by K. M. Gibson
Blood and bone on her face, broken wrist, a heavy weight.
Another howl.
If she could have breathed she would have cried. She cradled his broken head in her arms, favouring the wrist, pressed her face to where his once was. Oh, God, he is gone, and you took him from me. You took everything from me. Gave it all and took it away.
Quick. The gun. She snatched it hungrily and stuffed it into her mouth. It has to be quick.
The chamber turned, the hammer fell, and all was still.
Her eyes flew open wide. She pulled it out. Single string of saliva between the barrel and her mouth. Open the chamber.
Empty empty empty. Blood evaporated.
A darkened home. Need to leave. Grabbed the gun. Only five rounds, not six. Had shot one at the burglar months ago. Extra magazine in the drawer. Left behind.
Left behind.
Gave it all and took it away.
She couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. Slammed the magazine back in. A screaming mouth, an empty gun, click, click, click.
She could not hear the hordes of God’s angels approach from behind, coming to claim their last sinner.
She flipped the booklet over in her hands, trying to find another page, but it was finished. A tear splashed on the paper. No, that can’t be it. No redemption. No rescue for either of them. “No.”
This is not what she expected when Brittany told her to read it. It wasn’t good. Despairing. Bleak. Sobering to the point of breaking. Then there came the shame. What a perspective. How much she had taken for granted. She looked around the platform surreptitiously and wiped away her tears.
Then the usual train of people descended the stairs but she did not notice them until the man had touched the platform, his hard face set with some troubling thought. She tucked her face into the opposite shoulder quickly. She did not want him to see her like this, if he saw her at all. She could not stop crying. What had happened to the husband and wife had happened to her. Oh, what loss. She found herself looking towards the man again. Was he looking at her (look away now)? It had been too fast to tell. I hope he didn’t see me. Caught somewhere between wanting him to know and wanting to remain obscure was an unending hole. The unknown was just too huge to jump into.
When he came to a stop in his usual spot, Catherine gave another glance at his back, then stared. She suddenly saw him hunched over from sickness, feet dragging as she carried him along, trying to get away from the things that wanted to take it all from them. She could see her holding the gun, and then she broke down again.
I don’t ever want to lose you, she thought. It sounded ludicrous to her because he wasn’t even hers to lose. But to imagine his death and to be left behind…as she wiped her eyes futilely again she realized that it was more than just infatuation.
And while she remained distant, hoping to keep him within arm’s reach, she began to see her own story play out. She decided she would write it for him.
Michael’s father stood and left without looking her in the eye. She understood. She would have done the same.
She lay on her back in bed, straining her eyes to study the ceiling in the dark. A water stain browned the corner, faded in layers as it spread towards the centre of her room. It was darkest in the middle, and farther out it became larger and lighter. That was how pain worked, she thought: intense and sharp from the start, but more diluted yet widespread with time. Always there, though. Something that could never be removed.
There was another knock on her door.
She looked up and stared at the door, letting silence answer it for her.
“Catherine?” It was Reid.
She rose from her bed and opened the door. She could barely see his silhouette.
He was quiet, like he hadn’t quite worked out what he would say before this point. “I’m sorry to bother you so late. We thought you might want to know – we’re having a funeral for Jeffries.”
Her eyes fluttered shut and she breathed deeply. “When?”
“Right now. Out past the courtyard. I can bring you.”
She nodded, more to herself than him. All right.
She felt her way to her shoes and her coat. When she stepped out of her door Reid took her hand and put it on his shoulder, leading her away. He was tall; she had to reach far. At first it felt invasive to hold on but to let go was to lose her way. Soon they fell into step, an ataractic rhythm. It was okay this way.
He opened the storm door at the end of the darkened hallway. Cold air, silent and still, took her in and held her. The lamppost guided them across the grounds towards the trees opposite. It must have been left on specifically for this. For them. For him.
They rounded the livestock house and carefully navigated a narrow path. Not far in was a clearing. By the distant light a few yards behind them, she could make out the face of Doctor Anderson, and two men and a woman she did not recognize. They all nodded to Reid and Catherine, and Reid nodded back. Catherine, however, was elsewhere.
He was lying on her blanket on the pyre. They kept him in the things he died in. The body was starting to go. The skin was different, stretched somehow. Not quite sleeping, obviously absent of life.
She saw them look at her and look away quickly. Yes, it was strange. She can’t have known him long. Why was she acting this way?
“Thank you for coming, Catherine,” Doctor Anderson said. “Reid, thank you for building the pyre. You and Ackermann did well.”
“He wanted to be here,” Reid said. Where before his voice was so loud, it was soft and careful now. “It was too much, though.”
“I understand.” Doctor Anderson cleared his throat, looking to Jeffries’s body. “Are there any words anyone wishes to share?” There was a long, drawn out silence. He continued on in a wavering voice: “Jeffries was a good friend of mine, a great scientist, and a noble man. I knew him for years. Not only was he a remarkable colleague, but he reliably lent an ear when it was needed. I never knew him to lay judgement on anyone. All of us were moved by his spirit. None of us will ever forget him.”
“I remember the first time I met him,” the woman said. Jordan’s voice. “He seemed so withdrawn, so hard on the outside. It took years to really get to know him, but when I did, I realized that he was a very cautious character, that he had so much good in him, and he was only careful of who he showed it to. He was one of a kind. I will miss that.”
“I think he was important to everyone he ever met,” Reid said. “I can think of few people I can claim to have had an influence on me, but he was one of them. He never stopped fighting, he never stopped seeing the good, never the bad. When I think of great friends, I will always remember Jeffries.”
“We will miss you,” one of the other men said. He covered his mouth and the man next to him put an arm around his shoulders.
Catherine took each word to heart, cradled it, nurtured it, made them her own. She wanted to say something in case she regretted her silence forever, but nothing came. Doctor Anderson was looking at her expectantly. “Are there any other words?”
She felt each second of silence.
Hesitantly, Doctor Anderson reached into his long coat pocket and pulled out a long lighter.
Not yet.
She was moving without really meaning to. The others waited, and she kept advancing. Soon they disappeared; it was only her and him on a platform, and he was looking at her like saying goodbye.
The pyre was nearly chest high on her. She ran her hands over its rough edge, peering into his face. Their story was long but could be told in a single look. Words were never part of it. She leaned down and rested her head on his chest, gripping the collar of his coat. She held on dearly, making the moment last. Their time together flashed before her eyes. Each moment was so short lived but echoed again and again, and would echo for years to come. It was these echoes she would hold dear. She would never let go. I will never stop.
His coat. Faint pine. On his hand, an old leather glove. Beyond them, the bo
ok. Her life: Two people looking at each other across a platform.
I’ll always remember.
She let his collar go reluctantly and walked away. There was a direct line between everyone else and the clearing’s edge. It was there she chose to wait.
She heard the lighter catch, saw the sparks turn to flames. No one moved or made a sound. The larger the fire grew, the more tears were freely shed, not only by her. Reid’s face shone in the flames. This death would affect them all for years to come. Then she knew. He was who she saw him to be all along. This was what the loss of someone truly good looked like.
They stayed to watch the fire, keep it contained. It was hard to say how long it lasted, but the sky had begun to lighten when the fire began to subside. The two strangers were the first to walk away. Jordan touched Doctor Anderson’s back lightly, and he looked over his shoulder at her, nodding solemnly. They left together in step.
Reid stood a little ahead of Catherine, watching the fire become wisps of smoke. When it was only embers left he turned to leave. At her side he sopped, two mourners facing opposite ways. He touched her shoulder with a faint squeeze. Words were unnecessary. Then he let go and left.
The sun spilled through the branches of the evergreens ahead. She looked to the light. The fire was gone, and so was he. Nothing left for her here. Beyond was something to see.
On the other side of the trees was a slight slope overlooking the frozen lake. The sun moulded into the tops of the distant trees. The sky was lined with faint clouds, gentle brushstrokes of gold, red, purple, blue. The night sky was on the other side. It wasn’t a war, but a balance. How beautiful it was to see it that way.
She breathed deep and let it go. They were trying to survive. She survived. She was surviving.
It had become an art, pretending to read the paper. It had to be perfected so that she could wonder what his name was, what he sounded like, what kind of personality he had, and if she would ever know those things, so that he nor anyone else would ever notice her doing it.
Except you’re a creepy weird kid with crippling social anxiety and you should stop. She chewed her lip. No, you’re being hard on yourself. But seriously, stop it.
She looked up at his back. She could no sooner stop breathing.
“Catherine!”
A girl was coming right at her, looking young and pubescent-like, even though she knew they were the same age. Brittany.
She was immediately aware of everyone turning to the sound of her exuberant friend’s voice, but she was most conscious of the man turning to look in her direction. Her heart fluttered when she caught his sight from the corner of her eye, but she pretended to be looking at Brittany.
“Oh, hi,” Catherine said lamely.
Brittany threw her arms around Catherine in a hug, and Catherine awkwardly tried to let go of her paper and return the gesture out of politeness, but Brittany pulled away before she could.
“I haven’t seen you since high school!” she said, her voice louder than necessary, bounding about the station. “I thought you went to Vancouver for school or something!”
Everyone had turned away but Catherine saw the man’s eyes linger in her direction just a bit longer than everyone else. He’s annoyed.
“No, I stayed here,” Catherine replied, trying to sound kind and convincing, but she could hear the dampness in her voice. She wanted to shut the conversation down quickly so that the entire platform didn’t have to listen to them. Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’ll be here every morning at the same time.
“That’s cool,” the girl said nonchalantly. “You’re going to be some sort of counsellor for kids, right?”
“Child Psychologist.”
“That’s right, I remember now. I’ve got an interview downtown, and it’s super early, so I have to take the train there today. Hopefully they don’t want me to come every morning at this time, or I’m not taking this job.”
“It’s not so bad in the morning,” Catherine said, thinking Oh thank God. “You could get a lot of productive things done.”
“Huh, well, I wish I had caffeine infused into my genes like you, because I’m not a morning person. At all.” She rolled her eyes and giggled.
The intercom activated, and the bell signalling the arrival of the southbound train sounded.
“Oh, no! You’re not taking the southbound train, are you?”
“No, northbound.”
“Good!” Brittany said, clapping her hands. “We can ride together!”
She watched from the corner of her eye and saw him draw closer to the edge of the platform as the train pulled up to the station. She kept eye contact with Brittany as she watched him board. Was he listening? Does he notice?
“After high school, I just said: ‘To Hell with it’, and I decided to work full time instead of going to school, you know—?”
Catherine nodded, trying to appear interested and absorbed in conversation as she watched him disappear.
He stepped onto the southbound train and tried to fit himself into a niche in between the crowd. The train was always packed this time in the morning. He didn’t need to be at the university for another hour; he hadn’t needed to for the past year. Every morning he arrived early nonetheless and braved the crowds just for moments like this.
He looked over his shoulder through the windows to watch her as the train pulled away. He hung his head, his eyes pointed to his shoes like the rest of the people on the train, but a small smile slowly spread onto his lips, growing broader each second he continued to think on the scene that had just transpired. He had finally heard her name. Catherine. Beautiful.