THE SPIRIT WHO?

Bea could see him out of the corner of her half-opened eyes. As per usual, he was pushing his spectacles up and trying to calm his unruly mop of brown hair in the mirror they shared. As he tried to straighten his tie, she slowly got off their bed and silently padded to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

Over the past few months, she had noticed a sort of strained silence between her and Karl, her husband. They were happy initially, when they were newly married, but once that feeling of marital bliss faded, she noticed quiet undercurrents of something being "not quite right" between the two of them. It had gotten so bad, that now, they were hardly on speaking terms.

She made food for herself, managed the house on her own and Karl did the same. He made his own food, his own tea and even though the house was clean, mopped it once again he came back from work, usually on the same days that she did. The only thing that prevented her from leaving the house was Karl, who would invariably pick up the essentials- groceries, toiletries, fresh vegetables and some snacks whenever they seemed to be running out.

Their routine never varied much- She spent the day at home, cooking up different meals for herself from her grandmother’s old cookery book, cleaning the house every alternate day, watching television when she was bored and scrolling through social media. Even the gardening and mowing was done by Karl, she never even had to remind him, it was just done before she could.

Bea scrolled through the photo albums that she loved making, looking at pictures of her childhood, her on a tricycle, her white face when she opened the baby powder bottle with a sudden yank, graduation, photos with her best friends Anne and Marie, their wedding photos, their trip to Hawaii, swimming with the dolphins at Maui, her trip to Kyoto with her colleagues and, that’s it. The photos ended abruptly two years ago. She left her job and her old life behind when she was diagnosed with Mayer Rokitansky Syndrome which was when Karl and she mutually decided to shift to Oregon to continue her medical treatment.

But her illness had disastrous effects on their marriage. They could never have children; the risk was too great and she had to be extremely careful of what she did and didn’t do. Karl took it hard, for he always saw himself as a father so he plunged himself into his work as a reprieve. He never blamed her, and she knew it, but she also understood why he could barely look at her.

After seven years of a childless marriage, with silent corridors that would never hear a child’s laughter, with stark white rooms that would never have gay paintings of butterflies and teddy bears Karl began to view Bea as though they were on different planes. Sometimes even when he looked straight at her, he felt her fading away, the sharpness of her image seemed blurred and even though he tried to concentrate on her mouth while she spoke, he could hear only silence- as though he was watching a movie on mute, just her lips moving with no sound that he could hear.

So, they continued their silent living, both together but somehow apart- a silent existence.

On a Thursday, finally Bea had enough. It started off as any other normal day. She woke up before Karl, made her usual tea, sipped it, and for some reason unbeknownst to her smashed the cup to smithereens and screamed.

Karl jumped up from their bed, his eyes wide open in shock. “Not again”, he whispered to himself. Grabbing his clothes and tugging them on, he tried to navigate the treacherous staircase with his pants around his legs.

He knew it was her again. He knew she would never let him live in peace and neither did he deserve to, after the atrocities he committed against her. He knew that.

Of course, he killed her. In his logical mind his choice was the only accurate one. Suffering from such a painful disease was not killing just her, it killed them both. He lost almost all his savings looking after her, gaining nothing in return. He still had to kill her. She was too strong to die on her own. Finally, he made up his mind. On Thursday, 2^st May, 2019, he decided to put a potent dose of Digitalis into his wife’s tea- the one constant thing that he knew she would drink. The plan was carried out with an assassin’s precision to detail and as predicted Bea screamed, an ear-piercing one that permeated the walls of their house. A cup shattered. And then there was an eerie silence.

Karl stumbled. His pant leg had gotten caught in the stair railing and before he knew it, he was free-falling. He tried to cushion his fall but to no avail. He lay at the foot of the steps, barely moving, blood trickling from his mouth, neck broken by the fall. It was quite a silent death, there were no tears of loved ones being spilled, no paramedics, no visits to the emergency room, nothing. There was just him, or was he even a “him” anymore? Would he be denigrated to an “it” now?

For a second, the haze cleared. He could see Bea! She came into focus, bustling around him, but ignoring him. He tried to shout, but only quiet choked gurgles came out.  Karl felt a sense of weightlessness- felt himself floating, and he watched Bea walk around, their laundry basket on her hip, humming a soft melody to herself. She was careful not to step near his body... Wait, frantically he searched around for his mortal coil which was nowhere to be seen. He saw the faint traces of a chalk outline at the base of the stairs.

He saw Bea!!

Finally, his mind clicked. Bea was alive!

His eyes opened wide. He remembered what exactly had ensued between them.

Karl was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia seven years ago. Under the influence of his hallucinations, he thought Bea was the one with an incurable medical condition and strove to kill her. Yes, he had poisoned her tea, that part was true. But he drank the poisoned tea- Bea had brought it to their room as she was running late and unknowingly, he drank it. He felt a sudden piercing pain in his chest and shrieked, dropping the cup on the floor which obviously broke. Struggling with the pain, he tried to climb down the stairs, his hand clenched to his chest, when he tripped. That was all he remembered, and then there was today.

This connected all the events; he now had the full story.

He was free! He hadn’t killed Bea! He was the one who was dead, buried six feet underground.

He was the spirit tormenting her, not vice versa.