Over the course of the afternoon, they all made their way up, each one offering up their own version of condolences: I’m so sorry for your loss, he’s in a better place, no more suffering. Were they true though? Was he really in a better place? Was the suffering really over? Maybe for his father, but the rest of the family had to learn to cope, learn to live on. Had it been selfish? Maybe, but what could they do about it? He had made his choice and there wasn’t much they could do unless they wanted to pick up a gun and join him. No one here had that kind of courage. His conviction was almost admirable.
Almost.
But the fact of the matter was that he had still chosen to take the easy way out instead of addressing his problems. Not that anyone had known what those problems were. Even as they saw his anger rising and asked what was wrong, he refused to talk about it. Until one day he turned a gun on himself.
The coward.
At the end of the day, it was just Chuck and his mom and the closed casket left in the funeral home.
“I still can’t believe it,” she said as they looked at the closed box. “I keep expecting him to tap me on the shoulder, surprise me. Find out this was all some sort of practical joke.”
“Dad wasn’t exactly known for his sense of humour.” Chuck shuffled back and forth on his feet, checked his watch. Mary had left two hours ago, the baby nestled inside her making her queasy and giving her back pains, and he was eager to get back and check on them. He wanted to be here for his mom, but he didn’t feel like hanging around an empty funeral home reminiscing about a man who had emotionally cut him out.
“Still, I keep searching for a meaning, a purpose, a reason why he did what he did. That’s the hardest part, not knowing why.” But would they ever know why? Even if he had left a note, they wouldn’t know what had been buried in his heart at the moment he decided to pull the trigger. “Do you want to talk about it? Anything you want to say? You’ve been pretty quiet all day.”
What could he say, and what would be the point in saying it? In a couple of days he would be expected to move on, things would go back to normal. Life would go on. Time to get on with it.
“No, I’m fine.”
“He left something for you,” She started rubbing his back, but he pulled away. “I’ve got it out in the car.”
Chuck walked into his apartment and placed the box on the kitchen table. Mary came out of the bedroom carrying her pregnant stomach along with her. “How was the rest of the service?”
“Fine, about as good as it could be, all things considered. He left me this,” he tapped the box.
“What’s in it?”
“Haven’t opened it yet.”
“You want me here when you do?”
He looked her over, the small winces of pain as she stood carrying the extra weight. His only concern was the health and safety of her and their baby. “How are you feeling?”
“Better, the baby has calmed down, but I’m still exhausted.”
“You get some rest; I’m going to sit with this for a bit. I’ll be all right, just busy today and could use some time alone.”
With his wife in bed, he poured himself a healthy glass of cranberry juice and sat on the couch with the box on the table in front of him. There was nothing special about it, just a plain cardboard box sealed with tape, and an envelope taped on top. He tore it open and read the letter.
He had expected the letter to be a confessional, an explanation of why he did what he did. A personal letter to him that he didn’t leave for anyone else. An apology for leaving but he had felt it necessary. Some sort of glimpse inside his mind to give him peace with the act. Instead, it had been a three-page diatribe on hunting and family history. How their early ancestors had built a small empire trading furs and meat, all the way up to the modern era and how he and his father had bonded while going out on hunting trips for the weekend. It was great reading about how rewarding those weekends had been for the two of them. How much closer it brought him to his own father. And then the detail about the gift he left behind.
Chuck downed his juice and pulled out a knife and cut open the box. He pulled out the packing paper and set it aside. Curled up in a tight circle growing ever smaller and smaller was a belt. The letter had said it was made of wolfskin, the first animal that his father and grandfather had killed on that first hunting trip. His grandfather had part of the wolf’s hide fashioned into this belt as a keepsake memory. And now it was his.
He took off his own belt and strung the new one through the loops in his pants, felt the leather between his fingers. This was his gift, a memory that wasn’t his. He got up to freshen his drink but wanted something stronger. He poured a glass of whisky, took it down, and topped it up before sitting back down. There was something else in the box, a small snub-nosed pistol, with a note underneath it that said, “Just In Case.” He slugged back the whisky and clutched the glass. “What the fuck.” He threw the glass across the room and it shattered against the wall.
The sound of glass breaking rang in his ears. What had that been about? Where had that come from? He waited a few moments in the still night to make sure his wife didn’t wake up. Then he grabbed a broom from the closet and cleaned up his mess.
Chuck went to go see his mother the next day to see how she was doing. He had been doing this daily for the past week and they had developed a routine; he’d show up and they’d catch up on mundane things, talking around the obvious, while she made lunch for them. He would clean up, they’d hug, and he would leave. He walked in and they began their dance. She already had a pot of soup on the stove and began pulling down dishes. The clang of cutlery and clatter of bowls echoed in Chuck’s head, setting his teeth on edge.
“How’s Mary and the baby?” she asked.
“They’re doing all right, it could be any day now.” The sound of the ladle scraping against the pot was almost unbearable, “How have you been?”
“It doesn’t feel real, like I’m walking through a dream, or a nightmare. I keep thinking I’m going to turn a corner and he’ll be there.” She set the bowls of soup down. “I don’t know, I feel lost and don’t know what to do with myself. A ghost of myself wandering around the house aimlessly.”
This woe-is-me attitude was starting to irritate him. What, did she think she was the only person who lost someone? That, with the incessant tapping of her spoon against the bowl, and the slurping noise of the soup with every sip, was sending his blood pressure spiking. He wanted to rip the spoon from her hand and throw it and the bowl against the wall.
“What about you?”
Slurp
Clink
“How have you been doing?”
Slurp
Clink
“I mean, you just lost your father.”
Slurp
Clink
“And haven’t said much about it.”
Slurp
“Jesus Christ can you stop that!” He yelled.
She dropped her spoon into the bowl with a clatter that drowned everything else out. Red clouded his vision. He could imagine himself slamming his fists into her body again, and again, and again until her blood would pool on the floor.
“Chuck, are you okay?”
He shook his head, scattering the vision. “Sorry, I… I just… I think I’m going to go, take a walk or something.”
She reached across the table and touched his arm. Her hand felt like fire against his skin, but he stopped himself from jerking away. He could see that she was wearing his fathers silver wedding band. “You need to talk about this, about what you’re experiencing and feeling. I’m here to listen, even if you just want to bitch about what an asshole your father was, because I know he could be difficult at times.”
“Just forget about it.”
At the door he turned back to her. “Did dad have any special attachment to a wolf skin belt, or a gun? It’s what was in the box last night.”
“Wolf skin? No, he never mentioned anything like that. And your father hated guns, thought them weak. He always hunted with a bow.”
Weak? So, what did his father think of him if he was gifting him a gun at his death?
There was an incessant leak in her kitchen sink that he just noticed and was already irritating him, echoing off the inside metal basin and filling his ears.
What did he know about weakness?
Drip
Ping
If he were alive and here…
Drip
Ping
…he’d show him who’s weak.
Drip
Ping
Take one of his arrows and stab it through his eye.
He shook his head of the vision. “I’ve got to go.”
The downtown core always gave him some peace. Regardless of how busy it was, the bustle of shoppers and tourists, he was able to be ignored and left to his own thoughts. Everyone too busy with their own lives to worry about what he was doing.
And what was he doing? Like his mother, he felt lost now, unsure what to do. His life had been thrown asunder, and now it was all supposed to go back to normal? He could feel an anger inside him and looking for any excuse to let it out.
Time and again on the sidewalk people would bump into him, shove his shoulder. No one seeming to pay attention to him, to anyone but themselves. Their voices once a calming white noise that helped him think, now seemed to grow in volume in Chuck’s head. He wanted to push back, lash out, yell at everyone to shut up. He wanted to attack the next person who bumped into him. Pull them into the back alley, repeatedly throw them into the brick wall until bones would crack and break the skin. Throw them to the ground and slam his foot into their chest again and again until he could feel bone and flesh give way. His heart was pounding at the thrill and desire of the thought.
Then it happened, a man bumped his shoulder. Chuck almost smiled at the opportunity as he grabbed the guy by the collar of his shirt. It was soft, felt expensive, which enraged him even more. “Is there a problem here? You have a problem with me?” He could feel that familiar rage building up, the red filling his vision.
“No, I..” the man stumbled. “Sorry, it was an accident.”
What was happening? This wasn’t him. He took his hands off the man and walked away without saying anything. He wasn’t an angry person. It was something new inside him that he couldn’t seem to quiet. Growing more fierce and harder to ignore.
The whole purpose of going downtown was to stop by the office and grab some work. They had told him he could take as much time as he needed, which really meant about three days. He wanted to grab some files so he could do some work at home, prevent the inevitable mountain that would be waiting for him when he got back. The office was relatively empty, and he managed to avoid most people and the awkward questions and condolences. Walking through the halls he noticed a distinct smell for the first time. Stale air-conditioning mixed with body odour, like a thick cloud pushing its way into his nostrils, almost to the point of making him gag. Had it always been this bad, he wondered. How could they stand to work in such an environment? And all the noise. Every moment was filled with a telephone ringing, someone talking too loud, paper being shredded, file cabinets slamming closed.
He grabbed the files from his cubicle and was about to make his exit when he ran into Todd, the office annoyance. Just the look of his face inspired fantasies of smashing him with a brick to break his teeth.
“Hey buddy, I heard about your old man. How you holding up?”
His voice oozed false sympathy, and his eyes smiled while the rest of him looked grim. Chuck held his hands down, thumbing his belt, to keep from striking him. But how good would it feel to pop his eyes out and squish them under his shoe? “Thanks Todd. It has been tough, obviously, but we’re managing. Just wanted to grab a couple things, if you’ll excuse me.”
Todd moved in step, like he was actively trying to prevent Chuck from leaving.
“It just must be so difficult, with a baby on the way, knowing that your child won’t ever get to meet their lovable grandpa.”
“Yeah, that’s a good one to remember,” Chuck said.
“And so close to the holidays. I bet you’ll really feel it then, his absence. Like there’s a hole in the family, both figuratively and literally.”
“Seriously Todd, not something I want to hash out right now. If you’ll excuse me,” and still Todd seemed to pivot, blocking his path. Those visions of red were creeping in, wondering how loud of a crack his bones would make as they broke. If he were to sink his teeth into his shoulder and pull, how much could he tear away?
“And I heard he committed suicide, is that true?” Todd reached out and put his hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “How was that?”
His hand was the breaking point. Chuck’s pulse spiked; the red flooded his vision as he lashed out. “Ahhrrggh!” He let out an animalistic yell as he swung his arm around and caught him on the chin, knocking him to the ground. Chuck jumped on top of him and continued to hit him in the face until blood spurt out of his nose. It felt good, and he didn’t want to stop; the sight of blood spurred him on. It wasn’t until Todd’s arms went limp that the reverie broke and he pulled himself away.
He got home late that night, his wife worried and sick.
“Where have you been?” she asked. “It’s almost ten.”
“Out, walking. Just needed to be alone, try and sort things out.” What he didn’t tell her was what he had been trying to sort out. He had spent hours walking on his own trying to quiet his mind. The incident with Todd had given him mixed feelings. He had been horrified at what he had done, but also it had felt good. The release had felt sublime; he’d felt strong, powerful, unstoppable. But it also frightened him. Where was this coming from? He felt agitated and on edge all the time, ready to lash out at the slightest inconvenience. It was getting harder to control with each incident, and that frightened him. Todd was a prick, but what if the next person was someone close to him? And what if he lost control and killed?
“You couldn’t call, leave a message? I called your mother and she said you left hours ago. How long should I have waited until I called the Police?”
“Christ! I just wanted some time to myself” he could feel it building again, what he’d spent all day trying to tamp down. “And I have to come home to an interrogation.”
They stood there in silence for a moment. A space between them growing wider until it was a chasm. She closed it with a touch as she reached out and cupped his cheek.
“I know you’re hurting, and I’m sorry. I just get worried when I don’t hear from you. Take what time you need, do what you have to do, just check in once in a while.”
Her touch was cooling and felt it wave through him and ease his soul. “Okay, I can do that. It is tough to sort through, but I don’t want to do it alone. I won’t shut you out.”
She kissed him. “Thank you. Now I’m going to get some sleep, there are some leftovers in the fridge.”
Realizing he hadn’t eaten all day he was starving. He opened the fridge and pulled out the leftover chili. Not wanting to wait and heat it up, he plunged a spoon in and began eating it cold. It didn’t satisfy, tasted like a bland pulpy mess in his mouth and he spit it back into the container.
He stood in front of the fridge looking for something that would satisfy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been this hungry. He opened a container of soup and gulped a few mouthfuls before spitting it out. It ran down the front of his shirt as it fell to the floor. He bit into an apple and it tasted like ash. He cracked a raw egg into his mouth, and it made him gag. He ate half a pack of hot dogs that he was able to keep down but did nothing to satiate his hunger.
Then he smelt it on the air, something both sweet and savory, that made his mouth water. He scoured the fridge trying to find the source, but it wasn’t there. It wasn’t there in the kitchen with him. He grabbed a knife and followed the scent down the hall towards the bedroom.
He stood in the doorway to the bedroom. His wife was already asleep, he could hear her soft breathing, and smell the blood coursing through her veins. The hunger was growing inside him, and he could feel it being satiated by the supple flesh and warm blood of her body. He took a couple steps towards the bed, saliva dribbled off his chin and fell on the carpet. A couple more steps, he raised the knife up. He stood over her, he could hear her heartbeat pounding in his ears. All he had to do now was bring the knife down into her chest and consume.
The phone rang, breaking him out of the reverie. He ran to pick it up before Mary woke.
“Hey Chuck, did you think you’d be hearing from me so soon?” It was Todd. “I thought about calling the police once I gained consciousness, but this situation suits me better. I know you’re in line for that promotion, so I want you to pass on it and recommend me for it. As long as I get it what happened today will stay buried. Capeesh?”
He sounded like a bad actor in a bad TV mob movie. Chuck looked at the knife still clutched in his hand, horrified at what he had been about to do with it. He was out of control, couldn’t stop himself. The next time he might kill someone.
“I’ll take your silence as an understanding. And I think every Friday I’ll want a grande half-fat latte with a pump of caramel, whip cream, and chocolate sprinkles. Oh, we’re going to have such fun.” Click.
He hung up the receiver, sat down on the couch, focused on controlling his breathing and slowing down his heart. What was happening, what was he doing? These outbursts were getting him in trouble, and there was no telling where they might lead him. Light of the full moon steamed in from the window, a calm washed over him, and everything clicked. He opened the box his father had left for him, pulled out the gun and the note that said, Just In Case.