Ropes in the Attic

by Edward Flora

  “You weren’t even yourself. It was like you were possessed or something.”

  Dani just listened as she quietly helped Peter replace the sheets.

  “It was the most horrific thing I’ve ever seen. The worst part was I couldn’t even help you. I tried but no matter what, it only got worse.”

  Dani grabbed Peter’s hands, looking him in the eyes. She then pulled him close, embracing him. “We’re here together. We always have been and that isn’t going to change.”

  Those few words from Dani were enough to calm Peter down. At least enough so that he stopped pacing around the bedroom.

  He took a deep breath, listening to Dani. She had a way of soothing his nerves. Besides, she was right. They were in this together. It was okay to get worked up over a dream but he couldn’t forget that Dani was still by his side. Everything was okay. It was only a dream.

  “We’ll adjust,” Dani continued. “It’s just going to take time.”

  “It just felt so real. I’ve never had a dream like that before in my life. It felt like something was, I don’t know, pulling the strings inside my brain.”

  FOURTEEN

  Peter’s breathing labored as his legs navigated his morning run. An abnormal amount of sweat dripped from his brow. His mind wasn’t on the road but on last night.

  Dani standing in their old living room.

  It was only a dream.

  Yet Peter pressed into why Dani pointed out his nurse hanging upstairs.

  His pace slowed, going against the tempo of the music in his headphones. Communication between his brain and legs became hazy. The road became less visible.

  All he saw was Dani’s blood-covered face screaming in the living room.

  The nurse’s pair of cold, gray legs protruding from behind the closet door. They appeared to float but they were connected to the lifeless body dangling from the ceiling.

  Side effects from the accident had become sparser over the year, but they happened. Peter slowed to a walk. He tossed his arms up in frustration.

  It’s okay.

  He turned around and started back home frowning slightly. His head ached.

  Some days would be better than others. In order to salvage this one, he had to cut his run short.

  Re-group and check in on the book.

  He wiped the moisture from his face and cut his losses. Tomorrow was a new day.

  #

  Peter placed a mug of hot tea on his desk, pulling up a chair. He stayed on schedule which included the days he would work on specific chapters. Today, he set out to finish chapter three.

  He was doing better now keeping up with his own ideas. Unlike the other day where he felt like his signals crossed with an outside entity. Like something attempted to intercept or manipulate his ideas. Such an absurd thought to have. Peter was never one to believe the hype in any such conspiracy. This was surely his anxiety at work, making it difficult for him to focus.

  Typing away at the keyboard, the words just flowed from his fingers. He felt more at ease since his run, despite cutting it short. It had been the right decision.

  Satisfied with his day’s work, Peter tied up a few loose ends on the chapter. As he prepared to print his progress, he looked up from his desk at the lake. A little girl walked towards the metal fence that surrounded the body of water. Her silky straight hair pulled back into a pony-tail. She wore a green and white wind breaker with brown loafers. It was an odd sight, because as quiet as this town was, Peter still knew parents didn’t just let their kids out on their own like that. He was also sure none of their neighbors had any children. At least not any younger children that still lived at home.

  An uneasy suspicion fell over him. He was so wrapped up in the development happening outside he hadn’t noticed the heat prickling up his neck. It caused him to flinch when it finally reached his face. He covered both eyes with his hands and asserted some light pressure. To alleviate some stress, he rubbed his eyes and hoped he would look back up and have some answers. To his surprise, when he opened his eyes, he instead had more questions. There was no sight of the girl. No sight of anyone.

  “Peter? You upstairs?”

  Dani’s voice coming from the front entrance broke his attention. Time had gotten away from him. There probably hadn’t been a girl, just his tired eyes.

  “I’m here,” he replied as he removed the pages from the printer and left the office to join Dani downstairs.

  “How did today’s writing go?” she asked.

  Peter wistfully approached her without addressing her question and just embraced her. She was caught off guard, yet she held him tight. He sighed deeply against her body.

  “Are you okay?” Her eyebrows scrunched together as melancholy swept over them both.

  “Yes,” Peter said, forcing a smile. “I missed you today”

  Dani’s grin nearly consumed her entire face.

  “I missed you too.” Her hazel eyes began to swell up. “It’s getting late. How about I get settled in and we sit and talk? Like we used to do. I’ll tell you about school and you can tell me about the book.”

  “Okay, yeah…let’s do that,” he replied with a slight hesitation in his voice.

  Though he shared a lot with Dani when it came to his writing, Peter was always self-conscious about it. He never thought his work was ready for other eyes. Unless it was one of his letters to her. Even then he felt nervous about having his work read. He was prone to falling into the trap of repeatedly going back to make changes.

  “I just need to run up to the attic quick. I meant to move a few things but time got away from me today,” he said.

  Actually, Peter thought it would be sweet to reminisce over some old photos. He wanted to surprise Dani and bring some albums down from the attic.

  He ventured upstairs as Dani freshened up. Breaking open the box labeled “old photos” he sifted through some memories. This specific album consisted of pictures taken the year he and Dani met. Peter picked up a handful of loose photos and began to drift down memory lane.

  First was a picture of him and Dani standing together on the sky bridge at Hunter College. The bridge connected the two main buildings on campus. Surrounded mostly by glass, they were able to see up and down Madison Avenue. This was where they met.

  They had class together during the Fall semester. They sat next to each other but never really spoke. It wasn’t until the next term when they bumped into one another on the sky bridge. Peter spent most of his free time there, always sitting in the same spot. He picked a spot facing uptown, sitting sideways with his back leaned against a pillar for support. There he had an incredible view looking straight up the heart of Manhattan. This is where many students came to relax and socialize. It was their escape from being surrounded by books. The vast amount of natural light improved the student’s moods as well. Peter spent every chance he had here with his notepad and headphones.

  It was one of those days, as he sat there writing, when he was interrupted by a familiar voice:

  “Hey! You’re Peter, right? We sat next to each other in Lit last semester.”

  The rest was history.

  The next photo was from their first Christmas together in Brooklyn. They had just moved into their first apartment together. Peter sighed wistfully. He and Dani stood in front of their tree. They were in the middle of decorating when Dani halted progress to snap a picture. Even though Peter was more task-oriented, he appreciated Dani’s sentiment to document the moment. Her smile outshined his substantially as she held up an ornament they picked out together.

  Peter continued thumbing through old photos, when he came across one he wasn’t familiar with. A middle-aged woman wearing a brown cardigan sat happily at a table in a bookstore. A stack of books lay to one side. Peter couldn’t place who this person was. The room she was in looked exactly like the bookshop on Main. Only in the photo, the shop reflected the woman’s enthusiasm. Bright and alive.

  He studied the photo almost becoming hypnotized by
it. A slight hum like florescent lights began to ring in his ears. He was so spellbound by the photo he didn’t notice the drip of water which splashed onto the box.

  He shook his head, shooing away the eerie feeling. He had done enough reminiscing for one day. He instinctively put away the photo in his back pocket before packing up the rest. He made his way back down the stairs, closing the attic door and leaving behind the photo album which he went up for in the first place.

  Peter joined Dani who was already relaxing on the couch downstairs. Her blonde hair sprawled over the leather back of the sofa and creases ran across her work shirt.

  “So, how about the book?” she asked.

  Peter just stood at the entrance for a moment, slightly displaced, still thinking about the pictures. He tilted his head slightly in a daze.

  “Come, sit.” Dani chuckled at Peter’s awkward behavior. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

  “Sorry.” He shook his head. “Right…the book…I don’t think it’s ready yet.”

  “That’s okay, babe,” she said in a supportive voice. “I know these things can’t be rushed. I’ll be right here waiting when you feel like it’s ready for an audience.”

  FIFTEEN

  “My Iron Man is missing,” Johnathan cried.

  Olivia stopped the car, the brakes coming on a little too hard. “Where did you have it last?

  “I don’t know,” he whimpered. “Aunt Dani and uncle Peter’s house?”

  “I think you left it at school, honey.” She turned to wipe away her boy’s tears. “I’ll call to make sure they find it, but you really shouldn’t bring your toys to school.”

  “It’s with Aunt Dani and uncle Peter,” he said with confidence. “Lauren said I couldn’t have it back.”

  “Now that’s just silly,” she shrugged. “I promise we’ll get your Iron Man back from school tomorrow.

  SIXTEEN

  Peter sprinted through his morning trail again. However, he was breaking his routine intentionally this time. Instead of circling back at the roundabout during his run, he continued straight, heading towards Main. Towards the bookshop. Of course, the reason was clear, the mysterious photo inside his back pocket.

  Impulse, however, is an amazing thing. No matter how you train yourself. No matter how many times you say you won’t do something. Impulse will always find its way to grab you. Peter, despite his current focus, was still susceptible to it as well.

  Turning the corner onto Main, Peter passed the bar again. It had caught his eye before but this time it shouted out to him. There it was, the watering-hole, in all its glory. Peter pictured the wooden bar top. Remembered sitting at the bar back home, his glass of Jameson with two iced-cubes in his right hand. His left hand resting on the bar top, the grains of the counter enticing him to stay.

  It was quite nice. It felt like home.

  What’s the worst that could happen? You’ll only stop inside for a moment. You won’t even have a drink. Introduce yourself to the bartender. It’s important to get acquainted with the people here.

  “I’ll have a water,” he’d say. Just coming off a run, water was what he needed. There’s no harm in a glass of water.

  Peter walked in and gave a quick glace around before making it straight for the far end of the bar. Only one other patron sat at the bar, his back facing Peter.

  Peter pulled up a barstool, immediately folding his hands nervously atop the counter. Before the bartender asked for his order Peter took a quick moment to scan the room more thoroughly. Dark and shabby, a small, quiet room which had seen better days. Aside from the bar itself, only three tables lined the opposite wall. The tables, however, lay vacant. One of the chairs had a tear in its embroidered backing. A sad tell, hinting at interest being long forgotten.

  “What’ll it be?” a deep, raspy voice beckoned.

  “I’ll just have a water, thank you,” Peter said trying to keep his nerves under control. He was barely able to make eye contact.

  The white-bearded bald man nodded and turned around, fetching a water glass from behind the bar. A dreary yet well pressed, grey button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, poked out from under his apron. He looked a bit out of place in this dive. Likely better suited serving Old-Fashions with a garnish in some cigar bar. Not this place, where the crack in the door let the sunlight blind you every time you glanced up.

  Only one television graced the entire bar. It sat as a fixture behind the bartender, playing a baseball game. Below the television formed the home to the top shelf liquors, or at least what qualified as “top shelf” here. A bottle of Maker’s Mark remained untouched, collecting dust.

  The more frequently tapped bottle of Jameson sat within reach of the bartender. The sight of it caused a jarring stir in Peter as he tried to focus his attention elsewhere.

  At that moment, Peter became uncomfortable and focused on the other patron, sitting across from the bar, who had been staring him down the entire time. He locked eyes with the man but quickly adjusted back down to his water glass. He wished he had never walked into this place.

  “You like the Mets, kid?”

  “Excuse me?” Peter was caught off guard by the guttural voice coming from across the bar.

  “The Mets,” the guy started in again. “The NEW YORK METS? Baseball?” The man abandoned his pint of beer for a moment to point at the sad little television on the wall. A game was clearly underway. Of course, the Mets were on.

  “I, um…If I had to choose, I guess I’ve always been more of a Yankees guy.”

  The man just grunted and attended back to his beer in disgust.

  “Yankees,” said the bartender, wiping down the counter in front of Peter. “Good man.”

  Peter just gave a slight smile and hunched back over his water glass.

  “You from around here?” the bartender asked, trying to spark up a conversation.

  “I just moved here with my wife. I should really get going, though.” Peter stood up feeling awkward and embarrassed. He placed a few singles on the counter for a tip before leaving.

  “Good talk,” muttered the patron sarcastically as Peter exited the bar.

  Peter shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked up the block towards the bookshop. He shouldn’t have gone into the bar even if he didn’t partake in a drink. He was sailing on dangerous waters by even stepping foot in there.

  #

  “Hey there, Peter,” Tony greeted his new friend. “Coming from another run?”

  A sigh of relief washed over Peter, now a bit more relaxed to be in a positive environment. “Yeah, but I have something I need help with,” he said, pulling the photo from his pocket and handing it to Tony. He then wiped a formation of sweat away from his brow. He couldn’t tell if it was a result of his run or from his encounter at the bar.

  Tony took the picture and stared at it for a long moment. He was clearly familiar with what he saw. His face broadcast a fondness laced with grief.

  “Ah yes…I remember this day.” Tony pressed his fingers into the fine paper. “I remember it very well.”

  “So it was taken here?”

  “Why yes, I took the picture,” Tony responded. “This here is Leida. She was sitting right there in that corner. We hosted her book signing event right here in the store. This was her second book. Well, first published book. It was such a big deal for us. For the entire town, actually. She was sort of a local hero at the time. I knew her and her husband well. They were dear friends to me.”

  Tony described his old friend and Peter sat along for the ride. He felt the longing in Tony’s voice for the time that this picture was taken. It made Peter himself remember what he had back home and those he knew for a time. Tony reminiscing on those no longer in his life brought up a sense of loss for Peter when thinking back to his.

  “We moved into this town around the same time,” Tony continued. “We were so young. Around your age, I’d say. It’s a shame what happened to them. Her husband, Marshall, died before his time. E
verything happened so fast she never really had a chance to properly mourn. She loved him so much but...there was no way to recover from what happened. She lost her sense of direction. Or purpose, rather. They never had any children either; I don’t believe she was able to and that alone strained their relationship. It all took such a toll on her. Heartbreaking to watch.”

  Tony paused for a moment. He looked up at Peter from the picture and shook his head.

  “Afterwards, Leida grew distant with my late wife and me as well. Although she did come around the shop more often, she got more into her writing as a way to cope. Reading too. Just different ways to escape reality. She kind of claimed the second floor here as her own, with the rocking chair and typewriter. She couldn’t bear the pain of what her reality had become, so she created a new one. Building walls around herself right upstairs.”