On The Bridge (15 page)

In her cosy apartment, Krista paced like a prisoner awaiting her fate. Her mouth babbled incoherently, although not a sound emanated from it and she clutched her own body with folded arms that reached across her back. Her socks helped her feet make no sound to distract her from her thoughts as she tried hopelessly to make sense of Rory’s demise. In and out of her head came all manner of thoughts she had safely tucked away behind a great theatre curtain of denial…that she was okay. Like all of them she spoke with every day she was not okay, she was just a good liar.

Krista thought of the rich crush who charmed her off her feet and seemed so solid, so sure of himself. How could he falter? After all he had survived and risen above, after all the plans he had made to better his life and make his nightmarish experiences disappear for good, he folded. He broke. If he could break, anyone could. And then the young Icarus finally played open cards with her about his situation. It baffled her how he, too, could lie so well that things were okay.

Now she knew that he had, in fact, not healed as well as he had thought.

If that were the case, then obviously she was not okay, either. The only difference was that she was still naïve enough to hang on because her online friends had lied to her about how happy they were. With her heart broken and her trust shattered, she switched on her computer and logged into Suicide Witness. She never knew this day would come so quickly. She would never heal if she did not cut this string now. She opened her profile and in a few minutes she found the button she dreaded clicking since she joined the forum.

“Farewell,” she said and clicked on the DELETE button. In the blink of an eye, “Suicide Queen” was no more.

She selected her favourite Sting album again and waited for the first song to start playing. It would have an especially pleasant feel now that the anchor of darkness had been cast from her. The music poured through the speakers and she smiled to herself.

Krista collapsed flat on her bed, very relieved that she took the first step to be with people who had interests in other things, people who were not suicidal. Soon, she would live a normal life, she hoped.

She wondered if she had done enough to help Doug. Perhaps she could have rung his parents and told them what he said online, what he confided in her. Who knew, they may not have been as bad as Doug had portrayed them.

Yes, she thought, she needed to stop him from using the suicide site. It was most certainly not good for him. She wondered why Rory would be chasing Doug. Why? Was there maybe a connection? Or was Doug just an unlucky kid who unknowingly attached himself to a passing demon pretending to be a ghost? What really happened on the bridge? There was more to it than the naked eye could see? It was not just a man who died but rather did something implicitly threatening.

Krista sat up on her bed. She remembered that she had a deck of Tarot cards in her drawer and she leaned over to take them out. She shuffled the cards and held the deck between her palms for a moment, her eyes shut in focus.

Then she drew a card and said “For me”
before revealing it.

“The Lover!” she exclaimed out loud, “That’s a good one. I can do with some real love.” Krista smiled and breathed a sigh of relief at the prospect of being in a loving relationship soon. “Oh, I hope he is rich and gorgeous and I hope he gets here quick.”

Then she shuffled the cards again and pressed them between her palms, eyes shut and concentrating. Then she picked another card.

“Doug,” she said with a smile and pulled the next card. Revealing the card she
caught her breath. It was the “The Devil.” With no time to waste, Krista picked up her phone and dialled Doug's number.

It rang and rang without answer.

It was 7:46 p.m. when Doug and his mother arrived back from the church. There was no sign of Norman anywhere in the house. They figured that he was still out wherever he decided to flee to, as the garage was empty.

Jean switched on the kettle as she always did when she had something pressing on her mind. A good cup of coffee always settled her down and helped her focus on solving her problems, and this was a great puzzle to her.

A serious problem that needed no time to grow.

“Mom, can I please stay at Mick’s tonight?” Doug’s voice woke her from her mission and the recurring thoughts on demons now brought on by Father McBride.

“I’m frightened, Mom,” Doug shook his head.

“There is no way I am sleeping alone, especially now knowing a full-blown demon is after me,” he pleaded, flashbacks to the wicked encounters plaguing his recollection as he spoke. “Everything’s alright when I have someone in the room. Please, mom!”

“Doug! I don't rightly know if this is a demon you possess, but I myself seriously want you to sleep over at your friend’s house,” she replied before he completed his carefully recited plea.

Doug was not expecting this quick approval from his mother. It was a welcome twist for him.

“Thanks, mom,” he sighed in relief.

“What about dad?” he asked, wishing his mother would be bold this time to stand up to her husband.

“You just leave him to me. You go and pack your sleeping bag. I will ring Mick's mother straight away,” she ordered and he felt a safety net fall over his entire being. He took a moment to let it sink in. He didn’t have to worry about what he’d see tonight and the thought filled him with ecstasy.

She quickly took a second look at her son before he disappeared up the stairs. She could see he had lost weight and he looked utterly worn out. Doug was exhausted, physically and emotionally in such a short period of time. Then it occurred to her that this was the best time to tell her son how much he meant to her.

“Doug, I’m very sorry I haven’t noticed what was going on. God, I could not have known. I should have known there was something. I should have asked better, I suppose,” she tried to make sense but everything came out wrong, “and I should not have allowed you to keep quiet about it. I’ve been careless about you, too afraid to push you too much and in the process abandoned your needs, honey. I really care very, very much, and haven’t given you the support you needed from a mother. Please, can you forgive..?”

“Mum, please stop. It’s not your fault. Sometimes things happen which you and dad can't solve. There’s nothing to forgive, so don't ask me to forgive you when there’s nothing to forgive, okay?” He begged his mother to stop blaming herself.

“Please! I will feel much better if you just said the word,” she reiterated, “Say you 'forgive me',” Jean begged her son. She was truly upset and he felt sorry for her pain.

“I forgive you, Mum, but it’s not your fault a filthy demon decided to play cat and mouse with me,” Doug said, trying to be humorous to lessen her burden and lighten the dark atmosphere. The old silly Doug filtered through in his statement and she had to smile.

Jean was elated her son was fighting to be happy again.

“Yes! And it’s not your fault either.” She opened her arms, inviting Doug to hug her.

“This must be the thousandth time you are hugging me today, Mum. What is going on?” Doug said while hugging his mother, his mouth in her hair and his voice dampened by her embrace.

“I just want you to know that you are special and if you have any more trouble, please tell me!” her voice was gentle and strong again. Doug knew she understood completely now. Relieved, his face lit up. “I promise, mom. I’ll tell you if something happens again.”

“Anything.”

“And this time I’ll tell you immediately.”

After promising his mother, Doug went to his room and packed a suitcase and rolled up his sleeping bag to take to Mick’s. The aquarium bubbled in the corner, like another world compactly caught in a tank. His eyes rested on the soothing colour for a while and his mind took him into the deep softness of the cool water where everything floated. He wished he could live in such a world, where there was no gravity, no heaviness to weight him down. He could fly through the water without touching the ground. How wonderful to not have to listen either. No noise, save for the incessant sound of bubbles and any angry voices and hard words would be nothing but muffled sounds.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and closed his bedroom door behind him, looking forward to his crazy friend’s company. He came down the stairs and onto the landing, but just as he reached the door, his father had arrived.

When Norman saw Doug, he said, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Dad, Mom said I could go over to sleep at Mick’s,” Doug stuttered a bit, because something about Norman was especially hostile. His father’s voice was not at all hiding his infuriation.

“What’s that around your neck?” Norman said, fixing his eye on the cross.

“Father McBride gave this to me,” Doug said, managing his tone, because he knew his father was just picking a fight again and he did not want to afford him the pleasure.

“Who is Father McBride?” he asked, curiously. A menacing bend in his voice proved his disrespect for all things religious.

“He is a priest from St. Peter’s Catholic Church,” Jean answered him as she came out of the laundry room holding a basket of clean clothes.

“That’s not answering my question, though. Why is my son wearing a cross?’ Norman was persistent and he did not like the dismissive nature of his wife’s answers. He deliberately blocked her way as she passed.

“Please, just let him go to his friend and I will explain later,” Jean said, trying to be diplomatic.

“Take that thing off.” Norman ignored his wife’s plea. Doug reluctantly took the necklace from his neck, enveloped it in his fingers and put it in his pocket. His father steered him to go to his room, but Doug did not move and eyed his mother to persuade his dad to the contrary.

Norman noticed the exchange of glances between them and it ran him red. He turned to her with a distrusting frown. His body stood rigid and fast, like a boxer about to engage and he said to her, “What have you two done while I was gone?” His voice was soft and foreboding. “You k
now, Jean, ghosts do not exist.”

“I am not sure about that,” she replied carelessly.

“It’s not a ghost, actually. We think it’s a demon.”

Jean did not notice that word slipping out of her mouth until it was said out loud.

“What? Is that what the priest told you?” Norman was astonished at the turn of events.

“Please listen, Norman,” Jean begged, knowing that he was intolerant.

“I can't have any more of this nonsense!” he bellowed. “What are you still standing there for? Go to your room!” he yelled at Doug.

“Mum,” Doug called to his mother for support. He hoped that she would not fold this time. She did not disappoint him.

“He is my son, too, and I say he is not going to his room,” Jean stood between Doug and Norman.

She shook her head in earnest, a little afraid of what he would do next. He was livid at the blatant disregard he got from his son and his wife’s continual covering for him.

“Don't you understand?” he barked at Jean, “If word spread that your son is seeing demons, the mental unit will be here within days to lock him up, Jean!”

“You’d rather rely on what people think than what is really happening to our son. Look at him! You honestly think he would fa
bricate such things - for what?”

“Attention! That is what this is about!” Norman yelled.

Doug was furious with his dad's statement. He could not stand for this misguided opinion of him anymore.

“How could you say that, Dad?” he shouted back at his father, and his voice was fraught with rage and fearlessness that bordered on hostility.

“Doug, stop!” his mother pushed him away from getting too close to his dad.

“The guy is dead, Douglas! Nothing is chasing you. Dead men don’t chase people. It’s time you stopped believing in ghosts.”

“But Dad,” Doug tried, his eyes wet with tears.

“No, I won’t have it! This stops here and now. This is your way of seeking attention like a little school girl. Man up! This is either you crying for attention or you really need to get your head checked. Doug, you aren’t being stalked by some dead guy; you simply have some sort of complex in your brain. You’re like someone with a guilty conscience; it’s all in your mind!”

Doug turned to Jean. “Mum, I have had enough!” He pushed his mother carefully aside to face his dad.

“You think I’m an idiot because I’m haunted by what I saw. I’m not afraid of the man, I’m afraid of having visions and hallucinations. I’m afraid of what I’m going to see the next time I turn a corner, or take a bath, or open the fridge,” Doug shrieked now, his voice hysterical with frustration and fear alike.

“Do you have any idea what that’s like?”

“Visions and hallucinations are nothing to be frightened of. You just simply tell yourself they’re not real…because quite frankly they aren’t! They are pictures in your mind. You think they can actually harm you? You have to be a bigger idiot than I thought. It’s time you grew some balls!” Norman’s voice was condescending and dismissive and Jean cringed at the harm it was no doubt doing.

“Norman, you have got to stop this! Do you hear yourself?” Jean said.

“Yes! Listen to your wife for once,” Doug shouted at his father, not even realising his insolence.

“Dad, nothing works…except to be with my friends, to have someone in my room with me. And you know, I used to think it works because whatever came for me was confused when more than one soul was there, but you know what I think now? It works because they actually care about me, unlike you! They listen to me while nobody else does.”

“No! Doug, you can't say that! A demon is no friend of yours,” Jean corrected him fast and firm, the very thought abhorrent to her.

Norman would not have his son speak to him with such a tone. The insubordination in his house was overwhelming him and he felt emotionally exiled, which infuriated him even more. He shoved his pointed index finger in Doug’s face.

“Listen you little pipsqueak,” Norman’s voice shuddered with rage, “don’t you dare raise your voice to me like that. That’s not the
way a son talks to his father.”

But Doug was at the end of his tether. His father’s intimidating frame and his possible actions held no pressure anymore and he knew this was the moment of truth. He was going to fight back for once. He was going to let his father know exactly how he felt. Was this not what they kept telling him to do?

“I’m not your son! I’m just a stupid teenage boy who lives in your house,” Doug’s voice was certain and clear. “You barely ever talk to me and you never listen to me. You treat me as if I’m a robot with no feelings, like I’m just another possession you own! You do nothing but shout at me and when you can’t, you make up some excuse to find something wrong so that you can.” Norman stood still. For once he was listening. He had to. He could not believe his ears. “You pay more attention to your business than you do to me. If you treated your staff like you treat me, you wouldn’t have any left. They’d just quit. Well, you know what? I wish I could quit and go off and have somebody else as a father!”

Norman slapped him across the face, the sickening sound reverberating in Jean’s ears.

“No!” Jean cried, pushing Norman away from their son.

“Listen you ungrateful little bastard. You have the audacity to say that after all I’ve done for you?” Norman held nothing back now. He was done with it all. It was time for a wakeup call, a kill shot. “No other father would take in such a nancy. You wish! You are nothing but an ill-mannered little brat with no respect for his father. Go to your room now!”

Doug looked at his mother, holding the red welt that was forming on his cheek. He could see the pain in her eyes and the helplessness she felt, no matter what she tried.

“I am sorry, Mother,” Doug said coldly, but he meant it.

As he walked up to his door, his phone rang. It was Krista. But Doug was most certainly not in the mood for answering calls and so he simply switched off his phone, unfazed by who it might be. He opened the door and was not at all swayed by what he saw. There it stood, waiting. It was the shadow, hidden in one of the corners of the ice-cold room. Doug felt the creepiness, the dark and heavy evil that filled his bedroom, but somehow he did not care.

He was tired of fighting an endless battle.

Downstairs, Jean shook her head in disbelief, her tears streaming over her face and her hands latched tightly together over her chest. Jean looked at her husband with utter distaste.

“Can’t you listen to him just for a moment? Just once, Norman. Can’t you see he needs help, not punishment or insults? He’s not a man yet. He’s a boy who’s experiencing things he doesn’t understand and can’t deal with. Have you no heart at all?”