Losing Inertia

by VK Gregory

  Waking later, I felt disorientated. The nap had left behind a heavy confusion, who was I, where was I, what time was it? I glanced towards the window seeing the afternoon sun casting it’s orange glow over my bed, the room dark and silent; time had hurried along without me. I lay there breathing too fast, trying to piece together my memories.

  I did not need to get up to know Danny had not come home. Silence suffocated me, not even the clock on the wall ticked, it had run out of batteries long ago and we had never got round to replacing it. It hardly mattered now.

  I stared at my pale, tear-streaked face, in the dusty bathroom mirror. I did not recognize the eyes staring back at me. Who were the lucky ones, me or them? They had all stopped, but I was stuck here, with a man whose behaviour was erratic and worrying. I had made enough excuses for him in our short lives together and I realised I had begun to fear his outbursts, more than I feared being alone.

  Splashing water on my face, I couldn’t face the thought of just sitting around, waiting for him to come home. Fresh in my mind, the promise to any survivors at the police station - I had to go and keep that promise.

  Most of the car fires had burnt out, but the air still smelt acrid, like a forgotten pot on a hot stove, if I closed my eyes, the breeze whipping around my face was almost normal, almost right, except for the missing hum of steady traffic, the lack of children laughing, the lack of chatter…. lack of laughter. Lacklaughter, it should be a word. When the world falls so silent, that not even children laugh.

  I certainly felt no urge to laugh, our present situation wasn’t exactly dire -we had food and water plenty, but the hunger burning in my belly hinted we were far from safe. We had an expiry date stamped on our heads that we would never be able to fight.

  I tried to pay as little attention to the living statues as possible; their silent, still faces still made me cringe and my stomach lurch, and the longer I looked at them, the more I found myself floundering and lost. They were a stark reminder of the world I now lived in, and one that refused to let me find hope or comfort.

  While avoiding looking at the living statues, I noticed something else: birds - dead birds littered the roads and pavements. A seagull, resting on a bench, his head at an odd angle against the metal edge; a jackdaw, his wing bent unnaturally behind him, his eyes open and unseeing; a starling, lying broken in the gutter, his feathers sodden with dirt and mud. I looked up to the empty sky, searching for the ever-present birds, but only puffs of grey-white clouds filled the blue sky. I stopped by a robin, lying prone on a blowsy, flower-filled deathbed, its beak partially opened. It looked so still.

  Stillness, was it dead or living statue? Then I realised, if the bird had stilled in the air, there was nothing keeping it up, no wings beating to fly, no manipulation of air current to soar, it would have fallen to the ground - to its death. Every single bird that had been in the air at that moment must be like this robin. Dead on the ground, broken.

  Now that I knew to look, I saw death all around me, animal and people. The only living things were the trees and flowers, flourishing happily without humans to chop them down, tame them, dig them up; weeds that would take over the world, one nettle at a time. I hunched my shoulders down and hurried towards the police station.

  Something had changed. I stood at the half-open door, and sensed it in the air. Before I even stepped inside, I could feel that someone had been here. Someone moving, like us. There was a stirring, a feel, a taste in the air. I stopped and waited, listening out for noises that might warn me of impending danger. But there were only the usual sounds, no footsteps, or voices, or screams. My heart pounded furiously in my chest, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, I wanted to run but my feet were rooted to the spot, the stone steps outside the blue door. Go, stay, go stay. I breathed raggedly and forced my senses to listen, smell, taste. Was someone here?

  I had to go inside, I had to see. Stepping as quietly as I could, I pushed open the door the rest of the way, and stared inside, the dusky-dark creating a gloom making it hard to see. But as soon as I stepped beyond the threshold I noticed the side doors had been forced open, battered down even with great force. I looked over and realised what was amiss: the empty desk. The officer that had sat behind the desk was gone. I looked around me, but nothing broke the silence. I knew what I would see long before I walked up to the desk, glancing over I saw exactly that - a single pile of ash on the blue chair. Someone had been here. Some had killed her. I wished I had never come at all, I wanted to run and hide, go back home and never leave but instead I walked towards the side door, glancing in and seeing three piles of ash down the hallway, I could almost taste the screams in the air.

  Whoever had been here had not touched my sign, had not left me a note to let me know they were here too, they had come with the purpose of killing. I spun around, what if they were still here, watching me? I felt alone and vulnerable, and if they could kill livingstatues, they would they hurt me too. Hurriedly I searched for a weapon, not hard to find in a police station, I wielded my baton with fearful glee. Whoever they were would have to fight me, I would not go down without a fight. Finally, I had purpose, a task to focus my fear.

  I stood, my back against a wall, trying to hear every sound I could, was that a noise? A creak,

  ‘Who’s there, you come out and face me, murderer’. My breath came in short, difficult gasps, my hands sweated on the baton making it slippery and hard to hold, I expected someone to run at me, fly at me with rage, but the station remained empty. Just me. My grip loosened on the baton slightly but I didn’t stand down, I stood there, evaluating every noise, every smell, every single sight. But the focus faded, my bravado nothing more than a skin I wore. The fear became too much and overwhelmed, I slipped to the floor and sat there, alone, crying for too long before I dragged myself to my feet and forced my tired and hungry body home through the dark , the stains of tears still visible on my puffy face. The baton gripped tightly in my hands.

  Chapter Eight

  At home and Daniel sat on the sofa, watching the TV, peering around the livingstatue that was my mother. I slipped the baton under a coat in the hallway and walked into the room, unable to look away from the site of my mother, still statued, still not moving.

  Daniel glanced up at me, tensing when he saw my face, but he said nothing. He didn’t even ask where I had been, or mention the streaks of dried tears and my puffy, cried out eyes. I wanted him to notice, to stand up and ask me what was wrong, to embrace me and offer to make a cup of tea, but he turned his face back to the TV,

  ‘Hi Daniel’ I twisted my fingers awkwardly in my hands, rubbing them together, as I stood in the doorway, waiting for him to see,

  ‘Hey,’ if he noticed something amiss, he hid it well. Twiddling with his wedding ring on one hand, with one ankle balanced on his knee, he looked the picture of calm. He couldn’t have gone out this morning and murdered a station full of police officers.

  ‘I went down to the police station,’ I told him, looking for a reaction, but he simply gave a nonchalant nod, my hands balled into fists,

  ‘They were all gone, Danny, all of them,’ my voice trembled as I held back the tears, ‘gone, dead,’

  ‘What?’ he finally turned from his DVD and looked at me, seeing my face at last. He stood up from the sofa and came to me, ‘hey have you been crying?’ he pressed fingers to my cheeks, I stiffened and pulled away,

  ‘They were dead; didn’t you hear me?’

  ‘Who was, Katy?’

  ‘The police officers, everyone was just… ash. Someone had been there, since yesterday’ he tried to put his arms around me but I resisted, tensing my neck away from him, wanting his comfort so badly, but not trusting him, he withdrew his arms and tried to place one hand on my arm, I shrugged it off, fighting the urge to slap it away, ‘someone killed them’ I cried with a roar, he seemed to suddenly realise the meaning behind my words,

  ‘Oh come on, you can’t imagine it was me? Katy I’ve been here all day,’ he h
eld out his hands, palm out, his eyes wide and his mouth set in a thin pink line, ‘you’re the one that went out,’

  ‘You went out before me! This morning,’

  ‘No, Katy I didn’t. You went out, I heard the door close, I even tried to go after you but I figured you wanted to be alone,’

  ‘LIAR’ my voice screeched, ‘you’re always lying,’ his mouth fell open in surprise at my sudden shrillness,

  ‘No, Katy,’ he looked too calm, too smug, I wanted to slap that smug look off his face, but I didn’t dare, the memory of the pain in my wrist lingered even now,

  ‘—you, you went there, because you knew I was going back. You went there and you killed them, Daniel, why? Why did you?’ Suddenly, the fear of the afternoon overwhelmed me and my anger broke to grief. And he took me in his arms, ready to be my comfort and my rock,

  ‘Katy, I’m sorry, but I’ve not left the house. Maybe you’re right, maybe there is someone else moving. Or…’ or maybe it was me. The unspoken sentence, just hovering in the air like a mosquito, buzzing about us. Katy was going crazy. Pity poor Katy.

  Katy the Killer

  ‘I don’t think you should go out again Katy, you’re pregnant and if someone is out there, it just isn’t safe,’

  ‘So I just stay here, in this house?’ he shrugged,

  ‘Go in the garden, read books, you love books,’

  ‘I love books, but I don’t love being held prisoner,’ I slammed my hand onto the door, making the door slam against the frame,

  ‘I’m not holding you hostage, I’m trying to protect you,’

  ‘Well what if I need protecting from you?’

  ‘I didn’t hurt anyone,’ his scowl deepened and then he turned away, letting go of me, ‘I can’t let you go out there, not in your state. This is for your own good,’

  I wanted to believe him, it seemed easier, to think otherwise would mean I had no one to trust. I let him sit me down and bring me tea and make dinner, I let him busy himself with tasks and not talk about what had happened.

  I was too tired and too despondent to go out anyway, I couldn’t think where I would go or what I would do.

  I woke in the night, feeling the same need to vomit rising in my belly, quickly I stood up, running to the toilet before it could escape my throat. Feeling sorry for myself, my head swimming and floating, the cycle of hunger and subsequent vomiting leaving me with a hot, empty feeling in my stomach.

  I sat on the floor, my clammy head resting against the cool enamel of the bath as I recovered enough to go back to bed.

  Through the half-closed door, I heard the murmur of Daniel’s voice. At first I thought it was him coming to see if I needed him, but when he didn’t come in, I opened the door a little more and listened through it, I could hear the hum of his voice, but not make out what he was saying. There was no one he could be talking to, except himself, unless he was hiding something from me. So walking with as stealthily as I could, I made my way down the stairs. The hallway was dark, and the shadows cast strange shapes on the walls, my own shadow moving with me as I snuck down the stairs.

  Every footfall sounded excessively loud to my ears. What was I afraid of? What could I possibly see when I glanced through the door of the dining room? Frozen by fear, I stood in the dark, on the bottom step. I didn’t have to know, if I went back to bed I would never have to deal with it. But curiosity pushed me onwards. With the dining room door, ajar, I peered round it, expecting to see Daniel chatting to someone unknown. But he was alone. He sat on his chair, talking, seemingly to himself. But as I looked closer I saw his phone propped up on the mantelpiece. He was chatting to the phone, a little red light told me he was videoing himself.

  ‘…with her. She is annoying at the best of times, but now it’s just us…’ my face blushed scarlet, I didn’t want to hear anymore, swiftly I spun around and crept back up the stairs to my bed.

  The next morning, I was sitting in the conservatory, dozing off another large breakfast, one I feared I would bring back again,

  ‘I heard you, last night,’

  ‘Heard me?’ he was busy washing pots and pans in the sink, bashing them together too loudly,

  ‘Talking,’ I left it there, seeing how he would react,

  ‘Oh…I was watching a movie,’ he didn’t turn to me,

  ‘No, you were talking,’

  ‘I think you might be overtired,’ he put down his sponge and then walked over to me, ‘I can see you’ve been ill, with this pregnancy, you’re always sick, always worrying. Try to get some sleep,’ he sat in front of me and pressed a hand to my forehead. He face with the perfect picture of concern, but I didn’t feel it, he seemed inauthentic.

  ‘I heard you, and I saw you Danny, you can’t lie to me.’ I pushed his hand away and brushed a stray bit of hair,

  ‘Really? And what was I doing then?’ he sounded angry, I shrugged,

  ‘Making a video,’ he instantly took his phone out of his pocket and handed it to me,

  ‘Go on then, look,’ it was a trick, he had baited me, he had been waiting for me to ask. A trick to disprove me, Discredit me. But still I unlocked his phone and searched through the videos. There was nothing since the world had stopped.

  ‘I know how sensitive you are, Katy. It was probably a dream. You rest, I’ll take care of things,’ before I could think of a suitable retort I heard the front door close. I ran to the front door as fast as I could, opening it quickly, but I was too late and he was already out of site. I contemplated going after him, but I didn’t even know which direction he had gone. I stood for a while staring out, expecting him to come back at any time, but he didn’t.

  I had to be sure he was gone this time, so I walked around every room in the house, making sure he wasn’t there. Every room was empty except for one - the one with the livingstatue, I only glanced at her temporarily, unable to stay in the same room for more than a couple of seconds. Daniel was definitely not in the house, but to be sure I sat on the stairs by the door, reading a book and waiting for him to come home. He would not fool me this time. This time I would prove his lies.

  It had been several hours, my back and bottom hurt from sitting on the unyielding steps, I wanted to go sit in the comfy armchair in the dining room, but I had to see him come back in again see him face to face. So, I sat, and I waited and I dozed and at some point in the late evening the door finally opened and Daniel appeared.

  ‘Where have you been?’ I demanded, standing up shakily, my body stiff from not moving, he looked startled to see me there and his smile slipped,

  ‘Why? What’s wrong,’ he ran to me, regaining his composure,

  ‘You said you didn’t go out and I was imagining it,’ now I was ready, he couldn’t deny it.

  ‘No, I said I didn’t go out yesterday, I didn’t say I’d never go out ever again,’ he laughed, his voice sarcastic. I shook my head at him, frustrated

  ‘You would have denied going out today if I hadn’t sat here waiting for you,’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t, why would I lie? I’ve only been out for a few minutes,’ he smirked,

  ‘It’s been hours, and you know it,’

  ‘Katy have you been here the entire time, just sitting on that step? You are so paranoid, it’s a good thing you have me, chick!’ in that moment I wanted to scream, hit him, grab some stuff and just run away. Instead I turned and walked away, maintaining my control for a little longer, while part of my mind echoed his words. Paranoid. Was I paranoid after all?

  For the next two days, increasingly bad bouts of sickness and exhaustion kept me in bed and yet Daniel went out alone every day, leaving me alone to my thoughts. I didn’t wait for him again, there didn’t seem any point. Sometimes, I sat in the plush leather armchair and watched TV, or used my laptop in bed, sometimes I simply lay there and dozed, my bones aching. Daniel came home and sat next to me, is eyes glazed over as he looked at me,

  ‘You don’t look well, it’s good you have me here,’ he took my hand, but he seemed dist
ant as he rubbed my palm absentmindedly,

  ‘Where do you go all day?’ I asked him, he smirked,

  ‘It’s hardly all day. And I dunno, just around, looking for others, prowling the streets, like a predator,’ his eyes widened and he smiled, making sure I knew he was joking with me,

  ‘Seriously? Well…I want to come,’ I didn’t want to come. I wanted company, reassurance, his friendship.

  ‘Sorry love, it’s not safe, and you are really sick’ I couldn’t truly argue, the sickness invaded my bones, my very being,

  ‘But it’s safe for you?’

  ‘Well probably. But it’s my job to protect you, bring you food and presents’ he patted my hand reassuringly, pulled on his coat, fiddling with the pocket,

  ‘Your job? I’m no one’s job,’ I stared at him but he just smiled at me, ‘Well, do you find others? Or any sign? Like the ash piles?’ he stared at me,

  ‘No, no more ash since you started living in this bed,’ it was unnecessarily cruel and I wanted to feel angry, but I was just tired. How had I become so tired and so lifeless in just a few days?

  ‘Can you just stay?’ I hated the pleading in my voice but he hesitated for a moment, looking at me. Then he shook his head, swung his back pack over his shoulder and disappeared down the stairs. I heard the door slam. I waited briefly for him to return, but the silence was omnipresent and the hours stretched before me empty and lonely. I needed something to fill the hours.

  I thought of Danny and his excursions. What was he doing? Unable to tame my curiosity, I dragged myself out of bed and searched through his bedside drawer, not even sure what I was looking for but knowing Daniel would never leave a clue out in the open. After my vague search I simply sat down on our bed and closed my eyes. I hated being alone. The world seemed overwhelming when I was by myself, the shadows darker, the silence more suffocating, every noise was a burglar, every creak a murderer; my heart beat too loud. I missed company.

  Crawling under the duvet, I turned on the lamp and tried to read, but every sound distracted me, a tap on the window, or a footfall in the hallway. As I lay there, on edge, tired but not ready to sleep, I turned to my phone. A distraction I had used many times before. Usually the lack of updates and the old photos, stale and forgotten, depressed me further. With no one updating, it was somehow shocking to me that even the neverending digital world had stopped.