Shadowed Soul Page 8

  My fists bunched and flexed, pulsing with rage. I needed to explode and lose myself in my safe inconsequential online world. Seated across from me an elderly man’s rheumy eyes glared in my direction. As the bus continued its pointless passage through the city I ignored his penetrating gaze. I looked away and could still feel his eyes on me, judging me. Perhaps he knew what I had done? Perhaps he was a relative of my ex-boss sent to confirm that I had not hung around to get revenge? I briefly turned my attention to him. Still he stared at me. I wanted the old man to get off the bus, leave me alone, stop judging me. But he remained in his seat staring at me. Sweating, I feared, what if he told the other people on the bus that I was one of those bondo-pervs. My obsession with vulnerable women would not be understood by the people on the bus. If they knew, they would find me guilty of crimes against their own jaundiced ideals; they would think that I was a monster to be beaten down. Reviled, I admitted they would be right; the images hoarded on my hard drive appalled even me. I had no understanding why pleasure was sparked by these images. I understood that it was degrading but understanding does not mean that I was armed with an ability to stop myself form liking it. If this old man, this stick-like inquisitor were to tell the normal-minded passengers who surrounded me then they would devour me like a wolves. Animals understood when something among them was just wrong. Panic sent gnawing tendrils of fear throughout my body; my stomach churned as the windows and walls of the bus closed on me. Cut off from escape, my breath quickened and I looked out desperately at passing buildings as this old man stared in judgment.

  “Get off at the next stop, Thomas!” ordered the Shadowed Soul. “We’ve got to escape this metal trap!” Rivulets of perspiration trickled down my back and my hands flexed open, shut, open, shut. And still he continued his scrutiny of my soul. “They’ll find us and you’ll have to pay, Thomas.”

  The next stop approached. I began to recognize my immediate surroundings. If I get off at the next stop then it would be a 45 min walk until I was safe in my empty apartment.

  "They know who you are and they know where you live," whispered the Shadowed Soul insidiously drilling my subconscious.

  Even in that moment, a node of sanity remained and I knew that this simply could not be true. Yet I still allowed my menacing sidekick to inject fear into me. If I got out of this tin can at the next stop then I would be open to the streets and to the elements and to the unwarranted attention of people around me. If they came for me then my demise would be my proof that the Shadowed Soul had been right all along.

  “That would be for the best for Beth and Junior,” assured my nemesis. He was right. Beth could find someone who could actually care for her and the baby. Yes, Beth would grieve, because she was healthy and able to love. But Jonathan was too young to miss me. Beth could move on and find happiness with a normal guy. Perhaps that was the best thing I could offer them, as a husband and father? Perhaps allowing myself to disintegrate was the solution that would allow everyone to find happiness? My death might be painful, I understood that, but the physical pain that would come from being beaten to death would be kinder than burdening my wife and child with a lifetime of me.

  “I like it, Thomas! Freed by a bus load of zealots into a painless eternity,” exclaimed the Shadowed Soul. “That’s your epitaph right there! Looks like you got that masters degree of yours for nothing.”

  I did not want to die. Not then. Despite my misery, I did not want to be torn from all hope. To willingly enter into a situation that would erase my body and mind from existence was not what I wanted. Part of me hoped I would grow fortitude to utterly destroy the chattering maniac who traced my emotions with a branding iron. I was not a coward. Was I? I did not care if the judgmental old coot seated across from me knew everything about me. Who the fuck was he to judge? I had never seen his stupid face before so why the hell was he staring at me? What was wrong with him? Did he think that he was so pure that he had nothing to be ashamed of?

  “Bullshit!” I muttered. “This is all just such total bullshit.” No one is completely blameless in life no matter how hard they try to remain pure. Human beings were built to try and fail as often as they were made to succeed. This old man, whoever he was, could think whatever the fuck he wanted about me, I was not going to be intimidated off this damned bus. And if he did not stop staring at me, I would punch him out. I whipped my head in his direction my face twisted by a scowl. How dare he judge me? How dare he try to frighten me into a trap?

  The old man still faced in my direction but he had fallen asleep. Relaxed in slumber, his hooded eyes were motionless. I laughed. I wondered what he was dreaming. This little spark of mundane reality was enough to give my rational mind the impetus it needed to step up to the plate. With that, it was clear that this tired, old gentleman had not been staring at me at all. Hosed embers, my paranoia dissipated, as the Shadowed Soul giggled malevolently.

  “You’re so easy to manipulate,” he whispered, delighted. “Your paranoia is like a drug to me, Thomas.”

  “Why would anybody except my wife and employer give a crap about my addiction to pornography?” I murmured to myself. It was an addiction I did alone. It sullied no one but me. I liked to see the women helpless, gagged and uncomfortable, but the thought that they may be in any serious and lasting pain repelled me. I was instantly turned off from images of blatant torture. I still had boundaries. Perhaps my limitations were my savior. A ray of light to guide away from the darkest depths was something I could follow and perhaps it would lead to my escape from the shadows.

  In my state of fractured chaos, I stepped off the bus into a slate grey afternoon, relishing momentary relief from my paranoid fugue. Biting cold informed, I still inhabited this world. As each step drew me closer to my apartment I anticipated the images of rough hemp rope wrapped mercilessly around pleading dungeon flesh. Desire deep within my loins nauseated me. In contrast to reality: I had just lost my job. An inconvenient fact I fanned away; I would soon run out of savings. All that mattered to me in that instant was getting back to my computer and the world of lurid images.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Three weeks of unopened mail spewed into the hall as I unlocked my door. Soon, I would have to pay bills. Christmas cards could wait. Some of these envelopes might have contained important news but I had no interest whatsoever in communicating with anyone. My email too would remain unopened. I was sure this unhealthy version of me would never leave. I kicked the letters aside and closed the door. Under normal circumstances my apartment, our apartment, would be clean or at least orderly. I was not a slob, typically, but my marriage to Beth had polished my rough edges. Alone with the Shadowed Soul, the apartment grew worse each day. Dirty laundry lay strewn across the floor. The kitchen was a lollapalooza of dirty dishes and food-stained counters. December cold abated the smell of grime. I reasoned that I could wait another few days before I tackled the arduous job of cleaning up. My physical environment mirrored my psychological decay. Over the years as the Shadowed Soul fell in and out of power, I had completed no housework for months. Eager for a coffee to warm me up, I selected one of the less filthy mugs from the sink. To wash it was too much effort. My harem of pixilated captives awaited me. I longed to immerse myself in the brutal predictability of their desolate world.

  I hated myself; I had relinquished pornography at nineteen. Although it had provided impetus to break free from my mother, I had again fallen prey to the grotesque parade of images on the Internet. My predilection for bondage stymied me as it had never featured in any of my fantasies before. Now my online activity was comprised of nothing else: Women stripped of their claws and dignity, bound by intricate lattices, the antithesis of my mother. By the time I met Beth I had been away from that scene for long enough. I believed my escape had been final, but now, here I was again, wrapped in a straitjacket of desire and guilt. What I hated most was that I had purchased a sturdy length of rope from a hardware store over the weekend, along with a roll of silver packing tape. The i
ntended use was to serve as a mere physical reminder of the BDSM tools I had seen on the internet. I felt twisted comfort knowing these items were in my apartment. Sitting at the computer, I caressed the rough hemp. Imagining Beth bound and helpless and in my power caused me to weep. In my conflict I prayed that one glorious morning I would awake to find myself abandoned of the Shadowed Soul, and these items would be ejected on trash day. Meanwhile, the self-loathing that consumed me was the Shadowed Soul himself.

  My computer rattled to life slowly. I had downloaded so many pictures and not run the usual cleanup procedures. Vaguely promising myself to defragment the hard drive, I compulsively surfed the Internet seeking out new images. Now that I had no work the rest of my week, perhaps my life, would be rooted in cybersex.

  Distracted by BDSM photos, I ignored the buzz and hiss of the intercom. My face crumpled in agitation. It could be block kids or drug dealers trying to get in after a tenant’s unpaid deal. I ignored it and waited patiently for my world to open, but the buzzer sounded again.

  “Fuck off!” I yelled and stared resolutely at my computer screen. The buzzer squawked again. I stomped to the intercom, my finger angrily jabbing at the reply button.

  "Who the fuck is it?" There was a heavy pause. Eventually I recognized the sweet voice.

  "Thomas, it's me,” said Beth. “Are you okay?" I stared at the intercom, heart pounding, soul dancing. She had come all this way to see me. Perhaps she still wanted me to be part of her life? Otherwise, why would she have come? "Thomas, are you there?" I wanted to say yes, I wanted to invite her to come home to our apartment. But the place was trashed. I was trashed. The sour smell of failure and loneliness polluted the air in every room of what had once been our home. "Thomas, can you hear me?" I closed my eyes and sighed as my finger hovered over the reply button.

  "Hi, Beth, it's not really a good time at the moment," I whispered hoarsely from the pit of my maladjusted heart.

  "Thomas, please, let me in. Please, we need to talk," begged Beth.

  She was right of course. We needed to salvage our marriage from the abyss. I laid my head against the cool wall and pressed the release button on the void of my hollow existence.

  As I stood at the door I heard Beth’s footsteps approach deliberately accompanied by the comforting patter of our dog. Bailey’s presence meant our son had remained with Dorothy and Pete, as Beth found it difficult to navigate with both dog and baby carriage. I opened the door so that she did not have to wait and my heart fractured as I she entered the apartment. Though her eyesight saved me having to tidy, Beth and Bailey smelled my decay.

  We exchanged pleasantries, words that would not be out of place between two strangers, and then she made her way with sure footed grace into the living room, as I quickly swept laundry aside. As she sat I could do nothing but wonder what could be said today, what could be said ever again that would right the wrongs. I could not think of one thing.

  "Can I get you a coffee?" I asked, pacing. Beth shook her head and smiled at me. Her expression showed no happiness; it was merely her own version of my own attempt at communication. It has never ceased to amaze me how often circumstance can change two loving people into complete strangers. I had become a stranger to Beth; she knew that I periodically had fallen victim to the Shadowed Soul but she had never seen me fall so far. I could not remember being so trapped; in the past I had always found an escape hatch, some clever way to extricate myself from his clutches. But this time I felt totally buried.

  "Please, sit down, Thomas. You're making me nervous," said Beth, with sad consternation. I sat. A woman betrayed, Beth and our son had essentially been abandoned by me for almost a month. Before that I had been less than a father and husband, less than a man. I had been a petulant idiot and I knew that she did not, could not truly understand what had happened to the man she loved. There was a pause, heavy with the promise of conversation but resistant to increase intimacy.

  “How have you been?" asked Beth, and all I could do was lie.

  "Busy, work has been so incredibly busy. Being so close to Christmas I’ve not really had the time I’d like to come and see you both." I paused and licked my lips. "How have you both been?"

  "Thomas, you deserve much more than me telling you I have been busy. You deserve the truth and the truth is I have been terrified that I’ve completely lost you." Beth paused for a moment expecting me to speak but it became apparent that sullen silence was my reply. "Thomas, you haven't been to see us in such a long time and I miss you. We miss you. I know that this transition has been difficult for us both but especially for you and I don't want you to feel that you're alone. I don't want you to feel isolated from those who love you because the truth is, Thomas, you're always in my heart and thoughts. I love you so much. I miss you with all of my being. And I hate the fact that I haven't seen you."

  "I know, Beth, I know you do and I miss you, too. But don't you think it’s better this way?" I asked.

  "Why would you think that? Thomas, of course it's not better. It's horrible. You have a son you’ve barely seen since he was born and he needs you. Thomas, I need you." Beth’s tears spilled but she did not flinch.

  My absence had of course hurt her and as she sat in front of me I knew that my self-appointed exile from her life was nonsense. The Shadowed Soul was responsible and of course because he was an integral part of my being, I, too, was responsible for this insanity. But I simply wanted to tell her that everything was going to be all right. That was what I wanted more than anything to be able to say, to affirm in her heart, I was going to be a good husband and a good father. But no words came out of my mouth.

  "Say something," demanded Beth, broken.

  "I've been busy supporting us," muttered the Shadowed Soul resentfully.

  "Right, okay, I understand," whispered Beth patiently.

  Silence shrouded our love. There was so much I wanted to tell her, but like the women in those pictures, my real emotions were hidden away and the voice that I should have had was muffled by the gag of my self-neglect.

  "I need to use the bathroom," said Beth quietly, sighing.

  As she left the room I turned my attention to Bailey. I held my hand out and he looked at me reproachfully before he stood up and padded over to me, his cold nose poking the back of my hand.

  "What are you doing, Tom?” His demeanor seemed to say. "You could have come with us. You could have fixed everything and then we could have been together. I miss you, Tom, I miss our walks. I miss playing with you."

  "I miss you too, Bailey," I mumbled in a faraway voice.

  Bailey placed his head on my lap and I stroked the silky fur along his broad head. And as my hand felt the sensation, the warmth and softness of this wonderful dog, I feared I was losing everything. Bailey was the only creature in this world that had simple expectations of me. He knew when I needed him. When I was sad and vulnerable or alone, he responded. Beth, loving as she was, still expected me to be able to act as though everything was fine in the world when it simply was not.

  I petted Bailey till Beth returned, then he moved over to her side. I did not see this as a betrayal. I just saw it as the truth. Bailey’s love was not selfish, it was not reserved for one person and that was fine. I wished all people in my circle had been blessed with the same outlook, but they were not, none of us were.

  Beth pulled on her coat and slipped the leash around Bailey’s neck. There was nothing more to say and there was nothing more she wanted to hear. She looked at me for an uncomfortably long time before she spoke.

  “Thomas, I need you to pull yourself out of this. I know that it’s easier said than done and I understand how hard it is for you, but I need you to be strong again. Can you do that?”

  “I can try,” I mumbled.

  “Please, do that, baby,” Beth spoke with the authority of a loving mother.

  She leaned in and kissed the corner of my mouth and I felt a little shard of light break through the sludge in my soul. Before she closed the door be
tween us, she stopped and nodded a little as though responding to an unspoken question.

  “Will you come by on Christmas Eve? I want you to be there for our first Christmas with Jonathan. Mom and dad want you there, too.”

  “Okay,” I said without really considering what I was agreeing to.

  “When do you go back to work after the break?” she asked.

  “The 27, I go back on the 27,” I lied.

  “Maybe you can stay until then? That would be nice.” She kissed me once more, this time on my lips, then pulled the door closed behind her and Bailey. As I bolted the door, I turned to face the dark apartment and saw only a pack of bound women who awaited me. I began to cry.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  To clinically depressed people like me, feeling condemned to a life of screaming loneliness, Christmas was perhaps the most painful time of the year. The gaping chasm in which I slumped had been the home I shared with my beloved wife and dog. Watching television gave me no joy; the programming seemed to consist of festive specials and glittering propaganda about the most wonderful time of the year. Even the few Christmases I had spent surrounded by Beth's love had been far from easy. I had suffered too many bleak Christmases in my childhood to ever fully embrace this day as special. Beth, however, adored Christmas; she was like a giddy child in the weeks leading up to the big day. She would spend hours making sure that everyone she knew was given a gift that was unique to the personality of the individual.

  My empty apartment seemed emptier without a Christmas tree. I had refused to give up time away from the computer to decorate something dying in the corner. What was the point? Honestly, if I had managed to tear myself away from my computer sooner, then I would have been able to dress up the apartment. But the very idea of having Christmas decorations without Beth and Bailey was absurd. So, I sat in my apartment as my obsessions cycled a figure eight and I stared blindly at the television screen. Desperately, I fought off the increasing urge to log back on to the computer. A conversations I had had with wise old death had helped me understand that by ogling I was betraying these women. These bound and gagged sluts were not real, not in the way that I looked at them, anyway. I could not bear to think of them as being someone's daughter or sister because that would have magnified the depth of my depravity. So, it was easier to think of them as mindless objects, desirable shapes at anyone’s disposal. The fantasy itself was a conundrum to me. I honestly did not think of myself as cheating on my wife as she was real, someone that I could embrace and cherish forever. I would never, ever consider wrapping rope around Beth’s wrists. The idea of Beth being bound and silenced sickened me. So my frequent sessions online were not connected to my wife. But having seen her in our apartment today had made me want her back. I knew I could never find anything to compensate for my loss.