FIN DE MILL

I didn’t sign up for this. Quite the opposite of that, on the list of my wishes this would take the last place. What is it about my life that is so wrong? My choices don’t match what’s somewhere inside me, I believe. In the stomach there’s a feeling that one more day or year could end tragically. For me this would mean the definite end and for others it would make for some surprising, if not upsetting, news. Depends on the person, I suppose. Speaking of people that interfere with my life, he was the best at it. I should be asking right now, who is he to me? And me? For one, I am the voice of his conscience if that’s something that still rings a bell in his mind, even though he would say the same thing about himself for whatever reason I would classify as going bonkers. Second of all, I think it was time he knew. What he did he did and there’s no stopping the chain. So I wrote this “letter” to him that ended with “be prepared for a little visit.” My words were not far from truth, as I wanted to see him bite the literal dust under my combat boots.

***

“I’m so distracted. I think I am about to faint.”

“What does distraction have to do with fainting?”

“It’s happening.”

Lara swore and as if on command her body fell into complete inertia. 

“Damn, she was serious.”

“Of course she was.” The voice was coming from behind us, and it took me off guard.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked angrily instead of attending to Lara. 

“I am the voice of your conscience.”

“What the he-?”

“Careful with words. We don’t summon hellish creatures, nor do we call hell itself.”

“You nutty freak head, she will die if we leave her like that.”

“Call 911.” Said the mysterious man and neared to check Lara’s forehead. “I don’t give her much of a chance. She’s already cold.”

“You think it might be this new virus?” If somebody watched me from a distance, he would certainly agree with a statement that I suddenly took on the look of a ghost. Out of nowhere I decided to have a meaningful exchange with this strange interlocutor. 

“It can be anything. Listen, I can save her if you let me do my thing.”

“I am all in.” Said I, Patrick, loving husband of Lara, the greatest fool on the face of the earth, even if with a slight uneasiness, all the same quite trustingly.

***

“Just add a pinch of salt, and it’ll be good to go.”

“I don’t know, man. This sounds like a crazy recipe.” I said with a bit of a suspicion as to how much exactly this stranger should care for my girl as a random passer-by, finding us by a complete accident somewhere on the streets. Nonetheless, I added the most common of all seasonings, as if this ingredient alone could save Lara from demise.

“’Tis not salt that makes it crazy to you, right?” The man half-smiled, which was unusual for him. He didn’t show much of a humane side to him.

“Well, so you think it should work?”

“With two hour intervals for the first day, then three times a day concealed in some other meals for two more days and finally, don’t forget to disguise the taste cause vomiting might be dangerous.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It can burn through her throat.” The man said with an odd twinkle in his eye, as if such a prospect could delight him. I thought to myself the whole situation might have been stressful for him, hence the behaviour, though his composure would suggest otherwise.

“Oh, I forgot to ask about your name of all of that…”

“There are some that call me Timothy.”

“All right, Timothy.” I said, shaking his hand with greater than adequate enthusiasm (after all, nothing good happened yet as of that moment) that he did not reciprocate. “I can’t express my gratitude.” 

“I’m glad.”

“No, really.” I stopped him in the doorway decidedly. “I want to return a favour… some day, I mean. Can I have your number so that we could, you know, catch up later on?”

“Sure thing.” Said Timothy and gave me his number. There was something off about his robot like manners, but I gave him the benefit of the doubt and forgot about this air of strangeness for three long days.

***

Fast-forward three days. I sit by the Lara’s bed and wait for another fit. Lara’s got some unidentifiable disease. She remains unconscious, breathes though on her own. The doctors are all but useful. In other words, they are powerless. Morons with diplomas. We suspect it might be this new virus. No wonder. It arrived recently. Even to this little town, the back of beyond that we live in. 

But aside from the virus that’s decimating all of the country… I should say that Timothy’s words were puzzling and queer to say the least. In retrospect, he mentioned something about hell and such a remark thrown in quite casually, especially in such an emergency, doesn’t ever go unnoticed. I noticed it while in shock. I wonder whether Timothy approaches other strangers in such odd circumstances and plays some paragon of virtue like it’s all natural. 

I checked up my phone. No incoming messages, no nothing. I ought to expect something from my family that left me stranded here, alone with all this, but somehow it didn’t surprise me one bit. My family was full of selfish bastards and to them, I was bastard number one. 

“Hang on in there, honey. This is the last day of treatment. Everything’s gonna be fine.” I whispered into Lara’s ear and fell asleep. 

***

When I waked up, I didn’t quite realise how long I was absent from reality. It seemed like a blink of an eye. It wasn’t.

Around me, in a circle, were standing tall figures with masks on their faces. Frankly speaking, I lost any sense of corporeality whatsoever, and it didn’t help.

“He is awake!” Shouted triumphant voice. “Shall the trial begin! Commence the procedure!”

“Zeus!”

“Zeus is asked to confirm his presence!”

“Zeus! We see you, confirm your presence!”

I looked around, but my eye only met expressionless masks. What a secretive jury, I thought. Would Zeus come and confirm his presence was another question. I realised I was the only person inside the circle created by the menacing characters. Ergo, for whatever reason I, and I alone, was called Zeus. And they demanded none other than me to speak up. 

“My name’s Patrick.” I denied.

“Zeus, don’t complicate your situation. We want to talk.”

Commanding aura of the interrogating individual made me comply quite quickly.

“What about?”

“You know Demeter?”

“I know of no Demeter. You have the wrong person here.” 

“You haven’t sorted your family yet, Zeus. I forgive.”

“And who are you, if I may ask?”

“I am your big brother. Don’t you recognise me?”

“I have to say no. I didn’t know that I had one to begin with. For if it’s true, and you sound convinced, I was fooled by my own mother, or father.”

“Demeter…” Continued the voice without paying heed to what I’ve said. “… she had a daughter.”

“Okay. What’s the point?”

“The point is, you don’t sleep with your wife’s daughter who is your brother’s wife.”

“Yeah. That would be something I wouldn’t do. Provided I was a part of such horribly improper arrangement.”

“But you did.” Said uncompromising masked judge. “And now we demand you to tell us her whereabouts.”

“I know of no Demeter, nor do I know about her daughter.” I repeated with a sigh.

“She succumbed into oblivion right by your side, Zeus. We saw. Where is she now?”

I couldn’t believe how fierce they were in sustaining their clearly false accusations.

“Explain yourself. If you can’t explain yourself, it’s settled.”

“What’s settled?” I tried to get to know what strange of a rule governed the minds of the jury.

“You are decided guilty. You will be penalised accordingly. You will spend half a year in the Underworld with no one to turn to, let alone Demeter or her daughter. Excluding even me…”

***

Sweat all over my body and familiar surroundings let me know that it was just a stupid dream. Good. I was beginning to feel delusional. Lara was breathing, and I was reconciled with my fate, albeit a little confused. I couldn’t be more happy, and yet I didn’t know as of then. I didn’t know that she was to breathe and breathe only as the potion the man who introduced himself as Timothy put together made the virus take its toll on my girl. My girl, slowly but surely, lived only to reach death of slow exhaustion induced by the virus who was taking her over and to the other side, one fraction at a time. 

***

After the first three days, a miracle happened. She opened her eyes. But instead of looking at me and saying my name, she glanced over the window as if searching for some ghost of someone long forgotten in that stormy weather in the moors where we lived and muttered falteringly with an intonation characteristic of a question: 

“Timothy?”  

Almost immediately, she closed her eyes while I opened my mouth. I realised who Timothy might have been. Just put two plus two together. For I know a thing about that or two, words came to me unsolicited and natural. 

Men In Love Lie.