In The Misted Haze

David sighed to himself as he put the keys into the ignition of his slick black Toyota, the one he and Jane had picked out together not three weeks ago. That day seemed so long ago, now that she was gone.

He remembered the exact look on her smiling face when she saw the car, claiming that she just knew it was the right one. Her shimmering green eyes, her long brown hair flying out in wild little tufts, desperately trying to escape the grip of the scrunchie she had it pulled up in. He sighed again as he flicked the right turn signal, less then two minutes from their....his apartment.

As he pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car, he thought back to a week earlier, when she had seemed so happy. He had thought she was happy. He stomped up the stairs to the third floor, trying to unleash some of his pain into the cheap, blue-gray carpet.

David opened the door to be greeted by the cat, Benjamin. He didn't even like cats that much. He had tolerated the thing for her. Now that she was gone, he didn't want to part wil the small mammal, seeing it as a part of her, something keeping her alive, if only a tiny piece.

He pressed the play button on the answering machine, hearing but not truly listening to the condolences and half-hearted 'sorry's' from his friends and family as he remembered the day she had found Benjamin. She was so full of excitement that day when she came home, eyes shining with joy as she cradled what was then a small gray kitten in her arms. She had been so innocent and childlike that day that he just couldn't say no to her.

After enduring message after message, he headed into the bedroom, tenderly brushing his fingertips across a silver-framed photograph, one of the two of them at the park, feeding the ducks. He remembered that day as well.

He sighed for what seemed the thousandth time that day as he undid his black tie, draping it over the back of her purple desk chair. It hadn't fully hit him yet. It couldn't have. He knew otherwise he would be bawling his eyes out. But he wasn't. Not yet.

He was about to flop down onto the bed, hopeful to get at least a bit of sleep, which he hadn't been able to manage since she'd been gone, when he happened to glimpse a bit of purple poking out from under the bed. It wasn't like him, or her, for that matter, to leave things half shoved away like that. It must have gotten kicked there in the fit of panic that had ensued when he had found her, blue-skinned and barely breathing, on the bathroom floor.

He reached towards the purple corner, teasing it out from its hiding spot under the bed. It came loose easily, and he placed it gingerly in his lap.

It was a book. He flipped it over, hoping to find the title, not remembering any purple-covered book. What he saw made his heart skip a beat. Jane's Diary.

He knew she had one. Her therapist from before he had met her had suggested keeping one. He thought it had helped her. Thought she was better now.

David was never allowed to see the diary. He didn't even know what the cover looked like or where she kept it hidden. She must have known, and left it for him. She wasn't so careless as to hide it under the bed like that.

Drawing in a shaky breath, he slowly opened it, only to be met with her small, delicate handwriting, detailing in words a day before he had met her.

He skipped forward a few pages.

There. There was the day he had met her. He remembered it as well as his own birthday. He had been at the local coffee shop, reading the daily comics in the newspaper, when a small woman clumsily fell over her own shoelaces, spilling coffee all over Garfield and Odie. That clumsy woman had been Jane.

He braced himself for what he knew should be on that page.

Glancing down to read on, he was shocked. Not one word. Not a one. Maybe he was going insane.

He went through the rest of the diary, page after page of tiny, loopy cursive writing, all written in her favorite purple pen. He was not in it.

This wasn't possible. He stayed awake, well into the night, skimming through every page a second and third time. The phone rang, but he didn't answer it. He must not be doing it right. This time he slowed down and scoured every word, looking for some trace, some bit that would acknowledge his existence. Even if it was just one word.

It was no use. He simply wasn't there.

David's breath was comming in shallow, spine-wracking sobs now. It had hit him. The tears finally came, spilling over his eyelids and running down his face, dripping down to soak the thin carpet.

He stopped abruptly. No. This wasn't happening.

He bounded into the kitchen, yanking open drawers and cabinets left and right, until he finally spotted it on the counter. A lighter.

Rushing back to the bedroom, he grabbed the dainty purple book, holding it up to the lighters flame. It caught easily, flaring up and steadily devouring each and every page, each and every word.

He had to drop it once it got too close to his fingers. Not like he cared anymore anyways. He watched with a manic gleam in his eye as the little orange monsters grew and grew, eating their way across the carpet, finally reaching the furniture and walls.

Withing minutes, the entire bedroom was up in flames, with David at the center. Not really caring as he heard the smoke detector beeping fervidly above his head.

In the distance he heard sirens wailing. The fire squad was on their way.

He couldn't let them ruin this for him. The sweet relief he felt when the flames licked their way up his skin, burning him. He sucked in deep breaths, trying to speed up his own asphyxiation. They would not ruin this for him.

He heard the sound of an axe chopping away at the wood of his front door, right before his world went blank.

And there she was again.