Fatal Errors (Working Title/Unfinished)

Photo by Dyu - Ha on Unsplash

            The cool morning air brushes across my face as my mind teeters the line between unconscious sleep and a mild state of awareness. The warm sunlight dancing across my eyelids begs me to slide them open, a request that I grant hesitantly. I blink as the light of the sun hits my pupils directly. Through my drowsy vision, I catch glimpses of the curtains moving around in an enchanting dance evoked by the open window behind them and the breeze flowing softly through it. Thick dust suspended in the air paints a bokeh effect across the small farmhouse bedroom.

            After admiring the scene for a while—its beautiful simplicity and the peace it brings—I pull myself into an upright position and drag my feet into the little adjoining bathroom in the corner. Flipping on the light, my face appears in the mirror. I wish it hadn’t. My blonde wavy hair lies tangled and frayed from deep sleep. I examine my eyes, seeing the red irritation from the salty tears they bled last night. My eyelids are puffy and crusted over. My cheeks look sunken and pale. Even the crisp morning air hasn’t had much of a healing effect on me—or maybe it has, and this is a conservative vision of my condition. I take the brush to my hair, gently easing through the tangles, commanding my locks to behave themselves. That helps a little. Maybe coffee will help more.

            Feeling suddenly cold, I slide my feet into slippers and pull on an extra-large fleece sweater, rolling the sleeves so they don’t flop over my hands. After slipping my glasses onto my face, I close the window and make my way to the kitchen. The large wooden staircase creaks with every step as I tiptoe down into the living room. This house seems bigger than the last time I was here. Too big. In the kitchen, I slip a K-cup into the Keurig, place a mug underneath, and wait. Topping it off with a swig of almond milk and a scoop of sugar, I cross the room to the sliding door that leads to the porch on the back of the house. I slip through the door and meander toward the little pond across the lawn. When I reach the deck that my father made so many years ago, I walk out to the middle and take a seat on the bench. My mind envisions three little girls out in the pond splashing and screaming in pure joy. I laugh at the fleeting memory. Then my eyes drift to the empty bench beside me, imagining a vision of my parents sitting with me as they watch their daughters frolicking in the hot summer sun. They hold onto each other in the purest love. I wish I could will this vision into existence. Bring them back if only long enough to hug them and tell them how much I love them. I miss them more than anything. I feel lost without them here—especially now. How am I supposed to get through this without them?

            Their figures fade, and the reality of present day takes over my senses. In contrast, the sun offers virtually no heat on this late autumn morning. The pond is still—no children in sight, not even my own. And the noise—well actually there isn’t any noise. The realization of this sends a chill down my spine—a chill that not even my thick enveloping sweater and steaming hot coffee can eradicate from my body. It seems to be radiating from within me instead of penetrating inward from the surrounding atmosphere. I sit for another minute, hoping the cold feeling will pass, longing for the sun from my vision—for the warmth of family too. When I begin to lose feeling in my toes, I decide it’s probably best to go back inside. I wrap myself in my own arms as I walk toward the house, but something makes me feel as though even the protection of the walls won’t succeed in ridding me of this chill. It’s not my body that’s cold. It’s my soul.

            I bring in a few logs from underneath the porch and start a fire in the living room wood burner. Curling up on the sofa with my blanket and coffee causes a puff of dust to float into the air. I haven’t had a chance to clean anything since arriving last night. Ah well, I’ll get to it eventually. Staring at the crackling fire, my mind flickers to last Christmas—it feels like ages ago, or was it ages ago? Maybe it was a few years ago—wait no, it was just a few months ago. Yes. I sat in this very spot, my head leaning into the chest of my hu—my husband. He is still my husband. Right? Yes, of course he is. And my younger sister Augustina—Tina for short—sits on the other side of me with her latest boyfriend—boy toy more accurately. I can’t even remember his name now. Julia—the oldest of us three—sits across from us on the other sofa with her husband and oldest son, who seems starkly opposed to the idea of Christmas as a whole—teenage angst at its finest. Her two younger children play with my toddler son in the other room, enthralled by their new toys. I feel the baby inside me jump causing a giggle to escape my mouth. Happiness tries to creep its way into my heart, but the scene vanishes before it can truly take root, my stomach shrinking back to a slim barren waistline. I’m left again with the emptiness and solitude of this house, which seems to be growing larger and colder by the second, despite the smoldering fire less than five feet away. I clinch my eyelids shut, wishing with everything inside me to bring the vision back. The warmth, the happiness, the love, the comfort, the certainty of the future.

            Nothing. Only me and my not-so-helpful fire. I sigh, sliding my feet in between the cushions of the sofa and swapping my coffee for a book lying on the table—an old fairytale my mother used to read to me when I was a child. The thought of sitting on her lap and listening to the story makes me smile. But the pages, as they flash before my eyes, pull down on the corners of my mouth, turning my smile to a frown. This story isn’t at all what I remember. This can’t be what my mother used to read. With every page, I become more and more averse to its words until I can’t take it anymore. I toss the book back onto the table and try to rub away the headache it gave me by being so wildly incorrect and offensive to my childhood.

            “What am I doing here?” I say out loud. No one hears. No one answers. My voice, which has been silent for over 24 hours now, sounds unfamiliar, even to me. I’ve changed so much since everything happened yesterday. It started off as a day like any other. I woke the kids up, made breakfast, packed Raegan a lunch for his day at school, kissed him on the forehead when the bus came, set Lilly up to play with her toys, and sat down in my office to start my work for the day. My little girl sat on the other side of the glass doors, well within view in case she needed anything.

            Delani, he knocked on the door, pushing it open slightly.

            Before I even looked at him, I knew something was wrong. Something in the way he said my name sent a feeling of deep unease through my body. It was a feeling I had never felt before with him. What is it, Matthew? I asked, not necessarily wanting an answer.

            There’s, his voice cracked a little. Barely noticeable, but I noticed, there’s um—something I need to tell you.

            And then he told me. He told me all about his little mistake. About how when I was away on a month and a half long book signing tour, he was getting some help here at home from ever-so-helpful Tina—help in more ways than one.

            It was just one time. I’m so sorry. I wish I could take it back more than anything. I still love you so much. He must have said those sentences a hundred times each throughout the day. I wanted to be honest and tell you that I made a mistake. I want to work through this and make things right. I still love you.

            I can’t do this. How could you? With my own sister? In my own house? You’re a pig! all words that burned in my head, but never escaped my mouth. From the moment he told me what had happened until just a few minutes ago, my voice had remained silent. When he had finally given up and gone to bed, I slipped out and drove. At first I didn’t know where I was going—actually I don’t distinctly remember ever deciding to come here, or how I got here. But when I woke up in my bed this morning, something about it just felt right.

            Now I’m not so sure. “What am I doing here?” I repeat. My head is pounding into my eardrums and down my spine. I search the cabinets and drawers over thoroughly, but I find no sign of ibuprofen or aspirin or anything to alleviate my pain. Maybe fresh air would be good, I think. I grab my coat on the way out this time, remembering the cold. I stroll across the lawn to the woods behind the pond and the path inside. Matthew took me out here when my parents died. We walked in silence, listening to the birds. The birds. I’m frozen solid on the path. There’s no birds. Or at least they don’t sing. Where are they? Where is nature? The air is perfectly still. No movement or sound anywhere in my surroundings.

            Apprehension overtakes my body and sends me running back to the safety of the house. Safety from what though? Why does the absence of things make me feel like I’m in danger? A thought that pokes into my mind but is overshadowed by fear and drowned out by an increased heart rate. When I reach the house, I shut myself inside and lock the door. I stand with my back to it for a few moments, allowing my heart rate to slow and my breathing to level out. Exhaustion and fatigue replace the adrenaline. My legs carry me swiftly to my bed, and I’m asleep almost before my head hits the pillow.

            My eyelids slide open, causing my pupils to come into contact with a sharp blue light that sends them careening shut again. I blink a few more times, attempting to adjust my eyes to the stark color, but the scene remains blurry and painful to look at. Everything is fuzzy. There is noise, but none of it sounds familiar. In front of me, I faintly hear a woman’s voice: “This is really bad. I knew you shouldn’t have done this.” I strain to see who it is that’s talking, or who she’s talking to, but nothing comes into focus. Then, without warning, the lights go out. The noise stops. And the woman is nowhere to be found. Darkness envelops me for a moment before I wake again in the bed of the farmhouse. I look up to see the moon shining brightly through the window. It gives the room a bright yet somber feeling, illuminating it all in a melancholy blue hue.

I must have slept for hours. As I sit up, coming fully back to reality, the dream slips from my memory. Somehow everything feels immensely better now. I try not to let my mind wander too much, focusing on the present moment—the little details of my current state and the things that surround me—anything to keep me from thinking about that awful moment. Like a rain cloud, it looms over me, and like an ignorant child, I bask in what’s left of the sunlight hoping that the cloud will just go away.

Suddenly, the realization that sweat is beading on my forehead hits me, which brings me to an awareness of how hot it is in here. I slip out of the coat that I apparently never took off after running into the house earlier. It’s strange though. I don’t think I’ve felt heat since coming here. Not like this anyway. The whole atmosphere of this place had been tainted with a chill. I’m not complaining, but it’s just curious is all.

I’m not going to think about it too much. Hunger rumbles in my stomach as I try to remember the last time I ate. Too long ago, for sure. At the command of my stomach, my feet jump into action carrying me down the stairs and back into the kitchen. Hopefully, there is food somewhere in here—food that isn’t stale or molded. Who knows the last time anyone bought any groceries for this place. The best thing is a box of cereal that appears to be okay. I pull out a bowl from the cupboard and walk it back to the island.

Crack. The bowl slips from my grasp shattering on the floor as my hands reach to my forehead in an attempt to abate the wave of sharp pain suddenly coursing through my brain. The intensity and suddenness of the pain sends me crashing to my knees. A small cry escapes my lips, but the pain only seems to be getting worse.

“Mommy?” a small, faint voice floats into the air.

I look around for its owner, but my sight is heavily blurred by the pain. The edges of my vision are being threatened by a bright light that will likely obliterate the entire house. Sitting with my back against the island, I focus all of my being on searching for the child that called out to me.

The faint sound of a whimper touches my ears, and then the child attempts to speak more, “Mommy, please.” I know that voice. It’s slightly clearer now, but where is it coming from? I push myself to my feet and try to walk toward it. “Please, Mommy. Come back . . .” it breaks off, and I can hear more whimpers now. They are clearer. Closer.

“Lily?” my voice is weak, but it’s there. “Lily, where are you?”

With one hand still massaging my forehead, I stretch the other out to steady me in my search. The pain is still nearly unbearable, but I push through it in an effort to reach my daughter. She is the only thing that matters in this moment.

“Come on, Lily,” another voice breaks into the air, “let’s go.”

“Matthew?” The outline of a person shadows in my vision. No two people—one considerably shorter than the other. I try to step toward them, but they begin turning away. “No! Matthew, don’t take her from me! Please!”

Lily begins to sob louder. She hiccups through her tears. “No, I don’t want to leave!” she cries.

“Don’t take her, Matthew. She wants to stay with me!” My own tears begin to stream down my cheeks, which are flaring with heat. The blinding light has now nearly encompassed my vision. Directly in the center, I can only faintly see the shadows of the bodies in front of me. I don’t even know if I’m still in the old farm house at this point. The only thing that matters is Lily. Their figures are fading away from me. “No, stop!” I yell, taking another step forward. “Please!” my voice cracks, and my feet tangle around each other bringing my body to the ground with a crash.

Someone shuts off that light. They are gone. My headache slowly begins to ease itself, and with it I feel the heat also leaving my body. My limbs are paralyzed for some reason, but I don’t even have the energy to care. As my mind begins slipping into unconsciousness, the sensation of cold hits my cheek—not just cold, wet. In addition, a smell of earth and rain fills my nostrils—the last thing I remember before drifting off.

I feel the sunlight teetering across my eyelids once again, but it isn’t warm this time. I squint them shut tightly, not wanting to wake up. I pull the blankets over my head, wishing desperately for more sleep.

Wait. Blankets? Awareness is creeping into my mind and with it a question. How did I get to bed? I don’t remember going to bed last night. Also, why is it so cold in here? I sit up, allowing the blankets to drop off my head. Outside, the entire earth is covered in snow. That’s why it’s so cold. But I thought it was only the beginning of autumn. I definitely don’t remember there being snow on the ground.

“Delani!” a voice calls from down the hall. A moment later, the door swings open, “Come on, Delani. Breakfast is getting cold.”

It’s Tina.

“Oh my—it’s freezing in here!” she quickly wraps herself in her own arms and flies across the floor to the window. “What are you doing with this thing wide open in this kind of weather? Do you want to get sick?” she slams the thing shut latching it on top. “I can see my breath, Delani!”

“What are you doing here?” I finally mutter.

“Well, you weren’t getting yourself up, so I decided to be a good little sister and come do it for you.”

I blink at her, still confused.

“Well, don’t just sit there looking like you’re trying to act interested in another one of dad’s stories,” she spins toward the door. “Breakfast is getting cold, and the kids want to open presents!” she yells from down the hall.

This must be another dream, I think. But it feels so real. It doesn’t feel like other dreams I’ve had, or even the ones I’ve had since coming here. That’s another thing. How would I know that I’m actually here at this house right now if I’m in a dream. But it doesn’t make any sense. How is Tina here with me, and why doesn’t she seem to know that Matthew told me everything? Maybe he hasn’t told her yet? But what did she mean the kids want to open presents? Finally, I decide the best way to find out is to go downstairs and see for myself what’s going on.

Arriving in the dining room gives me no further clarity. Actually, everything becomes vastly more confusing.

“About time you pulled yourself out of bed!” Matthew laughs from the other end of the table. 

Everyone else laughs with him—everyone. Julia, her husband, their kids, Tina, that boy toy, my son—but where is Lily? I scan the room, but I don’t see any sign of her. Looking down, I realize with shock, “I’m pregnant!”

“Uh—good observation, dear,” Matthew chuckles nervously.

“O-M-G,” Tina pronounces each letter with mock enthusiasm. “Congratulations! When’s the due date?” she’s obviously teasing me. Ordinarily, I would have some witty comeback for her, but my brain is jumping in a million directions, and none of them makes any sense.

I stare blankly at them for long moments. Eventually the room becomes quiet with unease. Even the children can sense that something is up. Everyone looks at me—their eyes burrowing into mine.

“Are you okay, Delani?” Matthew stands slowly. There is genuine and deep concern in his eyes. “You don’t look so good.”

“I—I’m” I struggle to put the words together. “I’m okay. I’m just still waking up, I guess.” I force a smile to appease their concern and finally budge my feet toward the seat where a plate of food awaits me.

“Probably leaving that window open froze your brain,” Tina rolls her eyes while shoving a bite of pancakes into her mouth.

“Or maybe it was the screaming girl whose voice gave me a splitting headache when she came barging into my room a few moments ago,” I place the back of my hand to my forehead and sigh dramatically falling into her shoulder as I take my seat next to her.

“Oh, sure, right,” her eyes roll again, but everyone laughs.

If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up. Everything is perfect, the way it was before it happened. Matthew’s eyes meet my own. They are soft and full of love for me. He smiles, eliciting an involuntary return of the expression from me. Next I look to my left, to Tina. She’s feeding Jason—his name comes back to me now—a bite of his food in a disgustingly romantic fresh love kind of way. A few hours ago, envy of them would have filled my whole being. But now I’m happy—genuinely. I don’t know how long this will last, so I cherish every moment of it.

It feels so real, I think to myself. But it must be a dream. What other explanation could there be? I catch myself, realizing that time is precious and shouldn’t be wasted. Dream or reality or some other crazy thing, who knows how long it will last, and I just want to enjoy it for as long as it lasts.