Depths

by C. S. Burkhart

  I took position off to the side of him and aimed the bat low, right at his head, and swung it like a golf club. It connected with enough force to actually send a shock back into my hands, making them go numb. I had put a hole right through his skull.

  The room flickered again but not just once this time. It kept going, making me sick. The blood reversed its trajectory and flung itself back into Charles's lifeless body. It reversed itself down my walls, unsoaked from my carpet and cleaned itself off my bat. With a blink, Charles’s body had gone. The bat in my hands vanished right before my eyes and I turned my head to look at the rest of the room.

  Nothing looked disturbed, no signs of a struggle, no more blood. Just a room. My living room.

  “Where were we?”

  Her voice came from the sofa. I jerked towards the sound, wide eyed and slack jawed. She just sat there, as if I hadn’t just beaten her father to death.

  What’s going on?

  “You gonna just stand there or are you gonna come here and sit down?”

  She beckoned me with her eyes. Stupefied, I obeyed and plopped onto the couch, still in disbelief.

  It had to have been in my head right? I mean obviously, he’s not here anymore and she’s sitting right there. No blood, no chains. Normal.

  Did I fix things? Was that some sort of cathartic event, bringing me some sort of closure… For what? What had happened that I needed closure on? What did I solve? Maybe it didn’t matter… This had to be real.

  It is real.

  “Good. Now, what were we talking about?”

  Without a word I grabbed her and pressed her mouth to mine. She seemed shocked at first, but didn’t move away. After a second or two, she kissed me back. Her tongue flicked over my mouth and her hands ran down my chest. My fingers traced her spine, her flesh burned into my own and I pulled her shirt over her head and—

  —backhanded her across the face. Her teeth dug into my hand with the force of the blow and drew blood, enraging me more—

  —without missing a beat she yanked my own shirt off as well and fumbled at my belt—

  —and ripped her panties off. Black lace, my favorite pair. It’s almost like she wore them especially for me. She kicked at me but I grabbed her foot and yanked her off the couch—

  —I gently rolled on top of her. The warmth from her thighs spread through my body as I pushed my way inside. She broke away from my mouth and gasped before pulling me back—

  —slamming her head into the floor, stunning her. I quickly straddled her and forced my way into her. Her hair smelled like vanilla—

  —I bucked into her, increasing my vigor with every thrust. Our moans blended into one sound, carried throughout the house on the musical notes of couch springs. She rolled on top of me and I stood up, still inside of her, wrapping my arms under her legs and carried her down the hall to my bedroom. I caught a glimpse of the glowing thermostat, 75 degrees. The perfect temperature. We collapsed together, spraying sheets and bedspreads into the air. A few more final thrusts and we climaxed together, melding into one form. Our bodies were slick with each other’s sweat and saliva and fluids and it was beautiful.

  The sea of clothing settled to the floor and we just rested there. The heat spread from one of us to the other and swirled around us, still trying to catch up from minutes ago. She nuzzled against me and I ran my fingers up her neck and through her hair, simply savoring the moment. Everything was OK now. Everything was perfect. Just me and her. Nothing else existed, we were in our own world now. I had been sucked into hers, and her pulled into mine. She trembled slightly and I pulled her tighter. Poor thing must be cold.

  A tear rolled down her cheek onto my arm and I knew she felt exactly as I did. Swept up in the beauty of the moment. I couldn't have asked for better. It was perfect.

  Chapter 4

  “I didn’t remember there being a mirror on my wall… Or did I? Was it always there? I couldn’t remember. But where did she go? I couldn’t feel her beside me. A chill spread over my exposed backside instead of the warmth that was just there. The sheets that were still on me for some reason, seemed constricting. And there was that clinking sound again…

  “God, it had nearly driven me mad. The constant clinking and clanking, scampering down my halls, not giving me a moments rest. A glimpse of movement from the corner of the mirror caught my eye, and her slender figure moved into frame. Well good, she was back. I had thought I lost her for a moment there. She ambled past me and behind the bed, clinking along as she went. The clinking noise didn’t bother me anymore, knowing that it came from her.

  “Wait a minute... Was I saying all this out loud? Whatever. It didn't matter.

  “Her head lolled around, bobbing up and down as she stumbled past. The gash on her throat still looked perfectly fresh. Her hair covered her face, but I knew those chocolatey-brown eyes reflected the same affection that my own held. The clinking became almost soothing and rhythmic. Her steps were a beat. The thump from her first foot, the clink of the chains and lastly the slide across the floor from her second foot. I could listen to it for hours.

  “She made her way back around the other side of the bed. My eyes followed her as she crept back and forth behind me, moving in and out of view of the mirror. It was hypnotic—I couldn't help but stare at her perfect legs, speckled with black, blue and purple bruises that provided just the right contrast with her fair skin.

  “Her slender waist curved just enough, while her cotton panties hugged her tightly, showing off the dislocation in her hip. And the red-raw abrasion marks that lined her upper body like stripes, seemed to flow along her contour lines. A wild, tangled, beautiful mess of hair poured over her shoulders with drops of scarlet from her neck trailing down into the pattern of chains. No one could ever match her, and no one can take her away now. She was finally mine.

  “The clinking stopped and she stood directly behind me—her head tilted dangerously to one side, a few bits of tendons and muscle clinging onto her spine—before putting a knee onto the bed. It took her a moment to get her balance as she pulled her other leg over the edge and climbed into the bed with me. She slowly got herself situated next to me and put her head up against mine. Her ragged breath tickled my ear and I chuckled at the gurgling sounds her throat made. I wanted to touch her face so badly but I couldn't move. She nuzzled against me lovingly, and even though her body had long gone cold, I still felt a sense of warmth just knowing she was near me...

  ...She pressed up tighter against my back and put her hand on my face. I couldn't quite look up at her but I could see her perfectly well in the mirror. Her hair brushed neatly, warm chocolatey eyes locked into mine in the mirror. She ran her hand down my neck to my shoulders, slowly slipping the sheets down past my chest. I wanted to grab her hand but the chains, wrapped tightly around me, prevented me from doing so. They hugged me close and I couldn't help but feel defenseless and vulnerable, at least at first, but after the shock wore off, I felt safe again. I knew she would take care of me. But the most comforting thought of all, was that she wasn't mine. I was hers. Just like it had always been since the very first time I saw her. Just as it always would be. I was truly hers and that could never change.”

  Chapter 5

  I opened my eyes, trying to remember where I was. What day was it? It took me a second to realize I was actually in my bedroom. My head felt a little fuzzy and I got lightheaded when I stood up. I was barefoot and the floor was cold. I walked down the hallway to the living room and saw that everything was... Tidy. No mess on the floor, no dead bodies, no chains, no putty walls, nothing weird. It looked perfectly normal. There was no voice in my head, following me around and talking to me, it was just me and my house. Normal.

  I flopped onto my couch and a smile crept up onto my face and I began to laugh. I laughed and laughed and guffawed until tears rolled down my face. Everything was normal again.

  I'm not sure how long I sat there in hysterics, but the rumbling in my stomach told me I needed to go and
eat something. What time was it?

  The clock told me it was 1:33 P.M.

  Well, it didn't actually tell me, it's a clock after all but you get the point. I had really overslept. I could always get a doughnut and some coffee. I felt like I deserved it. What a strange couple of days it had been...

  At least I think it was a couple of days. Hours maybe? Weeks? I wasn't sure.

  Wait, wasn’t everything normal anyways?

  …blood reversed its trajectory and flung itself back into Charles's lifeless body. It reversed itself down my walls, unsoaked from my carpet and cleaned itself off my bat…

  Hmm. Well, whatever. It didn't matter. I went back to my room and pulled on a pair of jeans, strolling back down the hallway with a botox smile plastered on my face. It was Monday, and I despised Monday, but today was different. Things were finally going to change. Normally, there was always something that could be better about Mondays but not today.

  What a strange weekend it had been. Or weeks... Whatever. It didn't matter. Normally I didn't get to sleep in on Mondays but I figured I'd just call in sick today.

  But did I need to? Wasn’t I fired? Nah…

  That was the best night's sleep I had had in a long while. Sleep hasn't been easy to come by as of late. But where was she? I couldn't have imagined last night, not no way not no how. So were did she go?

  Hmm...

  She hadn't been curled up next to me in bed, or waiting for me, watching TV on the sofa, or getting herself something to eat in the kitchen. She was nowhere to be found.

  Her clothes were strewn about across the floor—I’d have to get them back to her—so she had to have been here last night. I could always see if I could catch her in the afternoon.

  I was still a little groggy from last night, it almost felt like I was trying to remember a dream. I wasn’t exactly sure of what I had done the night before. But her, I was definitely sure of that.

  My stomach growled at me, I was starving. I went into the kitchen and saw a note on the refrigerator with her hastily-scribbled handwriting across the paper:

  Meet me at my place at 2, I have a surprise for you. Last night was fantastic… I can still barely believe it. I’ll cya soon! XOXO

  Well, that answered my question. If I left now, I could just swing by and at least grab a coffee. She did like to cook, maybe she made lunch? A picnic maybe? I wouldn’t want to spoil my appetite.

  I needed my car keys...

  Where were they?

  I've always liked driving. It's always been a thing I could do to clear my head. It's easy to get lost in the rushing of the cars, the scenery zipping by, the rushing and buzzing... And just let go of everything. I never get tired of the brief little drive from my house to hers. The stoplights don't even bother me like they do with most people. For me, it's all just part of the drive.

  Every now and then though, I get so caught up in my drive that I have to stop and ask myself, where am I?

  I swear, I've driven this road thousands and thousands of times but that doesn't stop me from getting lost every once in a while.

  I had to pull over at a gas station, that I guess I had never noticed before, and stepped inside. Rows of snacks and candy and junk food lined the aisles but I didn't see anyone running the place. I went up to the counter and peered around but there was no one in the back, and no customers. The place was deserted. Come to think of it, so was the road. Seemed a little unusual.

  I turned around back to the door, no point in staying if there was no one here. I could always stop somewhere else.

  “You look lost.”

  I jumped a foot in the air at the voice and spun back around.

  A cashier sat inattentively behind the register, reading a newspaper. Blank eyes peered up at me from behind thick-rimmed glasses. His eyes seemed black to me, a sharp contrast from the bright reflection of light that shown off the top of his balding head. Seemed like a nice enough fellow, but strangely familiar...

  “Can I help you with something?” His voice was long and drawn out. A hint of melancholy canvassed an otherwise bland tone. I could shine a light through the gap in his front teeth.

  “I'm actually a little lost, I must've taken a wrong turn. Can you tell me how to get back to Memoir Street?”

  He casually flipped a page in his newspaper, taking the time to read the headline and sighed. Something about a hit and run driver killing a father and daughter who were on their way back from dinner.

  “There's too much nonsense nowadays. Too much killing and senselessness. It's selfish you know?”

  I nodded in agreement, about to ask him again how to get back to Memoir but he cut me off.

  “It only takes one person you know, only one person to set off a tragedy that affects dozens, maybe even hundreds. A ripple effect. Like this girl and her daddy.”

  He pointed at the headline.

  “They were just on their way back from dinner, celebrating her acceptance into school when some fellow runs them down and doesn't even have the decency to stick around. Too afraid of the consequences and concerned about his own skin.”

  He shook his head and rested it, as if defeated, in the palm of his hand.

  “But what are you going to do, right?”

  Before I had a chance to respond, blood exploded from his throat, spraying me in the face. The man clutched at his gaping neck, futilely trying to stop the blood oozing out from between his fingers. The shock on his face was overcome by the realization of his helplessness, and he collapsed onto the counter with a thud, before slipping off and onto the floor with a wet squish as he hit the ground.

  I had reeled back, trying to clean the blood out of my eyes, when I heard a voice I knew all too well.

  “Whew! That sure was enough out of him don't you think? Don't you hate it when someone has to go and explain every little detail about every little thing they read, or hear or see, and then try to give it some sort of deeper meaning, their own interpretation? Picking out the morals and the symbolism and the blah blah blah instead of just taking things for what they are and moving on? Half of what you read about or see on TV is all bullshit, but people have to go and apply meaning to shit. You get these movies, just movies that are there to entertain, and some asshole critic has to go and talk about the socio-political messages behind it. Well guess what, it wasn’t a social commentary or a political movie. So why is that asshole criticizing the social messages and political commentary? It’s just a fucking movie!”

  The Voice stepped out from behind the counter and wiped his blade off on his navy-blue shirt.

  “You get old fucks like him who want to try and spoil everything for you. What if you had wanted to read that article huh? Doesn't seem like there's much of a point now does it? You've already got your own preconceived opinions about it all and it won’t even be worth reading. The guy already gave away the ending. It wouldn't be very much fun for you to read it now, would it?”

  I backed away as he moved closer. I was beyond being afraid of The Voice, but that doesn't mean I felt comfortable when he had a knife in his hands.

  “He wasn't there now was he? He doesn't know what really happened, he just saw some words printed on a piece of paper and then decided he could go and give a sweeping generalization of the character of the person who hit them, when he doesn't even know anything about that person. Shit, he could’ve had the right-of-way and they jumped out in front of his car. I mean, it’s unlikely, but even if that were the case, he’s already been demonized and he’d still be the bad guy even if he wasn’t at fault.”

  He stopped walking towards me and leaned against the counter, glancing over it at the man behind.

  “So then you get some asshole who tries to fill in the blanks and over analyze, when really, the only people who are ever going to know what actually happened are the people who were involved. A journalist doesn’t really know, just like a critic doesn’t know the movie creator’s state of mind, or the symbolism of what an author wrote.”

&
nbsp; He looked down at his shirt as if just now noticing the blood stains.

  “Christ, I made a mess. Hey look, take a left at the light, follow the street down for about two miles and you'll make a right at Chestnut and then take the first left after that. You'll hit Memoir in about a mile. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  How many times did he have to tell me?

  “Cat got your tongue? Come on, let's get out of here. Don't you have somewhere to be?”

  With that he dropped his knife and walked past me to the door.

  “You comin' or what?”

  Did I really have a choice? I did need to be somewhere. I couldn't really remember where though. Lunch? There was a diner not too far away. Or was I seeing her?

  “I'm driving, toss me the keys.”

  Without even thinking about it I reached into my pocket and grabbed the keys, tossing them over to him. He opened the doors up and I got in the passenger seat, the door shut and clicked behind me. God I loved that sound. It meant I was going somewhere.

  “Oh and hey,” he buckled his seat belt and looked over at me. “You do know it's Monday right?”

  “Yup.”

  “And the significance of it being Monday is that...”

  “I know,” I interrupted.

  “Well good. Buckle up.”

  I clicked my belt in, sat back and relaxed. I could let him drive for a while. I was tired and I always hated Mondays.

  And...

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