Derek can still see the occasional flickers of those oncoming headlights. He does not know how much time has passed. He is enclosed by steel.
Long ago Derek had bought flowers. A bunch of carnations for their second date. Mary had glowed.
He feels his own brittle veins, feels the stemming of fluids in his body.
“I just stopped by the florist.”
“More than just stopped by,” Mary had said. “Carnations. It’s like some kind of intuition, like we’re connected.”
Derek blinks. His eyes feel dry and raspy. He sees again the echoes of the headlights, feels again the road’s ridges rumbling around the tires, shuddering through the car.
How can he remember these things?
“Fifteenth anniversary,” Mary said, just today. “Can you imagine?”
“I couldn’t imagine any different.”
She was still beaming from the house full of carnations. She poured him a second glass of the Shiraz.
“I’ll be driving,” he said.
“It’s okay, our reservation’s not for another hour.” She glanced at the stairs. “Maybe we could, you know, have a quick lie down.”
Derek glanced at his watch.
How long has he been here?
“Don’t spoil it,” she said. She slipped her jacket off, undid the top button on her blouse, then the next. “It’s cold out.”
Snow on the road. The other car swerving.
He chased her upstairs, grabbed her by the bed. Mary giggled, kissed him. “Maybe tonight,” she whispered. She’d stopped taking the pill three years ago and still nothing.
“Maybe,” he whispered and opened the rest of her buttons.
Things slow down. The approaching car swerves. It crosses the centerline.
Mary slipped Derek’s clothes from him and shed her underwear. She gasped
The moment of impact tears both cars apart. Mary cries out.
They separated, breathing, sweaty under the blankets. The bedside lamp glowed through the room.
“Whew,” Mary said.
Derek said nothing. He knew silence was right, for the moment.
He rolled on his side and stretched his arm across her belly. He stroked her gently and she put her hand on his, and the both of them rubbed her abdomen.
The windshield splinters. Mary’s momentum drags her through the showering glass. She pummels the hood. She flips and twists like a discarded and crumpled envelope, clipping the other car’s roof and bouncing onto the tarmac.
“Crap,” Mary said, bounding from the bed.
Derek sat up. “What?”
“Look at the time. We’ll lose our reservation.”
Derek looks and scampers. He can’t help grinning though. Unrushed and lost in each other, they’ve devoured time.
Then it stops. There’s nothing after seeing Mary broken on the bitumen.
They rushed to the car.
“You drive,” Mary said.
Derek reaches his hand up. He feels cold. He remembers snow.
He backed out of the garage, into the street. Piles of muddy ploughed snow lined the verges like tiny mountains lit by gigantic streetlamps.
“Can you remember the way?” Mary said. “It’s pretty far out of town.”
“We’ll go out along Roosevelt.”
“Good idea.”
Derek feels the steel again. He pushes against it. He realises he is prone. His body is not in pain, but it aches, still and unmoving.
The traffic lights at 32nd were jammed again. Derek waited, then eventually drove through the red.
“We’re already twenty-five minutes late,” Mary said. “We’re sure to lose it.”
Something moves and he slides. Light pierces his desiccated retinas.
“It’s okay,” he said. “How busy can they be? Call them.”
“Oh.” Mary laughed. “Why didn’t we even think of that?” She pulled out her cell, scrolled through the numbers.
Derek realises he is not in the car. He keeps pushing into the light. He is in a bright white room, lined with doors.
“You know,” Mary said, with the phone to her ear, waiting for the restaurant.
“Know what?”
“Well, I think … oh, hi. We had a reservation for seven-thirty.”
Derek saw headlights in the distance.
Doors. Tiny square doors. Derek sits up. Not the car. A sliding tray. He’s seen this kind of room before, on TV. On cop shows and medical dramas.
“They’ve held it,” Mary said. “Wow, that’s great service.”
“Good.” The approaching car shuffled across the road and back. Derek slowed. “What should I know?” The car worried him.
Derek sits, leans forward. His body is cut, his arms shredded and mangled. A white plastic sheet slides away from him, drops to the floor. Unsteady, he looks around the room. The light is too bright.
The other doors are all closed. There is a normal-sized door at the end of the room.
What is he doing here?
He swings around to step off the sliding tray and tumbles to the floor. He feels bones grinding within his arm and chest, but no pain. He reaches for the tray, pulls himself to his feet. He is naked and shaking.
The main door opens. “What’s going on-” an orderly says before jerking back, screaming and slamming the door.
Derek takes a step from the tray. He can just balance, just stay upright.
“What you should know?” Mary said.
“You think you’re pregnant?”
“Something’s up … maybe.”
“We’ll buy a test at Rite Aid on the way home.”
The doors are all the same, but he knows where she is. He stumbles across, falling twice. He reaches her drawer as the main door opens and a security guard steps in, hand on his gun.
Derek pulls the drawer open. Mary is scratched and battered, butchered as if with flailing knives. He touches her hand and pulls himself up to lie beside her. The light fades away as he puts his hand on her belly.
___________________________
©2010 Sean Monaghan
Sean Monaghan’s visits to morgues have fortunately been mainly via television. His stories have appeared before in Flashes in the Dark and also in Pulp Metal Magazine, Infinite Windows and Bewildering Stories, amongst others. More information at his website www.venusvulture.com
Tags: Sean Monaghan
July 22nd, 2010 at 12:24 pm
Sean!
This is gruesome and heartwrenching love story. I thought the flip flopping between the now and memory worked really well. I think what bothers me the most about this story, is how real it is. Very easily has happened dozens, even hundreds of times in the past.
There were so many great lines, my favorite was this:
Unrushed and lost in each other, they’ve devoured time.
Awesome job as always, and congrats on the chapbook publish
July 22nd, 2010 at 4:28 pm
Thanks Jodi - glad this all made sense.
July 22nd, 2010 at 6:33 pm
Everything about this is haunting, yet oddly enchanting. It’s moody and horror-drenched and written with perfect control of words. Great.
July 22nd, 2010 at 11:56 pm
Cool thanks Angel … words are all I have