Tuesday, May 29, 2012

A Door into the Past Pt. 10

There is a heavy weight on my soul as I draw near the ending of this story. It is hard to imagine a pleasant or happy ending. Now mind you that was never the intention of the story, I have always intended this story to end in a less than pleasant manner. But I almost feel like I know Marcus now. Perhaps you all don't know him as well as I do. Since you are limited to what I tell you and I probably do not relay enough information. But Marcus is just a normal man who has realized he doesn't know anything about the people in his life. That everything he knows is probably a lie. That is a heavy weight. I feel that weight as I write out his story. I hope that I transfer some of that emotion to you the reader, because if I don't. Well, then I might as well not be writing it.

Part 1.
Last Week.
Part 10.


Two Weeks Later

Marcus was sitting in front of the door. The house was so quite. He could hear himself think or maybe he was talking to himself. It didn't matter. He was on a forced vacation. He suspected it was better than being fired. Nonetheless he was probably too tired to go back anyway. He hadn't spoken to Abigail since she moved everything out a week ago. She said she was staying with her sister. And that if he wanted to talk all he had to do was call. Marcus however did not want to talk. He didn't want to think or feel. Things had gotten dark the sun had set and Marcus was no longer lost in the twilight. He was beyond hope.

Looking down at his hand Marcus realize how heavy the gun was. He had known before that they were so heavy. Everyone always used them like they were toys in the movies. But they were pieces of steel pieced together. Working flawlessly. He held the tip of the barrel against his temple. It was cold and a welcome distraction. When the steel was pressed against his head he forgot about everything. He only felt, alive.

Marcus' leg was shaking, a nervous habit he had never outgrown. His eyes were clenched shut but he still noticed the slight change in light as the keyhole lit up. The door did it every time Marcus was about to end the pain. Yet, it never failed Marcus would take the gun away form his head and lean forward.

“What terrible truth do you have in mind for me today?” looking through the keyhole Marcus saw a room filled with ornamentation. They were Christmas decorations. In fact the room was in Marcus' childhood home. The same room he decorated every year with his brother. But not this year. This was the year Marcus had decorated alone. Jeremy had died that year. Into the room walked Marcus' mother and father. They were talking. She was crying as she did that entire year.

“Jeremy was a good boy. I don't care what the police say.” Daniel, Marcus' father, was angry. It was anything new. Daniel had been angry long before the accident.

“But they said he had purposefully driven his car into that hillside. They said it was the only explanation.” Pearl, Marcus' mother, was weeping. She had always been emotional. Marcus remembered that every time he got in trouble it would end with him consoling his mother.

“No he'd never do that. He was always so happy...” Daniel didn't seem so certain, he anger abated somewhat, “wasn't he?”

Marcus walked into the room. He was fourteen at the time. He was always angry. At least that is how he felt since the accident. He knew his parents were keeping a secret, but they wouldn't tell him. The stopped talking when he walked in the room.

“Were you talking about the accident again?” Marcus was accusing. “Just put it behind you. He's dead and he's not coming back. It's Christmas for Christ sake.” Marcus left the room. He knew they were telling secrets, but he almost didn't care he was so angry. He just wanted his brother back.

Marcus fell off the chair. He was weeping yet again. The gun slipped from his fingers. His hands were too weak to hold onto it. As it fell through the air he had an instant of realization, then the gun went off. He felt a burning flash of heat spray across his face. He then saw blood running down the bridge of his nose. His eyes had spots and his ears were ringing. He almost felt nothing. It was surreal as if the world was blurring away slowly.

He watched the pool forming on the floor. A slow line of blood worked its way across the floorboards towards the door. He could hear it dripping on the other side. The door goes somewhere was his last thought as he fell into the puddle he had watched so intently.

When Marcus awoke he was sure he was dead, but the sticky wet mess on his face told him otherwise. As he felt his head he thought to find a gaping hole of shattered skull and moist gray matter, but instead he found a thin line of torn flesh. It was terribly tender, but the skull seemed much intact. Looking at the gun and the blood he wondered how he had survived, but he saw the stream and remembered.

“The door goes somewhere.” Marcus whispered as he stood up. He decided two things in that moment. He would find out what was behind that door. And Marcus was going to take a much needed shower.

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