R.M. DuChene's Blog, page 3

Isolation by Annie DuChene

The wind finally died down

the moon’s reflection on the water is still

Suddenly, a sound of swooping

A synthetic call of a Whip-poor-will

Even late at night

I’m never quite alone,

For even in this world

Many eyes are watching.

If not my body, my words

But now’s not the time to live in fear

Isolation’s been reality for years

Technology knows it’s true

So, I’ll just sit here in my isolation, and

continue to adore the computer-generated moon.

Rapping on My Door

I put my wife into the earth

Just three days before

the night she came rapping

rapping at my door

***

I placed her back in her plot

“Oh God,” I cried

“No more”

“Please keep my love from rising

No more rapping at my door”

***

The next night

round the witching hour

just like the night before

I was awakened from my slumber

by rapping on my door

***

I rolled my eyes and cursed out loud

as my bare feet touched the floor

I donned my clothes

I grabbed my shovel

so I may bury her once more

***

I led her to the cemetery

and set about my chore

to dig for her a deeper plot

much deeper than before

***

As the morning light touched my back

I buried her in once more

Then, tired as a man could be

I walked back to my door

***

Two evenings passed in silence

just like the nights before

my love began to haunt me

by rapping at my door

***

“Oh, thank you, Lord for helping”

“I will ask for nothing more”

“Just keep my love from rapping

rapping at my door”

***

But

on the third night she returned again

it was half the way to four

In the dark, I heard her rapping

rapping at my door

***

I opened the door

stood aside

I could think to do no more

“If you refuse to stay in your grave, my love

come in, be mine, as before”

***

She grunted and growled as she walked in

She went right to the bathroom door

She opened the door

and I saw the red light

of her curling iron on the floor

***

She snatched it up and pulled the plug

Its light went dark once more

Then,

dragging the iron by the cord

she walked back out my door

The Tracks

Tell them what you are going to tell them.

All the dust has settled on the tracks… The moon aglow, and the breeze is relaxed, feel the peace as you gaze at the sights so surreal…The silence is broken by the incoming whistling train’s horn shrill, I guess it’s time to get off the tracks… The train speeds by as I stand to the side…in a hurry tonight it seems… I step back on the tracks, set all my sights back… have you ever experienced a night like that?

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The Dream Queen

Her fractured childhood occupied her thoughts. Both parts. The part she’d been allowed to have, and the other part – the part she’d sacrificed. She stared down at her scarred hands – not the hands of a teenager, but of someone much older. She shivered, shifted her weight on the throne. Her bright blue gown was thin, but the Dream Queen hardly noticed the cold anymore. In the years following her ascension, her palace grew darker with every passing day. Long shadows stretched across the blue crystal pillars – seeming to reach towards her with their dark ghostly fingers. Abigail saw the darkness coming a long time ago.  She welcomed it. It’d been too long since the last battle – too long since she fought back Azrael and closed the rift. But closed or not, she knew that the rift was still there – just waiting to be opened again. Her small frame took up only half of the space the crystal throne offered. I’ve been through so many battles, she thought, fought off so many demons – pushed back Alps and Mårts alike. She stared at her reflection in the crystal throne – turned her face to better see the long scar that ran from her right eye to her neck. Just then, the double-doors at the entrance of the palace swung inward – spilling bright light onto the pathway. A small boy entered, began walking towards the throne. It can’t be, Abigail thought. It’s too soon. Besides, I didn’t mark him. The boy was dressed in human clothes – a pair of blue-jeans and a heavy red and black jacket. He approached the foot of the throne with his head down and knelt.

“Rise child,” Abigail said. “How have you come to this plane?”

The child stood – slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. Abigail gasped. Where the whites of his eyes should’ve been were black, bottomless pits surrounding red whirlpools of hate. Her breath held inside her chest. Her mind burdened with the knowledge that if she looked close enough into the demon’s eyes, she’d see thousands of tiny fists beating against the back of them. Abigail’s hands flashed hot white. She stood and held them out.

“What’s your business here, demon?”

The demon grinned.

“I brought you a message, Her Grace,” it said, “from my master.” Even as it spoke, its body began to elongate like an image in a funhouse mirror – stretching upward until, not being able to contain the massively growing figure within, the human flesh tore free at the top and slithered down the moist, putrid body, landing in a bulky circle around its feet. Its face was the shape of a triangle. Three horns adorned its head. “Forgive the intrusion, Her Grace. But my master sends his regards and offers you a hand of peace.”

“There’s no peace when it comes to your kind,” Abagail said and thrust her right hand towards the demon. A ball of white fire struck the crystal floor at the beast’s hooved feet. “Tell me what you have to say.”

Unperturbed…the demon bowed. “Very well, Her Grace” it said. “My master, The Alp King wants to avoid any more prolong battles. He offers you time beyond measure, beauty beyond comparison, and wisdom of the ages. And all he asks in return is that you step aside. Give us the human realm.”

Abigail laughed.

The demon looked confused and extremely annoyed. Its hairless brows creased inward. “Did I say something amusing, Her Grace

“Nothing that hasn’t been said before,” Abigail said. “You and all those like you – demons, liars, soul-stealers. I’ve no use for your empty promises – or your presence.” Then, holding her palms outward, “Be gone, demon! We’ll meet again soon enough.”

“Her Grace,” the demon said, “just look at your face. Look at the condition of your body.  My master can make that ugly scar disappear. It’ll be as if it was never there. Nineteen years old and you look like you’re sixty. I’m offering you eternal life and beauty. What’s your God offering? Suffering, disfigurement, death? The choice is easy.”

Abigail looked at her reflection in the crystal of the throne. She studied her scarred face, her sunk-in eyes. She did look much older than she was. She thought about the time she’d missed – fighting demons and protecting the land of dreams, while other people her age were living their lives. In truth – she very much missed the life she should’ve had. The image of the Dream King filled her mind’s eye. She saw him so clear – standing beside her bed when she was barely two years old – a smoldering demon’s body at his feet. That was the night he’d saved her – and marked her. That was the night he’d cursed her. A few years later, when Abigail was six years old, she was drawn to him – and the dream realm. He looked much older than he should’ve after only a few years. his face hidden by wrinkles – his eyes, sunken and tired.

“The choice is an easy one,” She said, firing white-hot light from her hands, but the demon vanished. When he reappeared, it was at her side. He grabbed her, threw her body against the throne.

“You’ve made a poor decision, Her Grace,” he said. Then he raised a clawed hand and slashed it down, opening the side of Abigail’s face. She screamed and let loose a pulse of light that blotted out the entire throne-room. When Her eyes opened again, the demon was gone. That’s when she heard the scream – a child’s scream coming from the land of dreams – that, and the demon’s laughter.  It used me as a portal, she thought. This is my fault.

***

In a flash of light and terrible wind, the portal opened – Abigail stepped through it.

“Help me!” It was a child’s cry from far off. Abigail ran toward the child’s screams, hoping against all odds that she’d make it in time. She knew it was only through dreams demons possessed children. Not on my watch, she thought. When she arrived at a large circus tent, she found a small girl, clad in pink pajamas cowering by the tent’s entrance. The demon was trying to push her through the opening.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said. “Just a few more feet and all of your fears will disappear. “

“No!” the  girl screamed. “I want my mommy!” “I want my mommy!”

“Your mommy can’t help you now,” the demon said. If he was about to say more, he never got the chance. Abigail grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him to the ground. Then she straddled on top of him and chanted her banishing prayer.

“Return ye to the depths of hell, for I protect this child with my sacred spell. The land of dreams is meant for man, not for …” The demon’s hand wrapped around her throat, lifted her into the air, and slammed her onto the hard cement. All breath escaped her, rushing from her mouth so fast that it was impossible for her to catch it. In an instant, the beast’s eyes peered down at her own.  She turned her face from the horror of the demon’s gaze – and from his foul breath.

“You should’ve taken my offer, Her Grace,” it said – Dripping hot tendrils drool on her face. “I would’ve kept my word…this time…perhaps.” Abigail closed her eyes tight and waited for the end to come. She didn’t dare open them – didn’t dare look into those red, bottomless pit eyes – not even when she felt the demon’s claws tear away flesh from her neck. “Look at me!” the demon screamed. “Look at me, bitch! You’re nothing! How could you protect them? These sheep? Your God set you up for failure.” Repulsed, Abigail tried to turn her face away from it. “That’s it,” the demon said, gently wiping away Abigail’s tears with a clawed hand. “That’s it – you cry now.  Get it all out. Only here at the end do you realize just how weak you… and your God both are. You’re noth…”

A bright flash of light – so bright that even with her eyes closed, Abigail thought that it might blind her, lit up the world. And when she opened her eyes again, the demon was gone.

“Did I do that?” The little girl asked. She was staring down at her hands…amazed.

“Yes,” Abigail said.” I believe you did.”

***

Five years, Abigail thought. Five years since little Jessica destroyed the Alp, Baku. But after five years, Jessica would be eleven – much older than Abigail was when she ascended to the throne.  Where is she? Did I do something wrong? Perhaps I didn’t mark her the way I was supposed to? She looked at her reflection in the crystal throne. Jesus…I look older than I remember my grandmother looking. Over the past five years, dozens of demons left their marks – torn her flesh away. She held them off though – every one of them. Tired, she thought. I’m So tired.  Please God…I’m ready. Take me now. That’s when the large double –doors of the crystal palace swung open. A girl of eleven years stepped onto the path. Her hair fiery red – her gown heavenly white. She paused for just a second, taking in the blue crystal pillars – the path to the throne. Then, she began walking towards the Dream Queen – and towards her destiny.

Bring Out Your Dead!

Another day turns to night

through the mist

comes a light

 “Bring out your dead!”

a voice rings out

but to my ears

tis not a shout

No, to my ears

tis a song

I’m so excited

I turn, I run

to tell my family

oh, what fun!

For the man with the cart

has come at last

and our time as a family

has come to pass

But as I gaze upon them

it’s clear

they’re unhappy to leave me here

I see it on every part of them

from their disfigured faces

to their broken, torn limbs

And their eyes!

Those dull orbs that twitch no more

now show more suffering than the day before

so,

Should I bring my family out

when doing so will cause them such pain?

Or better tomorrow? When I have no doubt,

the man with the cart shall come again

Yes! Yes!

Another day until we part,

then I will

stack them all upon the cart

so it may haul my latest kill

Urilla

“Hello, husband.”

Surprised by the sound of his wife’s voice, he turned and found her standing in the middle of the room – holding a small bundle in her arms. He eased from behind his desk and went to her – wrapping her in a tight embrace, ever mindful of the baby between them.

“I’ve missed you,” he said. “You have no idea.”

She broke his embrace and glided to the other side of the room. Then, rocking the baby in her arms and humming a lullaby, she went to the partly open door of the bedroom and peeked inside.

“It doesn’t seem so,” she said.

He felt his face flush.

“Well Godammit,” he said.  It’s been over two years since I…”

“Shhhh…” she said – placing her finger on his mustached upper lip.  “You don’t want to wake your new wife, do you?”

“Her? Don’t you worry about her. When she’s on the opium she stays in bed for days. Besides, we ain’t married.”

She gave him a pleasant smile and drifted back to him– holding the baby out. When he took a step back, her smile faded.

“He’s your son!” She said. “Why don’t you ever hold him?”

“I know that,” he said. “I know.  But…aww… dammit. He’s dead! Don’t you see that?”

“What are you talking abou…” she looked down at the bundle cradled in her arms – then she screamed. It was less than half formed – shriveled and twisted. Its skin was devoid of moisture and a dark grey color reserved only for very ancient things. When she dropped it, the baby exploded into a cloud of dust below her feet.

He rushed to the bedroom door – peeked in – then closed it. When he turned to look at her again, she wasn’t where she had been. He scanned the room and found her sitting behind his desk. Her face in her hands – crying. He went to her, knelt, put a trembling hand on her arm.

“Earlie,” he said, “You know he was never born. Why you always show up with him?”

Her expression went dark.

“You were supposed to protect us!”

When he didn’t respond, she rose from the chair and floated to the open window. He followed her – embraced her from behind.

“Awww…That’s not fair, Earlie,” he said. “Sometimes good women… and babies die. I wish it wasn’t so, but it is. Nothin to be done about it.”

His own tears began to flow then. She grabbed his hands and pulled them to her chest.

“And her?”  

He let out a long sigh.

“Oh…I dunno, Earlie I spect she’ll run away in time.”

“Not the bitch in your bed, husband. Her.”

She was staring out the window. He followed her gaze down to the muddy town square – more specifically, to the woman approaching the saloon.

 “She won’t run, will she?” she said. “Do you love her?”

He didn’t answer. She snatched his hat from his head, threw it across the room. He pretended he didn’t notice.

“Do…you…love…her?”

“Awww shit, Earlie. I don’t know.”

She spun around to face him, her face red.

 “Do you even know how many times I’ve saved you, husband?”

“Urilla, I…”

“How many bullets had your name on them?”

“I suspect a few,” he said.

“A few? A few dozen more like. How many skirmishes you been in? You never got hit. Not once. But oh, my dear husband – I have been hit. I’ve been hit many times. And I’m telling you, if you marry that woman…”

“I don’t plan on marrying anyone.” He said. “I love you, Earlie. I always have.”

She leaned until her lips were less than an inch from his ear.

“I should’ve let you die, husband,” she said. “I could’ve had you with me all this time – with us.”

Then it was his face that reddened in anger.

“Will you?” He asked.  The next time, Earlie. Will you let me die?”

“Wyatt!” his Brother Virgil’s voice called from outside. “Hey, Wyatt!”

He looked down through the open window. Both of His brothers stared back up at him.

“What is it?” He asked.

“It’s the McLaurys and the Clantons,” Morgan said.

“They’re down by the O.K. Corral,” Virgil said.

 “So? That ain’t no crime,” Wyatt said.

“They’re armed,” Virgil said.

“Shit!”

Why today? He thought.

“We’re going to take away their irons,” Morgan said. “You coming?”

He didn’t want to leave her, but he didn’t really have a choice.

“Yeah…I suppose.” He said. “I’ll be right down.”

He closed the window.

“I gotta go,” he said.

She glided to him, embraced him. He didn’t want to let her go. It was her that broke the embrace and began to nudge him towards the door. When he grabbed the doorknob, she called for him to wait. Then she fetched his hat from the floor and handed it to him. He put on the hat, made sure it was straight, then he walked out into the hall.

“I love you, Wyatt,” she said from the doorway.

He turned.

 “I love you too, Earlie,” He said. “If this don’t go my way, you may get your wish. I’ll be with you forever.”

She gave him a warm smile, then winked.

“Not today, husband,” she said.

SpellCasters

We share with you

a different view

We’ll take you places you’ve never been

We’ll introduce you

to your worst nightmares

demons, beasts, evil men

We celebrate love

the heavens above

as well as the fires of hell

And through the unknown

you will travel alone

while we sit on a throne

plotting to cast the next spell

Five Days Gone

Five days gone

in search of my sanity

After dozens of bottles searched

it alludes me still

The song of the dragon calls to me

taunts me

weighs heavily on my eyes

The surface of the bar against my cheek

is blessedly cool as I take my leave

I smile

For my time has come at last

The dragon’s breath washes over me

warms my icy flesh

burns away my sins

An emerald green eye peers into my own

it bids me come ride

Icy talons envelop me

The chains of my life are cast aside

Look for me in the fire-streaked sky

riding upon my dragon’s back

My Virginia by my side

And a smile on my face

The Reunion

Like a Requiem performed in honor of an insignificant and uneventful life, the music pouring from the sound system was void of joy. It seemed to invade the deepest recesses of my consciousness and lull me into a waking sleep of sorts – a melancholy state of mind only a short distance away from comatose. I put the edge of the crystal to my lips and administered another small dose. The dark liquid was bitter on the back of my tongue – its effects instantaneously going to work to chill my bunched-up nerves.

The maître d’ passed my table. I managed to catch his attention after a couple of calls of “hey you.” He turned, obviously in a hurry, and by the red stain on the front of his white dress-shirt, I figured I knew where he was rushing to. He raised a finger, signifying that he’d return in a minute and continued his way to the restroom. When he came back, not one, but at least five minutes later, there was a light pink stain on the front of his shirt.

“You want another glass of wine, sir?” He asked. His tone was polite enough, but his expression said he’d rather bring me a bucket of rattlesnakes than a glass of wine.

“No,” I said, covering the top of my glass with my hand. “Has Mr. Cooley called to say he’s running late?”

“No, sir” he said, “no he hasn’t”

“What’s up Bro?” Justin’s voice boomed from the door of the restaurant, cutting the maître d’ off. I waved the maître d’ away after telling him to bring another glass of merlot for my guest. He bowed curtly and shuffled off to the back of the restaurant, probably to piss in the wine.

I stood and greeted Justin when he walked up. It’d been too long since we were in the same room together – let alone the same city. The meeting place was perfect – dimly lit, modestly occupied. Justin demanded meeting in a public place. I demanded Rudolph’s.  It wasn’t exactly a five-star joint, but it was private.

He took his seat just as the maître d’ came back with his glass of wine.

“And will you be ordering food this afternoon?” The maître d’ asked – eyeballing Justin.

“Give me a second, Chief,” Justin said. The maître d’ rolled his eyes and walked away. Justin watched him go.

“What’s up his ass?”

“I don’t think he likes wine.”

He picked up the menu and began to scan it. I studied him. It’d been years since I saw him. It was remarkable how much he hadn’t changed – at least physically. His hair was gray-free, dark brown no signs of receding. his face was wrinkle-free. Sighing, he put the menu down, pulled his wine-glass closer.

“Not hungry?” I asked.

“I didn’t come here to eat.”

“True enough, I said. I looked around to make sure nobody was standing too close, then I leaned forward. “You’ve been keeping yourself busy?

He leaned in a bit himself. “Look Bro, just cut the shit and tell me what you want. I mean, I haven’t heard a squeak from you in over five years. And now… what? You wanna chat?” 

“It’s dad,” I said. “He’s not doing good. He wants you to come see him.”

His laugh was so obnoxious, it turned all the remaining heads in the place.

“That right?” He said. “You tryin to tell me he wants… to what, bond before he croaks?”

“Justin, listen to me.”

“No way, bro. The last time I saw that old fucker, he tried to stab me.”

 “Just Listen.”

“No way.”

I slammed my fist down on the table. 

“Justin… he’s dying. He just wants to apologize and say goodbye.”

“You weren’t there, man.” He said. “You didn’t see the look in his eyes. He called me the spawn of hell, man…the spawn of hell!”

I glanced around to make sure everyone was minding their own meals. Satisfied we wouldn’t be interrupted; I turned my attention back to my brother.

“It’s the job, Justin – you know that. We kill them. It’s what we do…who we are.”

His eyes were turning red, like a storm of tears would come pouring out at any moment. He grabbed his wineglass, brought it halfway up to his mouth, and then put it down again.

“You’re right, Marcus,” he said. “That’s your job. And his job too. But not my job anymore. I find commercial real estate isn’t quite so dangerous. Oh yeah, why didn’t you stand up for me. You know, after? Why did I even have to leave at all?”

“I tried, Bro.” I said. “I told him that you were a standup guy – not demon material. But he just kept insisting. You were smart though – surrounding yourself by friends, working long hours in the office. It kept you safe.”

“I shouldn’t have had to do all of that. You should’ve had my back, Bro.”

“I know,” I said. “I should’ve been there for you. I’m sorry.” He looked down at the table and pretended to read the menu again. “Justin.” He looked up. “I’m really sorry, man.”

He scoffed under his breath, picked up the glass again, swirled the wine around.

“So, what you got going on?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I do a little of this, a little of that. I do odd jobs for dad sometimes when he needs the help. Now that he’s getting ready to kick it, guess I’ll be taking over the family business.”

His mouth dropped open.

“You’re kidding, right? Why the hell would you want to do that? Just leave it alone Bro. Come work with me. I have a nice house – lots of friends. Oh, and all the money you could ever want. I know times got to be tough for you. Especially with the old man in a pinch with the reaper.”

I shook my head.

“Naw,” I said, “I was actually hoping I could talk you into coming back.”

He really laughed at that. The four patrons by the door glance over all at once. I told them to mind their business.

“Just think about it,” I said and waved the maître d’ back to the table. When he arrived – as annoyed as ever, I said, “I’ll take that second glass of wine.”

He frowned, pivoted, went to the back, and returned a minute later to charge my glass.

“We could do a lot of good things together,” I said after the maître d’ left. “You used to like the job.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I used to like the job. Until more and more of those creepy bastards came out of the woodwork and my own dad tried to ice me. No thanks, Bro. I’ll be just fine without that crap.”

“Well,” I said, “at least I tried.” I lifted my glass, held it out towards him and said, “To our separate, successful lives.” He raised his, clinked it against mine. We drank to each other.

After that, I watched him close. He was fine for a few seconds. Then the convulsions began. To an average person, it would’ve looked like he was having an allergic reaction. but I knew it was just the holy water I put in the wine.

“What…what’d you do?” he asked. He stared at the glass, then at me, then back at the glass. Sweat formed on his brow. He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

“The time for talking is over, demon,” I said. I took one last sip of my wine, wiped my mouth with the napkin, threw it over my empty plate.  “You like my restaurant? I bought it last year. The service sucks and the sales are way below the overhead, but it’s nice and quiet. You know, a great cover for the job.”

He fumbled around like a drunkard and somehow managed to get to his feet. I didn’t bother to get up. There was no way that he could get out of the place. Not with my friends blocking all the exits. When he saw that the entrance was blocked, he turned to look at the back exit, but Myron, the maître d’ was there, holding a cleaver and smiling. Myron walked quickly to the table.

“Would you like your check now, sir?” he said. Then He grabbed Justin by the front of his shirt and slammed his face against the tabletop. I grabbed Justin’s hands and held them down as the rest of the crew closed in around us. We pulled Justin on top of the table and pinned him down. I stood over him, removed the ancient dagger from the small of my back, then ripped Justin’s shirt open, exposing his hairless chest.

“I don’t know if you’re in there, Justin,” I said, pressing the point of the dagger against the center of his chest. “If you are, just know that I love you – and I’m sorry.”

I raised the dagger until the hilt was even with my face, then brought it down as hard as I could. Half of me hoped I was right about him – half scared to death I was wrong. I wasn’t wrong, though. When I brought the dagger down, puncturing his chest, he disappeared in a flash of red light.

After the ritual, my co-workers returned to their places and finished their meals. Myron and I gathered up Justin’s (or the thing that pretended to be Justin) clothes and took them to the back to dispose of later.

“That’s fucked,” Myron said when we returned to the dining room. “Your own brother.”

“He wasn’t my brother,” I said. “Not anymore.”  I looked down at the stain on his shirt. “You have an extra shirt at home?”

At first, he appeared confused. Then he followed my gaze and looked down at his shirt. His eyes lit up in recognition.

“Uh, yeah! I mean, yes, sir. Yes, I do.”

“Good,” I said “Go home and change. I’ll cover for you til you get back.”

“We’re opening tonight?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “My sister Martha has a reservation at seven.”

END

The Victim

“The time is zero-six-hundred, Jacob. Time to wake up.” A woman’s voice announced.

Jacob’s eyes opened. He pulled the thin blanket over his face. It’s so bright. He thought. Where the hell am I? Still at the police station?

He sat up, looked around. He was in a cell of some kind – one with metal walls and what he assumed a very cold floor (since it too was metal). The door wasn’t an ordinary door either. It looked more like the ones on bank vaults. Steel rods locked it in place. His hands felt heavy. When he looked down at them, he understood why. What appeared to be seamless, chain-less shackles adorned both wrists. Where the hell am I?

“The time is zero-six-zero-three, Jacob. Please stand by the inside of the door to receive your tray.”

“There’s been some kind of mistake. I need to talk to Detective Shields.”

An electric current charged up his arms. His wrists locked together. He screamed and slid off of the cot.

“Okay!” he shouted. “I’ll take the damned tray!” The current stopped. His hands once again free. He went to the cell door and waited.

“Where the hell am I ?  Have I been abducted or something ?”

“Thank you, Jacob,” the voice said.

A small rectangular slot slid open at the center of the cell door and a plastic tray slid through. Jacob took the tray to his cot, put it down, then turned back to the door.

“I need to talk to Detective Shields,” he said “There’s been some mistake.” When the voice didn’t respond, he shouted, “I don’t belong here!” The slot closed.

***

He spun her around the dance floor. She wanted to go to a less ritzy place for their anniversary, but he had other plans. She looked absolutely radiant. The dress he’d picked for her matched her eyes perfect. A slow song came on. She tried to leave the floor, but he pulled her back – held her close. One hand in hers – one caressing the small of her back.

I’m going to ask her tonight. He told himself.

She didn’t know that he’d seen pregnancy test while taking out the trash. The slow song ended and a faster one came on.

“Okay” he said. “We can sit this one out.” He took her hand and led her back to their table.

He pulled her chair out for her. Then, after giving her a soft kiss on the cheek, he pulled his chair close to hers. He took both her hands in his own and stared into her perfect brown eyes.

“I know about the baby, Elise.” He said.

She didn’t immediately respond – just stared back at him. He sensed the wheels of her mind turning. She was trying to figure out how he knew. Then her eyes widened and she giggled.

“The garbage?” she asked.

“The garbage.” He replied.

***

Jacob slammed the spoon down on the tray. There was just no way he could eat. He couldn’t understand why anyone would have him locked up. Him! He was the victim here.  

“Oh,” the voice returned. I see you’ve completed eating. Please approach the door and prepare to deposit your tray through the slot.”

Jacob moved to the door, carrying his mostly-full tray of the worst tasting shit on the shingles he’d ever had the displeasure of attempting to eat.

They’re certainly feeding me like a criminal. He thought.

The slot opened, he slid the tray through. Something on the other side secured the tray, then slowly pulled it. Jacob could hear whirring and clinking as the tray disappeared. He placed his ear against the cold surface of the door.

“Voice?”

“Yes, Jacob.”

“What am I doing here?”

“Waiting.”

“What am I waiting for?”

“The end.”

“Can I speak to Detective Shields?”

“No.”

Frustrated, he banged both fists on the door.

 “I deserve to know where I am and why I’m here. Answer me, Bitch!”

“No,” the voice responded.

***

They were going to have a baby. The remainder of their time in the restaurant was spent going over baby names and imagining what their child was going to look like. After the plates were cleared away, Jacob paid the bill. They walked out holding hands – like they did those first few years they were together. He whispered all of the things he was going to do to her when they got home. She giggled and slapped him on the shoulder. When they reached their car. Jacob opened the passenger door for her.

“We’re having a baby,”

“Yes we are,” Jacob said.

They kissed, then she got into the passenger’s seat.

“I can’t wait to get you home,” Jacob said.

“You got to get me there first,” she responded – laughing.

But Before Jacob could close the door, a man spun him around, slammed him against the car, and pressed the barrel of a pistol under his chin.

“Your wallet, her purse.”

“Sure…sure” Jacob said, lowering his right hand to his back pocket. “I’ll give you whatever you want, just don’t hurt her.”

The gunman pressed the barrel harder.

“Great! A smart guy. Fucking Einstein. Just don’t try any superman bullshit and I won’t have to. Got it?”

Jacob retrieved his wallet and held it out. Just then, a police cruiser passed by on the street. The gunman lowered his pistol out of view. That’s when Jacob attacked him – grabbing the man’s wrist and taking him to the ground.

He hoped the gun would be knocked out of the man’s hand. But, when landed on top of the robber he saw it didn’t – so he tried to pry it loose. They were wresting on the blacktop when the shot rang out.

“Jacob?” She said.

Still trying to free the gun, Jacob shot a quick glance at his wife. Then was unable to look away. The robber, taking advantage of Jacob’s shocked state, rolled him off and ran – leaving Jacob to stare stupidly at his wife, her ghostly white face, her hands – which were pressed against a dark red rose – still blooming in the center of her chest.

***

“The time is twelve-hundred, Jacob. Please stand by the inside of the door and prepare to receive your tray.”

Had been sleeping? He must have been. There was nothing else to do but sleep –that and dream of his sweet Elise – and the baby that that would never come. Tears still rolled down his cheeks as he approached the cell door. The slot opened, a tray slid through. Jacob was hungrier than he’d been that morning, but one look at the soggy hamburger and even soggier fries actually turned his hunger to nausea. Dutifully, he took the tray back to his bunk and sat down.

“Voice?” He said.

“Yes, Jacob?”

“How long are you going to keep me here?”

“Until the end.”

“You said that before. How long until the end?”

“That’s for you to decide.”

 “Am I being punished for something?”

“Yes.”

“For what? What did I do?”

“Murder.”

Jacob was stunned by the response.

“Murder? What the hell are you talking about? Who do you morons think I killed?”

“You murdered Elise Evans.”

“Bullshit!” Jacob yelled. He threw the tray of food at the wall. Half of the burger stuck – the rest of it and the lay scattered on the cell floor. “You idiots got it wrong! The bastard’s still out there! And you’re playing fucking games with me, he’s getting away killing my wife!”

“I’m not wrong.”

***

Pressure. Firm, steady pressure.

He pressed his hands against the wound. The 911 operator said to keep pressure on the wound until the paramedics arrive. But it seemed the harder he pressed, the more the blood oozed between his fingers. Elise was conscious, but barely. A couple of times, she tried to speak, to him, but only managed to cough up blood. A line of it trickled down from her mouth to her chin.

“Don’t try to talk, Baby. They’re coming. Just hold on.”

When the paramedics arrived at the scene, they found Jacob sitting on the ground, leaning against the side of his car – his wife’s lifeless body across his lap. He was running his hands through her long brown hair – muttering, “Just hold on, Baby… just hold on, Baby… just hold on…”

***

 “I know why I’m here,” Jacob sobbed. “If I didn’t attack the mugger, she wouldn’t have died. My baby wouldn’t have…” he trailed off. Then, “It’s all my fault.”

“You’re paying for your crime,” the voice said. “That is why you are here, Jacob.”

“Don’t you people think that knowing that I’m the cause of her death is suffering enough?”

“No.”

“I’ve lost the only person in the world that I ever truly loved. What more could you possibly want from me?”

“Thirty thousand Life Sentences.”

“Thirty thousand what? This is fucking stupid! What the hell is wrong with you people? What are you going to do about the real killer? I pay for his crime – He runs free?”

“It’s your debt.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. Tears were trickling down his face again. Don’t try to talk, Baby. They’re coming. Just hold on. “I’ve lost everything. I have nothing left.”

“Yes you do,” the voice said. “Thirty thousand Life Sentences.”

“Is that a fucking joke?”

“A joke? No Jacob. It’s your debt.”

Pressure. Firm, steady pressure.

“Fuck you. I’ve paid my debt.”

***

When dinner time came, the voice made the usual announcement. Jacob obediently went to the door and waited. The slot opened, the tray slid in. Jacob could hear the whirring and clicking on the other side. It sounded close. Very close. Moving as fast as he could, he pushed the tray back out and thrust hands through the slot. The thing that pushed the tray through must have been pretty short because Jacob’s hands immediately found its thin steel neck. The electricity went up his arms. His wrists locked together – ensuring that his grip on the fucker wouldn’t be broken. Pressure. Firm, steady pressure.  The voltage increased, then increased again. He was still banging the thing’s head against the outside cell door when his heart stopped.

***

A face in a surgical mask stared down at him.

“Make way!” A man in scrubs (but no mask) rushed over. “How long has he been conscious?”

“Not long,” the man in the mask said. “A little over a minute.”

The mask-less man (Jacob assumed he was a doctor) lifted Jacob’s head, disconnected something from the back of his neck. Jacob could feel something hard slide out of him. The sensation made him shudder.

“Hand me that red one,” the doctor said. The assistant fetched a bright red cable with an impossibly long needle at the end and brought it back. The doctor took it, lifted Jacob’s head again. Jacob shuddered a second time when the new cable was connected.

“Alright,” the doctor said. “We’re ready to re-boot. How long was he under this time?”

“Just over six hours.” The assistant said.

“Jesus,” the doctor said. “What’s the record?”

“Eight and a half.”

The doctor whistled. Then he leaned over and gave Jacob a couple light slaps on the cheek.

“Do you understand me, Mr. Bradley? Just nod your head if you do. I know you can’t speak with the breathing tube.”

Mr. Bradley? Who do they think I am?

“Just nod if you can understand me,” the doctor said.

Jacob nodded.

“Great! Let’s do this then.” The doctor cleared his throat, then continued. “Mr. Bradley, It is my duty to inform you that you have successfully completed one hundred and twenty-seven lives of your thirty thousand life sentence. I know you don’t remember, but you were found guilty of murder by a jury of your peers and sentenced under the provisions of the law. In accordance with the Eye for an Eye Act, you have been implanted with the memories of one of your victims. You must serve every life of your sentence as them. When your sentence is complete…”

“Yeah, right!” the assistant said, smiling. The doctor shot the assistant a cool glance. When the assistant’s smile faded completely, the doctor continued.

When your sentence is complete you will receive your memories back. Do you understand, Mr. Bradley?”

What the fuck are they talking about? Mr. Bradley? Who the fuck is that?

“I need to know that you understand, Mr. Bradley? Just nod if you do.”

Jacob shook his head violently.

What the hell are they talking about? My wife was murdered! Who the hell is Mr. Bradley?

“I know this is a lot to take in, Mr. Bradley,” the doctor said. “You can’t believe it, right?” “Well, luckily we’ve been through this a few times.” The doctor pulled out a compact mirror and held it in front of Jacob’s face. But it wasn’t Jacob’s face staring horrified back at himself. “There,” the doctor continued, “you believe me now?”

No…it can’t be. It just can’t be. That’s not me. That’s not me! Elise!

“Can I get a nod now Mr. Bradley? “No?” Then, to his assistant, “He understands enough to proceed. Input his acknowledgement in the log.”

“Yes doctor,” the assistant said.

The doctor pulled a small remote control devise from his scrubs pocket and held it up.  “Ready for life number one hundred and thirty eight?” Jacob shook his head, fought against his bindings. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Bradley,” the doctor said. “Or…whenever.”

He pressed a switch on the control.

END