Saltar's Point

by Ott, Christopher Alan

  She was the last one to arrive. The members of her group sat anxiously upon their plastic chairs. Most bobbed their head up and down between their knees awaiting the counselor to bequeath some words of wisdom that would miraculously set them free of their addiction. Ellie peered at them with the skepticism of a newcomer, wondering how the words of a stranger –skilled as she may be- could set them free from their addictions. She took her place in her chair. The counselor looked up at her briefly before glancing back down at her notepad. She scribbled down a few more notes and then gazed out in panoramic fashion at the group before her. Ellie had been introduced to her just two days before. Her name was Martha, she held a doctorate in psychology with an emphasis on chemical addiction and the effects on the brain. She was thirty-eight years old, with long black hair pulled up behind her in a ponytail, and she wore light brown cotton pants and a white silk blouse buttoned right up to the base of her neck. When she spoke she did so with a soft almost condescending manner, which put Ellie in a defensive mood. You need help, and I’m the only one qualified to give it to you her manor said. Ellie felt like she was going to vomit, and this time it wasn’t from chemical withdrawal.

  “Okay welcome back. Before we begin I have an exciting announcement.” She gave a dramatic pause. “We have a new member.” The rest of the group feigned excitement with an amicable golf clap. The counselor peered at her. “Ellie would you like to introduce yourself to the group?”

  No thanks lady, I’d just as soon remain anonymous. Ellie knew that thought would never fly here, so she played along.

  “My name is Ellie Pritchard, and I’m a drug addict.” She recited the line as she had been instructed just hours before.

  “Hi Ellie!” The group chanted in unison and mock enthusiasm.

  “I want you all to welcome Ellie to the group and make her feel at home.” The counselor verbally vomited her lines with obvious experience. “Now why don’t we begin?”

  Oh my God, what the hell am I doing here?

  The thoughts played through her mind like a home movie. The words of her counselor were drowned out by the images in her mind. She thought about Aiden, her grandfather, and Randall. What must they think of her? She had never wanted her life to come to this, but here she was an addict, a user.

  “Jim why don’t you begin?”

  A small lanky man with dimpled skin from childhood acne stood up and addressed the group. “I’m just trying to take it one day at a time. I’ve been writing in my journal and trying to cope with my addiction.”

  Ellie recoiled into herself, drowning out the words of her fellow addicts. She didn’t need to be here, she didn’t want to be here, and for Christ’s sake hadn’t any desire to be here with these junkies. The room began to spin; she felt another bout of sickness coming on.

  No God please, not here.

  She looked around her, Jim was still speaking, though to her his words came out free of sound, as though she had pushed the mute button on her television set. The group around her nodded their heads up and down in rhythmic cadence. Ellie felt as though she were on a merry-go-round, watching the bobbing of the horses as they spun around and around. She felt the bile building in her throat. Her salivary glands began to kick into overdrive, spewing forth sticky liquid that filled her mouth with relentlessness. She swallowed it down, hoping that that would be the end of it, but her stomach protested and she felt her abdominal muscles begin to wretch.

  No, no, no, please not here.

  And then she vomited, spraying mucus and stomach acid across the room in a violent heave that spread out from the corners of her mouth like a ruptured fire hose, spraying in all directions, with no way to stop it. Bits of bread and lettuce hurtled through the air –remnants of her lunch- projected forward and propelled by the violent upheaval in her small intestine. Ellie watched horrified as her last meal struck the other members of the group splattering against their clothes like rain on a tent roof and spilling atop Martha’s shoes, staining the white canvas of her loafers. Ellie hurled the contents of her stomach several more times before the spasms in her diaphragm subsided, and then she placed her head in her hands resting just between her knees and listened to the deafening silence about her. An acidic stench permeated the air and filled the room with a choking odor. Depressed and humiliated, Ellie wept into her hands. Salty tears leaked between her fingers.

  Martha rose from her chair and placed a soothing arm around her shoulders. As Ellie wallowed in her shame, it felt like a vise grip.

  “Are you okay Ellie?”

  She managed to eek out a nod between sobs, her shoulders lurching forward with every gasp. The group remained silent, content to let Martha deal with the distraught newcomer.

  “Why don’t we get you back to your room? I think you’ve had enough for today.”

  Another nod followed and then Martha helped her from her seat and began to assist her down the long hallway. Life had become one big shithole for Ellie Pritchard, and she was left to dig her way out without a shovel.

  Their dinner consisted of macaroni and cheese, some reheated broccoli and day old bread. Without Ellie around to cook for them the boys were left to fend for themselves, and the culinary outcome was not good. Aiden pushed the broccoli around on his plate, spreading it out on the porcelain, hoping that it would appear as though he had eaten some of it. He wished Chubs were here, Chubs would eat anything, and he could have easily slipped the broccoli under the table to be devoured by the hungry canine, leaving no evidence behind.

  They sat in Cletus’ kitchen. Randall thought that it might be easier for Aiden to adjust to his mom’s absence if he was in the presence of family. It didn’t appear to be working very well. Aiden had worn a frown all-day.

  “Come on champ, I need you to eat at least some of your broccoli.”

  “I can’t it tastes like crap.”

  “Where’d you here that word?” Randall said with his mouth full of macaroni.

  “From you, when you smashed your thumb with the hammer.”

  “Well you shouldn’t say it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a bad word, I shouldn’t say it either. Tell you what. I won’t say it anymore if you don’t.”

  “Okay.”

  “How’s the investigation going?” Cletus said, interrupting the ethics lesson.

  “Slow, slower, and slowest.”

  “You still focusing in on that Darrow character?”

  “Yeah, but we don’t have much to go on other than some changed tires and some bondage items.”

  “Well if you ask me,” Cletus said, pointing with his fork for emphasis, “you’re on the right track. That Darrow fellow is no good. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “Yeah well that’s pretty much the consensus, but connecting him to the crime has proven to be more of a challenge than we thought.”

  “When can we go see mommy?”

  “Tell you what champ, you finish your broccoli and we’ll go see your mother right after dinner.”

  Aiden shoveled the broccoli into his mouth like a backhoe filling a ditch. That’s one way to get him to eat his vegetables Randall thought. When they had finished Cletus cleaned up the dishes and Randall got Aiden ready to go. Twenty minutes later they had piled into the Cherokee and were on the road to the rehab center. The entire drive was filled with silence; no one wanted to discuss the horrid situation of a family member with an addiction problem.

  When they arrived Randall opened the back door for Aiden and he took off for the sliding glass doors, eager to see his mother.

  “Whoa, slow down champ.” Randall called out after him. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  Aiden waited for them to catch up, and then the three entered the center together. The nurse behind the counter ran over the visiting time rules. All three of them nodded their comprehension, eager to see Ellie. The automated lock on the treatment ward door buzzed and Randall pushed it open as they stepped into the hall beyond. They walked down the hal
lway and stopped just outside of Ellie’s room. Randall knocked three quick raps against the door before they entered. He gasped as he looked at Ellie. She was white as a ghost. Aiden tried not to show his dismay but it registered upon his face like a highway billboard. Cletus betrayed no emotion; a stern look permeated his face.

  “Do I look that bad?”

  “You’ve looked better.” Randall said, trying to keep his alarm at bay. “How are you feeling baby?”

  “Like I’ve been run over by a dump truck.”

  They worked their way over to her bedside. Aiden climbed up and threw his arms around his mother. They both cried a wave of tears.

  “Don’t cry baby. Mommy’s all right. Everything’s going to be all right.”

  Her words did little to comfort him; the allure of the hospital permeated his thoughts making him sad.

  “Mommy?”

  “Yes baby.”

  “When are you coming home?”

  “Soon baby, I promise.”

  He hugged his mother closer. Randall and Cletus looked on silently. After a minute or so Aiden let go and sat quietly on the edge of the bed. Randall looked at his fiancée, wishing he could aid her in her pain. She sensed it and looked up at him.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?”

  “For putting you through all this. You forgive me?”

  “There’s nothing to apologize for, we’re just here to make sure you get through everything okay.”

  He hugged her close, feeling the tears wet the shoulder of his shirt. She cried for near ten minutes straight before looking Randall in the eyes.

  “Thank you for loving me.”

  He kissed her softly and brushed the tears from her cheek.

  Darrow paced within his labyrinth, his boots echoed on the stone floor filling his mind with thoughts of hate. Why the hell didn’t his master let him kill her? She was primed and ready, helplessly fastened to the steel gurney. It had been two days, the whore was screaming at the top of her lungs. The noise scraped the inside of his skull like steel wool, digging at the fleshy part of his brain and sending him into an insane tirade of curses and swear words. He couldn’t sleep. The cunt screamed incessantly, tormenting his every moment. Oh how he longed to cut her, to make her bleed, but his master was resolved to let both her and Darrow suffer.

  He plopped down on his bed, steel springs creak beneath his weight. Darrow kicked off his boots and sat motionless, listening to the cacophony of pleas and screams within the next room.

  “Please God, please. Let me go.”

  He smashed the side of his fist against the bedpost, no doubt causing a deep bruise that formed not just in his skin but in the bone as well.

  “JESUS. MAKE THE BITCH STOP!” Darrow screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Not until you bring me another. I am not strong enough yet for the work that needs to be done.

  “Fuck the work, let me cut her, it will make you stronger.” Darrow pleaded, but the entity held fast.

  No, it is in her suffering that I grow stronger. Until you bring me the blood of another, the girl must live.

  “I CANT.” Darrow screamed. “They’re watching me now.”

  How unfortunate.

  He dropped to his knees, tucking his head between his thighs, trying in vain to block out her anguished cries. Her shrieks cut through him like a rusty blade, making his soul bleed. He banged his head against the bedpost repeatedly, sending a hollow reverberation throughout the basement.

  “Please master, let me cut her.” He pleaded.

  Bring me another. Then I shall be strong enough.

  “I told you, there are no others, they’re watching me.”

  There is one.

  His hands shook. “No, not her. There are others.”

  Has she not mocked you? Has she not become a blight on your existence?

  “She is weak. She cannot be the one you want.”

  Has her constant need of attention not gotten to you? Can’t you feel her needy heart sucking at your very being? Does she not nag you?

  “She is my wife.”

  She is a problem, a problem that must be dealt with.

  “No!”

  She was down on the first floor today Jack.

  “No! That’s impossible. She’s crippled.

  It’s true, she grows stronger.

  “Give me time, I will bring you another.”

  You try my patience Jack.

  The demon materialized before him, dark sinew weaving over black bone. When he was complete he stepped towards Darrow, cloven hooves burning into the cedar floorboards.

  I tire of you Darrow. Bring me another, one pure and innocent, or bring me your wife. The hour grows late and I grow tired.

  “And who am I to judge who is innocent?”

  Bring me the innocent, or I will take your wife myself.

  “I will bring you another master, this I swear to you.”

  Do not toy with me this time Jack, I do not have the patience.

  And with that he was gone, dissipating into the air like a wisp of smoke. Darrow knelt at his bedside, his heart hammering within his chest. Abby, that fucking bitch, why was he protecting her? He could end this all now, bring her to the demon and sacrifice her beneath him. Yet something stopped him, and he knew not what it was. Perhaps it was the love that he once felt for her, perhaps it was something more, but he could not bring himself to send her into the gates of hell, or could he?

  It would be so easy. He could end this charade once and for all, he had only to let the demon have her. He would be given power, much power, more than he ever dreamed of. And what had she done for him? Nothing. Nothing except drain his energy and his time. The anger welled inside of him. He had done everything for her, expecting nothing in return and she had spat upon him. He had wiped her ass, clothed her, fed her, bathed her, and what was his reward? She had not even given him sex since the accident. All she had to do was lie there, but that was too much for her. It was time to change all that. He ascended the elevator and then proceeded to the kitchen where he withdrew a large butcher knife. As he climbed the stairs with each step he felt his heart beat heavy within his chest. She would pay for her insolence, buying him a one-way ticket to immortality. He turned left and headed for Abby’s bedroom, the door was slightly ajar, letting free a small strip of moonlight that streamed across the toes of his boots. He would have to work quickly, before he lost his nerve. Something about her, the way she looked at him created a pain deep within his heart. How could he kill the only person in his life that had stood by him during the worst of times?

  With a sharp blade drawn across her throat, that’s how.

  Darrow entered her room and crept to her bedside. She slept peacefully with the covers drawn up close around her neck, a neck that he intended to sever. He watched her chest rise and fall in tune to the rhythm of her breathing. Slowly he withdrew the knife from his belt loop. It gleamed in the moonlight, flashing a glint of silver over Abby’s face. He placed the blade inches from her neck, and then he hesitated. Oh Abby, my precious Abby, I’m so sorry. The thoughts spun through his head, becoming viscous and losing solid mass.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  Cut her Jack; draw forth her lifeblood so that we may become stronger.

  He could hear the demon’s words from the basement in the depths below, urging him onward. He hesitated a slight moment longer, feeling beads of sweat materialize on his forehead, and then he placed the knife back within his belt loop. He could not do it. He was a killer, this was true. He had done it twice before and each time he savored the feeling of power that overtook him, but with Abby it was different. Hadn’t he caused her enough pain and anguish? Hadn’t he made her life miserable, and yet she continued to survive, to relish the small joys in life, joys that he himself could not see. How could he take them from her, while she slept, unaware of the danger around her? He could not, not tonight at least. The demon was right, he was weak. He leaned over hi
s wife and placed a kiss gently upon her forehead. Abby stirred slightly but did not wake.

  “I love you Abby.”

  The words came out in a hushed whisper, barely audible even to him, but he meant them. He could not kill the woman that had devoted her life to him, no matter how much the demon persisted. If he wanted her dead, then he would have to do it himself. Darrow turned and left the room, shaking quite literally in his boots. His master would not be pleased, and the thought struck a primordial fear deep within the fiber of his very being.

  Darrow strengthened his resolve and headed back down to the basement. He would have to face the demon, come hell or high water. There were others, and the demon would have to exercise patience, he himself would have to exercise patience, but it would be done. He would kill again, and the demon would have the lifeblood it so richly craved, enough to give it the power to walk the earth once again, but it would not be tonight. Jack Darrow decided then that he would not kill his wife.