It was late... past nine o'clock. The town always shut down early on nights like these; nights when the air was stiff, smelling of rain, and making low rumbling noises in the bottom of its belly. The storefront lights had come on at five and the final door closed for the last time around seven or so at the latest. Main street was empty. At least it should have been.
So, what was this blurred image of a man walking the hollowed ditches? What business did this figure have so far into the night? It looked up into a lonely street lamp. It's eyes glittered fiercely in the harsh light, huge, desolate, and beseeching. Shakily a cigarette was lifted to stained lips and lit. The night grew deeper. The Figure pressed onward.
At the cemetery all was still save the hushed sound of rain in the leaves of ancient trees. The Figure moved slowly, scrutinizing each somber grave, searching. Blue lightning illuminated the vicinity leaving traces of a sick discoloring in the clouds, helping The Figure with its desperate hunt. Yet what was the hunt for? Just what was The Figure hoping to find? The jagged lightning cut through the sky again. The Figure gasped. Stumbling it ran to the marker just ahead of him. Silent fingers traced the etching in the stone. "R-o-g-e-r" the letters formed. Once more the heavens flared and The Figure was no more than a man, prostrate on the ground, sobbing.
A thousand nightmares and remembrances were all being released inside his head. Memories he'd learned to ignore came flooding back to him. He was Jack M, age forty-seven. Rescues thirty-odd years before from an uninhabited isle in the somewhere in the Pacific, now living in the Roadside Motel off of Route 77 with his girlfriend Clarise; well, he was living with Clarise until they had a fight and she left him. Now he would have to live alone. Live alone with all those unwanted experiences.
And then something was wrong. Jack's hands felt sweaty. He felt himself well up inside, becoming once more, a creature of the night. His breath was sharp and jagged. He glanced at his palms in growing anxiety. It was sweat. It was something thicker than that; Darker too. And the sick-sweet smell of perspiration wasn't there. No, it smelled like… blood! Jack's shriek surged through the air and its trill would have been heard for miles, if there had been anyone there to listen. No sound was so singularly sickening, so repulsive, as Jack's cry that night; the cry of a man terror-stricken, in pain. A man haunted by a dreadful past.
* * *
The phone rang. It was shortly after midnight. Ralph groggily turned on the light and answered with a sleepy 'hello?' The voice on the other side solemnly asked if he was Ralph, and after he assure the voice he was, the voice told him he was needed at the hospital to provide identification for the body of Jack M.
"You must be mistaken," Ralph laughed. "I haven't seen the man since he was a boy! What of his family?" This left the voice to softly, but firmly reinstate that Jack had no family.
"But of all people, why me?" Ralph asked, taken aback.
"When he was found, he kept repeating your name: 'Ralph, Ralph, please, Ralph, forgive
me…'" the voice explained.
Unable to say a word, and completely witless, Ralph could not refuse and agreed to identify the cadaver.
He was instantaneously sorry that he had come, for when he entered the room, only the sight of a hideous, bloodstained face was there to greet him. And worse yet, Ralph still could not escape Jack's stare. He had always told himself that should he ever meet up with Jack again, he would not let himself be afraid, that he would stare into Jack's eyes and they would turn to gaze elsewhere. But they didn't. Jack was dead and his gaze stuck fixedly on Ralph and Ralph was frightened. Even with a horribly mutilated face, Ralph could feel his eyes. Even though Jack's mouth was twisted in a horrible toothless smile, it was his eyes Ralph could feel. Even though his red hair was matted with crimson blood, it was his eyes that sickened Ralph. Even though his body was covered in blood-clotted bandages, it was his eyes that burned Ralph.
Suddenly Ralph felt his chest and stomach heave and turned quickly away from the metal gurney bearing the corpse. Stooping, he vomited, right there on the hospital's sterile tile floor. Quickly a pretty young nurse came to his aide.
"I think you've had enough, sir," she said.
Breathing hard, Ralph found the courage to ask what he had been wondering the moment he had gotten that telephone call. "What… happened?"
"Suicide," the nurse said slowly, leading Ralph to the nearest chair. She searched his face for a reaction at this news, but found none and proceeded, saying, "He threw himself into the ravine by the cemetery. The fall itself was not so bad, and although he may have suffered several broken bones he might have survived, but he landed in such a way that he was impaled on a jagged tree stump".
Outside the hospital the air was cold. Ralph lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The night was rapidly fading into morning. The sky was feathered with pale pink and grey clouds. 'Who would have thought it would end like this?' he wondered. Sighing, he began to walk. He knew what he had to do.
* * *
"So this is the place where you took your life?" Ralph mused aloud. "That's disrespectful to the dead!" He laughed coldly and put out the cigarette on the nearest headstone, twisting it, the way a butcher would twist the neck of a goose to kill it. "But there's no need to be bitter, Jack. No need. See what you had to live with; a life of torment, because you couldn't let go. See what I have to live with; Memories, yes, but also anticipation. Anticipation of the day in which those memories are as far away as that damned island. I am able to be more." He looked at the rising sun and walked away.
So, what was this blurred image of a man walking the hollowed ditches? What business did this figure have so far into the night? It looked up into a lonely street lamp. It's eyes glittered fiercely in the harsh light, huge, desolate, and beseeching. Shakily a cigarette was lifted to stained lips and lit. The night grew deeper. The Figure pressed onward.
At the cemetery all was still save the hushed sound of rain in the leaves of ancient trees. The Figure moved slowly, scrutinizing each somber grave, searching. Blue lightning illuminated the vicinity leaving traces of a sick discoloring in the clouds, helping The Figure with its desperate hunt. Yet what was the hunt for? Just what was The Figure hoping to find? The jagged lightning cut through the sky again. The Figure gasped. Stumbling it ran to the marker just ahead of him. Silent fingers traced the etching in the stone. "R-o-g-e-r" the letters formed. Once more the heavens flared and The Figure was no more than a man, prostrate on the ground, sobbing.
A thousand nightmares and remembrances were all being released inside his head. Memories he'd learned to ignore came flooding back to him. He was Jack M, age forty-seven. Rescues thirty-odd years before from an uninhabited isle in the somewhere in the Pacific, now living in the Roadside Motel off of Route 77 with his girlfriend Clarise; well, he was living with Clarise until they had a fight and she left him. Now he would have to live alone. Live alone with all those unwanted experiences.
And then something was wrong. Jack's hands felt sweaty. He felt himself well up inside, becoming once more, a creature of the night. His breath was sharp and jagged. He glanced at his palms in growing anxiety. It was sweat. It was something thicker than that; Darker too. And the sick-sweet smell of perspiration wasn't there. No, it smelled like… blood! Jack's shriek surged through the air and its trill would have been heard for miles, if there had been anyone there to listen. No sound was so singularly sickening, so repulsive, as Jack's cry that night; the cry of a man terror-stricken, in pain. A man haunted by a dreadful past.
* * *
The phone rang. It was shortly after midnight. Ralph groggily turned on the light and answered with a sleepy 'hello?' The voice on the other side solemnly asked if he was Ralph, and after he assure the voice he was, the voice told him he was needed at the hospital to provide identification for the body of Jack M.
"You must be mistaken," Ralph laughed. "I haven't seen the man since he was a boy! What of his family?" This left the voice to softly, but firmly reinstate that Jack had no family.
"But of all people, why me?" Ralph asked, taken aback.
"When he was found, he kept repeating your name: 'Ralph, Ralph, please, Ralph, forgive
me…'" the voice explained.
Unable to say a word, and completely witless, Ralph could not refuse and agreed to identify the cadaver.
He was instantaneously sorry that he had come, for when he entered the room, only the sight of a hideous, bloodstained face was there to greet him. And worse yet, Ralph still could not escape Jack's stare. He had always told himself that should he ever meet up with Jack again, he would not let himself be afraid, that he would stare into Jack's eyes and they would turn to gaze elsewhere. But they didn't. Jack was dead and his gaze stuck fixedly on Ralph and Ralph was frightened. Even with a horribly mutilated face, Ralph could feel his eyes. Even though Jack's mouth was twisted in a horrible toothless smile, it was his eyes Ralph could feel. Even though his red hair was matted with crimson blood, it was his eyes that sickened Ralph. Even though his body was covered in blood-clotted bandages, it was his eyes that burned Ralph.
Suddenly Ralph felt his chest and stomach heave and turned quickly away from the metal gurney bearing the corpse. Stooping, he vomited, right there on the hospital's sterile tile floor. Quickly a pretty young nurse came to his aide.
"I think you've had enough, sir," she said.
Breathing hard, Ralph found the courage to ask what he had been wondering the moment he had gotten that telephone call. "What… happened?"
"Suicide," the nurse said slowly, leading Ralph to the nearest chair. She searched his face for a reaction at this news, but found none and proceeded, saying, "He threw himself into the ravine by the cemetery. The fall itself was not so bad, and although he may have suffered several broken bones he might have survived, but he landed in such a way that he was impaled on a jagged tree stump".
Outside the hospital the air was cold. Ralph lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The night was rapidly fading into morning. The sky was feathered with pale pink and grey clouds. 'Who would have thought it would end like this?' he wondered. Sighing, he began to walk. He knew what he had to do.
* * *
"So this is the place where you took your life?" Ralph mused aloud. "That's disrespectful to the dead!" He laughed coldly and put out the cigarette on the nearest headstone, twisting it, the way a butcher would twist the neck of a goose to kill it. "But there's no need to be bitter, Jack. No need. See what you had to live with; a life of torment, because you couldn't let go. See what I have to live with; Memories, yes, but also anticipation. Anticipation of the day in which those memories are as far away as that damned island. I am able to be more." He looked at the rising sun and walked away.