by Lex Sinclair
Kate lifted her head and looked at him. The tear tracks were still moist on her flushed cheeks. Tom had often seen his wife in this state since late last year. Yet he assumed she’d got over that... obviously not. Kate clutched something he couldn’t quite make out in her hand.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
Kate smiled at him.
‘What? What is it?’
‘I’m pregnant,’ she said.
Shocked to the core, Tom didn’t know what to say or do. He just sat there next to his wife, numb, with an arm wrapped around her. ‘How?’ he muttered.
She opened her hands up and showed him the pregnancy test. ‘It’s blue,’ she said.
Blue meant she was indeed pregnant.
Tom let out a nervous laugh. ‘I- I... don’t get it.’
Kate burst into mirthful laughter and threw herself into his embrace. He held her close, overjoyed with the totally unexpected news... although still utterly bewildered by the unexpected announcement. Since early summer in the previous year, Kate had stopped taking the pill and started buying pregnancy tests every couple of weeks, and every time it had been negative. Now, out of the blue (no pun-intended), the pregnancy test was positive.
‘I thought the doctor said you couldn’t... well... you know?’
Kate shrugged elaborately. ‘Doctors can be wrong. And according to this, they are!’
‘Are you gonna show it to the doc?’
Kate nodded. ‘Not yet - but when the time’s right.’
Clearly, Kate was euphoric, as well she should. However, Tom didn’t want to see her get her hopes up only to have those hopes brought crashing down with a harder impact than previously. ‘Maybe we should just wait till we get confirmation first,’ he said.’
‘Yeah, okay,’ she said, smiling with her eyes as well as her bright red face, ‘but I don’t see how it could be inaccurate. It sure wasn’t inaccurate all the other times.’
That was true. She must have used a more than dozen of those pregnancy tests last year and not a single one told her she was pregnant, because she wasn’t. He just didn’t want Kate to get carried away with the whole notion of having a bun in the oven, only for her gynaecologist to tell her the opposite. That would surely be even more devastating. So devastating in fact, that Tom feared she might go insane or do something crazy. This was a massive surprise for them both. Maybe things were beginning to go their way after having so much bad luck for so long.
‘Look, hon. I’m not trying to upset you or anything like that. But let’s just make sure we got the official green light this time before we start celebrating.
Okay? Sound fair?’
Kate kissed him on the mouth, and then agreed with him. ‘Fingers crossed,’ she beamed.
Tom smiled. ‘Yeah... fingers crossed.’
He stood up, leant over and kissed her on the top of her head, then stepped out of the bedroom and sauntered into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He sat on the toilet, buried his head into his hands and prayed for his wife’s sake that she was in fact pregnant. He didn’t know if he could endure any more misery without going totally insane himself. He heard Kate’s footfalls going down the stairs and wondered what she was thinking about at this precise moment. More than likely it had something to do with the unborn baby. Perhaps she’d taken in what he told her and was doing her best not to raise her expectations in case the test proved to be inaccurate.
Tom bunched his hands up into taut fists and squeezed. Please God, don’t let her go through any more suffering, I beg you? Give us a break? He didn’t know what good praying would do. He didn’t even know if he believed in God. His faith had been tested so much since last year, he didn’t think so. But if there was someone or something out there with powers beyond his comprehension... then he dearly hoped they could hear his thoughts and feelings right now, and grant him his wish.
Tom froze. Oh no!
Yes, there was a higher power beyond his comprehension who could probably hear his thoughts and feelings - but it wasn’t God. It was the Frozen Man.
He slapped himself upside the head, hard. Don’t be so bloody stupid. You idiot. How can you even think that? That was the kind of crap filling your head, ruining your life and very nearly ended your marriage on top of everything else. It’s absurd.
Or was it? Maybe not.
‘Oh no,’ Tom whispered.
The corpse, the Frozen Man, or whatever the hell it was came to him in his dream and asked him to make a wish. What had he asked for? He couldn’t recall. Oh, yes that was it. Peace of mind. And for life to return to normal.
Panic rushed through him faster than an express train. He’d been given peace of mind, and life had returned to normal. In over a week everything had returned the way it had been. He’d no terrible worries or concerns since the dream. He’d been content and like his old self, until he brought this to mind.
And what came to mind that made him worry was the likelihood that his wife had had the same dream. Or something very similar. Only she’d wished for a baby.
Jesus Christ!
Tom shook his head back and forth, not wanting to accept this. This couldn’t be happening. It was impossible. Creatures in your dreams couldn’t grant you a wish, which actually came true. What’s real any more? Did you ever believe it was possible to find a dead body sheathed in some bizarre hair that acted as wings in the middle of a forest? Did you ever believe it was possible that you’d be driving back home with that same dead body in the boot of your car, just so you could hide it in the loft above the garage? Did you ever believe a corpse could stalk the living, and still be alive after it’d been stabbed in the abdomen by a gardening fork? Well, did you?
The voice of Tom’s conscience asked him those disturbing questions. He answered No to them all. He never thought any of them could be happening until they had actually happened. So, why was this any different? It wasn’t.
Thus, it meant that Kate could have been visited by the corpse and asked to make a wish, just like he had. And, of course, she wished for a baby. That much he did know.
Oh, Kate, why didn’t you just ask for peace of mind like me?
It wasn’t Kate’s fault, though. She didn’t know her wish would come true. She probably assumed it was an innocuous dream which had no authentic significance. It might not be a bad thing anyway, he told himself. All the things they’d wished for had come true. Life was going well, both at work and at home. Yet his intuition kept telling him to be extremely vigilant because something wasn’t right. If Kate and I had a dream about the corpse, then surely Charles has had one, too.
Tom didn’t want to ask his wife if she’d had a dream about the corpse asking her to make a wish; it might upset her. Also, Kate would probably lie to him. It would scare her and make her worry when there might be no need. He didn’t want that, especially if she was pregnant. It might harm their unborn child. The only way he would find out anything was if he talked to Charles himself. The old man would be honest and explain in detail about his dream, and maybe even tell him something he wasn’t aware of. Then he would know for certain if this was the work of a power greater than theirs.
19
Charles had finished reading his book. He put the paperback novel down on the small table next to him and removed his glasses. He checked the time on the DVD: 5:51p.m.
The old man spent the day washing the dishes, sweeping the front and back yard clear of stones and leaves. Then he cleaned the Jeep, which was now gleaming, before retiring to his recliner and settling down with his book. He’d made himself ham sandwiches for lunch and snacked on a banana and an apple a couple of hours later.
Outside daylight faded.
Usually at this time of the day Charles began to feel lethargic, wanting nothing more than to retire to his bed and watch TV until he started to doze off.
***
Twenty minutes later, the gleaming Jeep slowed and came to a halt in the lay-by opposite The Travellers. The old man hadn’t been there since the day he’d discovered the body encased in a block of ice in the forest. Without fail Charles had always made it at least once during the week and always on the weekends to the pub. Yet lately he couldn’t face his friend Derek, otherwise he would know he was hiding something from him. Derek had phoned him a week after that day and asked him if he was all right, as he hadn’t seen or heard from him.
Charles found it awfully difficult to lie to his loyal friend, even over the phone.
Now all of that was behind him, thank God. The corpse had burnt to cinders in his fireplace, and he’d got on with his everyday life. He wanted to see Derek again, now that his conscience was clear and undisturbed.
He crossed the road, mounted the steps and pushed the heavy, timber door open. The pub looked exactly the same as it had been on the fateful day in January. The large TV on a stand showed a fast-paced football game between Liverpool and Arsenal. A young enthusiastic Liverpool fan wearing his red jersey was seated at a booth, gazing at the TV willing his team to score a goal and win. Apart from that fellow the place was empty. Charles turned and faced the bar as he heard the sound of footfalls coming closer. His presence caught Derek’s attention immediately.
Charles grinned at him. ‘Hey. How’re you doing sport?’
Derek smiled in return, but he was still surprised to see his friend after all this time. ‘Christ. Long time no see!’ he exclaimed. ‘Where’ve you been hiding, stranger?’ Charles ambled over to bar lit with soft blue bulbs and slid onto a stool. ‘Well, if it isn’t the, “I don’t need alcohol to enjoy life” guy,’ Derek said.
Charles snorted laugher at the sarcastic quip.
‘What do you want, apart from shooting?’ The landlord asked.
‘My usual, please.’
Derek held out his hand and Charles shook it with alacrity. ‘Good to have you back... But, seriously, where’ve you been? Have you been all right? The last time I spoke to you - you sounded troubled.’
‘I just went through a bad patch. I didn’t want to see anyone, ‘cause I was feeling sorry for myself... know what I mean?’
Derek nodded. ‘Yeah, I know that one. The “what the hell is the importance of my existence?” question we all ask ourselves that from time to time. The trick is not to think about it so much and do what you can to make things better for yourself in the present, and not to dwell on the past or fret about the future.
Or some shit like that.’
‘I’m really sorry, though, for shunning you. It wasn’t anything to do with you, it was just me.’
‘Forget about it. We all have our good days, and we all have our bad days. I was just worried about you, that’s all.’
Derek took a stein down off the shelf and poured Charles a drink. Then they chatted enthusiastically with one another, catching up on anything that interested them. Charles finished his drink and placed it on the coaster, then said, ‘I’m just gonna take a piss. Be back in minute.’
‘You want another one?’
‘Yeah. Thanks,’ he said, as he walked in the direction of the men’s room. He pushed the heavy revolving door open and made his way to the urinal. Lately, peeing had been painless... and he didn’t dread going to the toilet any more. His bladder was full, and was still excreting the urine half a minute later. He gazed down - hardly believing how much was coming out of him in one go - and stumbled backwards suddenly in a rush of panic, almost falling into the urinal behind him and peeing all over his trousers. He saw that dark reddish liquid had struck the porcelain, running down in long rivulets and swirled down the drain.
It wasn’t urine he leaked, but blood...
‘Shit.’ His nerves tingled like an electric current coursing through him.
Eventually he stopped peeing, although little drops of blood continued to emit and dribble down his penis. Charles dashed into a cubicle, locked the door, and rolled some toilet paper into a wad. Then he wiped his tainted cock and the front of his damp trousers, vigorously; his hands shaking like wind chimes blown by a strong gust.
Jesus fucking Christ! How the hell did this happen? Why on earth am I pissing blood? He felt no pain any more when he used the toilet in the last week or so. Something was drastically awry. He didn’t need to be a doctor to know that. Then a blood-curdling thought sent shivers down his spine, jolting his entire body.
The dream!
Yes, it had been the harrowing dream he’d had over a week ago about the corpse, who asked him to make a wish - and what did he wish for? To be free of pain. The pain was gone, all right - there was no doubt of that. But the blood pouring out of his male organ must have had something to do with the repercussions for burning the carcass. Charles realised that he was in big trouble - and he wasn’t the only one.
Derek sat on his stool behind the mahogany bar sipping his Coke and watching the football game on the TV. He consulted his wristwatch and frowned when he saw how much time Charles was taking in the men’s room. It had been about quarter of an hour since he’d poured his friend and best customer, his second drink. So where was he? Derek stared at the doorway leading to the men’s and women’s toilets wondering how long the old man would be before he emerged. Should I go in there and see if he’s all right? he wondered.
Something was definitely not right, he knew that much. He was aware that his friend went through some difficulty whenever he used the toilet. He recalled the day Charles had told him about how he thought he might have prostate cancer.
Fortunately, that wasn’t the case. Charles did, however, take strong painkillers and a laxative medicine. Derek didn’t want to go barging in the men’s toilets and embarrass his friend.
Give it another five minutes or so, then go in there and just say to him that his drink is on the coaster or something similar, he told himself.
He looked at the TV screen and tried to concentrate on the game, although he found he couldn’t turn his attention away from Charles until he saw him again and knew he was all right.
Five minutes came and went, and still there was no sign of Charles, much to Derek’s growing apprehension. The landlord took another sip of his Coke then put it down on the counter and slid off his stool, and reluctantly headed towards the door leading to the toilets, dreading what he might see. On entering the men’s room the door wheezed shut behind him and the noise from the TV in the bar became muffled and quieter. He hesitated at the door, closed his eyes and made a silent prayer that everything would be fine. Then he stepped over the threshold.
The first thing Derek saw when he stood in the toilets was his worried expression staring back at him in the mirrors. He didn’t recognise the sallow- faced man whose brown hair had started thinning to inevitable baldness for a moment.
On the tiled flooring trailing from the urinals and the only cubicle with a closed door was fresh blood. His heart quickened. A surge of spine-tingling fear spread through him as if he’d been set ablaze. His mouth quivered as he opened it. ‘Charles. Charles. Are you all right?’ he called out.
He heard a faint groan, and then movement.
Derek edged closer to the cubicle, not wanting to, but aware that his friend desperately needed some assistance. He rapped on the cubicle door. ‘Charles.
It’s me, Derek. Can you tell me what’s wrong? Or open the door.’
‘I’m fine,’ Charles grunted.
Derek felt awfully uncomfortable being in this awkward situation. He knew damn well that everything wasn’t fine; on the contrary, in fact. Charles wouldn’t get help. He was too damn stubborn. ‘Charles, I don’t mean to stick my nose where it’s not wanted - but you’ve been in here now for over twenty minutes...
Can’t you just tell me what the problem is? You can trust me? But I can’t help you if you won’t let me. Please.’
‘I’ll be fine. Just give me a couple of minutes to get myself together... and I’ll be on my way.’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ Derek said, hurt that Charles was going to leave shortly.
‘It’s just I know something’s not right. There’s blood on the floor out here and probably in there, too... I just wanna help you. I don’t want you to go.’
From behind the cubicle door, Derek heard a loud sigh. Then: ‘I’m bleeding,’ he croaked.
‘Yeah, I know. How? What happened? How’d you start bleeding?’
Charles cursed. ‘Look, it doesn’t really matter. I’ll be out in a minute if you give an old guy a fuckin’ chance.’
Derek had known Charles too long to know when he lied and when he told the truth. This was a blatant lie, which was very unlike his friend. ‘It does matter, for two reasons: one; I gotta clean the mess up afterwards, and two: you’re my best mate. I’m not just gonna leave you in here and let you go straight home without you telling me what’s causing you to bleed.’
‘I don’t believe this,’ Charles muttered.