Shadowed Soul Page 9

  “As pointless as Christmas is…” murmured the Shadowed Soul. “…it’s great hanging out with you alone, Thomas.”

  This belligerent attitude had somehow fortified me for the last three or four hours. While I stared at the blinking lights of the television screen, I had not craved the millions of vile images online. The contents of one blinking screen felt interchangeable with another bright void. Like something in my brain craved the light, irrespective of what image it flowed through. But as the evening dragged into a never-ending night alone, my indifference faded to resolve which disintegrated into lonely desire. I wanted peace. And yet the fates conspired to bind me in constant agita.

  Beth had taken Bailey and left me to wallow in agony. How could she do that if she cared?

  “In fact, Thomas,” said the Shadowed Soul, “…it’s exactly the kind of thing that cold-hearted bitch would do.” Maybe my love for Beth had been misplaced? Why would she take the first opportunity to rob a damaged man of his only hope?

  “Get off me, you parasite,” I shouted at the Shadowed Soul. “I should be preparing myself for a decent family Christmas.”

  “She only invited you to Christmas because she felt she had to,” nagged the bitter demon trying to consume me in hatred begotten of fear.

  Wounds riddled my soul. A very small part of me understood that these hateful thoughts spewed forth from my condition and had no bearing on reality. But they were always convincing. I loved Beth with all my heart and a remote, logical part of me knew she loved me too. But that heartless, grinning bastard loved to torture me. I was his sport. By God he was an Olympiad an unraveling me. I glanced at my laptop and closed my eyes. I would not let him win, not tonight. I walked through to the empty bedroom and opened the large closet. Some of Beth’s clothes still hung here, dresses and blouses obsolete since pregnancy. Their very presence amplified my loneliness. But I was on a mission and would not be diverted by the Shadowed Soul. I removed clothes from the closet and laid them gently on the bed. Way at the back of the closet, I spotted the artificial Christmas tree we had bought our first Christmas together. I dragged it out, and rummaged around till I found the box of decorations.

  Each decoration I placed on the small tree reminded me that I alone would see my creation. The tree held special memories for me, in fact, everything of Beth's held the same strong emotional vibe and that itself made me sadder. However, I had to decorate that tree, not for Beth, and not for me, but out of respect for the stable life I wanted to ambush and seduce into staying with me. As I wrapped tinsel around the tree hot tears stung my eyes. I persisted. Through blinding tears I felt disassociated from myself as I festooned the apartment with shimmering decorations. Two hours later I finished. Gazing in astonishment at the magic I alone had created, I recalled last Christmas Eve and bittersweet memories of Beth’s embrace.

  When I was well Beth and I had a spectacular love life. We were both passionate, giving lovers. This had always surprised and delighted me because I had never been able to fully trust or let myself go with another woman to the extent I could naturally with Beth. Last year on Christmas Eve we had made love next to the tree, for hours our bodies intertwined and our souls had become one. When I was with Beth I felt like a whole person, someone with a definite place and function on this planet. She had given me the gift of self-respect and I had given her my ramshackle heart and soul. Sitting here remembering the warmth and passion that had once inhabited this room gave me a sense of purpose. I recalled with a smile that our love making had been reflected in the baubles that dangled from the tree. The naked women that I looked at every night on the internet were nothing more than cyber fantasies, millions of pixels clustered to give the impression of a living human being; that was not enough for me, that would never be enough for me. I wanted Beth’s hand in mine. In a moment of rare clarity I understood that only I could affect a change. Like Beth had begged of me, I needed to pull myself together and I knew that it would be difficult, but I could not allow Beth, my beautiful soul mate, to drift away from me. My life was worthless without her and all I could do was fight against the demon that gnawed the marrow of my being. Once I had been victorious I could take Beth and my son in my arms and be Thomas again; I would banish this deformity I had become. Twenty-one days, my pathetic boss had blathered on, twenty-one days to make or break a habit. Maybe he was not completely stupid.

  I could not afford to allow myself the luxury of consistent misery any longer. I could not simply embrace my condition with the frail acceptance I usually had. I had been younger in those days and there had been no one else to consider, so the Shadowed Soul was able to hurt me all he wanted and I could just cave in. That was my life lesson and that lesson had remained because I had allowed it to remain. Now though, I had a wife and a son and a best friend called Bailey and they all needed me to be strong and brave and true. So, if not for myself, then for the souls that I truly loved I had to be a better person and I would be. The pile of mail was my first target in this Sisyphean effort. Christmas cards I placed around the apartment assured me that this was our home. Even though Beth was living temporarily at her parents’ she and I were still together. Addressed to us both, the cards were my proof.

  By three in the morning I had finished cleaning up the apartment. My initial euphoria had stayed with me, fortifying my resolve and reinforcing my sense of purpose. I sat down and let the wave of happiness and warmth drift across me, massaging my spirit and soul and giving me the much needed gift of hope.

  I would not sleep, that was impossible when I was like this. So, I decided I would be even more productive. I was stronger than any imagined compulsion and I could use my laptop to start searching for a new job. I could continue to care for my family and provide them a safe and secure home. I flipped open the lid and began to type. Things were going to be good, they had to be good.

  After an eternity on Indeed.com and Monster.com, by dawn, a cold sense of disappointment and hopelessness overtook my fatigue. No employer was going to hire a guy afflicted with depression. And even though by law my previous employer would not be able to state why I was fired, the fact of having been let go would further marginalize my candidacy with a prospective employer. It meant that most of the jobs for which I was eligible were going to be hard for me to get, and the other, less qualified roles would be over-subscribed and under-paid. It was imperative I find a job. Unemployment meant doom for all that I cherished. Beth would lose respect for me if she found out. I loved her and I knew that she loved me but she was only human and her patience was not infinite.

  Reaching for a hopeful thread, I recalled our first Christmas together.

  “Stop being such a Scrooge,” said Beth laughing as she saw me pull a face at the Christmas decorations she had used to turn our apartment into a fantasy grotto.

  “I’m not being a Scrooge,” I replied with mock outrage. “I just hate Christmas.”

  “How can you hate Christmas?” Beth sighed with exasperation. “It’s the best time of the year.”

  “It’s a time when we all spend far too much money on people that we hardly ever see and then when it’s over we wonder why we went to all the trouble.” I lectured while she kissed me to try to shut me the hell up. “The thing is though, Christmas is so alluring that by the time it comes around again we all fall into the same trap.”

  “Scrooge!” howled Beth, pulling me onto the couch, pealing laughter as she kissed me again and again.

  Beth was not much of a drinker, neither of us was. But she indulged a little in her home-made Christmas eggnog. While its viscosity nauseated me, Beth got tipsy. Her sudden clumsiness and silly gibbering were endearing. Beth was beautiful, there was no doubt but seeing her drunk added a new kind of cuteness to her that was irresistible. It was true, I detested Christmas but I wanted our first one together to be wonderful. Already, it was better than my previous Christmases combined, with the exception of those pre-dating my dad’s disappearance. I recalled him as a giant bear of a man ful
l of endless laughter; when he left the joy evaporated. In contrast, my mother, never one to be comfortable expressing more than tight repression, had seemingly been illuminated in joy by my father. After he bolted she found flaws in all that came on her radar. After my father had gone, we would go through the motions on Christmas, and while I had never been without gifts, my mother had reminded me how much they cost on such a regular basis that I had seldom felt comfortable playing with them anyway.

  This was the first Christmas Eve in which the splinters of my ingrained resentment were gradually plucked out. In truth, I was delighted to play up to Beth’s amusement.

  “I know what will cheer you up, Mr. Grinch,” said Beth giggling, and got up from straddling me on the couch. My heart had lurched as she stumbled a little bit but before I could reach out and help her she laughed and dashed off to the kitchen.

  “What’re you doing, Beth?”

  “It’s a surprise, Mr. Grinch. Wait there! Won’t be long!”

  Bemused, I mellowed out as the tree lights danced and twinkled in a way that was oddly mesmerizing. My heart felt something resembling a holiday spirit that night and I smiled. How had I managed to find someone as loving and fun as Beth? With her, I felt able to conquer anything in life.

  My reverie was broken by the familiar sound of Bailey padding through from the kitchen to the living room. The sight of him caused me to laugh uproariously. He wore a pair of felt antlers with shimmery tinsel streamers. His tail wagged furiously and on his wise face his expression had seemed to say, “Hey, man, I think I look stupid, too, but what Beth wants she gets.” I reached over and Bailey entered my embrace in relief.

  “Do you like your surprise?” Beth called out from the kitchen.

  “Yeah, Bailey looks gorgeous,” I said and Bailey looked at me with disbelieving eyes. “It’s only for a little while, buddy.” I assured Bailey who replied with an affectionate lick to my nose.

  “There’s more,” purred Beth from the doorway and I raised my head. She stood there wearing nothing but strands of glimmering tinsel and a pair of antlers. “So, Mr. Grinch, still hate Christmas?”

  Unable to speak, I shook my head. This seemed the reaction she wanted. As she slowly approached me, I gently pushed Bailey to one side and stood up to meet her. Our lips met and the warmth and delicacy of the kiss was magical. My body responded passionately as I removed the silvery threads from the woman I loved. Beth and I made love for hours, bathed in the glow of the Christmas lights.

  As my reverie faded, I opened my eyes to the Christmas tree in my empty apartment and glanced around. The vacant doorway and stark morning light felt cold and menacing, despite my decorations, cards and cleaning.

  “She knows you’re suffering without her, Thomas, and she’s diggin’ it,” taunted the Shadowed Soul. “That bitch knows she’s got you by the balls.”

  A torrent of fury surged through me and I kicked over the tree and ripped the decorations from the wall. By the time I regained control, the apartment looked like a cyclone had hit. I sank to my knees and wept surrounded by the debris comprised of a once upon a time that had promised to bring only happiness. Exhausted at last from my hypo-manic night, I cried myself into shrunken sleep there on the floor amidst shards of broken Christmas ornaments.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The streets were empty, yet I was certain I was being watched from darkened windows. This time, I didn’t care. The spies were nothing to me. I felt no hatred or love, no anger or calm. I walked along the sidewalks, far off I heard the predatory howl of police sirens echo through the man-made canyons of New York City. Would they come for me? I did not care. I had something I needed to do, something terrible that would either destroy me or the Shadowed Soul, or both of us.

  Intense sun beat down on my neck, scouring the sweat from my skin as I trudged along wide, abandoned streets. I had a terrifying weight in my heart and an even more terrifying one in my jacket, but my determination propelled me to reach my destination. I did not have far to go but in the blistering heat it seemed as though I had a million miles to walk. I was sure I would make it.

  It was odd, even though the scorching sun cast my shadow beneath my feet, I could also hear the sound of Christmas songs drifting from open shop doors. Christmas bling festooned every doorway and lamp post, even though it seemed to me to be the height of summer. I did not care though. Not really. My focus was so strong that the anomalies registered but no longer mattered. All that mattered was that I should reach my destination and do what I had to do.

  “What do you have to do?” asked Beth from somewhere in the back of my head.

  The truth was that I had literally no idea what was going to happen, I just knew that it would happen and that it would set me free. I walked on, sirens closer and closer, and above me a helicopter appeared in the sky and was following my path.

  I did not care. They could not stop me. I walked on, ever closer to the final freedom I so deserved.

  “Thomas?” Beth’s voice again gave me cause to hesitate. A reason to stop was not enough, not really. I was doing what needed to be done and it was for Beth as much as it was for my own peace of mind.

  The air shimmered with heat. Ahead of me a cavernous doorway opened. It was where I needed to be.

  I stepped inside.

  My eyes snapped open from the heat of my nightmare. Still a shipwreck on the apartment floor where I had fallen asleep, I moved and felt a crunch of glass. On my back I lay in shattered Christmas ornaments strewn across the floor. The clock told me I had been out only about fifteen minutes.

  “Fuck!” I yelled as a sharp pain shot through the palm of my hand. A blue glass shard stuck out of my thumb pad. I swore again and tiptoed through a minefield of broken Christmas baubles to reach the bathroom. Wincing I picked glass out of the wound and treated it with soapy water. Neosporin was buoyed out of the wound by heavy blood flow. There were no Band-Aids so I used a towel to stanch it. I glanced at the bone dry shower; I hadn’t used it in days. Gripping the towel tight, my stubbly reflection over the sink surprised me. Cadaverous, bloodshot eyes stared back at me like a crazy person.

  “Merry fucking Christmas, fucking bi-Polar Express!” I muttered at my reflection. Then looking around I realized it was just me and me. Alone. My Shadowed Soul had vanished. “Son of a bitch! Fuck you, Shadowed Soul, now that I need you, you decide to fuck off and leave me alone. Well, fuck you, asshole!”

  Shattered glass in my hand, shattered from lack of sleep, shattered from love and fear, I had to sleep. I decided that before I could climb into bed, I would have to sweep up every broken bit of Christmas glass. If Bailey came back, his paws, or the baby and Beth, I had to be prepared. Drenching the hand towel in red, I sought the broom in the kitchen. But I spotted the coffee first, and chucked down a double of Maxwell House crystals from the freezer mixed with hot tap water. Juan Valdez and his donkey stared back at me from the jar and I wondered if he, too, was tormented by his own Shadowed Soul somewhere up the Andes Mountains on his coffee plantation.

  “Where are you, you fuck?” I shouted into thin air wondering why I was now not even able to conjure the Shadowed Soul. “Think you can just abandon me, too, like the rest of them? You prick! I know you’re there! Wake up, you lazy fucker, I bet you’re sleeping.”

  Instant coffee, like sludge caused me to crave cigarettes. Habitually, this craving happened when I was in the thrall of my vicious friend. Like a slave to a detested task, I hated smoking. In my entire life, I had only smoked about thirty times. But when I was like this, wound up in a sleepless hypo-manic twist, the desire to slowly destroy myself with any form of carcinogen was powerful. I had come for the broom and got a nicotine craving instead. The floor needed to be swept but I could no longer bear to be inside the cramped apartment. I needed to go out, for space, for air, for variety, for energy, to impose a constructive structure on my day. Get out before the Shadowed Soul awakened and found me again. I set down the broom and grabbed my coat.

 
Outside, the air was so sharp my lungs hurt. The first kiosk provided smokes. As I lit up, my hands were shaking. The world had changed and people looked at you as though you were murdering a baby as soon as you lit a cigarette. In my paranoid state, the glances were personal affronts, as if these non-smokers judged every aspect of my life. Hunched with my head slung low I walked on, smoking and avoiding the gaze of passersby. No sooner had I sucked down half a cigarette, I wished I had not. Nauseous, I stubbed it underfoot and crumpled the remaining pack into the nearest trashcan.

  Christmas was everywhere. Pockets of light and hope prickled the unrelenting drabness of a December’s day in New York. Suddenly, I knew what I needed to do. I needed to buy gifts for people, after all it was the time of giving and I was not going to let my loved ones down any more than I had already. I stopped at the next ATM. I did not care that I would struggle for food and rent because all that mattered to me at that point was my family’s gifts.