Him
“ … and if, um, Lizzie, if you need anything, I'll be right outside.”
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”
“ … Yeah.”
She walked into the room, twisting her hands with anxiety. She glanced quickly at the boy sitting before her as she placed herself in the opposite chair.
“ … Hello,” she said. He stared at her, his face perfectly blank. “Right,” she continued hesitantly, “I wanted to clarify one thing. Is that all right with you?”
He opened his mouth. “Okay.”
“You...” she swallowed. She took a deep breath. “You really are real?”
“You asked me that before.”
“Yes,” she said. “I did.”
“You didn't believe me.”
She chuckled slightly, struggling not to look away from those dead eyes. “You're a bit difficult to believe in.”
“I know. But you're talking to me anyway.”
“Yeah, I am, aren't I?” She paused, feeling the anxiety creeping through her skin. “Am I crazy?” she whispered.
“I don't know. Ask your husband.”
“He – ” she started. Truthfully, Matthew most likely believed she was. She'd seen it in his eyes the instant she had chosen to confide in him, and it had remained there ever since, haunting every word, every touch. But not more so than the usual ghosts of loneliness lingering between them. She sighed. “He doesn't know,” she said. “I'd like to believe I'm not.”
“Then you're not crazy.”
She gave him a hard look. “It's not that easy.”
“Then you are crazy.”
“Be serious,” she chided.
“Be reasonable.”
“You're the one that defies reason – ” she started to say hotly. Suddenly, she realized she still didn't know his name. “I'm sorry,” she said, the words feeling awkward in her mouth, “Do you, um, have a name?”
“Yes.”
“What's your name?”
“Jack.”
“Jack.” It seemed too normal. “Well,” she said, “I'm Beth. It's nice to officially meet you.”
“That's short for Elizabeth.”
It wasn't a question. “Yes,” she said anyway. “You could call me that if you prefer.”
“I'll call you Beth.”
“If you prefer.”
“I do.”
“So...how old are you?” she asked hesitantly. She had been wondering that ever since she first saw him. If he ended up answering with a claim to immortality, she was sure she would not be surprised in the least.
“Don't look at me like that. I'm fifteen.”
“I wasn't – ” she started, stricken. Sheepishly, she said, “You look older.”
“Really?”
“Yeah-”
“Tell me, what do I look like right now?”
“Uh,” she faltered. How was someone supposed to answer a question like that? “Different,” she ended up saying. “You look...different.”
“ … What? Am I green or something?”
“What?” What did he mean by that? “No, I mean, you look different from the normal person, but...” she hesitated again, not sure how to phrase it. “I guess different from how I would've expected someone like you to look like.”
“What does it mean to be someone like me?”
He asked this quietly, and she couldn't help but answer him in the same manner. “Like something out of a story,” she said, “Maybe the scary kind.”
“It would have better if I was.”
She snorted softly. “Then I'd definitely be the crazy one.”
“Are you saying you're not?”
“You got me there, I guess,” she said, smiling slightly.
“ … Anyway, you still haven't told me.”
“What?”
“What do I look like?”
“You – ” she started, and she stared at him as fixedly as the first time she saw him. “Are you saying you can't see yourself?”
“No. If you won't tell me then fine.”
She moved to the edge of her seat, agitated by his answer. “It's not that I'm not willing to tell you – ”
“Then tell me.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. What did he want from her? They looked at each other for several long moments, neither one surrendering even a word into the heavy silence. “Your hair is long,” she suddenly heard herself saying, “but not yet shoulder-length. It's matted and dirty, probably blond. You could take a shower here later, if you'd like. Your eyes change color; they seemed gray when I first saw you. I would say they're blue now. Your face is covered with stubble, like an old man. You have a hard face, but brittle. Like thin ice. You have slender hands. They were one of the first things I noticed about you. They're not callused working hands...more like the hands of a child. You're also tall, but not very. Tall enough to be a man. You might have been a handsome one too, in another time and place, if not for...” she trailed off, lost by the change in the look of his eyes, losing herself also in her words.
“ … You are very thorough.”
“It's what you look like,” she said softly.
“Thank you for your honesty.”
“Can you...tell me what I look like?” she asked.
“Why?”
She smiled slightly. “Curiosity.”
“You don't know what you look like?”
“Not to you,” she said.
“You look normal to me.”
Did he think that was an answer? “Normal in what way?”
“ … Short black hair, brown eyes, skinny, average height. Probably in your late twenties, married, no kids, and you work in an office. Other than that, you look sharp, but disillusioned. Normal.”
What did he mean by that last part? She didn't dare to ask. “Why do I work in an office?” she said instead.
“Why do you?”
She felt herself smirking. When had been the last time that happened? “I don't,” she said. His pause didn't last even a second.
“That's brave of you.”
“I'm not brave.”
“That doesn't mean you can't make a brave decision.”
She lapsed into silence, pondering his words.
“Can I really take a shower?”
“What?” she said absentmindedly.
“You said I could use the shower here.”
“Um, yes,” she said slowly, “But not right now, if that's okay with you. I have one more thing to discuss.”
“There's no point in discussing that.”
The dismissal in his tone surprised her, though perhaps it shouldn't have. “I've decided you're real,” she said just as sharply, “Therefore, I have to ask you about that.”
“You have to? How noble.”
Brat. “Why – ” she started impatiently, but he cut her off.
“I made a choice. It had nothing to do with you. You carry no responsibility in finding out whether or not it was justified. Don't agonize over something that was my decision to make.”
She tried to stifle her annoyance as she leaned forward. “You may be right,” she said evenly, “Nevertheless, I have a responsibility to make sure that doesn't happen again.”
“Why?”
“Because life is precious.”
“So is death.”
“That's why you shouldn't play with either.”
“Then what should I play with?”
His reply seemed to echo hollowly within her, revealing an empty kind of...longing. This person...he was absolutely alone. “Am I the only person who's ever been able to see you?” she asked quietly.
“No.”
That surprised her, though her initial spark of hope was dampened when she realized the tone with which he delivered the word. “That's good to know,” she said anyway, “Do you know where those other people are?”
“No.”
Of course... “Did you...know them?”
“Yes.”
Of course. He was worse than alone, wasn't he? “Are-are they – ”
“Yes.”
“ … I'm sorry.”
“...”
“I'm sorry,” she repeated. “But...can you tell me if they were real? Could you prove it to me?”
“I can.”
She leaned back in her chair, keeping a steady gaze on his eyes. “But you won't.”
“I don't have to.”
“You're right,” she conceded, “But I would appreciate it if you did.”
“And what are you to me, that I'd want your appreciation?”
“I'm one of the only people in the world who can see you, hear you, acknowledge you.”
“I'm nothing to look at, and I've got nothing to say. Do you think being invisible makes me special? Makes you special? How many people do you think are out there who aren't seen or heard, or acknowledged? And by acknowledging one of them, do you think you're different in some way? A kind of hero? Don't make me laugh.”
“Does that make me wrong to try?” she replied calmly.
“Only when you force that effort at the very last second.”
“Some people would only watch the second go by. They would do nothing.”
“'A little better' doesn't amount to 'good'.”
“Good is often hard to find. People survive by taking what they can get.”
“Surviving is different than living.”
“It's better than dying.”
“You've never tried it.”
She sighed. This brat was being difficult on purpose. “It'll happen anyway,” she said, “I'd rather not speed up the process. We should squeeze out every bit we can from life before the final moment comes, don't you think?”
“I've been squeezed dry.”
“You still have me.”
“My hero?”
“That depends on you.”
“ … … Are you done?”
“Oh-” she flushed, suddenly feeling awkward. “Um...yes,” she said. She looked away from his eyes, as if they had all of a sudden become too much for her. “Yes,” she repeated. “I guess I am. Thank you. Would you, um, like that shower, then?”
“Please.”
She sighed as she left the room, having directed Jack to the showers. He had said nothing, not even a word of thanks when she lead him there, simply walking away in the direction of her pointing finger with the towel she had handed him in his arms. His coldness stung her a little, but she tried to brush it aside. It just seemed to be his way. More importantly, the words he had thrown at her in their conversation swirled in her head, and she felt even more confused than she had before the supposed interrogation. What had she derived about that boy, really? Well, he had a mouth on him – that, at least, was for sure.
“What did you talk about?”
She looked up from the chair she'd sunken into, seeing the dull, brown eyes of her husband staring back. “He said his name is Jack,” she answered.
“Really?” he said skeptically. Honestly, why would she lie about something like that? “That was your mother's name, wasn't it?” he continued, leaning on the armchair.
“Her name was Jacalyn,” she replied stiffly.
“But people called her Jack.”
“It's a common name.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, though he didn't raise his voice. “Look, Lizzie – ”
“I just don't know right now, okay?” she interrupted. She struggled to refrain from sighing. “He just – is the prospect so impossible? That he might be real?”
“Either way, there's no harm in seeing a professional.”
“What if I say there is?” She couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice.
“Please.” He grasped her hand. “Just this one time. I have the meeting set up and everything, you just have to go.”
“Just...give me more time to think about it, Matthew,” she said, “I have until Tuesday, right?”
“Yes, but it would be rude to cancel last minute,” he replied curtly. “Try to give me an answer by Sunday, at least.”
“I'll try.”
“Okay.” He smiled, kissing the top of her head before getting up off the chair. “Well,” he said, his manner brisk, “I'm meeting a group of coworkers tonight, so I'd better get going. If you feel like...” he hesitated as he put on his jacket. “If you need anything,” he amended, “I told the Turners next door that you're not feeling well.”
“Right,” she replied, trying to smile. “Have fun. Drive home safe.”
“Yeah.”
The door closed, and she instantly wiped the smile off of her face. It pained her, more so than usual. She closed her eyes as she leaned back in the chair. In the darkness beneath her lids, gray-blue eyes shone piercingly, and the quiet murmurs they spoke to her tugged relentlessly at her billowing thoughts. Sharp, but disillusioned...normal...
By acknowledging one of them, do you think you're different in some way? A kind of hero? Don't make me laugh...
That doesn't mean you can't make a brave decision.
“Don't go.”
“What the – ?!” she jumped up, staring around wide-eyed at the figure in the doorway. “Jack! You- are you already done?”
“Evidently. Don't go to that appointment. It's a waste of money.”
“Those are my clothes,” she said suddenly.
“Thank you.”
“Where are your clothes?”
“In the washer.”
What the hell? “You should ask before borrowing other peoples' possessions.”
“You should have offered them.”
“But you – ” she started. Then she sighed, shaking her head. “Nevermind. Are you feeling better?”
“In what way?”
She had no idea. “Just – did the shower help.”
“ … Yes. Thank you.”
“That's great,” she breathed, and she found herself giving him another smile.
“Are you gonna go?”
“Go where?” she said, playing for time.
“To see that shrink.”
She sighed, looking away. “I-I might. Yes.”
“Look. Beth. I'm gonna leave tonight. I'm leaving the city, if possible, so that you'll never see me again. You'll only be hurting yourself by going to a shrink after that, I guarantee it.”
Looking back at him, she looked steadily into his soft, blue eyes. “But if you really are a hallucination, then shouldn't I find the source of why you appeared?” she said. “Even if you disappear?”
“What's the point?”
The point? Wasn't it obvious? “ ... I don't know. You might come back.”
“I assure you, I won't.”
The finality of his words tore at her, as if they were her own. “You really are serious about it then, aren't you?” she said quietly.
“You shouldn't have to waste your time like that.”
“I mean about killing yourself.”
“ … Yes. I am.”
“May I ask why?” she said evenly.
“ … ”
“Jack – ”
“Because people like you will be better off without me.”
“I don't know what you mean by that.”
“Don't you? Your husband is already treating you like a threat, making appointments to the shrink for you and having the neighbors watch over you like you're some rabid animal in a cage. You can see it right? He thinks you're mental. Do you want to be treated like that for the rest of your life?”
“Matthew...” she started hesitantly. “He kind of treats everyone like that. Like he's the only adult in a world full of children. And I'm married to him. I'm going to be treated like that for the rest of my life anyway.”
“If you start this, it won't just be Matthew. It'll be his friends and colleagues, your friends and colleagues, the Turners'. It'll be other patients, doctors, your future children, their teachers and friends and spouses. You don't even realize it, do you? I'm sure you feel alone now, ignored by Matthew and the world, but that's because you're already part of the picture. You don't know what true loneliness feels like. Don't be so blasé about your own life, it's insulting.”
He had the nerve to tell her that? “Then, Jack, tell me,” she said, unconsciously taking a step towards him. “What will I do if you don't leave? If you start threatening me, or insulting me, or cause me to harm myself or others? Will I still be quietly ignored by all the people around me? How can I know that you're not telling me this, just so you can do all that to me in the future?”
“If that ever happens, then you can go. I won't stop you.”
“Do you believe you have the power to stop me at all?”
“I believe I have the power to communicate with another human being, and to let her know that I'm worried about her.”
The words warmed her with an aching kind of sadness, and she felt herself smiling again. “And what am I to you, to make you so worried about me?” she said.
“ … Hah. I don't know.”
He was smiling. It was a small, barely-there smile, but it was true. “You have a nice smile,” she said, “Even if it's just to me...you should smile more often.”
“I... Thank you. But I won't be here long enough, Beth.”
“Isn't that up to you?”
“It is. It's what I've decided.”
The smile had gone. “ … If I don't go to the meeting on Tuesday...” What was she saying? “Will you stay?”
“If I promise not to kill myself, will you let me go?”
She could feel her heart beating, much too loudly, much too painfully. “I'm sorry, Jack. I don't trust you.”
“Then I'm going, either way. Choose for yourself whether or not you want to go see that shrink. I'm just telling you right here and now it's not good for you.”
“I don't trust you.”
“That's unfortunate.”
She snorted softly, because she didn't really know what else to do. “I'm arguing with my own hallucination...” she muttered under her breath.
“Then kill me. I won't complain.”
She looked at him sharply. “No.”
“ … What the hell? Am I real to you or not, Beth? I'm asking you to kill me. What's wrong with killing something that's part of your imagination?”
“I don't...” She didn't want to say it. “I don't know. That's the problem, isn't it?”
“Stop being so damn selfish.”
“'Selfish' – ?!” she repeated angrily.
“What, do you think you're being righteous? Self-sacrificing?”
“I'm trying to save your life!” she shouted.
“You're not – ! … You know what? I don't care. I don't even know why – Forget it. I'm leaving.”
“Wait!” He couldn't go. “Jack – ”
“Where did you put my gun?”
“I-I gave it away.”
“What, to charity? Where is it?”
“I gave it away, Jack.”
“Give it to me. It was my father's.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Jack, you need to stay. Please, don't – ”
“Whatever. It was stupid anyway...”
“Don't leave now. There's still so much that we don't know – ” He started to move towards the front door, and she automatically grabbed his arm. Fleetingly, she wondered when she had gotten so close to him. “Wait, Jack! I can't let you – !”
“Let go of me!”
“Jack – ”
“Get off, Beth.”
“ – let's – talk – about this – ”
“Let GO!”
“I just – ”
“Do you know what you are, Beth?”
“We can talk about this later – ”
“You're a self-righteous bitch who wants to play the hero, even if it costs you you're sanity, and you – ”
“I just want to talk to you, you BRAT!”
“Stop it – !”
“ – son of a – !”
“OUCH! What the – ?”
“I'm sorry, but you left me with no choice – !”
“You locked me in?! You locked me – You crazy – ! LET ME OUT!”
“Why?!” she found herself screaming, “So you can mourn over the unfairness in this godforsaken universe before you go and jump off some godforsaken building?! Who are you to talk so high and fucking mighty with stupid thoughts like those?!”
“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW?!”
She took an involuntary gasp. He sounded beside himself.
He was pounding on the door. “WHAT THE FUCKING HELL WOULD YOU KNOW, YOU CONDESCENDING, FUCKING INSANE BITCH! WHAT THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW?!”
She leaned against the opposite wall, sliding down it as she stared at the door before her. “That's what I'm trying to say, you brat...” she found herself whispering.
“WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW?! WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW?! YOU SELF RIGHTEOUS STUCK-UP MOTHERFUCKER, WHAT THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW!”
“...I don't know.”
She heard him slam against the door one last time, she heard him fling things fruitlessly around the room, she listened as tears dropped softly just beyond the door, she guarded his silence as it blanketed the night.
Beth opened her eyes blearily, taking in the unnatural feeling of the morning sun as it pierced her eyeballs. She groaned as she became intensely aware of the chill hardness of the hallway floor, and she sat up dazedly, trying to rub some feeling back into her arms.
Belatedly, she looked over to the opposite door.
Jack.
Despite all of his efforts last night, the door still seemed miraculously intact – he really was weak – but, of course, she couldn't say the same for the person imprisoned behind it.
Person? Did she just say a person?
Hesitantly, Beth shuffled over to the door and knocked softly.
“Jack?” she breathed hoarsely. Clearing her throat, she repeated, “Jack? Can you hear me? Are you alright?”
No answer.
Not that she had really expected one.
Sighing, she got up with some effort, listening dully as her body creaked and popped in the chilly silence. She padded barefoot over to the living room, and she thought briefly about taking a nice, searing shower. Then her mind wandered again to the boy.
Was he awake?
She bit her lip, frowning. Making up her mind, she headed over in the opposite direction to the kitchen.
She stopped herself before knocking on the door.
What if he tries to get out?
But what was she saying? Was she trying to keep him here?
Looking at the door, she had to laugh at herself.
Beth reached out and unlocked the door with one hand, letting herself in.
“Jack?” she said softly. The lights weren't on, so once she closed the door, the window-less room was pitch-black. “Jack?” she repeated.
“If it unnerves you that much just turn on the lights.”
She resisted a sudden sigh, but didn't move to get the lights. Instead, she walked over to his voice. “Where are you?” she said.
“That's why I said – hey! Stop, you're gonna step on me.”
“Sorry.” He was sitting against the opposite wall, and she moved to sit by him, placing the tray of food between them.
“What's this?”
She hesitated before saying, “I would call it breakfast, but I don't know what time it is.”
She heard him reach for the food mutely, taking up the plate of scrambled eggs. She had made sure to give him a plastic one, of course.
“Is it good?” she asked after a while. She listened to the crinkle of plastic as he took the water bottle, gulping its contents down before answering.
“Why are you keeping me here, Beth?”
She looked at him sharply, though she barely saw anything. “I'm not trying to imprison you – ”
“Really.”
“I'm just trying to ensure your safety,” she continued doggedly. “I said human life was precious and I stand by my statement. I can't sit by and just watch as someone makes an attempt on their own life.” She thought she heard him sigh.
“I told you. It's none of your concern.”
“You told me you wanted to die so that people like me wouldn't suffer,” she said quietly, “Doesn't that make it my concern?”
He sat by her side silently, and looking at him, she realized she could make out the soft paleness of his hair.
“I don't want you to die,” she said suddenly.
“I gathered that.”
She snorted softly, leaning back comfortably against the wall. “And I think you're underestimating us. Or people in general. This isn't the middle ages, you know; people's opinion of the mentally ill are much more positive nowadays.”
“It doesn't change the fact that I'm an illness.”
“I don't see that,” she said softly. She reached out to touch his arm. It was warm. “You look plenty real to me.”
“It's not about whether I'm real or not. The fact is is that I'm harmful. I change people's lives for the worse just by existing. I can't let that happen again, and I can't forgive the fact that it has happened.”
“What happened?” she asked, her voice muted. Underneath her hand, she could feel he was shaking.
“They suffered, and they died. That's all you have a right to know.”
“Did they kill themselves?” she found herself asking. He didn't answer right away, but she felt him tense.
“One of them did.”
His voice was raw, and she felt like she was inching on a tightrope hanging over some turbulent abyss. “It wasn't your fault,” she said.
“On the contrary.”
“Did you tell him to kill himself?”
Another tense pause. “No.”
“Did you threaten him, bully him, force him into it in any way?”
“I did by just being there.”
“But – ” she started, and he interrupted.
“Beth. I know what you're trying to do, but...I've decided. It's too late.”
What was he saying? “You're still here.”
“I'm less than a ghost. Nothing more than a bad memory.”
In the semi-darkness, she suspected he was giving her a sad smile. She shook her head. “You're living. You're breathing.” Gently, her hand found the way to his beating heart. “You're human.”
“Are you still going to that appointment on Tuesday?”
Her hand contracted, and she knew he had felt it. Slowly, she placed it back in her lap. “I haven't decided yet,” she said quietly.
“Then don't say things you don't mean.”
“But in a way, I do believe you're human. Right now, I can't answer to the question of whether or not you are a hallucination, but...to say you're not human...it feels entirely wrong somehow.”
“And that's why you can't let me go?”
“I guess so."
“Yeah, yeah. Thanks.”
“ … Yeah.”
She walked into the room, twisting her hands with anxiety. She glanced quickly at the boy sitting before her as she placed herself in the opposite chair.
“ … Hello,” she said. He stared at her, his face perfectly blank. “Right,” she continued hesitantly, “I wanted to clarify one thing. Is that all right with you?”
He opened his mouth. “Okay.”
“You...” she swallowed. She took a deep breath. “You really are real?”
“You asked me that before.”
“Yes,” she said. “I did.”
“You didn't believe me.”
She chuckled slightly, struggling not to look away from those dead eyes. “You're a bit difficult to believe in.”
“I know. But you're talking to me anyway.”
“Yeah, I am, aren't I?” She paused, feeling the anxiety creeping through her skin. “Am I crazy?” she whispered.
“I don't know. Ask your husband.”
“He – ” she started. Truthfully, Matthew most likely believed she was. She'd seen it in his eyes the instant she had chosen to confide in him, and it had remained there ever since, haunting every word, every touch. But not more so than the usual ghosts of loneliness lingering between them. She sighed. “He doesn't know,” she said. “I'd like to believe I'm not.”
“Then you're not crazy.”
She gave him a hard look. “It's not that easy.”
“Then you are crazy.”
“Be serious,” she chided.
“Be reasonable.”
“You're the one that defies reason – ” she started to say hotly. Suddenly, she realized she still didn't know his name. “I'm sorry,” she said, the words feeling awkward in her mouth, “Do you, um, have a name?”
“Yes.”
“What's your name?”
“Jack.”
“Jack.” It seemed too normal. “Well,” she said, “I'm Beth. It's nice to officially meet you.”
“That's short for Elizabeth.”
It wasn't a question. “Yes,” she said anyway. “You could call me that if you prefer.”
“I'll call you Beth.”
“If you prefer.”
“I do.”
“So...how old are you?” she asked hesitantly. She had been wondering that ever since she first saw him. If he ended up answering with a claim to immortality, she was sure she would not be surprised in the least.
“Don't look at me like that. I'm fifteen.”
“I wasn't – ” she started, stricken. Sheepishly, she said, “You look older.”
“Really?”
“Yeah-”
“Tell me, what do I look like right now?”
“Uh,” she faltered. How was someone supposed to answer a question like that? “Different,” she ended up saying. “You look...different.”
“ … What? Am I green or something?”
“What?” What did he mean by that? “No, I mean, you look different from the normal person, but...” she hesitated again, not sure how to phrase it. “I guess different from how I would've expected someone like you to look like.”
“What does it mean to be someone like me?”
He asked this quietly, and she couldn't help but answer him in the same manner. “Like something out of a story,” she said, “Maybe the scary kind.”
“It would have better if I was.”
She snorted softly. “Then I'd definitely be the crazy one.”
“Are you saying you're not?”
“You got me there, I guess,” she said, smiling slightly.
“ … Anyway, you still haven't told me.”
“What?”
“What do I look like?”
“You – ” she started, and she stared at him as fixedly as the first time she saw him. “Are you saying you can't see yourself?”
“No. If you won't tell me then fine.”
She moved to the edge of her seat, agitated by his answer. “It's not that I'm not willing to tell you – ”
“Then tell me.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. What did he want from her? They looked at each other for several long moments, neither one surrendering even a word into the heavy silence. “Your hair is long,” she suddenly heard herself saying, “but not yet shoulder-length. It's matted and dirty, probably blond. You could take a shower here later, if you'd like. Your eyes change color; they seemed gray when I first saw you. I would say they're blue now. Your face is covered with stubble, like an old man. You have a hard face, but brittle. Like thin ice. You have slender hands. They were one of the first things I noticed about you. They're not callused working hands...more like the hands of a child. You're also tall, but not very. Tall enough to be a man. You might have been a handsome one too, in another time and place, if not for...” she trailed off, lost by the change in the look of his eyes, losing herself also in her words.
“ … You are very thorough.”
“It's what you look like,” she said softly.
“Thank you for your honesty.”
“Can you...tell me what I look like?” she asked.
“Why?”
She smiled slightly. “Curiosity.”
“You don't know what you look like?”
“Not to you,” she said.
“You look normal to me.”
Did he think that was an answer? “Normal in what way?”
“ … Short black hair, brown eyes, skinny, average height. Probably in your late twenties, married, no kids, and you work in an office. Other than that, you look sharp, but disillusioned. Normal.”
What did he mean by that last part? She didn't dare to ask. “Why do I work in an office?” she said instead.
“Why do you?”
She felt herself smirking. When had been the last time that happened? “I don't,” she said. His pause didn't last even a second.
“That's brave of you.”
“I'm not brave.”
“That doesn't mean you can't make a brave decision.”
She lapsed into silence, pondering his words.
“Can I really take a shower?”
“What?” she said absentmindedly.
“You said I could use the shower here.”
“Um, yes,” she said slowly, “But not right now, if that's okay with you. I have one more thing to discuss.”
“There's no point in discussing that.”
The dismissal in his tone surprised her, though perhaps it shouldn't have. “I've decided you're real,” she said just as sharply, “Therefore, I have to ask you about that.”
“You have to? How noble.”
Brat. “Why – ” she started impatiently, but he cut her off.
“I made a choice. It had nothing to do with you. You carry no responsibility in finding out whether or not it was justified. Don't agonize over something that was my decision to make.”
She tried to stifle her annoyance as she leaned forward. “You may be right,” she said evenly, “Nevertheless, I have a responsibility to make sure that doesn't happen again.”
“Why?”
“Because life is precious.”
“So is death.”
“That's why you shouldn't play with either.”
“Then what should I play with?”
His reply seemed to echo hollowly within her, revealing an empty kind of...longing. This person...he was absolutely alone. “Am I the only person who's ever been able to see you?” she asked quietly.
“No.”
That surprised her, though her initial spark of hope was dampened when she realized the tone with which he delivered the word. “That's good to know,” she said anyway, “Do you know where those other people are?”
“No.”
Of course... “Did you...know them?”
“Yes.”
Of course. He was worse than alone, wasn't he? “Are-are they – ”
“Yes.”
“ … I'm sorry.”
“...”
“I'm sorry,” she repeated. “But...can you tell me if they were real? Could you prove it to me?”
“I can.”
She leaned back in her chair, keeping a steady gaze on his eyes. “But you won't.”
“I don't have to.”
“You're right,” she conceded, “But I would appreciate it if you did.”
“And what are you to me, that I'd want your appreciation?”
“I'm one of the only people in the world who can see you, hear you, acknowledge you.”
“I'm nothing to look at, and I've got nothing to say. Do you think being invisible makes me special? Makes you special? How many people do you think are out there who aren't seen or heard, or acknowledged? And by acknowledging one of them, do you think you're different in some way? A kind of hero? Don't make me laugh.”
“Does that make me wrong to try?” she replied calmly.
“Only when you force that effort at the very last second.”
“Some people would only watch the second go by. They would do nothing.”
“'A little better' doesn't amount to 'good'.”
“Good is often hard to find. People survive by taking what they can get.”
“Surviving is different than living.”
“It's better than dying.”
“You've never tried it.”
She sighed. This brat was being difficult on purpose. “It'll happen anyway,” she said, “I'd rather not speed up the process. We should squeeze out every bit we can from life before the final moment comes, don't you think?”
“I've been squeezed dry.”
“You still have me.”
“My hero?”
“That depends on you.”
“ … … Are you done?”
“Oh-” she flushed, suddenly feeling awkward. “Um...yes,” she said. She looked away from his eyes, as if they had all of a sudden become too much for her. “Yes,” she repeated. “I guess I am. Thank you. Would you, um, like that shower, then?”
“Please.”
She sighed as she left the room, having directed Jack to the showers. He had said nothing, not even a word of thanks when she lead him there, simply walking away in the direction of her pointing finger with the towel she had handed him in his arms. His coldness stung her a little, but she tried to brush it aside. It just seemed to be his way. More importantly, the words he had thrown at her in their conversation swirled in her head, and she felt even more confused than she had before the supposed interrogation. What had she derived about that boy, really? Well, he had a mouth on him – that, at least, was for sure.
“What did you talk about?”
She looked up from the chair she'd sunken into, seeing the dull, brown eyes of her husband staring back. “He said his name is Jack,” she answered.
“Really?” he said skeptically. Honestly, why would she lie about something like that? “That was your mother's name, wasn't it?” he continued, leaning on the armchair.
“Her name was Jacalyn,” she replied stiffly.
“But people called her Jack.”
“It's a common name.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, though he didn't raise his voice. “Look, Lizzie – ”
“I just don't know right now, okay?” she interrupted. She struggled to refrain from sighing. “He just – is the prospect so impossible? That he might be real?”
“Either way, there's no harm in seeing a professional.”
“What if I say there is?” She couldn't keep the irritation out of her voice.
“Please.” He grasped her hand. “Just this one time. I have the meeting set up and everything, you just have to go.”
“Just...give me more time to think about it, Matthew,” she said, “I have until Tuesday, right?”
“Yes, but it would be rude to cancel last minute,” he replied curtly. “Try to give me an answer by Sunday, at least.”
“I'll try.”
“Okay.” He smiled, kissing the top of her head before getting up off the chair. “Well,” he said, his manner brisk, “I'm meeting a group of coworkers tonight, so I'd better get going. If you feel like...” he hesitated as he put on his jacket. “If you need anything,” he amended, “I told the Turners next door that you're not feeling well.”
“Right,” she replied, trying to smile. “Have fun. Drive home safe.”
“Yeah.”
The door closed, and she instantly wiped the smile off of her face. It pained her, more so than usual. She closed her eyes as she leaned back in the chair. In the darkness beneath her lids, gray-blue eyes shone piercingly, and the quiet murmurs they spoke to her tugged relentlessly at her billowing thoughts. Sharp, but disillusioned...normal...
By acknowledging one of them, do you think you're different in some way? A kind of hero? Don't make me laugh...
That doesn't mean you can't make a brave decision.
“Don't go.”
“What the – ?!” she jumped up, staring around wide-eyed at the figure in the doorway. “Jack! You- are you already done?”
“Evidently. Don't go to that appointment. It's a waste of money.”
“Those are my clothes,” she said suddenly.
“Thank you.”
“Where are your clothes?”
“In the washer.”
What the hell? “You should ask before borrowing other peoples' possessions.”
“You should have offered them.”
“But you – ” she started. Then she sighed, shaking her head. “Nevermind. Are you feeling better?”
“In what way?”
She had no idea. “Just – did the shower help.”
“ … Yes. Thank you.”
“That's great,” she breathed, and she found herself giving him another smile.
“Are you gonna go?”
“Go where?” she said, playing for time.
“To see that shrink.”
She sighed, looking away. “I-I might. Yes.”
“Look. Beth. I'm gonna leave tonight. I'm leaving the city, if possible, so that you'll never see me again. You'll only be hurting yourself by going to a shrink after that, I guarantee it.”
Looking back at him, she looked steadily into his soft, blue eyes. “But if you really are a hallucination, then shouldn't I find the source of why you appeared?” she said. “Even if you disappear?”
“What's the point?”
The point? Wasn't it obvious? “ ... I don't know. You might come back.”
“I assure you, I won't.”
The finality of his words tore at her, as if they were her own. “You really are serious about it then, aren't you?” she said quietly.
“You shouldn't have to waste your time like that.”
“I mean about killing yourself.”
“ … Yes. I am.”
“May I ask why?” she said evenly.
“ … ”
“Jack – ”
“Because people like you will be better off without me.”
“I don't know what you mean by that.”
“Don't you? Your husband is already treating you like a threat, making appointments to the shrink for you and having the neighbors watch over you like you're some rabid animal in a cage. You can see it right? He thinks you're mental. Do you want to be treated like that for the rest of your life?”
“Matthew...” she started hesitantly. “He kind of treats everyone like that. Like he's the only adult in a world full of children. And I'm married to him. I'm going to be treated like that for the rest of my life anyway.”
“If you start this, it won't just be Matthew. It'll be his friends and colleagues, your friends and colleagues, the Turners'. It'll be other patients, doctors, your future children, their teachers and friends and spouses. You don't even realize it, do you? I'm sure you feel alone now, ignored by Matthew and the world, but that's because you're already part of the picture. You don't know what true loneliness feels like. Don't be so blasé about your own life, it's insulting.”
He had the nerve to tell her that? “Then, Jack, tell me,” she said, unconsciously taking a step towards him. “What will I do if you don't leave? If you start threatening me, or insulting me, or cause me to harm myself or others? Will I still be quietly ignored by all the people around me? How can I know that you're not telling me this, just so you can do all that to me in the future?”
“If that ever happens, then you can go. I won't stop you.”
“Do you believe you have the power to stop me at all?”
“I believe I have the power to communicate with another human being, and to let her know that I'm worried about her.”
The words warmed her with an aching kind of sadness, and she felt herself smiling again. “And what am I to you, to make you so worried about me?” she said.
“ … Hah. I don't know.”
He was smiling. It was a small, barely-there smile, but it was true. “You have a nice smile,” she said, “Even if it's just to me...you should smile more often.”
“I... Thank you. But I won't be here long enough, Beth.”
“Isn't that up to you?”
“It is. It's what I've decided.”
The smile had gone. “ … If I don't go to the meeting on Tuesday...” What was she saying? “Will you stay?”
“If I promise not to kill myself, will you let me go?”
She could feel her heart beating, much too loudly, much too painfully. “I'm sorry, Jack. I don't trust you.”
“Then I'm going, either way. Choose for yourself whether or not you want to go see that shrink. I'm just telling you right here and now it's not good for you.”
“I don't trust you.”
“That's unfortunate.”
She snorted softly, because she didn't really know what else to do. “I'm arguing with my own hallucination...” she muttered under her breath.
“Then kill me. I won't complain.”
She looked at him sharply. “No.”
“ … What the hell? Am I real to you or not, Beth? I'm asking you to kill me. What's wrong with killing something that's part of your imagination?”
“I don't...” She didn't want to say it. “I don't know. That's the problem, isn't it?”
“Stop being so damn selfish.”
“'Selfish' – ?!” she repeated angrily.
“What, do you think you're being righteous? Self-sacrificing?”
“I'm trying to save your life!” she shouted.
“You're not – ! … You know what? I don't care. I don't even know why – Forget it. I'm leaving.”
“Wait!” He couldn't go. “Jack – ”
“Where did you put my gun?”
“I-I gave it away.”
“What, to charity? Where is it?”
“I gave it away, Jack.”
“Give it to me. It was my father's.”
“No,” she said firmly. “Jack, you need to stay. Please, don't – ”
“Whatever. It was stupid anyway...”
“Don't leave now. There's still so much that we don't know – ” He started to move towards the front door, and she automatically grabbed his arm. Fleetingly, she wondered when she had gotten so close to him. “Wait, Jack! I can't let you – !”
“Let go of me!”
“Jack – ”
“Get off, Beth.”
“ – let's – talk – about this – ”
“Let GO!”
“I just – ”
“Do you know what you are, Beth?”
“We can talk about this later – ”
“You're a self-righteous bitch who wants to play the hero, even if it costs you you're sanity, and you – ”
“I just want to talk to you, you BRAT!”
“Stop it – !”
“ – son of a – !”
“OUCH! What the – ?”
“I'm sorry, but you left me with no choice – !”
“You locked me in?! You locked me – You crazy – ! LET ME OUT!”
“Why?!” she found herself screaming, “So you can mourn over the unfairness in this godforsaken universe before you go and jump off some godforsaken building?! Who are you to talk so high and fucking mighty with stupid thoughts like those?!”
“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW?!”
She took an involuntary gasp. He sounded beside himself.
He was pounding on the door. “WHAT THE FUCKING HELL WOULD YOU KNOW, YOU CONDESCENDING, FUCKING INSANE BITCH! WHAT THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW?!”
She leaned against the opposite wall, sliding down it as she stared at the door before her. “That's what I'm trying to say, you brat...” she found herself whispering.
“WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW?! WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW?! YOU SELF RIGHTEOUS STUCK-UP MOTHERFUCKER, WHAT THE FUCK WOULD YOU KNOW!”
“...I don't know.”
She heard him slam against the door one last time, she heard him fling things fruitlessly around the room, she listened as tears dropped softly just beyond the door, she guarded his silence as it blanketed the night.
Beth opened her eyes blearily, taking in the unnatural feeling of the morning sun as it pierced her eyeballs. She groaned as she became intensely aware of the chill hardness of the hallway floor, and she sat up dazedly, trying to rub some feeling back into her arms.
Belatedly, she looked over to the opposite door.
Jack.
Despite all of his efforts last night, the door still seemed miraculously intact – he really was weak – but, of course, she couldn't say the same for the person imprisoned behind it.
Person? Did she just say a person?
Hesitantly, Beth shuffled over to the door and knocked softly.
“Jack?” she breathed hoarsely. Clearing her throat, she repeated, “Jack? Can you hear me? Are you alright?”
No answer.
Not that she had really expected one.
Sighing, she got up with some effort, listening dully as her body creaked and popped in the chilly silence. She padded barefoot over to the living room, and she thought briefly about taking a nice, searing shower. Then her mind wandered again to the boy.
Was he awake?
She bit her lip, frowning. Making up her mind, she headed over in the opposite direction to the kitchen.
She stopped herself before knocking on the door.
What if he tries to get out?
But what was she saying? Was she trying to keep him here?
Looking at the door, she had to laugh at herself.
Beth reached out and unlocked the door with one hand, letting herself in.
“Jack?” she said softly. The lights weren't on, so once she closed the door, the window-less room was pitch-black. “Jack?” she repeated.
“If it unnerves you that much just turn on the lights.”
She resisted a sudden sigh, but didn't move to get the lights. Instead, she walked over to his voice. “Where are you?” she said.
“That's why I said – hey! Stop, you're gonna step on me.”
“Sorry.” He was sitting against the opposite wall, and she moved to sit by him, placing the tray of food between them.
“What's this?”
She hesitated before saying, “I would call it breakfast, but I don't know what time it is.”
She heard him reach for the food mutely, taking up the plate of scrambled eggs. She had made sure to give him a plastic one, of course.
“Is it good?” she asked after a while. She listened to the crinkle of plastic as he took the water bottle, gulping its contents down before answering.
“Why are you keeping me here, Beth?”
She looked at him sharply, though she barely saw anything. “I'm not trying to imprison you – ”
“Really.”
“I'm just trying to ensure your safety,” she continued doggedly. “I said human life was precious and I stand by my statement. I can't sit by and just watch as someone makes an attempt on their own life.” She thought she heard him sigh.
“I told you. It's none of your concern.”
“You told me you wanted to die so that people like me wouldn't suffer,” she said quietly, “Doesn't that make it my concern?”
He sat by her side silently, and looking at him, she realized she could make out the soft paleness of his hair.
“I don't want you to die,” she said suddenly.
“I gathered that.”
She snorted softly, leaning back comfortably against the wall. “And I think you're underestimating us. Or people in general. This isn't the middle ages, you know; people's opinion of the mentally ill are much more positive nowadays.”
“It doesn't change the fact that I'm an illness.”
“I don't see that,” she said softly. She reached out to touch his arm. It was warm. “You look plenty real to me.”
“It's not about whether I'm real or not. The fact is is that I'm harmful. I change people's lives for the worse just by existing. I can't let that happen again, and I can't forgive the fact that it has happened.”
“What happened?” she asked, her voice muted. Underneath her hand, she could feel he was shaking.
“They suffered, and they died. That's all you have a right to know.”
“Did they kill themselves?” she found herself asking. He didn't answer right away, but she felt him tense.
“One of them did.”
His voice was raw, and she felt like she was inching on a tightrope hanging over some turbulent abyss. “It wasn't your fault,” she said.
“On the contrary.”
“Did you tell him to kill himself?”
Another tense pause. “No.”
“Did you threaten him, bully him, force him into it in any way?”
“I did by just being there.”
“But – ” she started, and he interrupted.
“Beth. I know what you're trying to do, but...I've decided. It's too late.”
What was he saying? “You're still here.”
“I'm less than a ghost. Nothing more than a bad memory.”
In the semi-darkness, she suspected he was giving her a sad smile. She shook her head. “You're living. You're breathing.” Gently, her hand found the way to his beating heart. “You're human.”
“Are you still going to that appointment on Tuesday?”
Her hand contracted, and she knew he had felt it. Slowly, she placed it back in her lap. “I haven't decided yet,” she said quietly.
“Then don't say things you don't mean.”
“But in a way, I do believe you're human. Right now, I can't answer to the question of whether or not you are a hallucination, but...to say you're not human...it feels entirely wrong somehow.”
“And that's why you can't let me go?”
“I guess so."