Sixteen Small Deaths (4 page)

I shove myself through a set of sliding doors and drape myself in the light of a new day.

The morning air is crisp and I zip up my jacket, leaving a few inches open at the top. I blow into the air and a cloud of my own breath hangs in front of my face, the glitter of the future twinkling and dissipating within a few quick seconds. Each of my steps hits the pavement without sound, like I’m walking on thin gray clouds.

The coffee shop around the corner from the hospital is nearly empty. The door jangles and startles me, the ringing replacing hollow silence in my head. I walk up to the counter and the barista looks like she’s a mannequin, eyes staring straight ahead and arms glued to the side as if she’s made of plastic. I order a latte with soy milk and silently wish to fall asleep standing up.

When my drink is ready I take it to the corner booth, drop my blazer on the opposite seat. I peer at the world outside, expecting the morning sun to pop and explode in an array of fiery silver sparkles. It casually drifts behind a row of clouds and a hot blast of air from the latte opens my lungs. I take a small sip, remembering the last time I tasted the same mix of milk and caffeine.

A girl sits a few tables away, her short black hair caroused into a mess like she’s just rolled out of bed. I catch a quick glance, the air between us sliced into a tiny million pieces. Her eyes are gunmetal blue and pretty soon her lips curl into a half smile. I can’t help but return the grin before taking a gulp of coffee. She looks down to her book and I see gray tights under a black denim skirt, inches of pale skin peeking above her ruby red flats.

I finish my coffee, slide the mug to the edge of the table. The sun breaks through the steel sky, broken slices of light seeping through the window. I hear a whisper float above my ear but when I turn around I’m greeted with the stunning emptiness of the booth behind me. Deep breaths and I stand up, grab my blazer before leaving the coffee shop. I keep my vision locked to the floor as I pass the girl, not wanting to break the stillness between our quiet bodies.

Time floats past me on the sidewalk, distant and wrinkled. I
close my eyes and extend my arms, the echoes of Autumn’s breaths lost in the morning breeze.

A blanket of ash swoops across the sky like a dead comet. The burning star tip of my cigarette floats above a puddle before disappearing into a smoldering display of charcoal smoke and razorblade pops. I take a deep breath, take in the Boston evening wind and forget for a second that it’s happened again. Clock reads half past nine and a single piano note repeats in the back of my skull.

She was nearly perfect, hourglass eyes and a smile that could frighten a ghost. Firecracker soul and pastel skin. Two shots of espresso, half of a sugar cookie. Her dimples burst with Christmas red whenever she laughed and for the hundred-and-thirty-seven minutes we spent together I figured nothing would stop my heart from glowing with bright purple light.

And then the look. The arch of her neck and twinkle beyond the olive drab of her eyes. Quick touch of forehead against forehead, renegade locks of black-and-blonde hair falling in our faces.

And then the kiss.

She embraced my lips, our tongues dancing near the frosty moonlight pouring in from the bedroom window. I noticed the chilly gasp first, the way her pupils seethed with a black burst of liquid smoke. She pulled back and fell to the floor, breaths colluding together in a machine-gun rhythm. I shouted her name once and knelt next to her, held her slender fingers in mine and hoped my past didn’t repeat. She parted her lips and for a second I swore her spirit escaped through the brick and concrete and wood of the ceiling before finding its place in the sky. She sat up and grinned, long trail of cool breath filtering from her lips.

I backed away, all knowing what would happen next. She stood, traced an imaginary circle in the air with her fingers.

“I am yours,”
she said.
“Forever.”

White fingernail-polish soon dipped into the red behind her eyes, chasm of stringy tissue and pink flesh pulled apart with reckless abandon. Within a matter of seconds the goopy blobs that were once her eyes were in her hands, simmering trail of blue-black blood dripping from her palms and onto the floor.

“For you,”
she said, and then whatever bits of life were left in her tiny frame dissipated into cold and shocking silence.

#

Georgie knocks three times, pauses, and knocks thrice more so I know it’s him at my apartment door. He’s wearing black jeans and a tight Metallica t-shirt embattled in a gray blazer. He stares straight ahead upon entering and plops down on my living room sofa. He flips on the television and sighs.

“I was sleeping, you know.” Click-click-click on the remote until he settles on an old episode of ‘The Twilight Zone.’ It’s the one where a woman in a condemned apartment is fearful of letting in a wounded police officer for fear he is Death.

I light a cigarette and lean against the wall. “I know, and I’m sorry. But you’ve helped me before, and, well…as you can see, I need your help again.” I point to her body on the floor, wince only when I picture our evening before the kiss.

Georgie tosses the remote on the coffee table and scrapes his boots against the living-room carpet, kneels next to her and shakes his head. “Ten years, now, Mick, and you haven’t learned, have you?”

I grind my teeth, let the rage pass. Georgie’s here to help me and it’s not the time for anger against anyone but myself. “You don’t know what it’s like, living with this.”

He stands up and pats me on the shoulder. “Relax, I’ll take care of this. Go grab a drink or something. Take a walk. You need to calm down.”

Nodding, I sigh and snatch my wallet and keys on the little
table next to the door. I look back, see Georgie drag her into the hallway. My last vision of her is the black-and-gold flats on her feet, slight inch of pale skin disappearing as I slam shut the door behind me.

#

I’m on my seventh cigarette and third glass of whiskey. A game show is on the television above the bar but the screen is a blurring jumble of dark flashes. I remember a time where it was okay to enjoy moments like these, savor them with the full flavor of life and vigor that come along with being a normal man. A younger couple playfully flirts with each other a few stools down, the woman with a radiant blossom of love on her face, the man stoic save for a smile and satisfied eyes.

I haven’t felt like they do in nearly a decade. It’s not that I don’t feel the swash of warm in my heart…it’s that it can’t be contained for very long. It’s akin to trapping a firefly in a bottle; its shine is gorgeous and balmy but it doesn’t last long before death finds its way in. All it takes is a kiss, a splatter of affection through my lips. Seconds, minutes, it’s all a goddamn shadow to me. The result is always the same. Shock, fear, bloodshed and death.

And to think, this would all be different if I hadn’t died ten years ago.

#

I pay my tab and throw on my jacket, cold nighttime wind whipping at my back. It’s November and at any second it could snow. Slight buzz ringing in my head but my steps are solid and focused. A decade with this curse, this unfortunate attribute that has kept me away from life.

I was two years fresh out of college, spinning towards a live-life-on-the-edge
lifestyle, unaware that my choices could very well shape my future for the worst. It took an overdose, a mix of heroin and fentanyl, a cocktail which broke my heart and shut down my lungs. I was technically deceased for ten minutes and I can’t remember what I saw except for a glowing black oval and two eyes the color of a dying sun. Everything was different from that point and only a week later my first after-death kiss pushed a lovely young lady to shove a knife in her throat after telling me I’d be hers forever.

Forever is just a word, letters that too often mean too much.

#

Georgie’s voice is fuzzy, as if he’s speaking through a cloud. “Done” is the only word I can understand on the other line of the phone. I know it’s only a matter of a few minutes before my mess is cleaned up and the apartment reverts back to its lonely self. I stop into the December Diner on the corner of Tremont and Milk Street for a coffee before finally settling in for the evening. It’s a little after midnight and slumber calls.

I order a medium coffee, black with two sugars. The man behind the counter takes my two crumpled dollar bills and while I’m waiting for my coffee a lady of no more than twenty-five bumps into me.

“I’m sorry,” she says, red lips and eyes as brown as rotting wood. She tilts her head and winks with her left eye. “I think I’ve met you before. Do you live in the building on Cambridge Street near Center Plaza?”

I wonder how she knows me, but I nod anyways. She throws out a hand and I return with a limp fish grip. I study her movements for a full few seconds.

“My name is Veronica. My friend Carly lives in your building. I believe we spoke for a good two minutes a few weeks ago. Remember, the girl that was reading
The New Yorker
in the
lobby?”

Brain scans and computes my past memories, those startled and broken and real. I realize I’ve met her before. “Ahh, yes. I do. I’m Mick.”

“Well, Mick, it’s nice to see you again. What are you up to so late?”

I think of a lie faster than my tongue speaks. “Just had dinner with a few friends. Needed a caffeine bolt on my way home.”

She smiles, two rows of perfect white teeth. Freckles adorn her face like tiny baby ants. A black tank-top peeks from under a white blouse. I suddenly forget my body’s exhaustion and agree to sit a booth with her. She tells me about her thesis on Paul Auster for her graduate degree, her love of cats, and how she once auditioned for “Survivor.” My skin burns with a comforting itch, the disquieting allure of attraction and caffeine swimming through my veins.

#

I pop open a bottle of beer for Veronica and she thanks me before sitting on the sofa. There’s not a single trace of Georgie or his work anywhere in the apartment. I can still smell the haunting leftovers of my earlier beau, and hope that my emotions won’t lead to the same result with the dazzling woman sitting just half an inch away.

“I really like your place,” she says, taking a long sip of beer and placing the bottle on the edge of the coffee table.

“Thanks.” As soon as I turn around she’s already in my face, bright red hair a spinning supernova prior to her lips finding mine. We kiss for what feels like a year before I realize that my last adventure in love resulted in an undesirable mishap. I push her off me and I’m greeted with a severe frown.

“Okay…what’s wrong?”

I search for an answer but all that’s left in my mind are a
million dead memories and the thought that I’m going to experience another event in a matter of seconds. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

We sit for a bit in silence before Veronica takes another sip of her beer. I stare at the clock and it’s been a healthy ten minutes since the kiss…and nothing’s happened. My heart flutters with a rocket verve and there’s nothing left to lose. I pull Veronica into my chest and remember that this life was all but a cruel dream.

#

It’s been far too long since I’ve seen the naked silhouette of a woman on the opposite side of my bed. Veronica’s curves sparkle in the morning light, cornflower-blue mix of koi fish and rose tattoos glistening with delight. I sit up, careful not to wake her. An odd hum radiates from the walls, the reckless reverberation of bliss. I plug in the coffee pot and let the caffeine percolate while I relive the moments from yesterday and last night.

I hear mumbling from the bedroom and it perks my attention. Slow steps to the bedroom, as quiet as a beautiful thief. Gold shadows of tinseled sunlight dress a bare Veronica, who’s kneeling at the edge of the bed. She raises a hand to the sky, intentions hidden behind a demure smile.

“Darling,”
she says.
“It’s all for you.”

Her hands pull her cheeks from the inside of her mouth and the sound of the very first tear of flesh is drowned out by the anathema of an apocalyptic scream exploding in my lungs.

Her skin is a blanket of insipid pastels and at any moment I’ll give into the siren of another black dream. My eyelids open and close, the sticky sweet residue of sex still vaporized between velvet bed sheets. She whispers something that’s lost in the small chasm between her breasts, words bound by the silver shock creeping into my spine. I can’t move anymore and I want her to convince me that I’m dead.

She lifts a leg over mine and a finger slithers along my arms and chest, red nail clashing with my pale skin. It doesn’t tickle but instead boils the blood beneath the muscle fiber until I can feel my heart linger on the edge of a beautiful explosion. Her eyes are gunmetal blue and they flash with a shimmer of purple before popping into a gorgeous mess. I want to scream but I’m not even breathing now, my chest heaving in and out while skin burns and melts.

Her blonde hair falls out in disturbing clumps while colorless goo seeps from her eye sockets and onto the pillowcase, instant stains on Christmas red fabric. I finally lift a hand and see the tendons of my fingers pull back and snap, echoing in a room that has dissipated into a perfect black sky. The stars fall and burst before leaving a comet trail of glittery smoke and her body straddles mine in a matter of seconds.

I want to die and I may already be dead but she pumps and bounces until the viscera of my lower body fuses with her golden pubic hair. She erupts into a quick orgasm and my vision gives out, the sounds of her nails scratching what’s left of my bubbling skin a resonance of complete distortion and terror.

Right about now is where I should wake up but I’m caught in a portrait of death. Fade to white.

#

Slices of light peek into the bedroom and I’m naked save for a pair of cornflower-blue boxers and a striking smear of blood on my chest. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen daylight, can’t remember how long ago I passed out or fell asleep.

I sit up with an eager twist and attempt to straighten my stiff back, neck. It feels like I’ve been resting in a coffin under a bowling alley, soft pounces of black sound radiating through tired ears. Every tiny noise startles me and I wish for only a moment that I could fall back asleep and forget I exist.