A Tortured Soul

by L. A. Detwiler

  Before I can think too much about it or reach out for the creature, I’m standing in front of a floor-length mirror. I stare at myself, my hair a frizzy mess. My face is covered in lines. I look haggard. I don’t recognize myself. In the mirror, behind me, I see a cross. It’s as tall as I am. It is empty. I try to adjust amidst all of the disorienting sights, but my head just throbs with confusion.

  I turn to look at the cross, but suddenly it’s gone. In its place is a doll, one from my childhood. Familiar. Safe. I take a breath in the dream. It’s all okay. All is as it should be. I sink to the floor, and suddenly, I’m in my childhood room, three or four. The dirty pink carpet beneath me welcomes me. I am home. All is well. I reach toward the doll, but I startle as I do. There’s something missing.

  An eye. Another eye missing. Where is it? I don’t remember her eye getting hurt. So odd. So strange. There’s a tapping on the window suddenly, and my heart chills. I look up and see a shadow. The tapping steadfastly continues. I stand from my spot, walking toward the window, leaving the doll behind. I scream, terror rippling through me in waves. Outside the window, staring back at me as it rolls about, is an eye. A bubbling eye, oozing and yellowed. Blood seeps from somewhere. It’s a ragged, veiny eye, bobbling to and fro, looking so unnatural and staring directly at me. I want to take a step back, to run from the window, but I can’t. I’m stuck, frozen in place gaping back at it. Tears well. I don’t understand. I don’t understand at all. And then, as I’m staring, an explosion. The eye bursts, fragments of goo floating in the atmosphere, splattering on the window. I shriek.

  I turn around, but the doll is gone. She’s gone, gone, gone. I feel the need to find her. I creep to the window, my feet now moving of their own accord. I crack open the window. It’s easier than I remember. Ignoring the eye remnants on the window, I slip out, the chilly night air biting into my skin.

  I walk through the grass, the night completely black. On my path to I don’t know where, I notice there are glowing eyes peering at me from all about. Where are they coming from? Who is watching me? I don’t like this feeling at all. Vomit bubbles within my aching stomach. I walk for a bit, the only light on my way the light from the glowing eyes. And then, I stop.

  I’m here again. The house. The familiar yet unfamiliar house. The red mist settles around it. The peeling door screeches open and close, open and close. I take a breath. I want to turn around, but I don’t. Something compels me forward. I know this place. It’s okay.

  I step forward, my bare feet now reaching the first step. The splintery texture stabs my feet. I pad up the steps, stopping at the porch. My hand reaches for the screen door, and I steady myself, a part of the red mist now, a part of this place.

  I step forward again, my toes reaching for the familiar feel of the floor within. I don’t turn around, looking forward as I plod over the threshold.

  Chapter Six

  When I stand in front of the mirror in the bathroom, cracked and weathered from years of abuse itself, I can’t help but wonder how it got to this point. Growing up, I never really thought of myself as pretty. Modesty meant no makeup, and like every teenage girl, I was always centered on the imperfections I saw when I looked at my reflection. The dark circles under my eyes that begged to be covered. The tiny scar on my forehead from wrecking my bike. The nose that was too wide, the eyes too far apart. There was so much that needed fixed.

  Still, looking back, I can see now what I couldn’t then. I was pretty. I still had the bright eyes of a girl unsure of where life would go. And even though Mama and Daddy didn’t sprinkle our house with kindness, there was a semblance of resilient softness there, a façade of love. They were harsh to me because they loved me—at least that’s what Mama always used as a defense when Daddy got out of hand. Love is pain sometimes, Crystal. Love is sacrifice, just like our Savior sacrificed for us.

  Standing here now, though, studying eyes that are anything but bright, I can’t believe I’m looking at the same person. In many ways, I can’t believe I’m looking at the same person from days ago. I peer into the eyes, the window to the soul, and I don’t like what I see. Where once I saw a hint of purity, or at least an attempt at it, I now see a marred schism of darkness, a blackness spreading. I don’t think I can stop the darkness’s destructive path, either. It’s far too late. I shake my head after squeezing my eyes shut, trying to obliterate the reality in front of me.

  Don’t think about it. Just breathe. Don’t think about it.

  My inhalations ragged, I draw them in and out, gaining some pretense of poise. I need to be lucid, to be cautious. Richard and the sheriff have never had a good relationship. This could go wrong in so many ways. But I know I have to do this.

  I have to play the wifely part just in case. At least I can say that I tried. I’ll tell him see, I was worried, terrified actually. I was loyal and cautious and did what any devoted wife would do. I need to be able to say that. It’s my only chance at escaping the throngs of terror that will be unleashed upon me if I don’t play my part correctly.

  It’s the only chance I have at survival.

  I’ve learned the hard way over the years that we all have a role, we all have a duty to follow. My life has been a winding string of expectations to live up to, none of which were ever mine. Today, in many ways, is no different. Even without Richard here to bark orders, I know I am still shackled to him, still driven by his ways. I’m forever a prisoner in one way or another of the man I often wish I could forget.

  ‘Stop it, stop it,’ I shout, slamming my hands on the bathroom sink’s counter, getting closer to the mirror as I rock back and forth. How can I think that? If I had never met Richard, I would’ve never had my sweet Gideon. His life wasn’t in vain, was it? He was still here, even if only for a brief moment. I knew him and loved him—love him, I correct myself. I love him. I still can take care of him, make sure he is safe and his life matters. I need to do that for him. It’s the only thing that really means anything now.

  Guilt assaults me once more. How dare I think these things? What kind of a woman am I becoming? I always thought Richard held me back. What if the truth is that he held me up? I shudder at the possibility. It can’t be true. I’m strong. I am. I will find my way. I’m on the right path, the righteous path. There have been too many signs to think otherwise.

  Focus, I tell myself. I stare into my eyes in the mirror, behind the blackness, I see something else that’s been hidden for a while.

  Determination.

  I won’t let him break me. I won’t. I need to dig deep, to find the strength and the wiliness to pull this off. I can do it. It just needs to be perfect.

  ‘Hello, Sheriff Barkley. I need to talk to you. It’s about Richard. I’m terribly worried that something has happened.’ I practice saying it with the sweet softness the world is used to from Crystal Connor, but the smile that greets me in the mirror is unfamiliar, cunning, and manipulative. I relax it, just to sell the part. I dig deeper, thinking about the Crystal Connor from a few days ago. What would she say? How would she act?

  A few days can change a lot. It’s true. But right now, I need to pretend nothing’s changed, that I’m just a scorned woman looking for a man who probably isn’t worth her time.

  Chapter Seven

  I put on a floral dress and swipe a few dabs of powder on my nose—Richard doesn’t allow me to wear any more makeup than that. I make myself look presentable, but not too tidy. Under the circumstances, it’s understandable I’m not looking fresh and crisp.

  After the long drive to the station, I wander into the building. I’ve been in a few times before, mostly to defend Richard or to pick him up when things went wrong. Things always go so, so wrong with Richard.

  My stomach flops at the prospect of talking to Sheriff Barkley, but this is nothing new. I’ve always been nervous around the man. I think it’s because when I look at him, I know without a doubt that he recognizes the truth about my marriage. It’s not like it’s a huge secret. Richard is never sub
versive about his need for power, for control, and for domination. Everyone in town looks at me with pity, mostly stirred by the knowledge that Richard is the abusive man of most women’s nightmare. I am the object of their sympathy, flirting with danger because I’m too stupid to leave, at least in their eyes. If only they knew the whole truth.

  At the front desk, Pamela Weaver sits, typing away, chewing her gum too loudly. A shoulder pad in her sweater is slipping out, and an annoying song is playing on the radio beside her. Her whole demeanor seems out of place for a sheriff’s office.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asks, blatantly perturbed by my presence. She snaps her gum, and I shudder. Richard hates when women chew gum.

  ‘I need to see Sheriff Barkley,’ I murmur, fiddling with the thin gold band on my left hand.

  ‘Don’t we all. He’s pretty busy at the moment with a big case. I could have one of the deputies talk to you.’

  ‘No, I’d rather see Sheriff Barkley, please,’ I reply, adamant but calm. I want to see him, to ease my mind. It would be better to see him.

  ‘Have a seat, then. It might be a while.’

  I do as I’m told, hunkering down on the stiff chair, tucking my purse on my lap. I fiddle with the zipper of it, back and forth, trying to settle my mind. I haven’t done anything wrong. I need to remain visibly calm but concerned. I remind myself that I’m doing the right thing by being here, playing the correct role. Minutes tick by until they feel like days. It’s a long, long while before Sheriff Barkley makes it out to greet me.

  ‘Mrs. Connor. What brings you by?’ he asks, extending a hand to me. His skin is rough and weathered, but his handshake is gentle. I like that he shakes my hand. I stand to look at him.

  ‘I need to file a missing person’s report. Richard’s been gone for over forty-eight hours.’ I utter as he leads me to his office. He gestures for me to have a seat before shutting the door.

  ‘Were the circumstances suspicious? Any reason to believe he’s in trouble?’ Sheriff Barkley asks. His demeanor is calm, unassuming. I know what he’s thinking—this is just one of Richard’s typical scenarios.

  ‘No. Not really. I mean, he just up and left Monday evening. But it’s Thursday, and I haven’t heard from him, and I don’t know, Sheriff. I just have a bad feeling, you know? I have a feeling in my gut.’

  He studies me from across his desk for a long moment. ‘Crystal, I heard about the baby. I’m sorry.’

  I freeze, panicking. I wasn’t expecting this. Why is he bringing up Gideon? How does he know? Of course, though. The curse of the small town. Everyone knows everything about everything. I try not to cry, averting my eyes.

  ‘Thank you,’ I murmur, the falsity of the words transparent and cracking.

  ‘I’m not trying to sound insensitive, but, well, does the baby perhaps have something to do with Richard disappearing?’

  My eyes snap to attention and I stare at Sheriff Barkley. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Was the baby what drove him to leave? I know loss can incite all sorts of feelings and behaviors in people.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Look, I recognize it isn’t uncommon for Richard to disappear. He’s done it before, it’s true. But this time just, well, it feels different this time. I’m worried. I just, I don’t know. I worry something happened to him.’

  Sheriff Barkley sighs, leaning back in his chair. ‘Well, thank you for stopping in. Let’s get the paperwork started. We can fill out the report and go from there. I’ll do some snooping around, see if I can find him. But between you and me, Crystal, I’ve lived in this town a long time. I’ve known Richard practically his whole life. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’ll be back before you know it, I’m sure. He’ll be back here, being Richard, driving us both crazy. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’

  I look at the sheriff, wanting to tell him there’s oh-so-much to worry about now. That things will never be worry-free. That I can’t see a way out of this. But I don’t.

  Instead, I nod my head like the sweet woman I’m supposed to be. I let him be in charge. I listen as he walks me through the paperwork, and I meticulously, painstakingly fill out the document. When I leave, Pamela cracking her gum as I head through the door, I exhale, not even realizing I’d been holding my breath. Step one done. Richard’s reported. This should help me, should hold up my story when he shows up. I have proof that I tried to find him, like a perfect wife would do.

  I slide into the truck, holding the steering wheel. I glance in the rearview mirror, steadying my gaze. That was hard, but I did it. Getting the sheriff involved is always risky—that’s what Richard would say. The law usually brings more harm than good. It’s a risk I had to take. In the long run, I think it will prove useful.

  Regardless, I know what I need to do now.

  Chapter Eight

  I dash up the stairs, winded from all of the chores. It was exhausting today, draining. Maybe I’m just tired because of where I’ve been and what I did. Still, there’s a sense of exuberance persisting, even with all the weariness I feel. I smile, thinking about how good it felt today. I rush to the sink to wash my hands, scrubbing and scrubbing as the pounding at the door continues. I shudder, wondering who it could be. Henry barks maniacally outside, reminding me that it’s time for his meat. First thing’s first, though.

  Sheriff Barkley promised to swing by with updates, to be in touch soon. Certainly he hasn’t found something already, has he? I thought it would be days until I heard from him. In truth, I’d hoped it would be days. I’m getting quite used to my new routine. As awful as it sounds, I’m okay with Richard not being around. Happy, in fact. So happy with my life I’ve found in the days since he’s left.

  And the more time that goes by, the more I convince myself I can do this.

  I convince myself that good can come from such loss and pain.

  I assure myself that this is my chance to get away, to start over, to become a new version of myself. But first thing’s first, I realize as the pounding continues. One step at a time. One day at a time. One moment at a time.

  My heart pounds now. This could all be over, though. I could be getting the news I’ve been dreading. Or, perhaps, it’s just another one of Richard’s jilted customers. That case isn’t as bad, but it’s certainly not ideal, either. My head rings, all of the thoughts crashing into each other. It’s hard to think. I don’t want to answer the door. It’s time for my studies, after all. I need to go and study. I have so much to pray about, so many answers to seek.

  ‘Richard, it’s me. Cody. Open up.’

  My head spins at the familiar voice. No, no, no. This won’t do. Not at all. Not at all. Henry continues woofing vehemently as I dry my hands, examining them, avoiding the inevitable. I glance around. The place is tidy enough. I need to make sure, though. Cody and Richard are close. I’ve learned that the hard way. He’s Richard’s eyes and ears. I need to be wary.

  ‘Coming,’ I assure, trying to keep my voice from wavering. I glance at the basement door, noticing it’s ajar. I wander over and shut it, straightening the dish towel on the way back. I dry off a spot on the counter, the knocking continuing.

  I take a breath, knowing I can’t put it off any longer. I walk to the door, fling it open, and offer a weak smile, the screen door between us.

  Cody’s face is stern, and he glares at me through the door. My twentysomething brother-in-law whose face has always reminded me of a weasel scowls, as always. Thinking it over, I’ve never seen the man happy. He’s much scrawnier than Richard and, I suspect, a great deal less intelligent. I’ve always imagined that his feelings of inadequacy around Richard drive his badger-like demeanor. He is, in fact, just as bad as Richard. Maybe worse in his own right.

  ‘Where’s Richard?’ he barks. ‘I need to see him, now.’

  It’s a demand, his hand yanking on the screen door. I stand in the doorway, but I know it’s no use. This wild animal is on the prowl, and he won’t stop u
ntil he gets what he wants.

  ‘He’s not here,’ I reply, my eyes darting around the house as Cody storms into the kitchen, blowing past me. My blood pressure surges, my chest squeezing. I don’t want him here. Not like this. I can’t have him here. I know what he could do.

  ‘What do you mean he’s not here? I need him. He’s supposed to be helping me.’

  ‘With what?’ I ask, trying to distract him as he leans on the counter.

  Wrong question. He’s in front of me like a frothing pit bull before I can retract the words.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, you dumb bitch. Jesus Christ, you’re all the same. You, Kimberly. You get too much freedom. Richard and I need to talk. We both give you too much freedom. You think you have the right to go around asking questions.’

  I shudder at the words. Kimberly is Cody’s wife. I’ve only seen her a few times. Richard and Cody don’t really let us get together. I think they’re afraid we’ll compare notes, realize what we’re dealing with. There’s strength in numbers and power in awareness.

  ‘He’s not here. He’s been missing. I reported him this morning.’ My words are choppy and frank.

  ‘You what? Are you stupid? Why would you do that?’ he bellows, furious.

  I take a step back. ‘I don’t know, Cody. I just, I think something’s wrong. He disappeared without a word.’

  ‘Probably a reason for that, you idiot. Now you sent the sheriff on his trail. Nice going. Nice fucking going. Oh, he’s going to kill you when he gets back. You’re done for. Wait until I tell him what you’ve done.’