Pillow Talk

Note: This story contains sensitive topics such as mental health and suicide.

"Not again!" Vance groaned. He gently tossed in bed in a feeble attempt to find the elusive position to bring back the sleep. He burrowed his head underneath the pillow to mute his wife's late-night mutterings to little success.  He turned to face the nightstand to see the clock, its red glow taunting his sleep-deprived mind: it was 2:12 am.

Vance sat up, resigned that it would be a while before he could fall asleep again. He observed his wife, Leah, still talking in her sleep. Even though she was currently costing him precious sleep time, Vance loved her too much to be angry at her. He paid attention to her small but very kissable lips as they moved. She occasionally nibbled some of her long, red hair as she spoke. He looked down to see if the spider she tattooed on her upper thigh was visible, but the loose t-shirt betrayed no skin. His gaze fell again to her face, and he imagined her emerald eyes behind the heavy eyelids.

"And because she is picking up her sick kids, she will miss the meeting. Brilliant!"

Vance's trance broke when Leah spoke. What she said made no sense out of context. It was as if he only heard one half of a conversation. "She says the weirdest things when she talks in her sleep," Vance reflected. He often wonders what type of dreams she could be having. Maybe she dreamt of being a spy? Or perhaps she dreamt of being the head lawyer at her firm?

"Where can I find that?"

Vance sighed as he looked around the dark room. He reached for his phone, charging next to the alarm clock. He inputted the code, his wife's birthday, and stared at the screen. His chest began to tighten the longer he looked. He felt his muscles tighten. He emphatically dropped the phone onto his lap and took several deep breaths. His stomach was becoming knots. Vance put in the code again. He swiped twice until he saw the Living Room Vegas app. "Don't," he muttered as his finger hovered over the app's icons. The slots style logo beckoned to be tapped. He turned off the screen again.

"I got someone in mind."

Vance looked at his wife again. She was why he had to resist the urge to open the app and play one round.

He never only played one round. Once, Vance lost over $2000 in one night. It was his fault that they were nearing six figures of debt. He was why his wife had to transition to full-time at her law firm and work overtime. He knew the costs of that decision, but they had no choice. He wonders if it was the stress brought by Vance's gambling addiction that triggered Leah's sleep-talking. Unfortunately, she didn't believe him whenever he brought up the sleep-talking.

"She doesn't believe me," Vance thought as the beginnings of an idea began to form. Leah would have to believe him if he had evidence, such as a recording of her sleep-talking. He brought up the recording app and waited for her to start talking.

"Thank you. I would have been a mess without you," Leah says as Vance hits records. He wonders if she is dreaming about him. Leah continues, "I think we got a good plan. There shouldn't be any issues."

Leah's sleep-talking episode only lasted a few more minutes. Vance stopped recording, put the phone back on the nightstand, and triumphantly began to dream of better days.

Vance awoke the next day to the smell of coffee and pancakes, his favorite breakfast duo. He turned to face the clock on the nightstand and saw that it said 6:30 am. Not only did his wife wake up before him, but he slept through the alarm. The lack of sleep is starting to get to him. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked out the window. It was ominously darker than usual. He grabbed his phone and headed over to the kitchen. There, he was greeted by his wife, fully dressed for work. "Early day today," she said as if she read his mind.

He sat at the table where a French press and a large mug were waiting for him. He poured the carafe's contents into the cup and took a sip. While Leah was good at making pancakes, she always messed up the coffee. Today's batch was no exception. "Bitter," Vance thought, "Just like my mother-in-law." He nearly choked at his own joke.

Leah served Vance his pancakes and sat across from him with her stack and a large glass of iced milk. She smiled at him and asked, "Hard night?'

"Nothing a little coffee can't fix," Vance quipped, trying to mask his true feelings about the coffee. He took his phone from his pajama pockets and put it on the table. His wife had gone to the trouble of making him his favorite breakfast, and he didn't want to ruin the moment by bringing up Leah's sleep-talking.

The couple ended up eating their breakfast in silence. In between bites, Vance would try to figure out how to bring up the topic without starting a fight. Unfortunately, most of the conversations in the three years they got married ended in an argument.

"Just rip the Band-Aid," Vance counseled himself. He could feel his heartbeat tripling in speed. He dabbed his forehead, and it was damp. He was sweating as if he just finished another round of pickleball. "Get a hold of yourself," he implored to his body.

Vance took a large sip of his pungent coffee and blurted, "Hey, sexy. You were sleep talking again." His words came out almost as fast as his heart rate.

"You are imagining things! I have never talked in my sleep."

"I thought you might say that." Vance picked up the phone. "That is why I recorded you."

"Stop lying!"

"Why would I lie? I have proof."

"My God! Let's just enjoy our time together. I made a delicious breakfast just for you before I go to work, where I deal with so much stress, might I add, and THIS is the thanks I get."

"The breakfast was good —"

"Good? Just good?" Leah scoffed. "You don't appreciate me. You have ruined what could have been a nice morning because of your nonsense."

"It is not nonsense!" Vance roared, and as he stood, his temple began to twitch. The combination of stress and anger seemed to have made him uneasy on his feet. His voice softened, "I am worried about you. This sleep-talking began happening when work got crazy. I know the toll this new job has taken on you. The late hours and the missed weekends. I can see you are unhappy."

Sitting down, Vance began to cry. Months of pent-up regret finally erupted, "I am why we had to give up the dream of having kids. I screwed up, and you are paying the price. So yeah, I am worried. Please, believe me."

Leah's blank expression added to Vance's budding headache. He picked up the phone, cued the recording, and hit play." Leah's voice boomed from the speaker, "I think we got a good plan. There shouldn't be any issues." Vance felt vindicated.

"You deserve everything that comes your way," a low, gravelly voice hissed from the recording.

Both Leah and Vance froze upon hearing the unfamiliar voice. Leah's usually radiant complexion became deathly pale. "Who the HELL was that?" Vance asked as a sense of dread washed over his body.

Leah remained silent.

Vance struggled to keep his thoughts in order. "Leah, this is bad. You don't just talk in your sleep, but you're having full-on conversations with ghosts!"

"Not a ghost," Leah mumbled.

"Not a ghost?" Vance repeated incredulously. "Then what the hell is it?"

"Do not worry, my dear. It would be the mother who takes the fall," an unnatural voice whispered from the recording.

Leah looked down at her glass of milk, "A demon. Its name is Eritheia."

"Lovely. My wife is on a first-name basis with a demon."

The last comment enraged Leah, "Don't think you are better than me, Vance. You made me do this," she spat as the vitriol kept coming. "You are so weak and pathetic. You weren't strong enough to be a man when things got hard, so you got depressed and gambled away our future. We are in massive debt because you failed as a husband. I had no choice but to make a deal with a demon so we could survive."

Vance was horrified by what he heard. He was literally shaking. "I don't think there is ever a reason to team up with a demon."

"You are overreacting," Leah said dismissively. "You are lucky enough to have a partner who comes up with solutions to your problems. No other woman would put up with how easily you give up because you get depressed." The last words dripped with contempt.

Vance took another sip of his coffee. His head was spinning. He felt like he had just got off a Tilt-a-Wheel. He looked down and noticed his pajama top was soaking wet. This morning has been miserable.  He looked up and stared at his wife's emerald eyes. The softness was replaced with hate. He knew that look well. It would have been easy to blame the demon for Leah's terrible behavior, but the truth was she was often like that. She didn't say anything she hadn't said before. Vance was ready to accept the fact that had been haunting him since he got married: Leah was a narcissist.

Tears streaked down Vance's cheeks. Waves of grief and nausea overtook him. He wanted a life partner; instead, he got a narcissist. The signs were there. His therapist said his wife's behavior was a contributing factor to his depression. Vance knew the relationship was unhealthy, but he felt powerless to get out. He wasn't even sure he wanted to leave the relationship, but he felt powerless to make it work. Vance simply felt powerless.

Through the tears, Vance realized he was silently staring at his wife. Leah's expression was condescendingly stoic. Vance tried to figure out what to say but struggled to formulate words. It was as if his mind was in a dense fog. He forgot the recording was still playing until he heard the demon, Eritheia, make a mention of him.

"I think we got a problem. Your husband is recording our conversation," Eritheia hissed.

Leah responded in her sleepy, monotone voice, "He always knows how to make things worse."

Vance felt a twitch in his chest and legs.

"The little fool is going to ruin everything. You must stop him," the demon thundered scornfully.

"I think we heard enough. Let's stop," Leah suggested with an out-of-place cheeriness. Vance jerkily lifted his arm to dismiss her. Something about her words seemed fraudulent. If she genuinely wanted the recording to stop, she would have taken the phone from Vance. He was feeling so weak it would have been easy. Yet, she remained still in her seat. The thought crossed his mind that maybe she wanted her husband to hear how the conversation ended.

"Ok, what do I need to do?" Leah's callously said on the recording.

Eritheia gleefully cackled before it spoke again, "Ground all his antidepressants with the coffee beans. Then make coffee in the French Press." Vance stared at his nearly empty coffee mug in terror. He didn't notice the smirk on Leah's face.

The demon continued, "He will overdose, and it will look like suicide."

The twitching and weakening of muscles, the confusion, and the excessive sweating were not symptoms of Vance's anxiety triggered by the conversation. Instead, they were a result of poisoning. He heard Leah's voice on the recording, "How do I make sure I don't get caught?"

"Use the note," Eritheia growled maliciously. It was then that Vance saw the note on the kitchen counter. It was addressed to Leah in his handwriting. He wrote that note six months ago when he first attempted suicide. His wife found him within minutes of taking the pills, and they were able to pump his stomach. Leah must have hidden the letter before anyone else saw it.

Had his mind not been ravaged by the poison, Vance would have been mortified by what was happening: his loving wife had concealed the letter to one day cover up his murder. He tried to stand up but just stumbled back like a drunkard. He fell on his back as the recording kept playing. He heard his wife say, "Idiot wouldn't even suspect a thing."

The demon cooed, "You deserve better than him. It was about time."

Vance heard Leah's chair scraping along the kitchen tile. She had gotten up and picked up the phone. It was once again her voice, "I do deserve better. Time to cut the anchor." The recording stopped, and Leah made sure it was permanently deleted.

Vance's body was convulsing. A terrible stench reached his nostrils. He had soiled himself.  His mind was soup, and he struggled to keep his final thoughts straight.

Leah walked towards Vance. Even though his vision was blurry, he finally saw past the façade and clearly saw reality. His wife's beautiful emerald eyes were replaced with soulless, ink-black marbles. Her skin had become saggy and leathery. Her gorgeous, luscious red hair was reduced to patches on her scalp. Her wicked grin revealed sharp, rotten teeth. Around her neck was a gold collar with spikes that pierced Leah's skin. Blood poured down her chest.

Vance followed the leash attached to the collar, and to his horror, he saw Eritheia, the demon. It was tall with a slender frame and a large, bulbous head that appeared 6 times too large for its body. On top of its head, it had spikes resembling either a crown or flames. The entire figure was comprised of gold.

The figures got closer and leered down at Vance's dying body. In unison, Leah and Eritheia jeered, "Bye-bye, anchor."

The figures continued to observe Vance as his soul prepared to depart his body. As they looked down, Vance noticed the demon's eyes. They were like emeralds. Eritheia had Leah's eyes. In his final heartbeats, Vance struggled to figure out which was the demon and which was his wife.