Fractured
by Hayden Wesley
University of Virginia
Hayden Wesley is a third year student at the University of Virginia majoring in English. He plans to pursue a masters in English with the hope of working in the publishing industry as an editor. He has been writing fiction for as long as he can remember, and in the last few years has found a love for writing about the human condition through short stories. He hopes to create stories that make people question what it means to be alive and whether we are defined by our words, our mistakes, or the choices we say we will make but never do.
A pounding on the front door wakes me up. Sunlight fills the room and burns my eyes. I have a headache, and I wish the pounding would stop but it won't, so I answer the door.
Standing on my porch is Detective Emmet and a group of police officers behind him. Some of them I recognize, like Max who was a teacher then decided he hated it and went to the police academy. We went to school together, but I never spoke to him much. There's Ally, who is younger than me, but everyone in town says she's nice. The rest I'm not sure about.
"Detective Emmet," I say, smoothing my hair and clothes. I know I look bad, I can feel it. I just hope I don't stink, too.
"Mrs. Morrigan," he says, looking me up and down, his eyes pausing on a deep cut on my forearm, then again on a bruise on my leg. "Is everything alright?"
I smile, but that feels inappropriate so I try to switch to something softer, something sadder. "Yes, everything is fine." He catches my expression change, as quick as it was, and narrows his eyes. Shit. "May I ask why you're here? Have you found them? Do you know anything?" My tone was too neutral, I didn't sound scared or upset enough. I'm not good at this. I don't know how you're supposed to act when people are gone.
"No, not yet, Mrs. Morrigan. May we come in and take a look around?"
"Why? You've already searched the house. There's nothing here. My husband and son are out there. Why aren't you looking for them?" My soft voice should be louder, harder. Detective Emmet takes a deep breath.
"We have a warrant. We know you have been through a lot."
"I just finished cleaning up from the last time you were here." This time I do better. My voice is stern, maybe even annoyed. "But alright."
I sit on the couch and let them search the house. I cry and wipe my tears with my hands. I think that's what people do- they cry. I've never lost anyone before. No one I know has died, or gone missing, but when I was kid my friend's dog was hit by a car, a bright red one so the blood blended in with the metal. I remember she cried a lot, and that she told me she had nightmares for months. I don't have nightmares. I sleep fine. I don't cry unless I force myself. Maybe something is wrong with me.
Detective Emmet begins in my bedroom and the officers split between the bathroom and the other bedroom. The small bedroom with the small bed, the small dresser and small desk. There's crayons littering the desk that were used to color the drawings lazily taped to the wall. Toys on the floor that are never fully put away. Clothes messily stacked in a pile in the corner, and even more shoved under the bed, the bed that isn't made, but it's never made unless I change the sheets. I should change the sheets. It's been two weeks since I changed them, but I don't know if it counts because he hasn't slept in them in a few days, so maybe it's really only been a week or so. I'm going to change them anyway so when he comes home today they're clean and the bed is made, with his dinosaur stuffed animal resting on the pillows. He likes it when the bed is made because then I can tuck him, tuck him in really tight like a little burrito, and it makes him giggle. I'll pick up the toys and vacuum and wash the clothes and put away the crayons and fix the drawings on the wall so they don't fall. But maybe I shouldn't touch the room, maybe I should leave it, preserve it in its perfect state because that's how he left it. He liked it that way, or I think he did because he never bothered to change it.
Detective Emmet leaves the bedroom and steps into the hallway. He pauses.
"Did you change something?" He asks me.
"What?"
He turns and searches the small hallway, trying to solve a puzzle I can't see. "The hallway is different."
"I don't think so."
He meets my eyes. "What did you change?"
"I-"
He looks at the floor and laughs to himself. "Ah," he says. "There was a rug here, wasn't there?"
"Oh, yes, there was. How did you even remember that?"
"I remember many things, Mrs. Morrigan."
I nod. "Of course."
"The rug," he begins. "Where did it go?"
"I moved it to the kitchen. I thought it fit the space better."
He walks towards the kitchen, towards me.
"It does look nice," he says. "I like it. Why did you move it?"
"I just told you."
He nods.
He bends down and inspects the rug. I sit still and watch the officers search the rest of the house. Detective Emmet lifts the rug and stops. He's mostly behind the counter so I can't see him, and even though I want to stand and look I don't. I hear something, like shuffling, or ruffling, and the snapping of a glove. He stays there for a while, and when he's done the officers are finished searching the house, including the living room. I stand by the window, the couch cushions all turned over.
Detective Emmet stands and slips something into his coat pocket.
"Thank you for cooperating, Mrs. Morrigan. If we need anything else, we'll let you know."
"Alright."
As they leave I gently grab Max's arm. I whisper: "Please, do they know anything they haven't told me?" My voice cracks. He tilts his head and looks around. "I'm not supposed to say anything."
"Please?"
He looks down then back at me. "They found Ronnie's car, down by the lake. I'm sorry, Lorelei. I really am."
I close my eyes. The world stills. I am swallowed by an emptiness.
***
"Oh, Ronnie, I love this song!"
"Lorelei, you're going too fast."
"Mom, what's this song called?"
"Lorelei, slow down."
"Um, I'm not sure, honey. Ronnie, do you know what it's called? Oh, I just love it! We should dance! Freddie, will you dance with me?"
"There's something rattling by my feet. God, is that a bottle? Lorelei, were you drinking?"
"Mom, I see something in the woods!"
"Lorelei, slow down!"
***
My eyes open.
I take a deep breath.
"Thanks for telling me."
As he goes to one of the police cars Detective Emmet stares at me. I smile at him, and eventually he smiles back.
I shut the door and pull up the rug in the kitchen. I forgot there was blood. Last night was hazy and twisty. I run my hands through my hair and shake my head.
"It's fine," I tell myself. "Everything is fine."
"Is it?" I turn my head to the sound of a young boy's voice behind me. He's sitting on the floor, his legs folded beneath him, a dinosaur stuffed animal in his hands.
"Freddie," I whisper, reaching towards him. He scoots backwards, the way he did when was a toddler, clutching his bright green dinosaur tighter against his small chest.
"I miss you," I tell him.
"No you don't," he replies.
I say nothing, his gentle voice is different, somehow. He would never speak to me that way. He would never use such sharp words, such a cutting tone. This is not my Freddie staring at me across the rug. We sit on the floor, looking at each other, and his eyes feel distant. He feels distant.
"I am your Freddie, mom. Don't you see me? Can't you hear me?"
"I do. I can. I miss you, Freddie. I love you."
"No you don't."
"I do."
"No, you don't."
"I do!" I cry, reaching towards him again. His skin turns pale and tears away in my grasp, my fingers full of torn flesh like paper peeling away from a burning book as it dies in a bonfire. His bright, blue eyes, not my eyes but the eyes of his father, turn grey. White. He opens his mouth and water escapes, just a trickle then more until water is filling the room and so are his screams, his high-pitched screams and they twist with a different cry, a deeper cry, a plea. Water fills the room and he's drowning, we're drowning. His body bloats then floats then sinks or maybe things happen in a different order. The light outside turns dark and days and nights flash together. All I see is brown, murky water filling the house and devouring me as screams tear at my head and I'm screaming too as I gasp for air and reach for Freddie but he's gone and I am alone in the dark water that burns my skin and ears and eyes and then it's gone. The water is gone, the screams are gone. The burning and pain, the crying and begging, the darkness and night, the guilt and relief, everything is gone. I am sitting on my kitchen floor and the midday sun casts a golden glow on the world and I smile.
My eyes close again.
***
When my eyes open I am standing in the center of the kitchen, the deep, amber liquid sloshing from side to side in the crystal glass of my shaking hand. My nail polish is chipped, the pale pink was supposed to last at least another week but I broke a few nails and the top coat the woman used at the salon was not as powerful as she assured me it was. I raise the rim of the glass to my lips and take a sip, or maybe it's more of a gulp, and let the taste linger on my dry tongue. It burns my throat as it tries to slide down. When I finish the glass I slam it on the counter, so hard that the glass shakes but not hard enough that it breaks. I can hear my mother's voice in my head, gently scolding me as she always does.
Those were expensive, Lorelei. A gift from your father and I. Try to treat them as such.
I refill the glass and watch as the liquor falls from the bottle. It takes too long to fill my glass.
I drink the bourbon too fast and cough when I finish, dropping the gifted glass on the floor.
"Shit", I mutter. It breaks into tiny fractured pieces that dot my kitchen floor, the light catching them like a disco ball or the stars of the night sky. I try to step around the sharp shards towards the closet, but everything is kind of shaky and I'm seeing the world through what feels like a kaleidoscope, so I slip and step where I'm not supposed to.
"Shit!" I say again. A trail of blood follows me to the closet. I grab the broom and vacuum. I sweep up the bigger pieces then vacuum the rest. There's only a little blood, but I know it's going to stain my floor. I don't think I care enough to clean it up. I put back the broom and vacuum and go to my bathroom. There's a pair of tweezers in one of the drawers, and I use them to pull out the pieces of glass stuck in my foot. The only band aids are ones with race cars on them. It's annoying but I use them, and once my foot is covered and no longer bleeding I put back the tweezers and wash my hands. There's blood under my fingernails. I don't know when I showered last. It is a clumsy thing, and I get water everywhere, but I do it.
I drag the small hallway rug to the kitchen to cover the blood, but I stop at his door. I peek inside, and my breath catches. I look across the hall at the other room, my room, the room I shared. Share. Everything is confusing.
The rug covers the blood. I consider sleeping in my room, but the bed has felt strange the past few nights so I choose the couch instead. It's easier. My eyes close as sleep consumes me.
***
My eyes open again and I am outside and it is night. An almost empty bottle is in my hand, my grip around it tight. I take another deep drink, not because I am thirsty but because I am starving. The world is hazy again, but I think I've always preferred the world this way- twisty. I like seeing things through a slightly broken pair of glasses, a set of lenses that show things as almost the truth but just slightly wrong. It makes things more fun.
The tree in front of me has eleven branches instead of seven. The deer that I ran over a few nights ago, laying dead on the dirt road, is covered in berry jam, not blood. The flies around it are stars, dark stars that blend into the night sky. The lake up ahead has clear water, water that when you wade in it you can see your feet, not water that is dark brown and smelly and gross and full of things that are meant to be forgotten.
I finish the bottle and throw it into the woods. I hear it shatter when it lands on the ground, and I wonder if the moonlight is hitting the glass. I wonder if it's pretty.
Pretty like that Detective. He wasn't really pretty, but his skin was. It was clean, soft, like Freddie's. He knew. They always know, and when they know they look, and when they look they find.
The dirt road is about to end. The lake is close. I was here not too long ago, but it was different, then. I am alone now. The other night I wasn't alone. I was with them. I was with Ronnie and Freddie and we were in the car, the red car that Ronnie's had since high school. He loves that car so much. Sometimes I wonder if he loves it more than me. It should be here, right there, over by the tall tree and deer. Maybe they took it. Maybe in my twisted view the car is gone, and so is the deer and blood and screams, the bottle and music and death. It was a good night. It was supposed to be a good night. Freddie did well in school so we took him to dinner at his favorite restaurant, but it wasn't really a restaurant, just a small shack with burgers and milkshakes but he loved it, loves it, no- loved it- so we took him there. I stepped outside while Ronnie paid the bill because I was starving again, because I'm always starving and then Freddie wanted to go to the lake and see the stars because even though the water is gross and murky you can still see the stars reflecting in the water, not tonight because the sky is cloudy, but that night you could. The night was clear, the sky was empty except for stars.
I close my eyes.
***
My eyes open and I can't see much but I can smell. I can smell burning, not a normal burning but something stronger, something harsher, I think it's flesh. Skin. I don't think it's mine.
I turn my head and eyes stare back at me, beautiful blue eyes with nothing covering them soaked in deep, red blood. I scream. I grab him, shake him, I beg for him to wake up, to say something, to do anything but lay there burning. I look back and there is more blood, his blood, Freddie's blood, staining his clothes, his car seat that we recently bought him because he was big enough for just the booster seat. His head is rolled to the side in an unnatural way, a broken way and that makes me scream again. I try to leave the car but the door is stuck so I turn and use my feet to kick it open, screaming and crying until my foot slips and I hit my leg on the sharp metal of the door. Something drips on me and I look at my arm and there's blood, blood is everywhere but this time it is mine.
Finally the door opens and I force myself out, laying on the cold, dirt ground. It feels safe beneath me, quiet, comforting.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I don't know what to do. The world is still hazy and twisted the way I like it, but the world is wrong. I am alone. I am alive and I should not be.
Ahead of me is the lake, the lake we were driving to. The sky above is clear so stars cover the water, like a shattered pane of glass.
I go back to the car and look for my phone. When I find it the screen is fractured but it still turns on. I pull up the phone app and begin to dial.
9.
1.
I stop.
I put down the phone.
I look at the car, at Ronnie and Freddie and what happened. What I did.
It was an accident.
No one will believe me.
I close my eyes.
***
My eyes open and I see nothing but the lake. Water is lapping at my feet, and even though it was dirty just moments before it is suddenly clean, and the cloudy night sky is clear and I can see stars littering every inch of the night sky.
In the distance something emerges from the water. A head, then a chest holding on to a dinosaur stuffed animal and it walks towards me, closer and closer until a body is revealed.
His body.
"Freddie?" I call.
The figure does not approach me, and in the darkness I can't make out his face but I know it's him. I can feel it.
"Freddie!" I cry, but I don't move.
The figure nods. A second figure begins walking towards Freddie, this one taller, a man.
"Ronnie?"
He meets Freddie and places his hand on Freddie's shoulder. Ronnie holds out his hand.
"Is that you?" I ask, but neither of them reply. I take a step closer. Ronnie holds his hand out further.
"I've missed you," I tell them. The world is hazy and twisted but I can see clearly. "I love you."
Ronnie's hand is so close. I'm almost there.
"I want to be with you again."
I grab his hand, but he lets go. I blink and he is gone. Freddie is gone. I am alone. The clean water is dirty again. The stars are gone. My feet take me further into the lake, so far that only my toes scrape the bottom.
The water laps around my neck. The water clears again, and I think I see Ronnie and Freddie. They smile.
Then they are gone. The sky is cloudy once more. The water filling my mouth is dark and brown and tastes of iron and rot. My feet search for the bottom of the lake but find nothing. My arms flail and hands beg for something to grab on to, but find nothing.
My eyes close. They do not open.