Rebecca

It’s the type of deep night that feels powerful. The streets and sidewalks are deserted but for a chilled, biting wind. This arctic draft, bites, pries, wriggles its way between layers of clothing, and numbs the things it can catch hold of. Every breath becomes a swirling gust of fog before you. Streetlamps illuminate cone shaped halos of cold darkness in a hazy yellow glow.
Everything is coated in a thick silence. It is as if silence floated from the sky in heavy snow and gently rests on the surface of the city. The murmur of a footstep echoes in obvious contrast to this snowy soundlessness, appearing to be amplified. Every time he brings his shoe in contact to with the grimy, ice, speckled pavement he feels as if he is disturbing an overall, understood quietness, a soundless peace. As if he is intruding by making even the feeblest of noise.
He moves deliberately down the stretch of sidewalk, every step is placed cautiously, to make as little a sound as humanly possible. In between streetlights he quickens the pace, fearing the unknown which rests notoriously in shadow. It is safer under the blossom of luminosity, which splays under each lamp. Shadows dance on the corner of his vision, teasing, daring.
He is Theo. A fragile, quiet man who keeps to himself. Theo’s family has all either passed away or left him. He has never had a lover. His best and only friend is a dainty black cat called Anthonette. Theo is alone, and has always been such. This does not mean he doesn’t long for company, for that is not the case. Theo is simply used to being detached. As a living he writes books that no one will ever read. It is rare to find a person that would recognize his name or face. Theo is misunderstood and overlooked. He is nobody, one of six billion. Someone who will pass away and disappear, from history, from memory. Born as an accident, born to fill space, consume, and die.
His apartment is small, but suits him well. It has a kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, a living room. The living room is Theo’s favorite place. Decorated solely by a lengthy fainting couch, which sits comfortably under a window, he spends the majority of his time there. Theo watches people in the street below and lets words slip from the aging, silver fountain pen, which is the only utensil he feels comfortable brandishing. He prefers not to leave the apartment when the sun is out, disliking mingling with groups of people, or really any people at all. Instead he moves about the world at night. It was on such a night as this, where Theo was strolling through a puzzle of roadways and avenues, when he saw her.
She had been running from him. Hands curled into fists, pumping forcefully at her sides, gulping at the frigid air. Her lungs sting, complain, burn, eyes brim with tears. Fear threaded hysteric energy into her weakened legs, demanding her forward. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Keep going. Faster. Faster. Her thoughts were frantic. She ran for her life, the will for survival driving her forward, commanding her limbs to reach miraculous feats. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
They had been happy once, although it was a very long time previous. Paul and Rebecca, the perfect couple. In those early days he really had cared for and loved her. He used to stare into her eyes for minutes at a time without speaking, as if gazing through her and reading her thoughts. Then he would pull her close and whisper sweet, soft things into her ear. Stroke her hair with gentle fingers. They had rushed to marriage, foolishly, blinded by the thick emotion that clotted their brains. Rebecca had overlooked the flaws in him, eager to settle and live the dream life.
It had taken only months for him to change. Like a mask gradually being torn from his face, bit by bit. First was his serious alcoholism. Paul turned out to be quite different from the sweet man she had seen before. She stayed with him in the hopes of saving him and bringing the old Paul back to the surface. In the desperate hope that their love would sustain. This choice had cost her everything. He stopped holding her, stroking her hair, whispering. Paul turned bitter, often snapping at Rebecca and ordering her around. However, this was but the mere tip of an iceberg protruding from murky waters.
She remembered distinctly the first day he ever struck her, the memory branded into her head like a hot metal to open flesh. It was a Friday night. Paul had been disappearing a lot lately, without a clue to where he was going. Rebecca was not permitted to leave the apartment or to use the telephone. She had been gazing absently into the screen of a fuzzy t.v. She heard the whispery scratch of a key rubbing on the doorknob. Seconds later, Paul staggered across the threshold patently drunk, intimidating. It was late, or rather very early in the morning, some time near three. Rebecca stands, looking for the courage to face her husband and finding little.
“Where have you been Paul?” her words are firm but behind them lurks apprehension.
“Go to the bedroom. I’ll meet you there in a minute.” His speech is slightly slurred, yet final. His eyes skip around, never focusing on one thing for that long.
“Paul, you don’t control me. You can’t just order me to do whatever you want. I’m not a slave!” she gasps, Rebecca knows better then to stand up to this man, especially after a few drinks. She watches his cheeks flush in anger.
“You never talk back to me. I think if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be moving your ass into the bedroom right now.” His eyes bulge with fury. She staggers back a bit, recognizing the crazed look in his eye. Her bottom lips tremors with a hint of trepidation. She doesn’t move. She can’t move. By the time she realizes he’s stepping forward, the handprint on the side of her face is already beginning to blossom a bright scarlet. The sting of his fingers remains long after. Outliving the mark of his hand on her cheek by a long shot.
Convinced that his love for her was genuine, she lived with him for months after the first night. She became accustomed to his violet and aggressive behavior. Rebecca learned how to live in it, to simmer down his astounding acerbity. Despite it all she remained faithful.
Slowly but steadily she diminished into a withered shred of the woman she once was. Every action was made to prevent one of Paul’s breakouts. Every word was spoken with obedient caution. As time progressed she became of littler and littler interest to him. Rebecca evolved into the rug underneath his boots, the bed from which he could return to at his leisure, the lamp in the corner of the living room. She was nothing of value to him any longer. Paul used Rebecca, beat her, broke her. Months passed. Then one day.
She had long blonde hair that fell to her shoulders in perfect coils. Her eyes were soft green, her lips a flawless shade of coral pink. Her figure was faultless, the proportioning just right. She had smooth pale skin that was entirely blemish and scar free. One night he brought her home. Her name was Julie and she was his paradisiacal girl.
Suddenly, Rebecca was the maid. It was apparent that compared to Julie, she was a peasant. Therefore, she was used for everything that needed tending to, everything that needed to be done. Rebecca took her new role like a slave. Her only objection was the tears that trickled from her eyes without end.
“Take out the trash Rebecca! I can smell it from the bedroom.” Julie’s shrill call plagues her tender ears. She says nothing, instead moving methodically into the kitchen and lifting the overflowing trash bad from the bin. She steps down the stairs and outside to the trashcans without thinking. Disposing of the garbage is a regular routine for her. She pauses for a moment, staring up into the vast night sky above in awe. She envies the endless freedom of night. The stars twinkle down on her.
Rebecca looks down again. Her mind is blank, thoughtless, hollow. Her eyes wander down the road ahead. The darkness welcomes her. With one single motion she begins. Her feet finding the road below, her legs moving with rhythm. And so Rebecca runs. Without destination, without purpose. She runs from him, them, she runs from the life, which has killed her. Each step brings a wave of emotion. Fear mainly, but also a strange satisfaction. She is escaping.
The hole would appear obvious in sunlight, easy to avoid, nothing unusual. About half a foot deep, it’s not very wide or long. However, the blackness of sundown obscures it. Her foot falls easily into the depression, catching her ankle. She looses her balance, body twists, ankle cracks. Pain shoots up her leg. She lets out a faint cry. Tumbling downwards, the ground becomes so large. Rebecca flaps her arms desperately, she squints her eyes shut.
If Rebecca had happened to fall to the right, she would have survived with a broken ankle and possibly a sprained wrist. Unfortunately for Rebecca, her body had twisted left. The side of her head came in hard contact with the corner of the pavement. Blood exploded from her temple her skull fractured. The pain was absolute for a split second before she was thrown into an unconscious state. Blood flows inside her skull. Pressure builds within her head.
It is approximately one in the morning. By one forty five Rebecca is dead, her body limp, lifeless, and blood coated. She lays in wait of discovery, the night rests still.
He advances toward her, and after he becomes close enough, kneels down beside Rebecca’s corpse. The cold has kept the smell of death partially at bay, but he can smell her blood, metallic and bitter. The left side of her face is soaking in a puddle of crimson wetness. Her eyes are rolled back within her head; her hair is thick and matted, sodden with the sticky substance. Theo observes that her ankle is severely crooked and her skull is enflamed and red. A lone tear slips down his cheek for her.
“Hello.” He whispers warmly. “I’m Theo. Everything’s going to be all right. I’m here now.” Blood trickles from her ears, mouth and nose. He wipes it away with the sleeve of his jacket as best he can. Theo smiles down at her. Taking in her sunken cheeks and fragile anatomy. “Come with me.” His words are sincere and kind.
He stretches out his arms and begins to wrap them about her. One hand lifts under her knees, the other under her neck. Her sticky blood absorbs into his jacket, thick and clotted. He murmurs affectionate consolations to her. Blood leaks from her as they move, creating a thin trail behind them. Together they walk down the barren street, under the smatter of sparkling stars.
Theo has difficulty balancing her and opening the door to his apartment simultaneously, but he manages to step inside with her still in his arms. Moonlight glimmers through the little window above the pale feinting couch. He lays her down upon his favorite piece of furniture. Her body slumps, unable to support itself, but he lays several pillows under her figure to keep her upright. Theo directs her head to the side so that she can stare out the window. “Beautiful isn’t it?” His voice does not ask for an answer. “It’s going to be okay now. I promise. Your safe with me.” Anthonette appears from under the sofa and begins to lick up the droplets of scarlet from the polished wooden floor. Her tail flicks back and forth.
“I’ve been waiting for you for a long time.” He stares at her soft face. “Such a long time.”