Dwellers of the Night: The Complete Collection by Anthony Barnhart Page B
Authors: Anthony Barnhart
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in an insane asylum, drugged up, hallucinating.
Because then none of this is real.
And Kira is alive.
And the world is at peace.
“Oh God… Please let it be true… Please let it be true…”
He receives no answer: only the tapping rain on the windowpanes.
He cries and cries, and he drifts into sleep.
∑Ω∑
He sat across from her, rice pilaf cradled in his spoon. She dabbed a fry in her ketchup, each move slow and labored. The conversation was absent, as it had been the entire meal—and the entire drive to the diner, despite his attempts to spark a little chit-chat. The sounds of the diner—clinking silverware, peels of laughter, muffled conversations—surrounded them. He nodded at her food. “It’s going to get cold.”
“I’m not hungry.” A swift, sure answer.
“Then why did you want to come here?”
She didn’t reply. He tried to read her face: the unkempt frown, the averting eyes, the awkward movements, ever-so-subtle. She hadn’t said much of anything, and she had only eaten a quarter of her cheeseburger.
“How was work?” he asked, yet another futile attempt at conversation.
“It was fine.”
“Was it busy?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Moments passed. He spooned the rice into his mouth. “What did you want to talk about?”
She didn’t look at him, continued playing with her food. “Do we have to talk about it now?”
Anthony Barnhart
Dwellers of the Night
54
“You said you wanted to talk…”
“I did.”
“Do you still want to?”
“Not right now.”
A pause. “I think we should.”
“Look…” She raised her eyes. A tear speckled.
He froze. A random thought, followed by a bare whisper: “Are you pregnant?”
“What?”
“The condom was old, but I didn’t think…”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, I’m not pregnant.” She took a deep breath, forced her lips to move. “I don’t think we should be together anymore.”
His heart stopped. His eyes went blurry. The din of the diner faded. All he could hear were those words, echoing like a gong in the back of his head. She hung her head low. His voice was dry; he suddenly felt parched: “Are… Are you serious?”
She nodded, looked up at him. “Yes.” Tears crawled down her cheeks.
“But… But last night… Just last night you said you could see us being together… forever. I don’t…”
“I’m sorry.”
“How can you go from saying that to saying… to saying this?”
“I was confused…”
“You were confused, so you sank your teeth right into my vulnerabilities?” His voice was rising, fueled by a malevolent concoction of desperation and anger.
“I feel horrible… I didn’t want to hurt you…”
Too fucking late for that , he thought. “Why?”
She stared at him. “Why what?”
“Why… this?”
She fidgeted, unsure of her answer. “I’m seeing someone else?”
“You’re fucking with me,” he stated matter-of-factly, refusing to believe.
“No…”
“Who is it?”
Her lips shuddered with an oncoming slew of tears. “Mark…”
His shout silenced the diner: “Fuck!”
∑Ω∑
He awakes. He is still at the bedside. He pulls himself up and looks into Kira’s eyes. “I’m so sorry…
I’m so sorry…” It’s all he can say. He can’t deny the fact that he is done this. Those visions were not visions, but memories. Repressed memories surging to the surface. He takes her hand in his once more. “How could I do this… How could I do this… to you ?” She gives him no answers. He can only hear her pleas. Her pleas as she begged him to stop. He will bury her again. I buried her, and she wasn’t even dead. And when she came back to me, my dreams thrust into my face, alive more than ever, I took her life. I have become insane, an animal, who shoots and kills as I am locked in this prison of my own making .
He downs the Captain Morgan Rum. It is late afternoon. He remembers the days before he met Kira. Those dark and tumultuous days,
Because then none of this is real.
And Kira is alive.
And the world is at peace.
“Oh God… Please let it be true… Please let it be true…”
He receives no answer: only the tapping rain on the windowpanes.
He cries and cries, and he drifts into sleep.
∑Ω∑
He sat across from her, rice pilaf cradled in his spoon. She dabbed a fry in her ketchup, each move slow and labored. The conversation was absent, as it had been the entire meal—and the entire drive to the diner, despite his attempts to spark a little chit-chat. The sounds of the diner—clinking silverware, peels of laughter, muffled conversations—surrounded them. He nodded at her food. “It’s going to get cold.”
“I’m not hungry.” A swift, sure answer.
“Then why did you want to come here?”
She didn’t reply. He tried to read her face: the unkempt frown, the averting eyes, the awkward movements, ever-so-subtle. She hadn’t said much of anything, and she had only eaten a quarter of her cheeseburger.
“How was work?” he asked, yet another futile attempt at conversation.
“It was fine.”
“Was it busy?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Moments passed. He spooned the rice into his mouth. “What did you want to talk about?”
She didn’t look at him, continued playing with her food. “Do we have to talk about it now?”
Anthony Barnhart
Dwellers of the Night
54
“You said you wanted to talk…”
“I did.”
“Do you still want to?”
“Not right now.”
A pause. “I think we should.”
“Look…” She raised her eyes. A tear speckled.
He froze. A random thought, followed by a bare whisper: “Are you pregnant?”
“What?”
“The condom was old, but I didn’t think…”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, I’m not pregnant.” She took a deep breath, forced her lips to move. “I don’t think we should be together anymore.”
His heart stopped. His eyes went blurry. The din of the diner faded. All he could hear were those words, echoing like a gong in the back of his head. She hung her head low. His voice was dry; he suddenly felt parched: “Are… Are you serious?”
She nodded, looked up at him. “Yes.” Tears crawled down her cheeks.
“But… But last night… Just last night you said you could see us being together… forever. I don’t…”
“I’m sorry.”
“How can you go from saying that to saying… to saying this?”
“I was confused…”
“You were confused, so you sank your teeth right into my vulnerabilities?” His voice was rising, fueled by a malevolent concoction of desperation and anger.
“I feel horrible… I didn’t want to hurt you…”
Too fucking late for that , he thought. “Why?”
She stared at him. “Why what?”
“Why… this?”
She fidgeted, unsure of her answer. “I’m seeing someone else?”
“You’re fucking with me,” he stated matter-of-factly, refusing to believe.
“No…”
“Who is it?”
Her lips shuddered with an oncoming slew of tears. “Mark…”
His shout silenced the diner: “Fuck!”
∑Ω∑
He awakes. He is still at the bedside. He pulls himself up and looks into Kira’s eyes. “I’m so sorry…
I’m so sorry…” It’s all he can say. He can’t deny the fact that he is done this. Those visions were not visions, but memories. Repressed memories surging to the surface. He takes her hand in his once more. “How could I do this… How could I do this… to you ?” She gives him no answers. He can only hear her pleas. Her pleas as she begged him to stop. He will bury her again. I buried her, and she wasn’t even dead. And when she came back to me, my dreams thrust into my face, alive more than ever, I took her life. I have become insane, an animal, who shoots and kills as I am locked in this prison of my own making .
He downs the Captain Morgan Rum. It is late afternoon. He remembers the days before he met Kira. Those dark and tumultuous days,
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