M Sellars - The End Of Desire

Stepping in through the doorway, I grabbed a shovel then immediately turned and came back out. Continuing around my dismayed friend, I waded out into the decorative garden at the very back of the yard and set my sights on a large mound of snow-covered rocks.

I was just slipping the point of the shovel beneath one corner of the largest of the sponge rocks when Ben grabbed my arm. I looked up at him and could see the concern in his eyes had turned to something almost resembling fear.

“Are you gonna tell me what the fuck’s goin’ on here?!” he demanded.

“When I’m done,” I managed to croak. I could feel hot tears beginning to stream down my face.

“Dammit! You’re actin’ like ya’ lost your friggin’ mind, White Man,” he pressed.

“I’m trying to save my wife, okay?!” I shouted. “Now, either help me or get the fuck out of my way!”

Before I finished the sentence, I was already looking back down and shoving the business end of the garden implement deeper under the large rock then lifting. The decorative stone broke loose as I leaned my weight into the improvised lever, then it rose slowly upward, teetered for a second and rolled away with a heavy thump. I instantly began driving the point of the shovel against the frozen ground, breaking up the hard soil and scooping it away as fast as I could with only one good arm.

“Jeezus, I must be nuts,” Ben grumbled as he reached out and yanked the shovel from my hand and started about the process of digging. “What’re we lookin’ for? A quicker way ta’ hell?”

“A metal box,” I replied. “About a foot down.”

“A foot? Is that all?” he replied, heavy sarcasm in his words.

He continued to dig, ramming the shovel down hard and tearing at the earth. After several minutes, we both heard a hollow clunk as the spade struck home. He worked the point in beneath the box and pried one end up from the depths.

I was already kneeling next to the hole, tearing at the surrounding dirt with my hand. As soon as I could get a grasp on the unearthed rectangle, I wrenched it from the ground and fumbled with the clasp. Popping the latch on the small toolbox, I yanked it open.

There, just as it had been when I placed it there several weeks ago, was a fashion doll. Its ivory complexion and fiery red hair were visible through the clear cellophane that enveloped it. A dark purple ribbon criss-crossed around the poppet holding the plastic wrapping securely in place.

“You buried a fuckin’ doll in your back yard?” Ben asked, a mix of confusion and incredulity in his voice.

Looking up at Ben, I said, “It’s her.”

“Her who?”

I could already hear an angry wail screeching in my ears, getting louder with each heartbeat.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” I told him, rushing the sentence from my mouth as fast as I could speak. I held my hand out toward him and asked, “Do you have a pocketknife?”

He dug his hand in his pocket and withdrew a lock blade, but before opening it he peered at me with curious concern.

“Just give it to me, Ben!” I shouted. “Now!”

The banshee scream was deafening now, and I was starting to lose my grasp on reality once again.

My friend opened the pocketknife then handed it to me, though I could still see reluctance in his eyes. I snatched the doll from the box and flipped it over. Holding it against the ground with my wounded hand, I slid the sharp blade beneath the ribbon with my other and then drew it upward. The sharp edge sliced cleanly through the criss-crossing purple bands, and they fell away.

The world bloomed in front of me and settled to a muted shade of reality. The scream was fading from my ears, echoing the word “no” as it disappeared into nothingness. I let go of the poppet then slowly twisted around from my kneeling position and sat back in the snow. Pressing the blade lock with my thumb, I slid the back side of it across my thigh and snapped the knife closed. Holding it out toward my friend, I let out a heavy sigh.

“That’s it?” he said as he took it from me.

“That’s it,” I replied.

“Okay… So whaddid you just do?”

“I broke a binding.”

“Broke a binding…” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“That some kinda Witch thing?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Shouldn’t there’ve been sparks, or flyin’ monkeys or somethin’?”

“Only in the movies, Ben…I’ve told you that a…”

He cut me off. “I was kidding.”

“Sorry,” I breathed. “I’m just not in a very humorous mood right now.”

“Yeah, no shit… Okay… So, what happens now?”

“I get cleaned up and go see my wife. Maybe even bring her home.”

“Good plan, but I was talkin’ about with the Witch thing.”

“Nothing, Ben. It’s over. I’m done.”

He let out a harrumph and shook his head. “Ya’know, the way you were actin’ I woulda thought you were disarmin’ a bomb or somethin’.”

I hung my head and sighed again. “That’s closer to the truth than you can possibly know.”

Soft light was filtering into the room when I awoke.

I hadn’t yet opened my eyes, but I could definitely tell it was no longer dark. My brain was shrouded in the warm fog that hovers in the void between wakefulness and deep slumber. Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew the pleasant confusion would be wearing off soon, even if I would rather it did not. I tried to embrace the sensation, but as always it was fleeting, and my grey matter was already telling me it was time to get on with the day.

A momentary panic gripped me as flashes of memory were revealed through the rapidly dissipating haze. My heart fluttered, and although I feared what I might see, I slowly opened my eyes. The sudden palpitations began to settle as soon as I focused on my surroundings and saw the familiar trappings of my bedroom at home. I felt myself relaxing the moment I realized I wasn’t in a hospital room or even a sleazy motel hundreds of miles away.

However, no sooner had it faded than it flared in a second attack when I rolled over and found myself alone in the bed. It dawned on me that there was a huge gap missing in my memory. I had absolutely no recollection of getting into the bed in the first place. I concentrated on what I could remember. In the forefront was the fact that I had checked Felicity out of the hospital and brought her home.

Fortunately, that thought, combined with my nose, caused the burgeoning wave of anxiety to die out before it ever managed to fully take hold. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was drifting through the house, locked in a battle with the smell of frying bacon as they both fought to overtake one another. That was all it took to remind me the month long nightmare was over.

My stomach rumbled, expressing its displeasure regarding the fact that I still hadn’t eaten since the previous morning. Given that I hadn’t even managed to keep that particular meal down long enough to digest, the growling was not at all unexpected. It wasn’t that I hadn’t had an opportunity to eat; I just hadn’t been especially interested in food, until now that is.

Throwing back the covers, I rolled up to sit on the edge of the bed. I rubbed my eyes then fumbled around on the nightstand for my glasses. Once I had them seated on my face, I stood and trudged into the bathroom before heading out to the kitchen.

“What are you doing up, then?” Felicity asked when I finally came around the corner a few minutes later. The background Celtic lilt in her voice was a welcome sound in my ears.

“Am I not supposed to be?” I asked.

“I was trying not to wake you,” she replied, walking over then slipping her arms in around my waist and laying her head against my shoulder.