, wondering what was so funny.
Chris, I know exactly what you mean! I still have a box of ice cream in the freezer that’s three months old. I can’t throw it away because me and Dan ate it together. I cried when I threw away the empty bottle of shampoo that he bought me. And then I went and dug it out of the trash. Part of me wants to wear his shirts because they smell like him, but the other part of me is afraid they will stop smelling like him if I do.
I never thought anything could make me feel better. Please keep writing to me, as your words are pure comfort.
Dan should feel grateful that Anne had found some comfort, and he tried very hard to convince himself of this.
The air on the other side of Anne shimmered and flickered with static sparks. And then Tar appeared. “You’re scowling. Any particular reason?”
“Why are you always sneaking around like that, Tar? Ever heard of privacy? Can’t you like…knock…or something?”
Tar raised his eyebrows and made a grumbling sound. He looked at Anne and then, leaning over her, at the computer screen. When he looked back up at Dan he smiled one of those condescending smiles that makes the blood boil of the person at whom the smile is directed. “Jealous, are we?”
Dan’s face turned red. “Shut up, Tar. That’s ridiculous.”
“Oh, I know it’s ridiculous…still…you didn’t deny it.”
“I’m not jealous! What do you want? And you can wipe that smirk off your face!”
The smirk deepened and was highlighted with a chuckle. “I came here to show you something. Come over here.”
Tar walked toward the middle of the room and held his arms out toward Dan.
“You gotta be kidding me…”
“Oh, stop being an infant and come here.”
Dan walked over to him, but did not take Tar’s hands. “What?”
“I’m going to take you some place. Since you’ve never been there before, I need you to focus on me, and then we’ll go together.”
Dan took a step back. “Where?”
“Don’t worry, it’s right here, on this God forsak––…It’s right here on Earth.”
When Dan made no move, Tar dropped his hands and sighed. “You can come right back here, I promise. It won’t take long. Trust me.”
Dan hesitated, but he shrugged and held out his hands. “What the hell.”
Tar took Dan’s hands and closed his eyes. Dan closed his as well, and a warm tingle just started to creep up his fingers and into his wrists when Tar said, “We’re here.”
Dan stood in a small-ish room which appeared to be a living room. He instantly felt anxious as he looked around at all the stuff in this particular room.
Some might call it Cozy, others would call it Cluttered.
Dan would call it Full of Useless Crap.
There were bookshelves full of brick-a-brack, papers piled on tables, throw rugs on top of carpeting, a crowded mantle over the fireplace, vases full of dried flowers, folk-sy, country art on the walls, and seemingly endless frilly pillows on the over-stuffed, flower print sofa.
Dan shook his head as he maneuvered around the furniture toward the mantle, in front of which, Tar stood. “What the heck did you bring me here for?”
Tar pointed to a picture on the mantle. A woman lounged comfortably in the arms of a man. “I wanted to show you this picture.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to introduce you to the woman in a minute, and I wanted you to know what she looks like.”
Dan looked around. “What? She can see us? Like Alexandra? Is she like, a medium or something?”
“No, idiot. She’s dead.”
“Wha–– she’s what? Dead?”
“You catch on quick. Yes. She’s dead. A spirit, like you and me. I wanted you to know what she really looks like. I don’t want you imagining her as some movie star you had a crush on. That could be very distracting.”
Dan looked more closely at the picture. The woman appeared in her mid-thirties, petite and dar
kly tanned, with a brilliant white-toothed smile. The man who had his arms wrapped around her appeared a bit older, with long dark blonde hair under a baseball cap which was turned backward. “Who are they?”
Tar pointed to the man. “That’s your buddy who’s sending Anne messages, Chris. And that,” he said pointing to the woman, “is his dead fiancée, Kim.”
“No shit? And I’m going to meet her? The drunk?”
“I’m not a drunk, asshole.”
Dan spun around and saw the woman standing just behind him, a look of profound irritation on her face.
Tar chuckled. “So much for my careful introduction.”
Chapter 42
Dan looked at Kim sheepishly. “Uhh…I’m sorry. I-I- just thought––”
“Save it. I know what you thought.” She whipped around and looked back at Tar. “Look, I wasn’t an alcoholic, okay? Maybe I used to be, but that was a long time ago. I didn’t drink that much. Really.”
Tar held his hands up in surrender. “Hey look, I told you already. I’m not an angel. And I’m not God. You don’t have to convince me of anything. I’m just a spirit, like you.”
The corners of her mouth drew down in a pouty little expression which reminded Dan of Anne. He smiled. “I’m Dan. And I’m really sorry about what I said. It was rude. It doesn’t matter how we died.” He gave Tar a pointed look. “What do you want, Tar? Why did you bring me here?”
“I just thought you could use some company. And also, Kim here, can talk to Chris.” He gave Dan a wink.
Dan turned to Kim. “No shit, really?”
Kim walked over to the couch and stood looking down at it for a moment. “Why the hell did I want all these damn pillows? There’s nowhere to freakin’ sit.”
She sighed and sat down in the recliner instead. “Well, I can’t exactly talk to him. He hears what I say sometimes...sort of.”
At that moment, the front door opened. Chris flicked a cigarette butt into the bushes outside before coming in. This was not the smiling man from the picture on the mantel. He resembled Anne in his haggard, tired facial expression and red, puffy eyes. His eyes flicked briefly to where Kim sat and lingered there for more than a moment.
Reaching down, he grabbed a half empty bottle of rum from the coffee table and went to the computer desk in the far corner. He took such a long swig from the bottle that Dan gave a low whistle. “Man, that dude’s gonna kill himself drinking like that.”
A tiny whimper came from the direction of the recliner and Dan winced. “Um...sorry.”
“No, it’s all right,” Kim said. “You’re right. He’s been drinking like that since I died. He had a gun, and I think he might have used it, but his mom took it away from him. Now all he does is drink that damn rum. But, he’s had some comfort from talking to your girlfriend.”
She’s my fiancée,” Dan corrected. “Well, I mean...she was. Whatever. Yeah, I know. They are chatting quite a bit, huh?”
Tar moved over to the couch and sat down right in the middle of all the pillows. “Dan’s jealous,” he said with a smirk.
“Damn it, Tar, I’m not jealous! Why do you have to be such an ass?”
“Hey, Dan,” Kim said. “Don’t worry about it, I know how you feel. It’s not jealousy, exactly. I just wish I could be there to comfort him instead of her. I wish I wasn’t dead.”
“Yes,” Dan said, looking at Kim with a new level of respect. “That’s exactly how I feel too.”
Dan walked over to Chris and looked over his shoulder as he typed a message to Anne.
Sometimes, I think I see her out of the corner of my eye. When I walked in my front door just now, I swear I saw her sitting in the recliner for a second. Sometimes I hear her voice in my head. Maybe it’s just my imagination.
Dan looked back at Kim. “He saw you sitting in that chair when he came in.”
“Yeah, he sees me and hears me sometimes. But usually he doesn’t believe it. He thinks it’s just his imagination.”
Dan looked over at Tar. “How come he can see her?”
Tar got up and walked over to Dan. Beside Chris’s desk stood a stack of three keyboards which were plugged into a mixer which in turn plugged into a pair of speakers. Beside the mixer, there was a fourth keyboard and an acoustic guitar.
Tar began playing the middle keyboard, an enchanting melody filling the quiet room. “It’s because he’s a Creative. Creatives are more connected to our world. It’s where they derive much of their inspiration from.”
As Tar reached the crescendo of the piece he played, Chris stopped typing and turned toward the keyboards, a puzzled look on his face.
“Can he hear that?” Dan asked.
“Um hmm. A faint whisper of it, anyway.”
“And he can hear Kim when she talks to him?”
“Sometimes.”
Dan turned eagerly to Kim. “Hey, can you give him a message? A message for Anne?”
Kim shrugged. “Well, like I said, it’s not that simple. He just picks up little bits and pieces of what I say. More like, the general idea of the words. I can’t, like, just have a conversation with him.”
“Okay, well, can you try? Just try to make him understand that it’s me?”
Kim thought for a moment. “It would have to be something only you and Anne would know. Something simple, but meaningful to both of you.”
It was Dan’s turn to think. “I know something. At the art museum in Indianapolis there’s a bridge that crosses a little creek. We always kissed every time we stood on that bridge. She called it the kissing bridge. I told her that when I asked––”
Dan had to pause because something grabbed his throat and squeezed. Tears stung his eyes and threatened to spill over. “I told her that when I had a ring for her I was going to get down on one knee and propose to her on that bridge.”
Dan held his eyes open a little wider, trying to prevent the tears from falling. He felt like a bug under a microscope as Kim looked at him curiously. He could tell she wanted to ask him something, but she had the good grace to refrain. Perhaps she also wanted to avoid uncomfortable questions.
“Okay, Dan. I think that will work. Let me give it a try.” She walked over and kneeled beside Chris. “Chris, can you hear me? It’s Kim. I want to tell you something about Anne and Dan.”
Chris kept clicking away on the keyboard.
“There’s a bridge. Tell Anne about the bridge. Come on, Chris, this is important. You need to tell Anne about the bridge.”
Chris stopped typing and stared at the screen.
Kim nodded. “There’s a bridge, Chris. A bridge. The bridge is important to Anne. Tell Anne about the bridge.”
Sighing, and then yawning, Chris put his head in his hands.
Dan rolled his eyes. It would have been funny if the situation weren’t so dire.
This has success written all over it, he thought, unable to hold back a bitter-tasting snort.
Kim gave Dan a sidelong glance and narrowed her eyes at him. Turning back to Chris, she rested one hand over his, and leaned close to his ear. “A bridge. Tell Anne about the bridge. Dan says to tell Anne about the bridge.”
Chris shook his head, and looked around the room. “A road?”
Kim stood and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “A bridge. It’s a bridge. The bridge is important to Anne and Dan. Tell her, Chris. Tell Anne about the bridge.”
Closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair, Chris whispered, “What are you trying to tell me? Show me the road. What do you mean?”
Kim pressed her cheek against his and softly repeated the word. “A bridge…a bridge…a bridge.”
Chris opened his eyes and sat forward. “A bridge?”
A triumphant smile lit up Kim’s face and she kissed his cheek. “Yes. A bridge. Tell Anne about the bridge.
The bottle rose to his lips once more. Then he set it down and rubbed his face. “A bridge, eh? All right, what the hell.” He took another swig from the bottle of rum and started typing.<
br />
Kim says there’s something about a bridge. I don’t know what that means, or if it even means anything.Something about Dan and a bridge. Does that mean anything to you?
Chapter 43
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
~ Jesus Christ, Matthew 5:4
~~~~~
Anne tore her eyes away from the computer screen and rubbed her face. A bridge? Is he talking about the kissing bridge? She shook her head. No, that’s impossible. It’s just a coincidence. Still…that’s pretty weird.
Alexandra fussed in the bedroom, so Anne went in to check on her. “Hey, baby, you okay?”
Alexandra stretched and yawned and sat up in the bed, rubbing her sleepy eyes. “Mama, why you got them trash bags on’a windows? It so dark in here.”
Anne smiled and sat on the bed next to her. “Sorry, babe. You want me to turn the light on?”
“No, Mama. No light.” Alexandra paused as if deep in thought. “Mama, I sorry that I died.”
“What are you talking about, baby?”
“I died, Mama. I sorry. I had that baby right in there,” she said, pointing to her stomach. “And then, I went like this.” She balled up her fists, scrunched up her face, and made a loud, low, grunting noise. “And then, that baby, it came outta there.” She looked down and pointed between her legs with a puzzled expression on her face.
Then she looked back at her mother and made a cradling gesture with her arms. “I held that baby like this…And then I died. I sorry, Mama, but that baby, she died too.”
Anne sat back and thought for a moment, not sure how to react. “When did all this happen, Alexandra?”
“Well, you know, before here. I forgotted all about it. But then I jus’ had this dream, an’ I was right back there wif my udder babies. Then I ‘membered about dyin’ and oh, that poor, poor little baby dyin’ too.”
Anne stroked her daughter’s hair and smiled. She had such a vivid imagination. “You had other babies in your dream?”