Rebirth

Before.

The sunlight would've woken Janie up if it hadn’t been for the incessant beeping. 

A rhythmic beep, beep replaying repeatedly caused her to stir, and the brilliant glare from the three big windows was enough to wake the dead despite the white blinds trying their hardest to conceal it. This mattress was firm and thin and made no sound, unlike her bed at home, as she tossed from side to side, attempting to avoid the sun. She rolled over once more, mildly aware of the absence of sound as she did. 

She yawned and felt her lips crack. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to generate saliva. 

Ugh. My mouth tastes like shit. 

With no luck, she pawed to the right side of the bed. She always had water on the nightstand. When her hand fell through the air to nothing, she slowly tried to open her eyes. They were crusted over. She rubbed the crust away and was greeted with a blurry, bright white image. The light pierced her pupils, and she raised a hand to shield them from the sun. 

Why is it so fucking bright? Oh my god. 

She rubbed until her eyes went blurry from the pressure, and when they finally focused, she saw she was in a relatively spacious hospital bedroom. Glancing around, she noticed that to her left, on the small beige nightstand, were her wireless headphones, cell phone, and, on the floor, her running sneakers. She stared down at the sneakers, scrunching her brows together in confusion. Groggily, her eyes made their way up the base of an IV stand between the nightstand and the side of the hospital bed. Following the wires, she saw that she was hooked up to the IV and a bunch of machines monitoring her heart and vitals.

So, this is the beeping.

She rubbed her face; too tired to fully process where she’d woken up but aware enough to know she had to use the bathroom, she tried to get up. A sharp pain shot through her stomach, followed by a low burning sensation. She winced, and as she moved the paper-thin white covers, she saw that she was bandaged heavily around her abdomen. Unlike the bedsheet, these bandages were thick and tightly wound around much of her lower torso, right above the belly button. Just past the bandages was a long cast consuming her right leg. 

 Although she wasn’t sure if she had a great fall, she wasn’t sure of anything having to do with her ending up in the hospital. The panic began to set in, and the monitor hooked up to her heart, which had been beeping rhythmically, picked up pace. 

She glanced, almost too quickly, around the room again. Sterile white walls, the small nightstand, and the three big windows were all that were in there. And her running sneakers. But why were those here? Bile began to climb up her throat as her hands searched the bed sheets for something, anything. She swallowed hard, but it was dry. Her heart monitors cranked it up a notch. She felt woozy. 

I need to get out of here right now. 

 She heard a shuffle outside the door, and her heart stopped as the door slowly creaked open.

“Oh, hon! She's awake.” She immediately recognized her mom’s voice, and a flood of relief surged through her body. 

“Mom,” she croaked. 

“How're you feeling?” her mom cooed as she sat on the edge of her bed. 

Careful not to touch her, she looked at her with intense, concerned eyes. Her voice was calm, but she thought she could hear her mom’s heart pounding through her chest. Sylvie Doe was never good at concealing her emotions. As her mom carefully moved a loose piece of her bangs back, her dad, George, slipped into the room, not making a sound. 

She stared at them for a long time as though she’d never seen them before.  She noticed how gorgeous her parents were with tan olive-toned skin; her mom had dark brown, almost black hair, dark round eyes, and prominent, high cheekbones. She was an incredibly tall woman and an assertive one at that. George Doe, however, didn’t assert himself like her mother. He had light brown hair to match his watery hazel eyes and a long, oval face. He was the strong, silent type. 

As her mom sat on the bed, her dad stood at the foot of it. He wiggled her left foot. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he smiled as he spoke. 

He didn’t look panicked, but he rarely ever did. His genuine calmness was soothing, unlike what her mom was trying to exude, making her even more nervous. 

“What’s going on?” Janie croaked again.

Sylvie and George exchanged glances, but not quick enough that she didn’t notice. 

 She stared at her parents and felt herself gradually getting sick again. Her head was swimming with thoughts, but none were coherent. She knew she was in the hospital; that was an absolute fact. Something insane happened to her because she had more pieced wrapped together than that egg from her childhood. What was his name again? He had a great fall. She could tell her mom was worried, but her dad didn’t seem phased and unsure why. 

She continued mulling this over when there was a knock at the door. 

“Knock, knock, knock!”  the doctor opened the door a smidge before he entered. “How are you today, Mr. and Mrs. Doe?” 

He was a relatively plain man. He looked average height but slightly heavier, with dirty blonde hair. She studied him and couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinner when he was younger. If this job put the hints of grey in his hair or the softness around his stomach. He had pale blue eyes and a reassuring smile, which she thought was useful considering his choice of profession, but something about his eyes made her nauseous. 

“Much better now that she’s awake,” replied Mr. Doe. He looked at his wife, who nodded in agreement as she stood up and took a place next to her husband. George placed an arm around his wife, and she could see her mother’s shoulders relax. 

Janie looked at the three of them, standing before her in this new alternate reality she felt she was in. Her head still swam, and it felt like she was in the presence of strangers, not to be trusted. 

“I'm glad to see you're awake. My name is Doctor Smith,” he extended his hand, and she took it weakly. He had long, slender fingers, and his grip was firm without being rough. No rings, though, which could’ve meant that he wasn’t married or didn’t wear his ring on the job. 

“When you came in, you were in some pretty rough shape. Now your vitals are strong, and you look better.” His expression grew grave, “Do you remember anything that happened four days ago?” 

She turned to her parents, who were also staring at her, eyes intense. 

Four days? 

She stared blankly at the foot of her bed, shaking her head. This motion caused an explosion of pain in her head. She winced and rubbed her fingers to her temple. She felt a bandage above her left eyebrow. 

“From the medical reports and eyewitness accounts, you were attacked in Central Park. Luckily, we were able to stabilize you right away. You’d lost a lot of blood from a stab wound to the abdomen. You also sustained injuries to your head and broke your leg in a struggle. In conjunction with the head injury, we believe the pain may have caused you to blackout.” The doctor spoke calmly, but she couldn’t help but feel nauseous. 

Attacked.

Her head spun as she remembered. She had been going out for a run in the park. She usually ran in the morning, but constant uneasiness caused her to switch up her routine. It wasn’t near sunset yet, so she knew she would have plenty of time to get through her run and return home before dark. She was making her third lap around the lake when she felt someone was following her. It was a nagging feeling she’d been having for a few weeks, but nothing ever manifested. She initially thought she was paranoid, but when the feeling persisted, she ran off the path and onto the trail parallel to the lake, with more coverage within the trees. Focused on trying not to trip over branches, she had been looking down when a low tree branch took her by surprise. That was the last of what she could remember. 

That doesn’t explain the leg. Or the stab wound. 

“You’re fortunate your boyfriend was there to call the police.”

Horror had made its way from her stomach to her eyes as the doctor continued.  

“If it wasn’t for him, we don’t think you would’ve pulled through.” The doctor smiled reassuringly and looked at her parents, who sighed. They were grateful she had been okay and her boyfriend was there to stop the attacker.

Boyfriend? 

Her breathing began to pick up. She didn’t have a boyfriend. She went on that run alone and had been one of a very small handful of people who were even in the park that day. 

Boyfriend. 

She felt she should be grateful to the stranger for calling the police and helping her, but she couldn’t shake this sick feeling. Seeming to sense her uneasiness, the doctor told her he would check on her in a few hours. 

“The call button is there if you need anything from the nurses.” The doctor said as he turned to close the door, leaving her with her parents. She stared straight ahead, looking into the private bathroom. It seemed that the urgency she felt before to use it was completely gone now. All her senses seemed to dull, but she could see her parents staring at her. She couldn’t meet their questioning gaze; the gaze she knew was about the boyfriend. How could they think she had a secret boyfriend? They were a close family, mainly because it was only them three. She couldn’t keep secrets even if she tried. It was her mother who spoke first. 

“Sweetheart,” she smiled. “I know this is a lot to take in right now, but Steven really is a lovely boy.” 

Steven? Who the hell was Steven? 

“I know it’s tough at your age,” her father began, ”to tell your parents everything, but you didn’t need to keep him from us because he really is a remarkable young man.” He paused and softened his gaze. “Did you think we wouldn’t like him?”

She found it hard to look at her father then because he really was so sweet. Whoever this Steven was, he had left an impression. 

“Dad,” she struggled to get the words out. “I don’t know anyone named Steven.”

At this, her parents frowned and shared a concerned glance with one another. 

“Well, the doctor did say your memory was going to be a little shaky at first,” her mother bit her lip, frowning, “and with this relationship being so new, maybe you’ve forgotten. It'll come back to you, don't worry.” She leaned down and kissed her daughter’s forehead. 

“We’ll let you rest now.” her father whispered, patting her head. He then followed his wife to the room. 

She was stunned. A boyfriend? She didn’t even know anyone named Steven. Feeling like she was going to be sick, she quickly got up, unplugging her arms as she did so, and hobbled to the bathroom. It was hard to kneel for the toilet, so she braced the sides of the sink with her unsteady hands and threw up. When she looked up, it felt as though she was looking into the eyes of a stranger. 

She was concerningly pale. Her skin was always more on the lighter side, but right now, it looked green. Her eyes were dull, sunken in beds of dark circles, and her face looked hollowed out. For someone unconscious for four days, it looked like she hadn’t slept in months. Feeling sick again, she gripped the sink and swayed back and forth. Trying to lift her head, she felt her breath quicken and her hands slip from the edges of the sink. She caught a glimpse of the stranger in the mirror, who cocked her head to the side as the image began to blur around the edges and eventually faded to nothing.  

I had an average life, at best. 

We lived in a modest, quaint, two-bedroom, two-bathroom house in Poconos. It was a small white colonial with dark shutters. My father inherited the home from his father after his parents passed away before I was born. It had everything that a small family needed: the first floor had a kitchen with old but reliable appliances, a living room with room for one two-seater couch, a recliner set in front of a standard-sized TV, and a dining room. There were two closets; one was for shoes and coats, and the other was just off the kitchen and was used as a pantry/storage for my father’s tools. 

The upstairs was equally unimpressive. There was the main bedroom with a small bathroom and a closet, and then down the hall was my bedroom, which was kept minimal. I had a single square navy blue carpet in the middle. If you were to walk into my room, you would first see the bed against the wall. It was full-sized, with navy sheets and grey pillows. I didn’t have a TV, but I had a long wooden dresser across from my bed against the other wall.  I had three bookshelves and a single-door closet where I kept my shoes, jackets, and pants. And next to my room was the bathroom I used. 

My parents were salt of the earth people. My father owned a local hardware store; my mother was a seventh-grade teacher. They raised me to be a salt-of-the-earth person, too. With the world becoming increasingly technologically reliant, they emphasized having actual skills. My father desperately wanted me to be able to use my hands for everything. If the sink was broken, I could fix it. If there was a creaky step, I could replace it. In short, he wanted me to be a man’s man. 

My mother wanted me to feel the pages of a physical book, how a pencil, never a pen, felt as it moved across the page. The hard work came from producing art with your bare hands and using your brain. I hand write my papers in script throughout my education, and if I ever mentioned the word Kindle, she would lose her mind. I used textbooks and novels for essays. We had a computer, but it was never used. Since my mother worked with kids daily, she saw how hard it was for them to focus for an hour when the entire world was on a small screen inside their pockets. 

I’m not saying we were Amish or anything like that, but my parents were traditional people; the man was the man of the house; he fixed what was broken, and the woman was to cook, clean, and care for the children. It’s all elementary. They were simple people. Even how they met was nothing out of the ordinary. 

They grew up in the same town, went to the same elementary, middle, and high school, and lived on the same street. They started dating her senior year of high school when my father took classes at the local community college. Even though he had known her his whole life, he didn’t ask her until she turned 18. 

There was only one time when I was little that I asked him why he waited so long to ask out my mother if he’d known her his whole life. 

“Because we were children, and I wanted to wait until we were adults to make an adult decision,” he said. “The problem these days is that you’ve got children making adult decisions, which mess with their heads. Dating isn’t something to take lightly, son. There’s a lot that goes into starting a family. You want to make sure you pick a sound person that is reliable. It’s not just about chasing tails. Do you understand?” 

“Yes,” I nodded.

From that moment onward, I felt that finding my person was the most important decision I would ever make. Except, unlike my parents, I wanted to marry someone for love.

Since watching how my parents were with each other, I have developed a theory that although you’re supposed to pick someone who is sound and reliable, I also wanted to love them.  I craved knowing what it felt like to spend time with someone who enjoyed your company; not just spent time in it.

I’m not saying they didn’t care about each other because they did, but they got married to start a family. Everything else between them was a consequential transaction of that procreation.

When Janie was five, her mother suffered a miscarriage. 

At the time, she didn’t really understand what was happening. They were getting ready to go to the park, Janie, mom, and dad. She remembers how happy they were together, how in love. She was standing by the front door, holding onto the staircase railing while her dad helped her get her shoes on.

“Okay Janie,” he said, “this is a big day for you kiddo. Today, you tie them yourself.” 

He nodded in the direction of her bright pink rhinestone shoes. 

“But Daddy!” she whined and grabbed his hand. She swung it back and forth with the extreme force of a five-year-old. 

“No buts!” he joked and put a finger out. 

“Fine,” she sighed as she sat down on the first step. 

“Do you remember where to start?” he asked. 

“There are two bunnies,” Janie began to take the two laces and loop them around when there was a slam in the kitchen, followed by a loud groan. 

“Hun?” he asked from the foyer. 

There was no response. 

“Syl, honey?” he called again. 

Janie left the bunnies alone and turned to look down the hallway. Her dad was half standing when there was another loud groan, followed by a gut-wrenching scream. 

George moved with a quickness Janie could, at the time, only assume was super heroic. And she was left in the foyer motionless. She could hear her dad whispering to her mom, but she couldn’t hear a response. Slowly standing, she leaned down the hall to catch a glimpse of him kneeling on a wet floor. When he reappeared in the doorway, Janie jumped. 

“It’s okay sweetie,” he said but his face was white.

“Is mommy okay?” Janie asked. 

“She’s just not feeling good,” he tried to reassure her. “I just need to call the doctor quickly. Can you stay right here for me, sweetie?”

Janie nodded and sat back down on the step. She fiddled with the zipper on her lime green floral jacket. Though she didn’t know what was happening, she could tell it was serious. There was a feeling hanging in the air. A thick tension that seemed to squeeze on her little chest. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. Her dad was acting strange. He was the same but different, like dark chocolate. Mommy always made them have dark chocolate after dinner because she told daddy it would be good for his heart. But it still tasted yucky no matter how much her mom tried to force it on her. 

Her thoughts occupied with chocolate, she found herself distracted from the phone call her dad was making in the kitchen for an ambulance. After he hung up, George waited in the kitchen with his wife and the next thing Janie knew, there was a knock at the door. Again, Janie jumped as her dad rushed past her and greeted two paramedics. Janie noticed that his hands were sticky and wet and red, and he didn’t seem to pay any attention to Janie as he escorted them towards the kitchen. She stood at the staircase and watched as they crowded the kitchen. Her dad pacing back and forth with his hands on his head. She knew they were talking but spoke so low she couldn’t make out what they were saying. 

She watched him look back and forth between the kitchen. His face was silly; he looked sad, but there was something else in his expression that Janie couldn’t quite understand. He took steps forward towards Janie when the medic called him back. He turned and raised a hand at her, and when he went back to the kitchen, she took a seat back on the steps and stared down at her shoes. She tried to count the rhinestones on the left foot, then the right. She barely heard the footsteps of the female medic. 

“Hi there, I’m Stacey,” she said. 

“Hi,” Janie perked up. 

“I love your shoes. Where did you get them?” 

“Thanks, my daddy got me them for my birthday last week. And my mommy got me this jacket,” Janie responded. 

Stacey backed up and gave an exaggerated look over as Janie twirled with her hands out wide in her lime green jacket with different colored flowers sprouting from the pockets. 

“Well, look at you! Happy birthday! How old are you?”

Janie held up five fingers proudly. 

“Five! That’s incredible. I wish I was five again. What else did you get for your birthday?”

“I also got a Disney board game.”

“Whoa! That is so cool.”

Another light rapping on the door, before a man’s head popped in. Stacey turned and pointed to the kitchen, where Janie’s father half-heartedly waved. 

“This way.” 

The floating head disappeared, and before long, a white stretcher pushed through the door. The man apologized and continued into the kitchen. Stacey turned her attention back to Janie. 

“You know, I would love to play your board game. Do you want to do that?”

Janie looked past the woman and towards her dad for approval, but he wasn’t looking. Noticing this, Stacey asked Janie to wait at the stairs and went back to the kitchen. More whispers happened before she came back to Janie and took her hand. From the background, her dad appeared and gave her a thumbs up. 

“It’s okay, sweetie. Show Stacey your room,” George called out. 

“Okay,” Janie looked up at Stacey and guided her up the stairs. 

Janie’s bedroom was typical of a five-year-old girl; stuffed animals everywhere, Barbie dolls with haphazard haircuts strung about the room. Her walls were light pink to match her rug, but the trimmings were lime green to match the sheets. She had small shelves with books on the walls and a little square white tv with flower sticks on the front and side. Stacey couldn’t help but smile when they pushed through the door. There were pictures on the wall of Janie as a baby with her parents, then another of them in a beach frame a few years older. Her white dresser had drawings of the three of them in various places, next to the real picture, signed and labeled by an adult with the year and location; Disney ‘98, Niagara Falls, ‘99, Los Angeles, ‘00. 

Janie guided Stacey to the corner of the room where there was a small bookshelf and a little circular rug. 

“Okay,” Janie started as she pulled out the box for Candyland: Disney Parks edition. “According to Mommy, we pick our pieces and take turns picking up cards. Once you get here,” Janie pointed to a multi-colored block right before Cinderella’s castle, “you win!” 

Stacey nodded in agreement and picked her yellow piece. They played four quick rounds, Janie magically winning each one, before there was a knock on the ajar door. 

It was George, face blotted with sweat and hands shaking. 

“They’re all set downstairs,” he said as he wiped a wet hand on his jeans. 

Stacey nodded, got up, and turned to Janie. 

“I hope we can play again sometime,” she smiled. Janie nodded enthusiastically as Stacey walked to the door. 

“Thank you again,” George smiled weakly and put out a hand. 

“Don’t mention it. She’s a great kid.”

George waited until he heard the front door close before he crossed the room and sat on the carpet with Janie. The room felt thick with tension again, and it made Janie’s stomach hurt. 

“Is mommy okay?” 

“Yes,” George sighed. “Mommy is going to be okay.”

“Then why are you sad, daddy?”

“I’m not sad,” he faked.

“Daddy,” Janie took his hand, “it’s okay to be sad,” she said in a voice all too grown up. 

George stared at her for a moment before she stood up and hugged him. 

“It’s okay, daddy,” she said again, and they hugged for a moment while he silently cried. 

“You’re right, thank you sweetie,” he said as he wiped his tears.

His phone rang, diffusing the lingering emotions in the room and Janie watched as he recomposed himself. The conversation was brief, and when he hung up he sat with his eyes closed for a moment. Janie sat silently with him, staring down at her still untied shoes. Finally, he pushed himself up and asked:

“Do you mind if we skip the park today and go see mommy at the doctor?”

Janie nodded. 

More silence followed as they went back downstairs. George grabbed his coat from the closet and Janie sat back down the steps, bunny ears in position. 

“Like this, daddy?” she smiled. 

Her ability to resume life as usual made him laugh as he bent down and tied her shoes. 

“I know I said today would be the day,” he said as he finished tying, “but you get one more freebie.” They linked hands as they walked to the car. 

When they got to the hospital, Janie shrunk into her dad. There were busy people moving from one room to another, shouting nonsense to each other, and handing off clipboards. She was overwhelmed by the speed with which everything was happening. They stopped at the reception desk for what seemed like half a second before they were walking down the hall to the elevator. 

To Janie, the energy of the hospital began to make her feel uneasy. There were too many people. Everyone was rushing somewhere. She couldn’t understand why anyone would be in such a rush to go anywhere, let alone from room to room. And there were no colors. The hallways were white, and the floors a shade of gray she’d never seen before. The nurses wore pale blue shirts and matching pants; the doctors had white coats and beige or black pants. It was all too plain. And it smelled weird. She wasn’t sure whether the smell was bad or too clean, but it made her queasy. She especially didn’t like the way her dad was acting in the hospital. He wasn’t making jokes, and he held her hand a little too tight, and kept moving her along too quickly. 

When they got off the elevator, they walked down a long hallway before her dad stopped and turned to her. He was suddenly very serious. He got down on one knee and adjusted her jacket. The door to the room was closed, and Janie was filled with the sense that something very bad was on the other side of the door. 

“Okay,” he said. 

He was stalling the inevitable. 

“Daddy?” 

“What’s up kiddo?”

“Daddy, I’m scared.”

George let out a deep sigh, and for the first time since Syl collapsed, he told his daughter the truth. 

“I’m scared, too buddy, but for a second, can you try and be really brave? Because through that door Mommy is waiting for us and she might be even more scared than we are. Can you do that for me?”

Janie nodded and gave him that all too grown-up look. 

He kissed her forehead, grabbed her hand, and together they walked into the room. SECTION:

Sylvia was sitting slouched in the hospital bed, eyes deadpan in the corner of the room. She was glistening with sweat or tears, Janie couldn’t tell. The sight of her mom made her heart beat extra fast. 

“George,” her mom reached both arms out for her dad, and her face gave way to the tears. Janie stood at the foot of the bed while her parents hugged. She was nervous to approach her mom; something about this place and this situation made her uneasy. She didn’t want to look at her parents, especially since now her mom was audibly sobbing. Janie kept staring down at her shoes, and again tried to count the rhinestones. 

George broke the hug first, aware that Janie was in the room with them, and stepped to the side so Sylvia could see janie. 

“Oh, sweetie,” she began to cry again. Janie didn’t move as her mom’s arms stretched toward her. 

“Janie, honey, it’s okay,” her dad nudged her towards Sylvia. 

Swiping away tears, her mom kept her arms out for her. Janie moved slowly, cautiously, towards her mom. She’d never seen her so upset before. Or look the way she did. Her hair was a mess. It was strung out and wild around her already thin face, making her appear even thinner. She had an IV in her arm, and Janie couldn’t stop staring at it. The way it made her mom’s veins bulge out of her hand. She stopped just out of reach of her mom. 

“Janie, baby, what’s wrong?” her mom wiggled her fingers, signaling for Janie to come closer, but she didn’t budge. She just stared at her mom with her eyes wide. Syl looked to George for some help. 

He moved in between them, and squatted so his eyes met Janie’s.

“Janie, everything is okay. Mommy is fine, she’s just a little sad right now. Do you remember how excited we were about your baby brother?”

Janie nodded. 

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “Your baby brother is with Jesus now, so Mommy is a little sad is all.” He brushed her hair out of her face and smoothed out her coat. Janie could see tears in his eyes and his face was flushed. 

“Janie, do you understand?” her mom asked as her eyes also welled up with tears. 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Janie whispered. 

George and Sylvia shared a concerned look, because they never spoke to Janie about death before. They were religious, so she understood Jesus and God, and doing nice things meant you could go to Heaven, but they hadn’t gotten around to explaining what needs to happen before the white pearly gates. 

“What?” George asked. 

“When Jimmy’s fish died, Mrs. Troiano  said it would be okay because pets get to go to Heaven and be with Jesus. So if the baby is with Jesus, that means he died like Jimmy’s fish and is with Jesus, too.”

“Yes, sweetie,” George began, but couldn’t continue. He was overcome with emotions as his five year old explained to him that she understood death, and accepted it with no issues. 

“That’s why mommy is sad,” Sylvia picked up where George left off. She placed her hand on his back and rubbed it gently. “I’m sad the baby won’t get to be with us.”

Janie nodded again, and looked thoughtfully at her parents for a second before her dad picked her up and placed her on the bed, where the three of them hugged in silence. Her parents sniffled around her, but Janie didn’t cry. Not because she didn’t feel bad, but mostly because she didn’t understand. Why would she cry for something she never had?

After a few hours, her mom was released from the hospital and they were able to go home. In Janie’s mind, her mom never came home from the hospital. Because once back home, her mom was different. She didn’t laugh as much, and spent a lot of time in her room. She stopped cooking dinner, taking showers, or helping around the house. 

After a week, George knew that Sylvia couldn’t take care of herself, let alone her daughter, so he began to work from their home office. He owned his own architect firm, and after one staff meeting explaining his home situation, no one questioned when he’d return to the office. 

He still drove Janie to kindergarten in the morning, and when he got home he would check on Sylvia, bring her something to eat, though it often went untouched, and get some work done before he would check back on his wife. Most days with Sylvia were the same; she would only get up to use the bathroom, and only watched talk show television, or the news. George often left the bedroom door open, so he could hear inside the room, should anything change, and when the time came, he would pick Janie up from school. 

He did his best to keep Sylvia out of sight, but one time they came home and she was screaming with grief from the bedroom. After that, he closed the door before he left to pick up Janie. 

George understood the grief Sylvia was feeling. Sylvia suffered from endometriosis, and for a long time, they believed she would never get pregnant. She knew the risks of pregnancy, but all she wanted was a family. When Janie came, she was perfect. She was an easy, beautiful baby that enriched their lives everyday. They knew it would be difficult to have another baby because Janie was a blessing. 

And though George was crushed, he was devastated for his wife. The process she went through to get pregnant again was daunting for her, and to have those efforts be thwarted was horrible. Throughout most of their relationship, Sylvia talked about kids. 

“I want six kids,” she’d say. “Three girls, and three boys, with a boy first and a baby girl that looks just like me last.”

“Anything you want,” George would agree. 

When he met her, she was a sophomore in the engineering program. He knew almost instantly he’d found his person.  She was vibrant, outgoing, witty, incredibly smart; everything he wasn’t, and he loved her more than anything. 

Now he looked at her in their bed, and it broke his heart. He didn’t know what to do for her, or how to make things better. And he didn’t know how to help Janie through this. He knew it was hard for her because she didn’t understand the pain her mom was going through. How could she? He was torn between being the husband Sylvia needed right now, and the father Janie deserved. 

One day, Janie and George were in the backyard, when Janie fell and scraped her knee. It wasn’t a serious cut, but Janie cried and cried as he brought her into the kitchen to clean the cut and get her a Band-Aid. 

“Daddy, no!” Janie wailed. She kicked on the kitchen counter, and her face brightened to a deep red. He’d come back with the clear bottle that smelled funny and burned her whenever they poured it on her cuts, and that’s when she really lost it. She began to slam her fists down and the wailing became a hiccuping scream. Her tears mingled with the snot and spit from her mouth. 

“Sweetie, it’s okay. Please don’t cry. I promise it won’t hurt,” George tried to soothe her but he knew it was futile. She continued to kick and scream, and George had just about given up, when Sylvia dashed into the kitchen, and scooped Janie up off the counter.

“Sh, sh, sh” Sylvia cooed. “You’re okay my love. Mommy’s here.”

Sylvia was in her pajamas, hair in a greasy matted loose ponytail. Through her haggard appearance, her face was calm. And she was at peace holding her daughter. 

Whether it be the disbelief, or the actual soothing of her mother, Janie finally stopped crying. She nuzzled her head into Sylvia’s shoulder, and Sylvia stroked her head tenderly. She continued to calm her down, and Janie’s hiccups subsided. George stood with the Band-Aids and the peroxide in his hands, mouth agape. He backed away, letting the two of them have their moment. 

“Let me see your face,” Sylvia put Janie back on the counter, and wiped her tears. “Look at me, honey,” she continued. “Daddy has to clean your cut.”

Janie began to protest when Sylvia placed a hand on her chin. 

“Daddy has to clean it, because you don’t want it to get dirty. If it gets dirty, it’ll get worse. Do you want it to get worse?”

Janie shook her head, then looked over her mom’s shoulder to see George standing sheepishly with the peroxide. He handed both to Sylvia, kissed Janie’s forehead, and let Sylvia handle it. 

As he watched her in action, he realized how important this moment between them was. She needed to be a mother, and this opportunity brought her out of the funk she was in. But something else was happening that neither George nor Janie realized. Sylvia suddenly developed an overprotective demeanor with Janie. 

The accident was just that, an accident. It was no one’s fault, and sometimes things happen. 

Father was working on the roof, fixing some loose shingles. Mother had been on him about them for some time. 

“If you don’t get out there and fix them, they’ll leak,” she said, “and then we’re going to have even bigger problems than just loose shingles.” 

“I’ll get to it next week. We’ve got new shipments of supplies coming to the store tomorrow and Friday morning. Can’t afford to miss them.” 

“You’re not doing anything now,” was her response. 

She was in the kitchen, drying dishes, and I was working on math homework. No calculators either; everything had to be written on paper, step by step. Whenever they snipped at one another, I tried my best to become invisible. I couldn’t see my father’s face, but I could tell he was frustrated by how he shook the newspaper and folded it. If I’m being honest, it wasn’t fair to ask a man to do yard work after a long day of working, but I never said that to anyone. I just focused on fractions. 

His chair screeched across the wooden floors, and he let out a deep sign. 

“Alright,” he said as he adjusted his pants and walked towards the supply closet and grabbed his ladder, his toolbelt, and a bottle of water. 

We heard the storm door slam against the house as he walked out and into the side yard. Out of the window we could see the storm clouds rolling in. I wasn’t sure if this was the best weather to be outside in, but I also knew better than to say anything to my mother. She would think I was being disrespectful, and I wasn’t in the mood for the belt. I continued with my homework, and she continued with the dishes. 

About a half hour later, we heard the roar of thunder followed by a great flash of light, then a thud. I looked up and saw Mother at the window, staring at the ground, mechanically drying a cup. I lept to my feet, and darted to the door. The last thing I heard as I left the house was the muttering of my mother about being more careful. 

The wind whipped the storm door open and slapped me in the face as I ran to him. It wasn’t raining yet, but again the thunder boomed and the sky lit up. I saw my father’s limp body on the ground, faintly surrounded by smoke. I was too scared to touch him, but there was an overwhelming smell of burnt hair and flesh. I knelt down beside him as the wind picked up and the rain started. All I wanted to do was reach out to him, but I knew better. Regardless of how I was feeling, I knew better. My eyes stung and there was a swelling in my throat, where the grief choked me, but again, I knew better. 

Father would be ashamed of me crying. 

I sat there for who knows how long, and hadn’t heard when mother started calling for me to come back inside. When the wind died down was when I heard her, and by then I was soaked. I sulked back into the house, and sat at the kitchen table. Mother was still at the sink. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” she scolded. “You want to be as idiotic as your father was? Going out into the storm like that. Unbelievable.” 

I looked up at her, moving around the kitchen, putting plates in the cupboard. I looked at my math homework, the number 7 strung across the page. My wet clothes started to drip onto the floor, and over the table. Mother continued to mutter to herself, and I knew I had to move quickly to avoid a mess. There’s nothing she hates more than a mess. I moved silently out of the room to the linen closet upstairs and came back with a towel. I dried my seat, the table, and patted down the pages of my math homework. The 7 was smudged now. 

“What are you doing?” she glared. 

“Cleaning my mess, ma’am. I didn’t want to leave a puddle.”

“Go change. And take a hot bath. You don’t want to catch a cold now.” She dried her hands on the rag and picked up the landline. “Stay in your room while I speak with the police.”

It seemed like she said it to herself more than she was telling me, because at that point she was looking out the window at my father’s body. I’m sure she was thinking what I thought: he looked too normal to be dead. No blood, or anything; it looked like he just fell off the ladder. Except for the smell. 

I went up the stairs in a daze. One step at a time, slowly. I stripped in the bathroom and let the water fill the tub. I sunk in and let the tears fall. At least here, no one would know I was crying. When I got out, the mirror was covered in steam and as I wiped it away, I noticed how much I looked like him. We had the same pale blue eyes. I don’t think I noticed that before. Funny, what you notice after someone is gone. Towel around my waist, I opened the door to go to my bedroom when I saw the sheriff’s car pull into the front yard. 

I sat in my room for as long as I could to avoid seeing something I shouldn’t, but sometimes God has other plans. Soon as I opened my door to go downstairs, I could see the white cloth over the body. I couldn’t move. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. 

Unfortunately for me, this was the last memory I had of my father. 

That night, Mother and I sat at the dinner table in silence. I didn’t ask about the funeral, even though I wanted to. I could tell she didn’t want to look at me, but what I couldn’t tell was if she was sad or not. After the sheriff left, she didn’t say anything to me. She just closed the door and went back into the kitchen to start dinner. I came back down to move my homework from the table, and she kept her back to me the whole time. The only words she spoke were when she called me down for dinner. 

She made my father’s favorite, steak and baby potatoes with olive oil parmesan. I moved the potatoes around my plate. It’s her fault he’s dead. He didn’t want to fix the shingles, but she kept nagging him. And to make his favorite dinner that he couldn’t even eat. Was she mourning? I doubt it. Maybe it’s all we had, or what she planned to make in the first place. Mother never strayed from a plan if she could help it. 

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat and I jumped. “Stop playing with your food.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I lowered my head, stabbed a potato, and chewed it silently. 

When we finished eating, I helped her with the plates and the dishes. She washed, and I dried. This was the most time we spent together, but it didn’t feel forced. Maybe this was her way of grieving, and mine, too. We continued to work in silence until the table and dishes were clean. 

This became the new norm around the house. Mother and I passed like ships in the night, a few words spoken here and there until I moved out after high school. I never dated anyone, because I couldn’t pick any random girl, it had to be someone reliable, because a lot of women were too loose, and those women don’t make good wives. Those were really the only talks we had into my manhood. I don’t blame her for anything; I think after my father passed, it was no longer her responsibility to teach me how to be a man. My father had done that.

It was the lack of sunlight that caused her to wake this time. The room was pitch black, aside from the soft glow of the monitors she was strung up to again. Blinking while her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she wondered how long she had slept. Eyes finally adjusted to the abrupt darkness, she saw that it was 5:54 PM. Confused, she continued to blink, half expecting the time to change each time her eyes opened.

While trying to work out the time, she slipped back into a troubling sleep. 

She had been preparing to go for a run in Central Park before sunset. Keeping in mind that with the time change it would be dark sooner, she decided to go an hour earlier than she normally would. This would give her plenty of time to be home before sunset. She grabbed her wireless headphones and put them in while she laced up her sneakers. Even though it was early November, she wore shorts for her run because she hated the idea of getting too hot. She coupled the black running shorts with a loose maroon long sleeve and headed out the door. It was warm for November, but there was a chill in the breeze that made it clear it would be cold tonight. 

The park was a half of a mile from her apartment, she would run four laps around the lake and then jog back, for a total of two miles. She loved running. There was freedom in it. For those minutes she was able to forget her troubles and just move. She saw that the park was almost empty, and smiled to herself. There was nothing better than a run almost completely alone. She picked up the pace and got to it. 

While rounding her third lap around the lake, she began to feel uneasy. The hair on her neck stood up, even though there was no breeze. She had felt like this before, several times, mostly while in public spaces; the supermarket, the park, in the parking lot at work. 

Paranoia. I'm a woman running alone in a park. I need to watch less television. 

She smiled to herself when she realized how silly she was being, but the feeling never fully went away. 

I'll just move off the path and take the trail. It won't add any time to my run, and it might make me feel better to be less exposed.

The trail ran parallel to the concrete path that followed the lake. Cutting into the woods, she picked up the pace and tried to focus. Running on trails always made her uneasy. With her being accident prone, and the roots hidden under fallen leaves, there was cause for concern. With all her focus on the ground in front of her, the low branch came up too quickly for her to duck. She hit the ground instantly. 

When she came too, she was being dragged further into the forest. 

“It’s alright.” the voice whispered, “I won’t let anything happen to you”. 

She struggled to focus her eyes. Who is this? She was thinking about the branch. Was it just a low branch she didn’t see? Or had it been pulled back and released at the exact moment she approached it? The pit of her stomach told her the answer. She wasn’t in friendly company. Adrenaline overcame her body and her flight response kicked in. She swung her legs, managing to break one of them free. When the man reached down to regain possession of it, she kicked him in the head. He took two staggering steps back, clutching the left side of his face. 

He was distracted and at once, she was loose. Springing to her feet, she was up and sprinting in one quick movement. She could hear his feet crunching on the leaves, feeling him gaining on her, but she never turned around to see. She focused solely on getting back to the lake. She hadn’t paid attention to the setting sun or the fact that she had been running for five minutes, with the trail no closer in sight than when she started. With the pounding of her heart in her ears, she started to slow down. Breathing heavily, she knew she had to listen for her attacker. She strained to listen to the sounds of the forest, for anything that would tell her where he was. She hadn’t heard a sound when he broke through the right side of the trees. 

With a rush of force, she was thrown back on the ground. Her feet firmly planted in the wrong direction, felt her leg twist and then snap under the weight. He must’ve heard the snap too because his gloved hands were covering her mouth before she could let out a scream. That didn’t stop her from trying. 

“Please!” he begged. The urgency in his voice mixed with pleading. This scared her even more. He was clearly unstable. She was putting up as best a fight as she could, but the pain in her leg was becoming unbearable. Flailing, clawing, wrangling for freedom, she realized he was wrestling with her shorts. 

 “I don’t want to hurt you!“ he shouted. The volume of his voice let her know that he did not care to be heard and that they were too far away for anyone to even hear. “You’re giving me no choice!” he screamed and with a grunt, she felt a stinging sensation followed by warm thick liquid running down her stomach. 

Blood. I'm bleeding. 

She tried her best to continue fighting. Thrashing on the ground, she could feel the warmth of her blood beginning to puddle around her. Whoever this was, he was going to have to kill her before she let him touch her. He wrestled one handedly with her arms trying to hold her down, while his other hand kept tugging at her shorts. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and the last thing she felt was the blow of his fist connecting with her left cheek.

My eyes ached as I pried them open. I tried unsuccessfully to sink further into my bed as my alarm reminded me I had to get going to beat the traffic. I had a love-hate relationship with going into the city. I hated it, but I loved her.

Slowly rolling over, I stopped my alarm and lay there momentarily. Thinking about the beautiful sleep I’d just disrupted. The dreams that would never be completed. I swung my legs around the side of the bed and heaved myself towards the bathroom. My feet left marks in the dust as I approached the sink. 

Teeth first, then toilet, shower. I set the two-minute timer and began to brush. The mirror was covered in a thin sheet of dust that I never bothered to clean because what was the point? My reflection is useless. I know what I look like. With 30 seconds left, I turned the knob to the shower and let the hot water steam up the bathroom—no need to adjust the temperature. The cold water didn’t work. Rinsed and took a deep breath as I undressed and tip-toed into the back of the tub. Careful not to touch the water, one foot, then the other. I took the unscented shampoo and squeezed the bottle-recommended dime-sized amount into my palm. The other hand reached for the water carefully because I never knew how hot the water would be. My father always preached caution, and I agreed. The water was still heating up, and I had approximately two minutes before it reached scathing temperatures. Smashing my hands together, I rinsed and repeated with time to spare. I stood, letting the water cleanse my scalp, shoulders, and chest. 

In those extra seconds, I imagined her here, with me. I closed my eyes. The water over my skin was cool as her hands on my chest set my skin on fire. She looked me in the eyes with beautiful black eyes. She wrapped her hands around my neck and leaned in. I could smell the scent of her perfume, with a hint of sweat. I felt my chest heaving. I opened my eyes. The water began to burn my skin. I quickly turned the faucet but didn’t leave the tub yet. I breathed heavily for a few moments. Just the thought of her had made me hard. Mother would’ve been disappointed in that. I placed my hands on the wall before me, head bent, and continued to heave. My balls felt the heaviness of unrequited love. Any slight movement ached. My breathing echoed around me. She was taunting me without even being here. I waited, dripping water in this position until my erection went down.  I reached for my towel. 

I stood at the foot of my bed, towel wrapped around my waist, and contemplated what to wear. This was futile because I would wear the outfit I wore on the day we met: wool socks, snow boots, long johns under my jeans, a cotton long-sleeve, and my wool plaid jacket. Since the warmer months, I’ve debated changing my clothes but can’t chance it. 

I put off getting dressed. I need to make my lunch before I get dressed. I can’t afford to sweat too much.

The kitchen isn’t too far off from the bedroom. It’s down a narrow hallway. Calling it a kitchen may be a stretch; it’s a kitchenette. There was one wall lined with everything. The refrigerator was next to the one-dish sink. On the countertop was the single burner hot plate. The pantry was nothing more than a shelf. It was small, but anything else would’ve been too large. I don’t need much. My parents ensured I had just what I needed: nothing more, nothing less. 

I made the same lunch every day. It was the lunch that I made the day we met. I pulled the bread from the shelf—two slices of white. The ham and cheese were in the drawer in the fridge. Grabbing both and the mayonnaise, I closed the door with my foot. One scoop and swipe of mayonnaise on each slice of bread, then a layer of ham on the left slice, and a layer of cheese on the right. Another swipe of mayo, then another layer of ham and cheese, except the cheese is on the left and the ham is on the right. Last swipe of mayo on the cheese, and the sandwich is complete. Wrapping it in tinfoil, I labeled the sandwich, “Steven”, and packed it in a brown paper bag with a single serving of Lays unsalted potato chips. 

I made my way back to the bedroom and began to get dressed. Wool socks first, then long Johns, jeans, and a cotton long sleeve. I put my snow boots on next; left first, then right. Then my jacket, left sleeve, followed by the right. I stood for a moment in the apartment, mentally going over what could be missing, knowing full well I had everything. After all, I’ve been doing this trip for the last eleven months. 

She awoke abruptly. That was not a nightmare, but a memory.

She remembered her parents telling her that it would take a while for her memory to come back. That seemed like such a long time ago. She looked around the hospital room and knew it was days, maybe even weeks since she’d spoken to her parents. With the faintest hint of light creeping into her room, she couldn’t be sure of the time. She started to glance around the room, knowing the heart monitor had already alerted the nurses of her nightmare. She didn’t have a lot of time to process what she was seeing. 

Balloons, all over. Cards, flowers, and chocolates showered every available space in the hospital room.

The head nurse burst into the room. “Are you okay dear?” the nurse asked sternly, “your monitors haven’t been this active in nearly three weeks.”  

She had been out for three weeks. That's why it was dark early. Because she was three weeks into the month of November. Had she missed Thanksgiving? Were her parents here? She looked up at the nurse, who seemed motherly in her own way. She had pale blonde hair, with hints of grey that weren't noticeable if you weren't up close. Reminding her of her late grandmother, a faint smile appeared across her face. When the nurse looked at her to return the smile, her pale eyes made her hard to look at for some reason. She looked away before she could answer. 

“Sorry. Bad dream.” She looked down. “Are my parents here?”

The nurse looked hard at her then frowned. “No honey, they went home to get some rest. I’m sure they’ll be back again when it’s a bit later.” The nurse gave a soft fake smile and made her way out of the room silently. Looking for a clock, she finally got a good look at the room. Pink and blue balloons, all saying “CONGRATS!” lined the walls on the far side of the room. By her bed, pink and blue flowers covered the small nightstand. 

Daisies, perhaps, dyed by the color of the water they were in before ending up here.

In between each bouquet of flowers, cards ranging from get well, to good luck lined the empty space on her nightstand. Her heart began to race again, but to avoid the motherly nurse with the piercing eyes from coming back into her room, she tried to control herself. Her eyes rested on the clock. It was 6:34 AM. Her parents would be here once the doctor notified them that she was awake. It would be fine. 

Just as her eyes were beginning to flutter shut, the door burst open. Her parents rushed in, more eager than the last time. Her mother threw on the lights and wrapped her arms around her,  kissing her face repeatedly, while her father put his arms around them both. She was surprised to see that her mother was crying. 

“I was so worried! They said that you had passed out in the bathroom and hit your head again! I just thought this time would really be it. I mean how many blows to the head can a person take in such a short amount of time?!” Sylvia was rambling, something she had never seen her do. Even her dad shed a single tear while he beamed at his daughter. 

“And once we found out that the baby would be okay, we relaxed a little.” The words came out in a rush from her mother’s mouth but were registered in slow motion to her ears. 

Her eyes widened and nearly bulged out of her skull. 

How could I be pregnant? 

The thought that immediately followed, was the realization of what really happened in the park that evening. 

“Well, well, well” the doctor chimed as he walked into the room. “It’s good to see you’re awake again! Gave us quite the scare passing out the way you had. Luckily you passed out in the safest place possible.” he laughed. She couldn’t believe her ears. The reassurance that the doctor possessed before sounded like venomous sarcasm now. Everyone seemed so, cheerful? 

“Doctor,” George whispered, “do you think you can give us a minute? I think the news of the baby took her by surprise.” 

“Oh of course! I’ll be back in a half hour to check on her,” he beamed and walked right out. Both of her parents turned to her. She just stared back. 

“Baby?” she choked out. 

“I’m sorry, I should’ve waited for the doctor to tell you. I was just so excited that I’d be a grandparent!” The words spilled out of her mom’s mouth, but she really couldn’t be sure she was hearing them. 

“But” she started, “I can’t have this baby.” She breathed the sentence in almost a whisper. Her parents looked at her in disbelief. 

“What do you mean you can’t have this baby?” George barked back. “You would do that to Steven?” It was the first time in her life that her dad shouted. 

“Steven?” she fully turned to look at her dad now. “I don’t even know anyone named Steven!” she shouted. “How could I have a baby with a man I don’t even know, dad? Make it make sense.” She was beginning to feel hot tears boil to the surface and didn’t try to suppress them. Her whole life she had never factored in babies. After all, she was seventeen! She had the rest of her life to think about babies, and it wasn’t something she ever thought about, let alone wanted. Who was this Steven that everyone seemed to think the world of? She now remembered everything but that name. Shouldn’t all her memories be back now?

“Hon let’s give her a minute.” Her mom looked cautiously at her daughter. “I don’t like seeing her upset, and you know stress isn’t good for the baby.” Sylvia took George by the hand and led him out into the waiting room, where they began to speak in hushed tones. She could tell by the sounds of their voices that they were concerned. She kept looking around the room in horror. The pink and blue balloons and flowers looked menacing now that their true meaning was revealed. 

She got the impression that the decorations resembled a funeral. The death was hers. Her future. Her freedom. She couldn’t fathom having a baby, especially because she knew that this baby was the result of something so terrible. This isn't how she wanted a family, if she wanted one at all. Just then she heard a soft rapping on the door. 

“May I?” the voice called in. “It’s Steven.”

Just then her heart stopped beating. That voice. She knew it from her nightmares. Her nightmare was now her reality. 

During.

He pushed open the door cautiously, carrying a bouquet of red roses. He was slightly taller than average, looking about six foot. He was pale, with a slight athletic build, like someone who worked in a warehouse for a living, with short blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She fixated on the eyes, realizing why the nurse made her feel uneasy. It's because they were the color of his, the eyes of a rapist. 

She had no physical reaction to his entrance, but her mind was filled with rage. 

“Hi.” he whispered as he sat down. There was the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. He looked at her the way a dog looks at a treat, intense and hungry.  “I’m so sorry about what happened.” As he spoke, her whole body began to shake with rage. “I kept telling you I didn’t want to hurt you, but you wouldn’t stop moving! I know that doesn’t excuse it, but hey, this is nothing but a blip in our relationship. And now we have our baby to think about.” A smile flashed across Steven’s face. Even his teeth were pale.

“Excuse me?” Janie gritted through her teeth. “Our baby?”

“Of course! You don’t think I would let you raise this precious child on your own, do you?” he blinked stupidly. 

“I am not having this baby. I don’t know how you did it, but convincing my parents we were together? I don’t even know you!” Her voice rang with a hint of hysteria, like at any moment she would burst out laughing. 

“What do you mean you don’t know me? We work together and we go for runs in the park. Hell, we’ve even grocery shopped together!” Steven looked down at her. Eyes piercing as he did. 

That’s when it sank in. All those feelings of being watched. The paranoia she felt going to the grocery store or walking to her car after work. She wasn’t paranoid. He was there, the entire time lurking in the shadows. Stalking her every move. 

Just then her parents walked in, beaming when they saw Steven. She knew they thought he was her savior. That he had been the reason she survived this tragic assault, that her and the baby would survive because he was the heroic boyfriend. No one would question why he was there or how he appeared in the middle of the woods, almost out of nowhere. No one would wonder why she never introduced him to anyone, because he’d gotten to them first. He spun his web of lies the entire time she laid there unconscious because of him. Everything began to spin again, but she could not afford to let him get away with his lies anymore. 

“...and of course, there’s the wedding to start planning!” She caught the last bit of their conversation. The words alone brought her back to reality. 

“Excuse me?” she snapped. 

Steven looked at her wide eyed, and a smile spread across his face. 

“What kind of man do you think I am that I wouldn’t marry my pregnant girlfriend?” he gawked. 

That was when it dawned on her. He was planning to trap her with a baby and considering her mom’s background, he would get away with it. So now she would have to sneak around to get what she needed done. Only, now it was known that she was pregnant and her mom wouldn’t let her out of her sight. Her dad would be useless. He adored Sylvia, and would follow her to the ends of the earth. She was trapped. Panic filled her chest like cement, weighing it down, making it hard for her to breathe. They were planning her future right now, in this room, without even considering her. Without so much as glancing in her direction. There was nothing she could do. 

And yet, there was something. She felt her eyes flash with excitement for the first time since she ended up in the hospital. She knew she had to be quick before anyone could stop her. She is the decider of her destiny. Not some stalker freak, not her religious mom, and not her dad, who stood by and smiled as if this was all totally normal. She knew that if she was going to take her life back, it would have to be extreme. And she was fine with extreme, if it meant her freedom. She looked at all of them in the room and asked for a minute to herself. Warily, everyone complied. 

She had to act quick. With her leg still in a cast and her body still tender, she knew she needed strength to run away. Unfortunately, that wasn’t something she had right now. She hobbled as quickly as she could with the bulky cast on her leg to the windows and began frantically searching for the latch to pull them open. She still kept feeling for them when she realized that they didn’t open. A safety concern for what she was contemplating right now. Jumping out the window is no longer a viable option. Still, she couldn’t sit by and let her life get ripped away from her. Just as she was about to grab the IV stand to break the window, the door burst open and three giant men ran into the room, restraining her.

Her eyes went wild. She began to shriek uncontrollably as she tried to fight off the male nurses. She could feel her stomach throbbing from the dull pain of her surgery to stitch her back together. Her broken leg caused her to wince with every kick. Her head began feeling light as her throat dried with every scream. Through all of that, she tried her hardest to fight them off. For a long minute, it seemed that fighting for her life was all she knew anymore. 

“Oh, thank goodness you brought this to our attention, Steven!” her mother began to sob. “Please be careful, she’s so tender!” her mother called out as they began to carry her out of the room. 

“I knew this would all be a shock to her. She’s so fragile right now! And of course, I don’t want anything to happen to my family.” Steven faked concern. “I could tell from our conversation that her memory was still spotty, after all, she seemed truly frightened,” he scoffed “of me! Her boyfriend. You know how she is" he smiled faintly at her parents, “if she feels trapped, she’ll try and run.” 

At this, she began to seethe with anger. 

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME” she screeched through hoarse vocal chords. “DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME, LET ME GO!” He only knew of her fighting and running because he chased her down like a wild animal and beat her just the same. The pain subsided as her fight response took over and she struggled even harder. 

Her parents held one another as they watched their daughter being wrestled to the ground. The first male nurse pinned her arms behind her back, whilst the second gained control of her legs. The third and final nurse to enter the chaos, struggled to uncap the syringe. She couldn’t count on her legs anymore, although she could barely from the beginning with the cast, but that didn’t stop her from wiggling as much as she could. She knew that if she kept moving, they wouldn’t be able to tranquilize her, but she was starting to tire. After the things her body had been through, she was surprised she was able to continue to fight up to this point. 

Her body beginning to fail her and fatigue starting to take over, she finally felt the heaviness of the doctors on top of her. Her vocal cords gave out, and she could only let out whimpers as she felt the needle go into her arm.

“Please,” she let out in barely a whisper as she felt her body begin to slow. Once she was heavily sedated, they lifted her into the wheelchair with ease and wheeled her off.

I couldn’t believe my eyes as they wheeled her away. My poor Janie. She was so scared. I looked around the room at everyone, her parents, the nurses, and doctor. They all stared back at me. 

“I think I’ve come too soon,” and lowered my eyes to the floor. It was her father that spoke first. 

“No, no,” he came to me and put a reassuring arm around my shoulder. 

“She’s just in shock, I think,” her mother placed her hand on mine. 

“You think?” 

“With all she’s been through,” the doctor chimed in, “I’m not surprised.”

I looked at everyone again, seemingly more hopeful. I’m sure they were right. Janie is having our baby, of course she’s stressed out. I could only imagine what my mother was like when she was pregnant with me. 

“Is there anything I can do, doctor? While she’s away.” then turning to her parents, “Anything I can help you guys with?”

“No honey,” she squeezed my hand. “You’ve done so much already. You’ve barely gotten any sleep. I’m sure you’re exhausted. I know we sure are,” and she looked at her husband. 

“Is there anything we can do?” her father looked at the doctor. 

“Unfortunately, no.” the doctor sighed. “Right now, some time away will help her adjust and give her a chance to embrace her motherhood.” Then he looked at me. “You’re going to make a fine father, the way you’ve been here for her. All you can do now is get some rest.”

They were all right. I was exhausted. I've been here everyday for nearly a month. I needed to get back to the house and start preparing for the baby; for my Janie. But the thought of leaving her in the hospital put me on edge. How could I know they would take care of her? That was a chance I had to take. 

The drive back to Albany was a pleasant one. Janie and I had gotten through our first fight. And we’re having a baby! Things could not have worked out more perfectly. I always knew this would be my person, and all because of that fateful day in the park. To think, if I wasn’t there for work we would’ve never met, and in my heart would be an empty meaningless black hole.

When I got back to the house, I immediately called the hospital. I needed to know Janie was doing alright. 

“Yes, Mr. Smith, she’s doing just fine. She’s still a little shaken, but that’s expected,” the nurse said. 

“Are you sure? I’m worried. She was truly frightened by me.”

“Yes, I’m certain. Depending on how things go, she’ll be allowed visitors. Should I put you and her parents down?”

I thought about this for a moment. Things are fine now between myself and the in-laws, but what if they could undo the work I’ve done over the last month or so? I couldn’t chance it. 

“Please just put my name down. I’m concerned we’ve been overwhelming her considering the attack and now the baby. I think some time with just the two of us might be necessary for her recovery.”

“You know, she’s so lucky to have someone always looking for her best interest. I’ll make sure she’ll well taken care of Mr. Smith.”

“Thank you so much ma’am.”

Once off the phone, I made a list of priorities that needed to be completed before Janie’s release from the hospital. The most immediate being the bathroom. The water would be too hot for my Janie. Next was building a crib and buying maternity clothes. Removing the left shoe first, then the right, followed by the left and right socks, I slowly began to undress and change into something more suitable for working around the house. I wasn’t sure when she’d be out, but I made it my top priority to have everything completed in the next few days, should I be so lucky to have her home early. 

I knew, in the back of my mind, that Janie’s parents may become an issue. Luckily, Sylvia had mentioned during our many late night hospital chats about how she lost a baby once, and the importance of familial support. Maintaining a good relationship with her throughout this will be the key to her loosening the grip on Janie. George follows whatever his wife wants, so he shouldn’t be too much of a concern in that regard.

Grabbing a notepad from the kitchen, I began to make note of the hospital number, the psych ward number, and her parents contact information. Constant communication is crucial; I’ll need to be the point of contact between them and her. I’ll start with phone calls. Everyday, I’ll call the hospital, then her parents before they get a chance to call her themselves. I’ll take the burden off their shoulders for a bit. I ripped the pages out of the notepad and hung them on the fridge, to remind myself of my daily task.

It was a long seven months for Janie, with the first three being the hardest. There were group sessions and one on one meetings with endless talking, but she never felt like she was being heard. She had retold her story countless times. Always explaining how she didn’t belong and constantly refusing to take the medication. She quickly became known as the most difficult patient there. Nurses and doctors took pity on her, saddened that a pregnant young woman was in the state that she was. She was constantly exhausted and the fight for her freedom seemed like it would go on forever. She didn’t know what to do and how to get herself out of the situation that she was in. She felt more than just trapped, she felt completely and utterly hopeless. 

Slowly though, after months of the same routine, after the initial shock wore down, she knew what she had to do. She stopped complaining, stopped screaming, and began to cheek her medications. It was then that she started to plot. She knew in order to get out there, she would have to be cured. Be excited about her pregnancy, a dotting young wife-to-be eager to get home to her husband and her parents. Knowing she was too far along now for any hope at an abortion, she was determined to at least regain her freedom. 

After four months of model behavior, Janie was released. Though her hopes were immediately squandered when they told her she was to be released to him. During her time in the psychiatric ward, Steven had managed to convince her parents that she should be released to his care. Something about giving them much needed time together that could only benefit the baby in the long run.  Apparently, he had been plotting the same way she had. 

She didn’t protest when he came with flowers to pick her up, she didn’t scream when he hugged her and guided her into the passenger seat. Not even when he closed the door behind her gingerly and slid into the driver's seat. She was even calm as he began to drive further north. Leaving Manhattan, heading towards Albany, she stared out the window and sighed. Wherever he took her, it didn’t matter. She'd made up her mind months ago. She wasn’t about to jeopardize everything, she just had to wait. 

After two hours of predominantly driving off main roads, Steven pulled into an open field, housing a small old church in the middle. It was decrepit, with the white paint of the outside peeling. The air smelled stale, just like everything else about him. She walked slowly towards the building, with the thought of knowing that once the baby was born, she would be truly stuck. How could her life have turned out like this? She cursed the New York laws that gave her parents' permission for her to marry him. She loathed her parents now. She was shocked at their blatant betrayal. When her parents had written to her when she was locked away, expressing their sorrows, that was when the hatred first festered. It wasn’t until they explained how it was the right thing to do and she’ll understand when she got out, that the hatred was firmly settled. She was out, and not the slightest bit understanding. 

Opening the doors to the old church, she could feel the stale air brush passed her. She winced at the feeling. The tension that the air brought about it was almost physical. She looked down at her stomach, really seeing how big she was, and felt the sudden urge to throw up. It was the kind of sickness that came with the knowledge that she was harboring a monster. Following right behind her, Steven brought her bags in and ushered her towards a long diagonal staircase that wrapped up to the third floor. 

“We’ll be staying upstairs. On the third floor, overlooking the whole church!” he said excitedly. “This is our home now,” he smiled faintly, unsure of what she was thinking. Her face gave away nothing, and she simply nodded and made her way up the stairs. 

The upstairs was a simple room, with a wooden desk with an old computer against the wall farthest from the door. The bed was a queen, although it looked smaller, and it had clearly been unslept because the sheets had the faintest blanket of dust on top of them. There was a small dresser across the room, near the desk. She opened the drawers of the dresser and saw musty old nightgowns and old-fashioned dresses. Everything dusty, everything sad. She sighed, knowing full well that her old clothes would be thrown away. This was what she was meant to wear now. 

Making his way into the room, Steven approached the old dresser and laid out one of the old gray dresses with frills around the collar. He showed her to the shower and she winced, only once, when he offered to help her undress. His eyes staring menacingly when she began. There was no curtain in the shower and no door to the bathroom. She assumed this was so he could watch her. Make sure she can't hurt herself. Make sure she wasn’t going to try and escape. Once she was showered, and changed, Steven dropped off the bags and headed back downstairs.

He told her he was going into town to run errands and once she heard his car door close and start to pull away, the adrenaline kicked in again. She made her way to the wooden desk, where there was an old Macintosh computer. She hadn’t seen one of these in real life before, just on TV. It was massive with orange coloring on the back. Her time was now even more limited, since the computer was so old. It slowly came to life, and her hopes finally soared. As long as she was carrying this monster's child, she was his. So she opened the Safari and began searching. 

She heard his car pulling up on the dirt roading leading to the church and felt a twinge of panic. Nothing she searched for seemed to help her. Nothing would help her this far along into a pregnancy, but she didn’t stop reading and looking until she heard the bedroom door creak open. 

“What are you doing?” His voice was cold and for the first time, she could hear the monster from within speaking. 

She didn’t answer. Instead, she slowly turned around to look at him as he was making his way over to where she sat. Part of her knew that if he saw what she was looking up, he would get angry. Maybe even angry enough to hurt her. What she was thinking was twisted, but she needed to save herself. She didn’t think of the fetus. As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t even a baby at all. If it carried this monster’s DNA, it would never be a child, and she would never love it.  

Steven made his way to the computer and shoved her out of the way, reading the articles she pulled up on herbal remedies to terminate late term pregnancies. She watched his face twist in a grimace of anger, then betrayal.

“I knew you weren’t better!” he snarled. “How come you don’t love me the way I love you? How come you can't see that everything I do is for you? The world is full of people waiting to hurt you! That day in the park was my opportunity to show you how much I loved you!” his whole body began to quiver, “and so what if that meant hurting you a little in the process? It wasn’t supposed to be like this! You weren’t supposed to fight my love so hard!”

Her heart began to race. Seeing the flash of every emotion he felt across his face, she knew what would come next. As soon as she saw the corners of his mouth turn up in a snarl, she was up and off the chair, throwing herself across the bed. Steven picked up the chair and threw it at her, screaming obscenities as he did. 

“How dare you try to destroy our family?!” he howled. “Everything I ever did was for you, you ungrateful bitch! No one will ever love you like I do! Can’t you see that?”

The chair caught her in the back as she rolled across the bed. She threw herself to the floor. There was nothing blocking her from the door to the stairs and she could feel her heart skip a beat knowing freedom was so close. She felt his hands grab the old dress he made her change into, and she was thrown back to the side of the bed. He was starting to pull at her shoulders, reaching for her throat. He was ready to put her into a head lock when she clawed at his eyes and broke free. Not looking, she darted toward the hallway as fast as she could go being as pregnant as she was. She didn’t stop to take a step; she didn’t slow down when she reached the top of the stairs. She had made her decision months ago. 

She launched herself down the diagonal staircase. She smiled softly to herself. She let her body relax for the first time in months. She fell down the first flight of stairs, slamming into the railing on the side before momentum picked up where gravity left off, and sent her rolling onto the second staircase. Her big belly left little room for her to do much besides slam against the stairs, face first. She felt her teeth detach from her gums and her mouth filled with blood as she summer salted towards the third case. Trying to roll towards the railing, she slammed her head against the metal bars as she helped the momentum of her fall by using her arms to pull at the last bit of railing. Her head split open immediately, and her vision became clouded by a surge of blood. 

All the king’s horses

She thought she heard Steven yelling as he crossed the room, not quite aware of her mishap at the stairs, but her head was pounding as she tried to get her legs to work. She braced the railing as she heard Steven begin to make his way down the first staircase and knew she had to speed up. With her last bit of strength she got to her feet and swayed as she swung her right leg over the railing. Half heaving and half rolling, she tucked her head into her chest as she heaved herself over the final staircase. Instead of trying to continue down the stairs, she knew she had to speed up the process, or he would be on her before she could finish the job. 

The time she spent in free fall was short, but it felt like the longest moment of her life. She thought of that day in the park. She smelled the fresh fall air and the sun was warm against her skin. She remembered being excited about the lack of people in the park, because running alone was her favorite thing to do. There was freedom in that, the same way there was freedom in this. She closed her eyes as the ground came up faster beneath her.

and all the king’s men

  Her body hit the base of the staircase with a sickening crack and she could hear Steven running down the stairs, yelling at her in between sobs. She kept her eyes closed, because she didn’t need to see his face to know she’d succeeded. She felt a sharp stab of pain as she tried to inhale and coughed up blood on her exhale. Punctured lungs, broken teeth, and gash in her head meant that she was losing far too much blood for her to survive much longer. She could feel the warm blood pooling all around her body. In that moment she wanted to laugh at the fact that he took her so far away from society.

Couldn’t put Humpty together again

 As she heard him descend the last of the stairs, all she could do was muster a smile. 

AFTER.

“Stop!” I screamed. 

“Please,” I pleaded. 

I choked on my spit and tears as I ran after her. She was fast, so quick even that far along, and I couldn’t stop her. 

“You fucking bitch,” I gasped in between sobs, “please!”

I ran down the stairs in a cold sweat. There were several sickening cracks as her body slammed into walls and railings. The floor was slick with her blood. My feet slid down the last few stairs, my legs weak with grief. Her face was swollen, eyes shut, but her mouth, with those beautiful teeth, now shattered and cracked, turned outward in a smile. 

I sat on the floor in her blood and held her head in my lap as she bled out in my arms. I could feel the life pouring out of her. The only thing I could do was scream. I shrieked for what felt like hours, knowing that no one could hear my cries. I couldn’t believe my beautiful Janie. How could she do this to me? To us? To our family?

“What have you done?” I whispered and hugged her as hard as I could. 

Rocking her back and forth, I slowly let my hands wander over her belly. My fingers lingered lightly, knowing our baby was dead. Moving her matted hair from her face, I stared at her in amazement. Even in death, covered in blood and broken, she was still so beautiful. 

“My beautiful Janie, what have you done?”

She was so beautiful. 

I turned her face towards me and let my lips connect with hers. Slowly at first, then more vigorously. My tongue parted her slack jaw, and I could taste her last breath. Blood flowed through me with great force, and my heart began to race. I laid her down, my face dripping with tears and blood and spit. She was gorgeous, even in death, especially in death. 

My beautiful Janie. 

Sobs overcame me, and I laid my body on top of her.  This wasn’t how I imagined our life together. We were supposed to have more time. 

I carried her body up the stairs and brought her into the bathroom. As I started the tub, I laid her on the floor, checking the temperature every so often to ensure it wasn’t too hot. When it finally got to a comfortable heat, I carefully undressed her. My eyes moved over every disjointed muscle and protruding bone. When she was fully nude, I placed her gently into the warm water and began to undress myself. I slipped into the tub and sat with her once again. My skin was cool compared to her warm olive tones. I wrapped my arms around her breast and stared at her belly. How long can a baby survive when the mother loses this much blood? What were the odds that my child survived? I knew they were slim, but I wondered anyway. 

I grabbed the yellow sponge off the rack hung on the bathroom wall and gently caressed her body. She couldn’t go to bed dirty, and some of the blood had begun to dry. Luckily, it didn’t require additional effort to clean her and most of it came off after a few passes with the soapy sponge. I let the bloody water drain before refilling it again. Leaning my head against the tub, I watched her float. 

She was something out of a dream, my Janie. Her honey hair floated around her angelic, tan face. She was disfigured, but still the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. I can’t believe that she’s here, in the flesh! A chuckle escaped my lips and the sound made me jump. I hadn’t realized how quiet the apartment was; had always been. I grabbed a towel and walked into the main room to get dressed while Janie relaxed in the tub.

I came back with extra towels to place on the floor before I placed her down and patted her dry. I used a newer gown to dress her before I brought her back to the bed, pulled back the sheets, and tried my hardest to position her. RigorMortis was beginning to settle in, so I left her as-is to wait that out before repositioning her again. For now, this would have to do. Walking to the other side of the bed, I settled myself next to her, pulled the lamp cord down and off, and rolled over to my wife.

I have heard from countless people that you should feel butterflies when you meet your soulmate. I don’t think those people have ever been in love. 

Janie was gorgeous, tall, and slender, with beautiful dark eyes and honey hair. And she was athletic. The first time I ever saw her, I was sitting in the park. She ran past me, and I knew. There were no butterflies or fireworks; no flame, fire, or explosion went off within me. There was only tranquility. A calm like I have never known. 

It was a crisp winter morning on the fourth of January. It was half past 7 a.m., and I assumed I’d be the only person in the park. I liked to sit still and silently whenever I came into the city. It reminded me of home—a calm moment amongst the chaos around me.  Busy people were moving around outside the park, honking, even this early, rushing off to be somewhere else. They don’t call it the city that never sleeps for nothing. 

I was sitting on a bench, alone, just on the skirts of the pathway that circled the lake in the center. The sunrise lingered slightly, glinting off the frozen lake and splintering across the trees. It snowed just the day before, so the whole area shined like diamonds. The snow buried some of the noise from the outside; everything sounded far away. 

I wore long johns under my jeans, wool socks, snow boots, a cotton long-sleeve, and a wool plaid jacket. I had packed gloves in my bag, but my hands were okay in my pockets. I was surprised to see the black tar of the path cleared so quickly after so much snow, but I guess in a city where people curse you out for crossing with the light, in the crosswalks, you get stuff done. 

I was zoned out and staring into the lake when I saw her. 

She was rounding the corner, running straight towards me. She wore black leggings, white midcalf socks, beige sneakers with a check mark, an oversized, unlabeled heather grey crewneck sweater, a white turtleneck with an X on the collar, and a thick fleece black headband. 

Everything stopped at that moment. Not a car honked; no birds chirped; the air stood still. It was so quiet I could hear the soft pitter-patter of her feet against the pavement. I held my breath as she strode past me and gave me a shy smile with a quick wave. She had black gloves with grey tips at the thumb and the first two fingers on her hands.

And from then, I was hooked. That would be my wife one day. 

My weekly trips to Manhattan became daily. I woke up at four thirty to be there at 7 a.m. sharp.  I packed the same lunch: ham and cheese, a can of orange Fanta, and a plain bag of Lays potato chips. I wore the same clothes, which got tricky in the warmer months, but I knew if I changed the routine, she wouldn’t come. And every day, like clockwork, she ran my way. I learned the brand names she wore as time went on. She is a privy to Nike and Under Amour. With the way they hugged her body, I was inclined to agree. Sometimes, her hair was braided; other times, it was in a bun. I was blowing through gas because the drive from Albany to the city was not cheap, but my goodness, she was worth it. 

And I knew that she noticed me. I knew she was just as captivated by me as I was by her. I wondered what it was that she was running for. Or from. Or towards. So much about her alluded me. I was fascinated. 

Now she was lying next to me, cold and lifeless. 

I spent the morning in a haze. I went to the bathroom, turned on the two-minute timer, and brushed my teeth. The small mirror in the bathroom looked through the doorway and right to where Janie’s body lay covered by the bedsheets. I stared at her the whole two minutes, even as I spat. I turned the nobs of the shower and waited for the temperature to adjust as I undressed. I moved back to the mirror and stared at Janie. My heart skipped a beat, then sank as the realization that she was gone hit me in waves. I stood in the shower and let the water carry my tears down the drain. Some time passed before I got out and started to go through the motions of getting ready. I stopped abruptly when I realized I had nowhere to go. I walked out of the bathroom and stood next to the bed, staring at my dead wife. She was so full of life yesterday. She was so vibrant and vigorous and warm not a mere twelve hours ago. 

I sat at the edge of the bed; one hand placed behind me on her cold arm. What am I supposed to do now? What the fuck am I supposed to do now? I planned my whole life around her, and now it’s been ripped out from under me. The thoughts welled up into my throat and choked out an uncontrollable sob. The bed shook violently as I heaved and gasped for air. I laid down next to her, her back to me since I placed her on her side. I could see the open gashes on her head and the wounds along her neck that would never heal. I stroked her hair and moved closer, hoping to smell her faint, sweet sweat. Instead, I got the smell of metal and the beginnings of rot.

The apartment was too hot to keep her here. She would begin to decompose soon. The thought of this brought clarity, and I knew I had to bury her. I forced myself to sit up; to look away from her. I don’t know how much time I have before she really starts to smell. It’s not like anyone uses the church, but she’s going to ruin my sheets. I can’t involve the police because I’ve already cleaned and moved her. Luckily, her parent’s relationship went to shit after her time away, but I can send a letter once a month to ease their suspicions. I should have mother’s old typewriter somewhere. I got up and walked out into the hallway, by the staircase. 

It was a disaster. There were several broken railings, and blood everywhere. This would take days to repair. Leaning over the top railing, I saw the pool of blood at the base of the stairs. I walked back towards the room and looked at her lumped in the bed. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen and walked to her. I know the chances are slim, but I need to check. 

Slowly, and carefully, I carved a line down the bottom of her stomach. Placenta sloshed out of her, and the initial stench forced me to withdraw, placing an arm over my nose and mouth. After a moment, I leaned closer and saw a small fetus amongst the gushes. It a boy. He was so tiny. I held him in my arms and sat down on the floor next to Janie’s body. 

My son. 

Tears welled into my eyes as I looked at my family in pieces. Nothing I did mattered. They were gone now, and I knew I had to bury them soon, just not yet. There were other things that needed to be done; cleaning that couldn’t wait. 

I ran back to the room, threw on a white t-shirt, blue overalls, and my work boots. I needed to clean the stairs first. There was blood everywhere. I grabbed a small towel from the kitchen, and a container of bleach. Before I took a step, I sprayed the bleach and wiped the floor. This continued down every stair, across the walls, and down the railings, what little of them weren’t broken. 

The puddle on the floor couldn’t be so easily cleaned with a rag and some bleach. I made a mental note that I needed a floor squeegee and some big garbage bags. Maybe some more towels, too. I started the car and stared at the church in front of me. The sun glinted off the cross as it stretched towards the heavens. Backing out of the driveway, I let the events from the last 18 hours flow through me. My wife, and my son. 

Once again. I had nothing. 

The downtown here is nothing special. A general store, a few mom-and-pop restaurants, a bakery, and a bar. The general store has everything for small town living. You can find your guns, groceries, and liquor in the same place. I’m sure this is what was meant by the American dream. The good thing was I didn’t have to spend my entire day driving around. There’s nothing worse than a day spent looking for what you need when there’s work to be done elsewhere. 

I pulled into the store parking lot and checked myself out in the rearview mirror one last time before heading in. Swollen, red eyes stared back at me, and the excessive crying made the pale blue color even more hollow in comparison. I needed a hat to take the focus off my eyes, and after rummaging the backseat, I was able to find one. 

“Alright,” I sighed. “Let’s do this.”

The clerk at the register gave the obligatory smalltown nod, and I went about my business. The store was divided into sections; when you first walked into the right was the liquor. Passing the checkout counters that were to the left, there were isles of groceries. Once you got beyond the main food section, next to the liquor was hunting equipment. Guns, camo jackets, hats, gloves, and pants lined the walls behind a small countertop to separate the people from the products. When you get further into the hunting section of the store, the floor opens wider and you can find additional hunting gear – knives, buckets, tarps. Like I said, the American dream. 

I went past the liquor and straight to the hunting supplies. 

“Anything I can help you with?” the man behind the counter asked. 

He was an older man, probably in his early 70s, wearing overalls and a plaid blue long sleeve shirt. 

“Actually, sir, there is,” I turned and rested my hands on the edge of the counter. “I nearly hit a buck last night on my way home from work. The headlights on my car must’ve spooked ‘im, because he turned and ran straight into my garage window. Blood everywhere, you can imagine,” I lied. 

“Oh gosh,” the clerk gasped.

“Yeah, so I’d need some supplies to clean up the mess he’s made of my workspace, otherwise the missus will have my head.”

The old clerk put a wrinkled hand up, “Don’t have to tell me twice,” he chuckled. “I know all about that kind of headache.” And he came from around the counter. 

“I’ll show you where we keep the good stuff,” he chuckled as he lead me to the farthest part of the store, beyond the barrels and the knives, where the gutting equipment was. There were thick plastic tarps, workman stations for carving, bandsaws, and handsaws, you name it. 

“How big did you say your fella was?” the clerk called over his shoulder.

“I’d say about one fifty,” I replied. 

“Shoot, you don’t say?”

“Oh yeah. If it wasn’t all cut up, I’d mount the beauty.”

“Damn shame, isn’t it?”

I shook my head and feigned disappointment.

“Well,” he stopped, “here’s everything you’d need to make the cleanup easier. If you’re throwing away the parts, I’d suggest one of the heavier duty tarps so that it doesn’t stink up your yard and attract a bear or somethin’. If you need some bigger garbage pins, we’ve got those in the back next to the more heavy-duty tools. We have bleach by the gallon over there,” he pointed, “for your floors. And that should be it. If you need anything else, just holler.” 

Thank you, sir,” I nodded.

“’Course.”

And just like that, he was making his way back to the counter. I grabbed two tarps, two gallons of bleach, a handsaw, and a garbage bin. I stopped for a moment to look at the carving tools but had no intention of buying anything. I wanted to take some extra time before having to check out, to give myself some space from the old man, and make it seem like I was contemplating mounting the imaginary dead deer. 

I placed my supplies in the bin and rolled it to the register to check out. 

“Find everything alright?” 

“Yes ma’am, thank you.”

I placed the last of my supplies on the conveyor belt and prayed she wouldn’t make small talk. 

“Disposing of a body?” she asked. 

I stared back at her and felt the blood drain from my face. 

“Ex-excuse me?”

“All this stuff,” she looked down, “I’d think you were disposing of a body.”

“Oh,” I let out a dry chuckle, and I felt my palms begin to sweat.  

“Nah, deer ran into his shed window,” the old man replied as he walked behind the counter of the liquor store. “Big ol’ thing, too. Buck fifty of dead weight.”

The female clerk looked back at me. 

“You don’t say?” her eyes wide. 

“Yes,” I cleared my throat, “made an absolute mess of my workspace.”

“Explains the supplies!” she laughed. 

I forced myself to laugh with her.

by Samantha Schoeppler, May 2024