The Glitching Mask

Please be aware this story contains strong tones of grief and loss of a child, along with mental health issues.

This party was as dead as her child.

The thought came, harsh and unbidden, causing Joy's mask of happiness to glitch.

It hadn't always been a mask. And, if she was honest with herself, the party didn't seem to be dead. The fault lay within her. The others there, the small group of family and friends present, still had that spark of joie de vivre in their eyes.

Hers had been snuffed out just over a year ago.

Fingers tented on the rim of the wine glass she'd just refilled, she covertly watched her husband, David, with a mix of resentful and guilty envy. His face was lit with laughter after something his brother had just said to him. Whatever it was, it must have been related to her in some way, as Jackson's gaze was now turned to her. Before she was forced to give some semblance of a polite smile, there was a touch at her arm, and she had to fight the reflex to jerk away.

It was her sister-in-law, Ria - Jackson's wife - and her face was colored with shades of concern and sympathy. Joy had come to loathe that expression after having been forced to endure it so often over the last year. Still, she threw as much power back into that glitching mask as she could and curved her lips into what felt like a macabre facsimile of a smile.

Ria squeezed her arm gently before releasing it and dipped her dark curls towards the brothers.

"Think David and Goliath over there have already had enough for the night?" she asked wryly, tapping one of her red manicured nails lightly against the bowl of her wine glass, taking an appreciative sip.

There had been glass glittering across the road that night. And blood, darker than Ria's nails, like it had absorbed the night sky with it.

Joy's mask tried to glitch again, but she made herself focus.

"Not much of a surprise for the frat boys," she replied, trying for the light and playful banter they'd always shared.

Before.

Ria snorted.

"They were sure something else. PIKE couldn't have seen them coming."

Ah, yes. The 'glory days' at Pi Kappa Alpha. The four of them had given the University of Virginia a run for its money.

"I still say the box wine was the best part," Joy murmured, but before her old college roomie could reply, they were both hushed as David began tapping a butter knife against the side of his beer bottle to gain the room's attention. Jackson, face flushed with drink and mirth, yelled, "Here, here!" which had the opposite effect than intended, causing a ripple of laughter before things quieted down.

Always one to play up attention, David flashed them all his trademark grin, movie-star white teeth on full display. He tossed the knife aside and raked a hand through his hair in a boyish sort of way that only tousled it in an effortlessly styled way. Using the lip of his bottle as a pointer, he swept it around the room to include them all. He'd gotten to the point of the night where he'd pulled his dress shirt out with the top button undone and the tie loose, Joy noticed. His expression turned to one of open gratefulness. Passing the back of his free hand across his mouth, he spoke.

Here we go, Joy thought.

"It's been over a year now since we lost Christopher."

Her teeth were clenched, she realized, as Ria moved close enough that they were now standing shoulder-to-shoulder. David's eyes, an arresting pale blue, met her dark ones. His mouth pulled to one side in a rueful smile.

"It's been a rough one, not gonna lie. I wasn't sure how we were going to make it through." A pause, then more honesty. "Or even if we would."

There were a few murmurs of sympathy at this, but David made a hush-hush motion and continued.

"We wouldn't have stood a chance without our tribe. Without every one of you." Tears stood in his eyes now, and he raised his bottle in a toast. Glasses were raised, and in that moment of silence, Ria called out. "Hey, especially that burnt casserole Rachel brought over, right? Real healing shit that was, right, Rach?"

Rachel flicked Ria off but was smiling good-naturedly at the laughter.

Further bumping her shoulder, Ria leaned close and whispered, "Thank God Chris missed that one. No one deserved that. When that woman will learn that she has no business in a kitchen is beyond me."

Joy couldn't help but smile at the comment, nor stop her mutter of, "Like you're any better."

Jackson yelled, "HERE, HERE!" again, and this time, once the laughter died down, hugs were given, and belongings were gathered.

***********************************************************

The house was once again silent (as a graveyard, Joy's mind inserted), and she found herself drawn to the door of Chris's room, as she usually was. Leaning against the frame, she let her eyes wander, a wistful smile ghosting over her lips as she looked at the guitar still sitting on its stand. It didn't have a speck of dust on it.

Nothing in there did.

She couldn't understand now how she'd ever lost patience listening to Chris repeatedly fumble the beginning chords of 'Stairway to Heaven,' by Led Zeppelin, or 'Nothing Else Matters,' by Metallica. He'd been an old soul, and she should have appreciated the dedication he had to the craft instead of putting earbuds in to keep herself from throwing the damn guitar out the window.

She pictured the way he would sit on the edge of his bed; intensity etched on his features as he set his fingers carefully on the strings, attempting to follow a video. When he failed, he'd shake his head, mutter something, and start it over again. He never did get too worked up over much of anything. If 'slow and steady wins the race,' had a poster child, it would be her son.

It was David clearing his throat behind her that gave her a nasty start. There was a tightening around his mouth, and he reached out as if to touch her, but thought better of it and leaned against the opposite side of the frame from her.

"Sorry," he muttered, reaching up to pull the knot of his tie loose. "Just wondered if..."

He trailed off, but Joy didn't bother asking him what he wondered. She already knew. He wondered if she was finally ready to pack up the room. He wondered if their marriage would ever be the same. He wondered if she would ever sleep in the same bed with him, or if she would ever let him touch her again.

He wondered if she'd ever truly be able to forgive him for being the one driving that night.

When she didn't answer, David heaved a sigh and shoved himself off the frame, slightly unsteady. Without turning back to face her, he said, "Joy, you need to get a hobby. Find something that...you know, sparks joy." He snort-laughed at his joke, but stumbled a bit, shoulder-checking the master bedroom door as he went through it. The door shut forcefully, the snick of the latch sounding like a small explosion in the hallway.

Or maybe like the sound of a tire popping when a car drifts too close to the curb and hits it.

Only once the door is closed does she answer David.

"You're right."

******************************************************

A few nights later, Joy is startled by the sound of David coming home. Looking at the clock, she's surprised to see how late it is. He looks just as startled as she is as he comes in and settles his briefcase on the kitchen island, where she's spread a small fortune in Sephora makeup. Her laptop is open just to the side, and she's been practicing with a light-up mirror she purchased.

"Something I should know?" he asks, gesturing to the mess. "You planning a new foray into being an influencer?"

Pursing her lips towards him in a dramatic imitation of duck lips, she grins.

"You wish. If you think I'm gonna pick up your beer tab for the rest of our lives, you've got another thing coming, buddy." It was the kind of thing she would have said Before, and it surprises both.

David recovers first.

"Well, I'll keep on wishing. Until then, I'll reach out to Uber Eats." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "Need it after this day. Fucking 'Goliath,' he muttered, using the name colleagues in the office had granted his brother, "Took on an unwinnable case, and I think we're pretty screwed, but they're what he's known for, aren't they? Another wonderful day working for the District Attorney."

Nevertheless, he whistled as he went down the hallway.

"I'm expecting lots of Amazon packages!" Joy called after him as he went. "And don't you dare peek!"

He threw a peace sign over one shoulder in place of a reply, and she went back to her videos. That is, until there was a strangled sound, like a scream that was abruptly cut off. Standing too quickly, Joy knocked the stool she'd been sitting on over in her rush to get to the hallway.

"What --" she started, but ended up staring into Chris's room, just as David was.

The guitar was off its stand and sitting on the bed, as though Chris had been playing and had left it there to get a snack or use the bathroom.

"Did you?" he asked, his throat sounding closed and dry. He knew better. Joy didn't step foot in that room any more than he did. She had hired a woman to come once a week and dust in there, supervising anxiously from the doorway to make sure that nothing was ever moved or touched.

She shook her head silently, unable to reply.

David closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them again.

Nothing changed.

His hand shook as he reached out to snag the doorknob with the tips of his fingers and pulled it towards them, shutting the door.

***********************************************************

David was having The Dream again.

He had picked Chris up from school, and because they were both hungry, he swung the SUV into the lot of his favorite sports bar. They had the best wings in town and no shortage of TVs on which to watch whatever game might be playing.

It'd been a long day at the office. He and Jackson had gotten into it over a case they were working on, the lab still hadn't forwarded DNA results on another, and there was yet another school shooter to prosecute. It was depressing, and David wanted comfort food and a shot.

Maybe two.

It was six, chased with beer. David was feeling Pretty Good when the tab was settled and slung his arm around Chris's shoulders as they made their way to the car.

"Want me to drive us, Dad?" he'd asked, holding his palm up for the keys. The setting sun had picked out the glints of gold in Chris's hair.

He jumped at any chance to drive, just like most teens with their learner's permits. But David, buoyed by alcohol and having some good-old male bonding time with his son, just squeezed his shoulders and kept the keys.

"The old man isn't too far gone yet, kid. Jump in." He'd tousled Chris's hair as he released him. The kid didn't complain or roll his eyes. He just trusted. He'd only had a half-smile on his face and smoothed his hair back down as he headed to the passenger seat, shoving his hands in his pockets on the way. David frowned slightly at this. Chris always slouched when he walked, as though self-conscious of his height and trying to make himself smaller for the world. His son deserved the world to be smaller for him. He planned on telling him about that on the way home, but he wanted the windows down and music on while he imparted his wisdom.

They were only two blocks from the house when it happened.

David had never admitted it to anyone, but he'd been riding the bumper of the car in front of him, trying to force them to get out of his way. When they'd braked hard, he'd swerved into the right lane, overcorrecting too hard. There was a loud POP as the right passenger tire hit the curb and exploded, and everything after that was chaos.

Suddenly, the wheel was alive in his hands, jerking this way and that. He could smell the burned rubber. There was a blur of whirling streetlights smearing across the windshield just before it imploded, and all of the airbags seemed to deploy at once, the powder flying into his nose and throat, choking him even as the scream of metal raked jagged nails down the spine of his soul.

Dazed, David reflexively reached out to check on Chris but pulled his hand away from the passenger seat to find it wet.

Staring out of the jagged windshield, David finally saw the broken body of his son in the middle of the intersection.

The light wasn't picking up the glints of gold anymore.

It was red now.

David woke up trying to scream, but only a raspy scraping came out. He flung the sweaty sheets off and scrambled out of the bed as though it had been trying to smother him. Still breathing hard, he went to the window, leaned against the wall, trying to remind himself it was just a dream. Once the police had figured out who he was and who his brother was, they called the District Attorney to the scene.

He was the man who decided whether the state would press charges, after all.

They had held each other and wept, and it had turned out that the traffic camera at the intersection hadn't been working. The paperwork for a blood-alcohol test on David hadn't been filed correctly, and witness testimony was iffy at the best of times. With no credible witnesses and nothing of evidentiary value, the state had elected not to pursue charges when there had been so much tragedy already.

Pulling in a deep and shaky breath, David opened the blinds. Seeing that there was still a world out there sometimes helped him kick the feeling that the walls were closing in.

Chris was standing in the yard.

He was half-illuminated by the glow of the back porch light and half in shadow from the giant maple tree. His guitar was strapped across his chest, but his twisted and bent fingers weren't capable of strumming the chords. His beautiful hair was matted with blood, and David noted with a wave of nausea that there were tire tracks along the torso.

He felt something in his mind break in that moment, just as surely as his son's spine had under the tires of the truck that had T-boned them in the intersection that David had spun into after losing control of the SUV.

***********************************************************

Joy's eyes were bloodshot and gritty as she took the pen and signed the paperwork that would allow the psychiatric facility to take over David's care. Per his living will, she had the power of attorney over his medical decisions, and after some research, had him placed in one that overlooked the intersection where Chris had lost his life. Only one corner of the facility could view it, but she'd been sure to choose a room where the only view from the window held that street.

When she got home, she'd be sure to pack up and throw away the clothing she'd ordered from Amazon that was a mirror of the clothing her son had died in. She'd keep the makeup, though. There was nothing of evidentiary value there, and now that she'd learned so much about how to use contouring and stage makeup, it might come in handy again sometime.

Her mask didn't glitch as much now, she realized, but it still did glitch. She thought she might have some ideas how to fix it for good.

Jackson was still out there, after all.