Page 26 of Come Out, Come Out

At sunrise, I get up and feed Binx, then check my email. I have one response. Apparently, it’s already spoken for, they just forgot to take the listing down.Great.I’m determined to at least wait for a response on one of the others before making my decision, but I do go ahead and email my previous landlord about the house to see if he’d be willing to re-rent it to me. I get a response back within minutes, he’s confused, but he agrees. I leave it unanswered, just in case another one of the rentals comes through. For now, I busy myself with re-packing the kitchen. Suddenly, I’m relieved I’d put off getting settled. It would have been such a bitch to have to box up everything again. I was still sore from all the lifting, crouching, and moving I’d done already.

By lunchtime, the kitchen is as empty as it was just a few days ago. I grab an orange soda, string cheese, and my laptop and head to my room for a break with Binx at my heels. When I reload my email, I have a response saying the studio apartment in town is available. Unfortunately, they don’t allow pets. Wish they’d had that in their listing, but that’s why I’d asked. Two down, one more to go.

I also have a short email from Mike. I grimace and open it.

Attached is the nullified lease as discussed. – Mike

Temporarily satisfied, I decide to call the movers so I can respond with an invoice. Unfortunately, they don’t have availability for tomorrow but I took the first appointment for the next day. I respond back to Mike and am pleased to find that the five hundred dollars shows up in my bank account within ten minutes.

Just two more sleepless nights to go.

Aiden

December 4th, 2020 – Two Days Later

Five, going on six, endless days without Skye. I would think it’s been an eternity if it weren’t for the clock on the stove. I wonder when they’ll turn the power out and I’ll be plunged back into darkness. Not that it matters, the floors and walls could fall away into an empty abyss and it wouldn’t feel any different. I’m trapped in a meaningless existence, dead like the trees that were broken down and reshaped into the planks that hold this house together.

Skye reshaped me. Watching her was like a life raft that pulled me in from being adrift at sea. Loving her gave me purpose, made mesomeoneagain.

Without her, I’m no one. Floating aimlessly.

I wonder if this is why spirits have their reputation for being angry and hostile; is it the loneliness that does it? Drifting into darkness and isolation without a say, always left behind, cast off, and easily forgotten. Never seen. What other option was there? Sunken into the seams of the world, where nobody can see us. It wasn’t a choice at all to become a swirling mass of loss and loathing, I could feel myself becoming it.

In these moments, when I feel so lost, I can’t help but think of Becca. I hope there was something better waiting for her in death. The complete and utter isolation had gnawed through all that I was in life—and I was someone who’d embraced my fate of being on the outside of everything. For Becca, someone who’d been social and a high achiever, this existence would have destroyed whatever was left of her when she passed.

From my perspective, she was the kind of person who was so full of joy and vibrancy. Sometimes I wonder if she was hiding her own darkness beneath that hopeful exterior. Maybe she was like Skye, someone who battled their inner demons on their own. I’m ashamed to consider that maybe I allowed her to suffer in silence. After all, I never would have believed there was any possibility of her taking her own life.Could I have possibly failed her in so many ways?God, I hope not.

The last year had felt like an eternity; I can’t even imagine what the hell six years would be like. I want to believe that she’s somewhere better, that she’s found peace from the things that tormented her in life. But if she is here, in this world still as much as I am, I hope my parents stay in that home despite the painful memories that haunt those halls like me as I pace through this large house.

I stroll past where I killed Rob; the point of no return for my descent into madness. I stop in the kitchen and lean against the counter opposite of where I first fucked Skye. Despite how many times I’ve thought back on that memory fondly, it isn’t the tight grip of her pussy that I’m thinking about or the way she whimpered and begged me to fuck her. No. It’s the feeling of my hands on her soft skin, the thrumming of her heart pressed against my chest, and the trust shining in her eyes when she let me make her come that holds me here in this spot for God knows how long.

I grip the countertop and my finger brushes against something. There’s a lone piece of paper. This must be her forwarding address left for her landlord. Knowing the information won’t do me any good, I still pick it up and trace my fingers over the rough scribble of someone who’s spent the vast majority of their life typing and now can barely write a thing.

I’ve never been there, but I recognize the town. I almost wish I didn’t. She’s only a few miles from me but just as out of reach as she would be if she was on an entirely different continent. At least when she ran errands or went out on the very rare occasion, I knew she’d be back. I knew that even though I’d spend far too much time staring at that front door, she’d walk back through it and everything would be right again.

For the hundredth time, I curse my circumstances of being tethered to this house. I march out to the front porch, a small reprieve from the walls that start to press in around me. I latch on to the signs of life around me, the rustle of the wind through the trees, the birds that fly freely in the grey sky above me, and the squirrels that race around tree trunks. It’s easy to forget that there’s still a world out here, beyond the glass windows that cage me in. I step back off the porch and look up at my prison. The paint has chipped and peeled in so many places, some of the decorative shutters are missing a few of their slats, and dirt and debris coat random sections of the exterior, but even still, it’s a beautiful house. I can at least appreciate that.

My reverence for the old structure is broken by gravel crunching under tires. A moving truck is coming up the driveway.That was fast.I want to feel relieved that I’m no longer alone—people watching is better than complete silence—but disappointment weighs me down. The excitement I felt when Skye and her roommates moved in is nowhere to be found. Even before I knew her, she’d brought me joy.

With nothing better to do, I take a seat on one of the weather-beaten, white Adirondack chairs that decorate the porch and watch the movers get to work. They start with the furniture and the bedframe grabs my attention. There’s something familiar about it—and not in the way that all black furniture looks the same, but how distinct the scratches and knicks in the paint are. More tires over the dirt and gravel draw my attention back to the driveway and even though I recognize the car, I tamp down the hope that’s building inside me like a volcano about to erupt.

I don’t realize I’m leaning forward, getting the best view I can without getting up, until one of the movers says, “Did you see that?” He and the mover who’s helping him bring the bed frame up to the door stop and stare. For a minute, I’m sure they can see me. “Did you see it move? See the legs lifting off the ground?” he asks his friend.

“Yeah . . .” the other man responds, his eyes fixed on the back legs that I promptly slam back down just to fuck with them. There’s such a rare opportunity to make myself laugh these days; I can’t pass it up. As I expected, he jumps and drops his end of the bed frame. We all collectively flinch.Oops.

I don’t hear the rest of their conversation because all of my attention is zeroed in on the black-haired beauty who gets out of the car in the driveway. She stops mid-step and stares up at the house.Is she looking for me? Could she have missed me?I find I don’t care what the answers are, I’m just grateful that she’s back. I don’t know how, and I don’t know why, but I’m more sure than ever that our paths crossing is fate. What other explanation could there be? My temporary elation is darkened when I catch the end of the conversation beside me. “Let’s just focus and get through this job as soon as this bitch comes to unlock the door. What the hell is taking her so long?” I slowly turn my head, identifying the speaker as the man who’d dropped the bedframe. I would celebrate Skye’s return later, but for now, I’d make it my mission to scare the shit out of this asshole the rest of the time he’s here. No one talks about my girl that way.

Before Skye makes it up the short set of steps, I move around the men and open the door to the house, in part to welcome her back but mostly to make them uncomfortable. I almost miss the slight upturn of Skye’s lips while reveling in the hard swallow and wide eyes of the man who was previously shit-talking her. I can’t even guess what would drive her back here, but her relief about being back at the house,at home, is palpable. I bask in it a moment longer before following them inside.

While Skye busies herself with setting things up as they’re being unpacked, I focus my full attention on terrorizing the mover who thought it was a good idea to insult her. I trail him closely up the stairs and into Skye’s room. On his second trip back up, I shift the small stack of boxes he set down, so when he turns back around, he trips, checking his shoulder hard against the wall. Child’s play, but I don’t want him running out of here when she still needs help. When he places a few boxes in the bathroom, I nudge the door open, encouraging it to creak ominously on its hinges. His face goes slack and his eyes dart side to side. A genuine smile finds its way onto my face as he speed walks back to the staircase and goes down as quickly as he can without breaking an ankle.

“You good?” One of the other movers asks. He doesn’t respond, just nods briskly.

This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I take the opportunity to rearrange things, crowd his space, and otherwise disorient him as he urges his team to pick up the pace so they can wrap up the job quickly.

“One more trip and then we’re finished. I want to get out of here, this place gives me the creeps.”

A full laugh leaves my chest. For my grand finale, I intend to truly scare the shit out of him. The perfect opportunity presents itself when he places her nightstand on the wrong side of the room, so naturally, I give it a hard shove sending it sliding across the floor. His mouth drops open, lips quivering as he backs his way out of the room, nearly tripping over his feet as he turns the corner. I follow, nearly skipping down the steps, to make sure he doesn’t give Skye any more shit.

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