New Title 3 (27 page)

T
heir bloody deed accomplished, the army left, weapons trained on us as they returned to their vehicles.

Caroline screamed after them. “Murdering bastards!”

“
I’ll get you!! Every fucking one of you!!” Sonny yelled through his shock.

I let them vent their pain and rage as I crawled to Connor. He was still warm. I gathered him in my arms and cradled him against my chest. The exit wound on his forehead oozed blood over his blackened eyes and bruised face. I closed his eyes and rocked back and forth, letting the blood cover my chest and stain me with my guilt. Connor was dead. What had I done?

My friends gathered around, watching silently as I struggled with my grief. Unable and unwilling to release him, staggered by the magnitude of the act, I focused on how I had brought it about. Throwing my head back, I screamed. The sound pierced the sky, and echoed off the house. It was a sound that would reverberate in my head for the rest of my life.

The others left me alone with my grief, understanding only that I had lost my best friend. I remained on the front lawn for hours, cradling him. I kept talking to him, like it was old times and this nightmare had been erased. I stayed with him until the body was cold and the others, unaware of my role in this catastrophe, urged me to come inside.

I picked Connor up and gently positioned him across my shoulders. I wanted him buried, I wanted him comfortable, and I wanted to do it myself, as a last favour to him. But when I took my first step in the direction of the graveyard, my legs gave out and I collapsed. Slowly, I rolled his heavy frame off of me as the others hurried over to assist me.

Sonny, Earl, Kevin and I carried Connor to the site. The rest followed. Sara didn’t bother to pray this time, but instead looked on in stony silence. I helped lay him into the grave that he had made for himself, and covered him with the soil as carefully as I might have tucked him into bed in days gone by.

The ceremony over, I walked slowly from the graveyard into the woods, hoping that I could also leave behind the feelings of guilt and betrayal, buried forever with Connor in the fetid earth. The group gave me the space that I needed and returned to the house in a solemn, devastated procession.

Passing the shed and its attendant memories, I continued to the outer perimeter of our property and crawled over the rusted fencing. The daylight was fading but the sky above remained undaunted by the scattered clouds to the north. Finding a spot next to a dry riverbed, I sat and picked at the dead foliage around me.

In the silence of the woods, I recalled the biblical story of Judas and the betrayal. Stunned, I realized I was looking Judas in the eye. The revulsion I felt for that traitor in reading the biblical story of denial, I now felt for myself. “What made you do it, Judas?” I wondered. “Was it the silver? I doubt it. Was it your destiny? Did a little angel make you do it?”

I laughed, nausea billowing in my stomach, as I poked at the dry earth with a lifeless twig. The burden that I now bore, that had overwhelmed me at Connor's death, surged in me once again. I'd done a terrible thing. If someone or something had told me to do this, it wasn’t God or a guardian angel. It was my own ego poisoning me all along. I had listened and this is where it had gotten me. Bobbing back and forth on my haunches, I could not control the deep regret. The feeling was so overpowering that my vision blurred and my strength left me. I crashed onto my back, hands covering my face.

I could hear my pain echo around me as the corrupted forest became my father confessor. The world seemed cold as my suffering intensified with each passing moment. Opening my eyes to the cruel environment, I quieted the sounds of an unequalled pain emanating from deep within me. The few wavering clouds that had drifted in from the north had now accumulated overhead and grown in dimension.

My side ached, so I jabbed one hand under my ribs to ease the cramp. Breathing deeply in an effort to soften the pain, I watched the clouds overtake the sun. A solid shadow now laboured its way across the forest, shielding me from the sunlight, calming me. What was taking place here? What was developing up there? Then, suddenly, a drop fell from the sky. A drop! It hit my face, followed by others.

“
Rain...” It was almost too much for me to bear. “Rain.”

Connor would never see this now. Connor could have seen this had he still been alive. I wept for things that would never be, things that could never be. The rain came in force now, beating down on the tortured soil. Running back toward the shack, I stumbled over the fencing. Picking myself up, I made it to the building and pushed through the door, landing hard on the ground.

The rain stung, but was it only because it was falling so hard, so suddenly, or was it acid rain that had come back to finish us off? My mind raced. I poked my head out the door of my childhood clubhouse, hand cautiously extended. It did not burn. I cupped my hands and drank. It was good.

“
Rain,” I repeated aloud. A smile broke the frown. I could feel it on my face, genuine. Things would be better now, things would grow…

Wham!
Pain exploded on my forehead. I had hit myself, eliminating the warm glow I had felt for that split second. I was in no position to relish this rain or the hope that it might offer. I had no right!

“
Fuck!” I shouted.

Wham!
Again I hit myself, my nose spraying blood from the right nostril. Who was this hitting me? Who was I? I couldn't allow myself another moment's pleasure and if I was to become some sort of masochist then so be it. I kept hitting myself, each blow harder than the last, picking out new spots on my face that hadn't yet felt the sting of my guilt.

When satisfied that I had hurt myself enough, I sat down on the dirty chair. Blood drooled from the corner of my mouth. My teeth had cut the inside of my cheek. I rubbed my jaw and nose, concentrating on the pain. The rain hammered down on the twisted roof above me.

I couldn't go on like this. Judas had played out the destiny promised him. I too would have to complete the course that I was fated to follow.

*****

I entered the house through the kitchen door. A heavy silence dominated the house. My friends sat on the balcony overlooking the backyard, watching my approach, watching the rain. Without a word to them, I went upstairs to my room.

Earl called me from the front hall.

“
Joel! The rain, Joel, it's good....”

I didn't answer him. I couldn't, as the lump had returned to my throat. The thought of what I now had to do to make things right was heavy on my mind, stirring up several new emotions. In my room, where I made my final preparations, smoking from the Sweet Bitch was a matter of extreme urgency.

What a joke I was, what a victim! I could never look at myself in the mirror again. I couldn't live with myself. My path was clear - I would end my existence myself if the gods couldn’t see their way clear to do it for me. Fuck the angel and his grand plan, fuck 'em! The circle broke here, no more, Joel, no more!

O
nly now, in my most crucial hour, do I feel that I should let my friends know what had transpired to bring me to this end.

With paper and pen in hand, I sit at my desk. It’s roughly seven forty five in the evening. My pen begins to move across the paper, composing the letter that will explain everything. Tears resurface at the realization of how much I have changed, how far a cry I am from the Joel who existed before the Reaper struck.

But maybe if someone comes in, sees what I’m doing, and stops me, then maybe I won't do it. No, wait. No, I
have
to do this. I won't be able to live with what I’ve done. I don’t deserve to!

Someone knocks softly on my door.

“
Go away!” I answer, rising to my feet and falling heavily onto my couch. After a moment’s pause, I hear footsteps recede.

I begin to slowly knock my head against the couch's wooden frame. The repetition is therapeutic. With each blow, I cement the idea of taking my own life. “There is nothing left of this one. Take him away.”

“
Not yet!” I cry. “Not yet!” I must sound like a madman to the people I can now hear gathering outside my door. Picking up my fallen chair, I return to my desk and resume writing.

I can hear concerned murmuring out in the hall. I don’t care. I can't look after these people anymore. My job was only to survive, never to lead them. That was their idea. I was never meant to be a leader. It had gone to my head. I had led them into misery and death. What did they have to hope for, besides the rain?

I drop my pen and walk to my window. Sliding it open, I squeeze out of my room and lower myself down the antenna to the wet ground. Stealing into the trees, I escape the scouting eyes in Skylab.

Without a course plotted, moving only to evade the conversation outside my door, I fall over an exposed root that the rains have washed free of its muddy prison and land hard in the muck. My face pressed against the slippery forest floor, I begin to scratch at the ground. Digging my fingers deep into the earth, I shovel out a great deal of the dirt, piling it next to me. My speed accelerates as the wet soil on my skin sends a rush through my body. Sitting upright, I summon my strength in an effort to pull up more of the dirt, faster. The rainfall creates a small stream that courses down the hill, washing over my efforts.

A small puddle of water collects in the hole I've made thus far, softening the harder dirt so that I may continue my work. Looking to my right in the darkness, I see Jake’s gravesite a few yards away. Then Julia’s and Connor’s. Mine is not as deep as the others- not yet, but soon. I redouble my efforts, tackling rocks and roots, cutting my hands and pulling back two fingernails. I ignore the pain.

Finally the job is finished. My heart pounds while my fingers bleed. Looking to the sky, I let the rain fall on my face, cleaning the filth from my hands and arms.

“
I’m going now!” I yell to the heavens, as if they care. I'd carried out their little plan. “Are you there!?” Where's my divine intervention now? My face is flushed and my eyes burn. I feel like my head is going to explode. Don’t fight it. Let it go.

Bowing my head, I surrender and resign myself to the knife. Standing and walking back toward the house, I feel strangely calm. My heart rate slows dramatically, my breathing levels out while a feeling of acceptance overtakes me. This is my destiny, to do this thing. Like Judas before me I will carry out a similar end. Brilliant! Purpose!

The trip up the antenna seems speedy, the walk across the overhang effortless. Climbing through the window into my room, I accidentally step on Rex, crushing him. I offer an apology. He accepts it.

Searching my shelves, I find the Bowie knife I'd purchased some years ago and a partially full bottle of painkillers that Sara had given me for the leg injury. What else though? What else would I need? Water, a bath perhaps, yes... yes, something to bleed into, not like Julia, not all over the bed.

After carrying everything to the bathroom, I place the knife and pills on the counter and peer up at the Mickey Mouse clock above the toilet. It reads eight-thirty. As I lock the bathroom door behind me, a strange feeling overcomes me. It is as though I've been here before, like a déja-vu. The thought sickens me. My stomach muscles contract violently, forcing out bile and burning my throat.

“
You're not me!” I speak to the mirror now. Spit hangs from my lips. I am so far gone, so far removed, I can see that now. Shaking, I grip the granite counter top. “Stop staring at me!” I shout, throwing my fist into the reflection. Funny, I don't even cut myself.

When the mirror shatters, I snap out of my trance and begin picking up the pieces from the counter and floor. My sanity has left me. I sweep the mess into the garbage pail and pick up a spray cleaner and rag from a basket next to the toilet. In the periphery, I hear a knocking on the bathroom door and ignore it.

During the time it takes me to clean the bathroom, I recall a moment of my childhood. In the tub, with mother watching, smiling. Long before the unimagined pain. But of course moments like that are never to be experienced again. It is over. Once again I feel at peace with the situation, accepting again what I must do, knowing that it is all I have left.

By ten-thirty my work in the bathroom is through. I direct my attention to the cold porcelain tub and kneel beside it. When I suddenly shiver, a final thought enters my mind. “Who has walked over my grave?”

The moment gone, I turn the cool water on, still staggering my time.

“
Death brings an honest response.”

I hear it clearly. Is it the angel? Turning slowly, I expect to see him standing at the door, prepared to talk me out of my decision.

“
Death brings an honest response.”

There it is again! No angel though. Raising my hands to my ears, I block all outside noise.

Pouring a glass of water from the sink, I shovel the painkillers into my mouth. Halfway there! I take the knife from the counter and spend a moment with it. Getting undressed, I step into the tub. The water is cold but I immerse myself, dunking my head below its surface. I come up for a breath, pulling my hair back. My lips begin to quiver as I think of the people I am leaving behind, even Mom, who may be dead already. For her sake I find myself wanting that for her.