S P L I T
/
He can’t breathe, and he’s unsure of how he is where he is because he does not remember taking himself anywhere. And he can’t remember what day it is because it’s now dark and raining heavily and he is soaked. He doesn’t understand, because when he opens his eyes again he is home and he is dry and it is sunny outside and he is eating toast and staring out the window watching cars pass by. He is calm and he is scratching his chest and yawning and kind of listening to the TV behind him. After a few minutes he makes his way to the bathroom, peeling off his clothes on the way. In the mirror he finds his face darkens with small hairs. He doesn’t remember making a decision not to shave, but shrugs it off turns the shower on. And he begins backing away, the site of blood making him nauseous and his vision blurs as he hits the back wall, a shrill laugh filling his ears.
“Colby!” He comes to, laying in bed, a small blond girl on top of him. “Hey, I know you’ve said you’re hard to wake. But I was beginning to think you weren’t going to!” His eyebrows furrow, and he sits up, pushing her off and looking around. “Colby, what is it?” her hand rests on his shoulder, and he shrugs it off, standing and yawning and rubbing his face. He walks to the kitchen and stands at the sink, listening to the water drip from the faucet. When he turns back she’s pulling a shirt on and staring out the window beside his bed. She sighs and he makes his way to her, wrapping an arms around her stomach and kissing her cheek. She smiles now, closing her eyes as he trails down her neck and presses firmly against her ribs. And before she has time, he has the knife against her throat and then by his side as she falls against him. A laugh fills his ears, and he quickly pushes the girl away from him and steps back, horrified. “Look, Colby!” It laughs, and he stares wide-eyed at the blood on the wall as it slowly begins to creep downward. “You couldn’t believe it.”
“No,” Colby shakes his head, taking another couple of steps back. “No, no.” Colby drops the knife and brings his hands to his face, both covered in her blood. He lets out a soft moan, his head spinning, his heart pounding. “No.”
“First the poor man,” it taunts. “His poor children.”
“No, shut up!” he yells, his hands pushing through his hair and shaking his head. “I didn’t kill anyone! I’ve never killed anyone!” It laughs again, and several faces show themselves in Colby’s mind, and several nights of burning and digging and soaking clothes push their way into to front of his brain. “No, no, no!” But he remembers the man, and he doesn’t understand. “And you barely remember anything! But you were there for every one, staring them in the face, listening to their pleas. Colby continues to shake his head, trying to rid himself of the faces he’s seeing.
“Colby!” He comes to, laying in bed, a small blond girl on top of him. “Hey, I know you’ve said you’re hard to wake. But I was beginning to think you weren’t going to!” His eyebrows furrow, and he sits up, pushing her off and looking around. “Colby, what is it?” her hand rests on his shoulder, and he shrugs it off, standing and yawning and rubbing his face. He walks to the kitchen and stands at the sink, listening to the water drip from the faucet. When he turns back she’s pulling a shirt on and staring out the window beside his bed. She sighs and he makes his way to her, wrapping an arms around her stomach and kissing her cheek. She smiles now, closing her eyes as he trails down her neck and presses firmly against her ribs. And before she has time, he has the knife against her throat and then by his side as she falls against him. A laugh fills his ears, and he quickly pushes the girl away from him and steps back, horrified. “Look, Colby!” It laughs, and he stares wide-eyed at the blood on the wall as it slowly begins to creep downward. “You couldn’t believe it.”
“No,” Colby shakes his head, taking another couple of steps back. “No, no.” Colby drops the knife and brings his hands to his face, both covered in her blood. He lets out a soft moan, his head spinning, his heart pounding. “No.”
“First the poor man,” it taunts. “His poor children.”
“No, shut up!” he yells, his hands pushing through his hair and shaking his head. “I didn’t kill anyone! I’ve never killed anyone!” It laughs again, and several faces show themselves in Colby’s mind, and several nights of burning and digging and soaking clothes push their way into to front of his brain. “No, no, no!” But he remembers the man, and he doesn’t understand. “And you barely remember anything! But you were there for every one, staring them in the face, listening to their pleas. Colby continues to shake his head, trying to rid himself of the faces he’s seeing.