by J. Thorn
“I tried. I really tried. If you had just stayed there.”
Major coughed, spurting blood over his lips and down his chin. He let out a low cackle and shook his head back and forth. “Let yer conscience go, son. This is how I was going out, not banished to another locality like some surly teenager sent to his room.” Another wracking cough made Major stop. His ragged breathing reduced his speech to mere whispers.
“I’ve gotta check on Mara,” Samuel said, running a hand through his hair. When he looked back at Major, the man’s eyes remained open in the long, glassy stare of the dead.
Samuel pushed away. His injured leg felt like a thousand pounds, and he continued to fight through double vision. Major’s words echoed in his head, forcing Samuel to think of his own childhood and all of the expectations he could never fulfill. He began to cry, a few tears at first, until he sobbed. The reversion continued to creep into the cave, unaware of his tender, emotional state.
“Goddammit,” he said to nobody in particular.
Samuel knelt and looked back at Major. The man’s corpse remained unchanged, his right hand wrapped around the handle of the blade that had stolen his life essence. Samuel looked over to Mara and couldn’t tell if her chest was moving.
He felt the air pressure inside the cave change. The billowing cloud that had roiled overhead when he first arrived in the cursed forest had descended to nibble on the tips of the trees. He remembered it eating the light from the sky as it moved west to east. Samuel tried to calculate the number of days he spent in this locality, but he came up with nothing but a head-shaking guess, as if he were cataloging the events of a distant dream. Now, the cloud blotted out the entrance to the cave in a swirling mass of dark matter. It looked like a heavy, black velour curtain hung behind the walls, sealing the intestines of the mountain off from the carnage brought by the reversion.
A constant humming came through the stone. It drew an energy through Samuel that reverberated in his ears. It felt almost electrical, as if a microphone started to feedback through a mismanaged speaker system. His other senses began to awaken as well. Samuel could smell the dank limestone mixed with the scent of human blood. He felt the sticky dampness on the back of his head, and licked the coppery blood from a gash on his hand. His injuries came alive, each demanding attention from his brain, which continued to function through the head trauma. He was not sure why the reversion would provide a final burst of brain activity as it extinguished what remained. Samuel pictured a video from a science class in middle school. He could see the crude animation representing a supernova. The star swelled, and the intensity of its glare brightened beyond its capacity to sustain the millions of molecular activities taking place in its core. Samuel remembered how the dying star bathed the surrounding void of space with brilliant light before it contracted upon itself. He shuddered at the thought of the implosion that would eventually create a black hole, a negative energy so strong that not even light would escape its grasp. Whether or not he believed he could escape, Samuel chuckled at the thought of the reversion sweeping through this world, turning it into a real black hole.
He shook his head and shuffled toward Mara. Samuel did not think she had moved since he fought with Major. He knelt down at her feet, collapsing to his knees. The vibrations coming through the cave walls intensified and began to pressurize his ears. He opened his mouth wide and held his nose while exhaling, trying to release the pressure as if he were on a commercial airliner.
“Samuel?”
He flinched and looked up from the ground. Mara’s eyes fluttered in the dying light. Samuel reached for her hand.
“Hold me,” she said.
***
Samuel waited longer than was necessary. Mara gasped, inhaling the air as if it were full of thorny barbs. He glanced back at Major’s body before smiling at her.
“He attacked me. Threatened to kill me and find the talisman on my body.”
She nodded. “He’s gone?” she asked.
Now it was Samuel’s turn to nod.
“The cloud? The reversion?”
“Clamping down.”
Samuel told Mara about how the reversion threatened to consume the mountain and cave the way it had everything else.
“What now?” she asked.
Samuel paused and drew a deep breath.
“I opened that portal for Major. Not sure how, but it opened, and I know I could get us in it.”
Mara shook her head. He could see the pain in her eyes and the struggle it took for her to move even that much.
“Not me, Samuel. I won’t be going.”
“Don’t say that. Who knows what could happen to the wounds you suffered in this locality, at the hands of this reversion? They could disappear entirely.”
She shook her head again, raising her right hand to let her fingers trail down the side of Samuel’s cheek. He looked into her face and accepted the situation.
“So you lie here and die? Is that the plan?”
“At least one more time,” she said. When Samuel began to ask her what she meant, she placed a finger over his mouth. “There isn’t enough time for me to give you what you want. But there are some things we need to finish.”
Samuel nodded. He slipped a hand into his pocket, his mind already wondering which of the items he carried was the talisman. His ticket out of one dying world and into another.
“I’m on my own cycle. Ours happened to overlap, but they’re distinct.”
Samuel nodded, watching the strain the conversation had on Mara’s strength. “You’ve been here before,” he said.
“I have,” she said, her eyes scanning the cavern.
“And the others?” Samuel asked. He looked over his shoulder. “Him? Kole?”
“Sometimes. Not always,” she said.
Samuel nodded again, waiting.
The darkness from the reversion crept closer to where they sat in the recess of the main cavern. The shapeless and soundless monster oozed through the entrance, taking gulps of stone and stalagmites. They watched it spread across the floor like twilight seen from space. The air inside the cave became still, suffocating. The cloud dissipated the water and stole the ambient light from within.
“When I was a little girl, I loved sitting on my dad’s lap. We’d watch television or sometimes read a book. It didn’t matter. What I remember is that feeling of being safe, secure, loved. I would curl up on his chest and the rest of the world would melt away. It wasn’t long before pre-adolescence ended that feeling forever. But I lived to recapture it, and at times, I did. It might be a fleeting look of a lover or the comfort of a blanket on a frigid winter’s night, but I collected those.”
Samuel waited, feeling as though none of the words Mara used could be wasted.
“Whether you’re the giver or the recipient of those moments, you must find them too, Samuel. I need you to live wholeheartedly. I want you to promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll seek those out, relish them and give others the opportunity to do so as well. You are worthy of your existence. What you bring to the world matters. And that light cannot be snuffed by a cave, or a cloud, or a reversion.”
Samuel laughed with Mara. “Don’t forget the undead hordes.”
It was her turn to smile.
“You and I have something unfinished,” Mara said. “I need you to know it’s not pleasant for either of us, but it must happen before the reversion in this place ends.”
“Anything,” he said. “I’ll do anything for you after all of the pain I’ve caused.”
She shook her head. “You were not the cause of my pain. You helped define my path, that’s all.”
“Euphemisms,” he said.
“Truth,” she said.
Samuel shivered. The spreading gloom crawled up the walls like the animated shadows of an old horror film. He saw tendrils of black spreading across the face of the limestone while more of the physical space fell into the spreading void.
“Tell me what must be done.”
“First, help me sit.”
Samuel maneuvered behind Mara. He slid his hands underneath her arms and pulled her up until she was able to rest her back against the cave wall. Samuel heard her whimper as the movement agitated her wounds. He waited while she drew deep breaths.
“Do you remember our time in the coffee shop? In the dream?”
Samuel grinned. He pictured her dolled up in maroon-red lipstick and hip-hugging, black denim stretched across all of the right places.
“Yes.”
“Good. I wish I could say we’re going back there, but we’re not. But we have to do the same thing to go somewhere else, a place you’ll find painful.”
Samuel looked at the black fingers silently scratching their way down the wall.
“It will wait until we’re finished,” she said, following his gaze.
“What should I do?” he asked.
“Nothing. Let me lead. Once we’re there, you’ll know what to do.”
“Where are we going?”
“I can’t answer all of your questions, Samuel. You’ll need to trust me. Can you trust me?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “But I’m coming back alone, aren’t I?”
Mara smiled. “Take my hand and don’t let go.”
Samuel maneuvered his hand into hers. He felt her cold, clammy skin, and he shuddered, imagining what it would feel like in the near future. Mara’s skin looked translucent, as if her very essence was fading with the approach of the reversion. Her hair looked greasy and thin, and her eyes were sunk deep into their sockets.
“I’m going to close my eyes and when I do, you should, too. We’ll be somewhere different, and yet we’ll still be here. I can’t explain.”
He squeezed her hand.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Mara,” he said, “I hope the crossing of our paths helps you. I hope you get peace.”
“We all deserve peace,” she said.
Mara closed her eyes and Samuel followed her lead. He felt the ground sway, and the electrical thrumming returned to his feet and shot through his legs to his torso. Samuel heard a brush of air move across his skin. The breeze felt different than the air in the cavern. Mara’s hand pulsed in his, a quick jolt to let him know she was still there. Samuel arrived in his not-so-distant past.
***
“C’mon, Sammy. ‘Tis the season.”
He looked into his friend’s face, red and swollen from Christmas cheer in the form of whiskey bottles and wine carafes.
“I can’t, man. I have to get home. Kim’s going to be worried sick.”
John held up one finger while the other hand came close to letting the aged whiskey jump the lip on his glass and land on the expensive Berber carpet in the boss’s living room. The chilly Detroit December made it even more difficult to leave the party. Samuel looked around the room and chuckled. A few of his coworkers were making obscene gestures with ornaments they grabbed from the tree while the shy ladies of the office sat on a couch, sipping mint schnapps stirred with candy canes. The aroma of ginger and chocolate floated by on the notes of John Lennon’s famous Christmas melody. Samuel had lost sight of the boss, who was upstairs going over the sales figure of his administrative assistant.
“Check it,” Johnny said. He held a black, plastic object in one hand.
“One of the new smartphones. No more shitty signals for me. Got the full voice and data plan.”
“That’s sweet. How’s coverage?” Samuel asked, slipping into the tech talk that came so naturally to him.
“Everywhere. Try it out. Call Kim and let her know you’re fine.”
“I gotta go.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. “Dude, just call her and get yourself another whiskey sour.”
Johnny handed Samuel the phone and began picking his way through the people hovering near the natural-gas fireplace. Samuel made more small talk with the group before pushing toward the den, where the hired bartender stood with a gaping yawn. He dialed his number, and the digits on the LCD display made Samuel squint at the device.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three rings.
“Hello?”
The voice came through the pinhole on the earpiece.
“Hey, hon.”
“Sam. What time is it?”
He looked down at his watch with the company logo crested in the middle of the face.
“Early evening, I think.” As soon as he said it, Samuel cringed, knowing he should have been more precise to prove his sobriety.
“Everything okay?” Kim asked.
“Yeah, fine. Johnny gave me his new smartphone to call you. It’s one of those—”
“Sam,” Kim said, cutting off his excitement about the newest gadget he would have to own. “You’re leaving now, I assume.”
“Sorry. Listen, I’m going to hang here with the guys, telling office jokes and making fun of each other’s nine irons. Gonna be a bit later.” The pause forced Samuel to look at the phone’s touch-screen display to make sure it had not dropped the call. “Kim?”
“Get a cab,” she said.
“Honey, I’m fine. I’ve already started on the black coffee,” Samuel said, looking at the whiskey in his opposite hand.
“Samuel,” she said with a tone that made his heart ache.
“Really, I’m fine. Keep the back porch light on.”
He heard the rustling of the comforter on the other end. Samuel could see her dark hair spread across the black, flannel sheets they put on the bed for winter. He could smell the conditioner in her hair, which would have been blown dry and brushed. Samuel could almost feel the smoothness of her skin from a leg shave in the tub and moisturizing bath salts. He felt his mouth go dry, seeing his wife’s naked body buried beneath the mounds of bedding like a gift, waiting for his arrival.
“Please be careful.”
Samuel took a deep breath and nodded until he remembered Kim was not in the room.
“I will. And Kim?”
“Yes?”
He looked around the room at several people within earshot and reconsidered what he was about to say.
“Nothing. Love you. See you later tonight.”
“Okay, Sam.”
A click followed, and Samuel handed the sleek phone back to his friend.
“We all good?” Johnny asked.
“All good,” Samuel said.
They sat at the table in the dining room, where the boss reappeared. His administrative assistant sat on the couch with the other ladies of the office, her hair wispy and her lipstick in need of some touch up.
“Cards, anyone?”
“It’s a Christmas party, boss. We can’t play poker,” Johnny said.
“Holiday party,” his boss said. “The wife and kids are gone for the weekend. This is anything I want it to be.”
Samuel looked over his shoulder at the ladies gathered on the couch, and then at the men around the table.
“Who’s dealing?” Samuel asked.
The poker game played out as most do. A forgetful carousel of laughter, dick jokes and evaluations of female anatomy. The ladies on the couch left to return home to their balding husbands, who would lay a paunch on their stomachs for the two minutes it would take to finish the job. A few observers stood behind the table, pretending to be amused by the entertainment only gamblers can enjoy.
Samuel looked at his stack of chips and shook his head. He had cashed in twice, and there were no bills left in his wallet. Johnny saw him look and flashed Andrew Jackson at him from under the table. Samuel shook his head, even though he found the offer to borrow money for more chips tempting.
“I’ve only got one or two more hands in me, fellas.”
“Keep your desk next to Fagboy Davidson and you’ll have more than one or two hands in you, if you know what I’m saying.”
Samuel laughed at the vulgar homophobia. He knew it was offensive, but it was also funny. Davidson was still in the closet, although some mi
ght say he had one foot sticking out, and it wore a red pump.
“It’s already dark, and Kim’s going to want me to fix the leaky faucet before I go to bed tonight.”
“You fucking family men,” Johnny said. “You’re always getting told what to do by the ball and chain.”
The table roared with laughter, and Samuel waved them off, feeling the Catholic guilt his parents used to raise him.
“One more for me, then I’m done,” he said.
“That’s what she said,” came from another seat at the table, which pitched the group into more laughter.
“Then you’ll need this to help it down.”
Johnny poured the whiskey from the bottle directly into Samuel’s glass. He slammed it down on the table and slapped Samuel on the back.
“To Sammy and his family. May he find an easy way to get his wife to consent to a three-way and bring some fun into his boring, suburban life.”
Samuel smiled and raised his glass while the other poker players clinked theirs, throwing their chins skyward to help ease the liquid down their throats.
The hand finished with Samuel losing again. He over-bet the last round in hopes of losing and not cashing out his chips. The self-sabotage worked in his favor, allowing him to rise from the table with an empty whiskey glass as well as an empty wallet.
“Fellas,” he said with an exaggerated bow. “Unfortunately, I will see all of you assholes at the office on Monday.”
Another round of laughter filled the room.
“Boss,” he said, raising a hand in the air, “you do have the best office parties. I’ll give you that.”
With a few more salutations and even more good-natured insults, Samuel searched through the coatrack until he found his black leather. He pushed a curtain aside and looked out at the new round of snow covering his car, making it look like a lump in a bowl of poorly mashed potatoes. Samuel fished through his pockets until he felt his car keys and fisted them in one hand. With a final glance, he looked back at the table to wave, but the poker game had already moved on after his departure. Samuel opened the door and stepped into the chilly, swirling snow. He pulled the collar of his coat tight around his neck and trudged to the driver’s side door.