Blood Upon The Door

He said it was all for him.  That’s what he said.  Everything that happened, it’d all been done for him.  He said it was because he loved him so much, but he wasn’t sure if he really believed that.  What was love?  He’d assumed love meant killing—wait, no, that wasn’t right.  Just what was it though?1

The strange people in white kept asking him if he ever felt depressed.  He always said no, but then again, he wasn’t really sure what that meant.  What was it to be depressed?  Did he ever question himself?  Sure, hell, he was doing it right now.  Wait, why he was questioning himself?  What was wrong with him?  He tried searching back in his memory but could find nothing, except…wait…there was something…2

Icy drops of a humid rain landed upon the oily road, gathering up into blackened rivulets streaming into the splotchy, brown grass along the asphalt.  The soft pitter-patter of nature’s tears aroused him from his deepening sleep and his eyes slid open with a slice of reluctance.  If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.  If it was reality, he didn’t want to face it.  If it was neither…if it was his life…he didn’t want to imagine it.3

He ascended first to his hands and knees, then to just his knees, then one knee, and finally to his feet.  He leaned back and took a step in just that direction, then one to his right as he corrected himself and gazed around.  He was on the side of the road, yes, that much he knew.  He turned his head about and decided on a destination:  south.  He would head south.  What?  South?  Why south?  What’s south?4

He shook his head slowly, sending droplets of water cascading about.  He didn’t know the answers to his questions, and he didn’t want to think about the issue.  He would head south; maybe then he’d remember something.5

He stuck his hands into his pockets and sharply drew one of them back, staring at it fiercely with a far-away look in his eyes.  A prick on his finger caused a drop of blood to roll down his hand and onto the rain-slicked road below.  A cut?  Why was there a cut?  He placed his hand back inside the pocket and withdrew the cause of his temporary pain:  a razor.  Why do I have a razor?  How…how did it get here…?6

He glanced slowly down at his wrist and immediately grabbed hold of it with his other hand.  It was streaked with blood, though dried and congealed.  He looked to his other wrist for proof of what he was seeing, and found it.  The skin was sliced, rough, jagged marks creating ugly scars though which his blood once ran.  This…can’t be.7

His eyes widened and he grabbed hold his head, falling to the ground and screaming like an animal in deathly pain.  The memories…no, he didn’t want them…not now, he didn’t want them, didn’t need them…not the memories, not the emotions, nothing!8

The pain subsided and he lowered his hands, staring at the ground for a second.  What were these thoughts, these occurrences streaming through his head now?  What was their source?9

 10

He shook his head once again and stood up again slowly.  He glanced at the razor in his hand, then tossed it to the earth below.  He didn’t need it, didn’t want it.  He didn’t feel good having it.11

Harry…12

What the?  What the hell was that?13

Harry, can you hear me…?14

He shook his head, but again heard his name…what was going on?15

“…be noted the patient has not responded…”16

Was he crazy?  He must be, because that voice just came from nowhere—17

“Harry, can you hear me?”18

Harry stared at the man across from him, right through him and at the wall, his signature far-away look still smoldering his eyes.19

“The scars…they were on my wrists…from that razor…”20

“Are you alright Harry?”21

Harry looked right at the questioning man and said simply, “No.”22

“What’s wrong Harry?  How do you feel?  Do you know who I am?”23

“None…none of you ever noticed…my scars…involuntary…”24

Harry continued on, but was no longer comprehensible, his mumbling decreasing in volume to just a whisper and even lower than that.25

 26

“Harry, you don’t have any scars.”27

With sudden ferocity, Harry responded, “My cuts, you never noticed them, because if you had, you’d have known that I didn’t make them, someone else did, that’s right, someone else did…”28

“What’s going on Harry?  What’re you thinking right now?  Are you thinking of two years ago?”29

“The road, the road I woke up next to, how did I get there, ‘cause I can’t remember, I can’t remember any of it, I—“30

The room, the room struck him with such familiarity that he winced from it.  He didn’t want to remember this place, what it held within it…31

His gorgeous wife lay before him, a pool of her precious life surrounding her still head and frame.  Harry placed a hand to his mouth to keep from vomiting, but started toward her.  A movement caught his attention and he was face-to-face with a crowbar to his countenance, a broken nose, a concussion, knocked out…32

“Yo man, what d’we with this guy?  He saw us, he’ll bust us.”33

“We got a razor right?”34

“Yeah.”35

“Slit his wrists and toss him out next to the road.  Let’s ditch his car first, they’ll think he did it and tried killin’ himself.”36

“Alright.”37

“Put that thing in his pocket when you’re done.”38

“Yeah.”39

“Shit!  He woke up man, I told you we shoulda finished him off back at the house!”40

“Shut the hell up!  Cut his wrists anyway and knock his ass out, so them pigs don’t get caught on to us.”41

“Alright.”42

“I…I didn’t do it, I’m innocent dammit!  You have to believe me!”43

“Harry, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do.”44

“Yes there is, there’s gotta be somethin’ you can do, come on doc!  Don’t tell me I’m being irrational or crazy or stupid or whatever, I’m serious man, come on doc, please doc!”45

“Harry…I’m sorry, I already told you…there’s nothing I can do…”46

“It was you!  I, I remember now!  You did it!”47

“Shut up Harry; I don’t know what you’re talking about and neither do you.”48

“Yeah you do old man, Christ, my own ancestor, my own father!”49

The man stared at Harry with ice in his veins but fire in his mind.  He remembered!  That couldn’t be possible!  That was alright though; he was crazy and everyone knew it; he’d never convince anyone otherwise.50

 51

“You know she was never good enough for you right?  You know that, surely you do.  I’m sorry she’s dead and gone, but it’s not like she was improving your life anyway.  Now, come on son, what say me and you take a drive, eh?”52

With sudden speed, the elderly man rushed across the table and stuck a tranquilizer dart right into Harry’s side, nearly knocking him out.  A car door slammed shut and Harry soon found himself in the passenger seat.53

“I’m going to this right this time…you weren’t supposed to remember anything, not one wit of it!”54

He felt himself being dragged outside, and noticed it was raining.  Irony, God, how he hated irony!  His wrists burned and his head felt cold upon the ground, then burst and forcing his fateful memory of his blood upon the car door to be pushed aside, along with so many others…55

Icy drops of a humid rain once again landed upon the oily road, gathering up into blackened rivulets streaming into the splotchy, brown grass along the asphalt.  The soft pitter-patter of nature’s tears stirred him from his deepening sleep and his eyes slid open with a slice of reluctance.  If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.  If it was reality, he didn’t want to face it.  If it was neither…if it was his life…he didn’t want to imagine it…56