Daddy's Angel (Weeping Willow Book 1) Page 3

  The hardest part was how long the dream left me there in that moment, praying I could make her breathe again and scared that I would somehow hurt her worse. I had wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close to me. I had kissed her cheeks, saying,

  “This is to force back the tears and bring out your smile baby.”

  Nothing! There was no change, she didn’t hug me back or anything. I was trapped in my guilt and suffering.

  I tried to convince myself that it was only a dream. I knew it hadn’t happened that way…I was there, right? My wife never moved. She never spoke. She just died! I tried to force myself to believe it was just a figment of my imagination, just an alcohol induced hallucination brought about by my heartache and guilt. I wanted to ignore it and just chalk it up to a bad nightmare. I had almost succeeded until I went to the bathroom. That’s when the proof was defined in a clear reflection in the mirror.

  There, gleaming in the glass, was the perfect impression of a handprint burned into my back just below my right shoulder, the indentions left from her nails still freshly covered with blood. I was confused and terrified. I had no reasonable explanation for how it got there. The cloud of funk circling inside my scalp made it impossible to make any sense of the situation. All I could think about was my wife’s last words in the dream. She had said I was too late and couldn’t stop it, that their deaths were on my soul. Those words shattered through the silence now permeating my ears. I was too shaken by this to attempt a shower or anything else, so I just slunk back to bed, hiding under the covers and whimpering like a lost puppy. My last thought before crying myself to sleep was: If my dead wife’s touch in a dream - in a dream - could manifest itself in reality and leave its mark permanently emblazoned on my back…Then, how much worse could she possibly make things for me? Why was her anger and hatred focused on me? It was a dream! Just a dream! It was just a damn dream!

  ***

  This time when the dream came it was the same as the first night, screeching brakes, sirens sounding off, metal being ground and twisted into pieces, the buzzing in the crowd and the bags being sealed. Only this time, before the ambulance shut its doors and drove away, as I’m left lost and confused and devastated just standing in the road, I hear my wife’s voice. It’s soft and low, sort of muffled…

  “Open the bag.”

  Stricken with fear, I make my way slowly to the back of the ambulance. Everything is gone, the cars, the crowd and the sirens… They’re all gone! There’s just me, the ambulance, and two body bags laid out on stretchers. There’s no movement, only words seeping through the air and still too low to be fully understood. I steadily pace the few remaining steps to the back of the ambulance and peek around the side. I suddenly get a dark and unwelcoming feeling! As I reach out and touch the door, about to step up onto the bumper, the night air becomes cold as ice, the stars and moon are blocked by ominous clouds, and the wind picks up and whispers strange warnings in my ears. Then, her strained words return. They’re a little clearer this time and I can make out the last of them.

  “Open the bag!”

  As if in a trance, under her control, I hop up into the ambulance and stand between the body bags. My own thoughts are hidden from me, and again I hear those words.

  “Open the bag!”

  I feel a desire to obey the suggestion and grab a hold of the zipper on the adult body bag. It takes forever listening to each set of teeth separate from one another. Luckily, the zipper only goes halfway down the bag. As the last set pops apart, I take a step back and wait – just wait – not knowing what is going to happen next.

  I notice the bag rustling, quick little movements that don’t last long. I can feel a gradual pounding in my chest growing stronger with each beat of my heart. Suddenly, the bag sits straight up. I stumble backwards, pushing my daughter’s stretcher against the wall. The pounding in my chest is deafening, muting out all other sounds. Her head slowly twists inside the bag and her face is still partially covered, only one visible eye clouded over and peering out at me. I do my best to run and high tail it out the doors, but my actions are foolhardy. I’m stuck in place unable to look away or run. Her mouth is still and motionless, yet, somehow her words enter my mind.

  “Where were you? We suffered and died alone. You should’ve been there!”

  Holding back my tears, I try to speak, but the words don’t come. My voice isn’t there. Her next plea slices deep into my fragile state.

  “My love, take my hand, I can make the pain go away. You can be with us once more. What you couldn’t be in life you can now provide in death. You promised forever. Take my hand and I can help you keep that promise. My love, it’s up to you now. You can set things right. Decide your fate!”

  Nearly sitting on my daughter’s body, I’m shaking so badly that my bones are literally trembling. I’m overcome with fear, thinking of the ramifications of what she just said. There’s a traffic jam of thoughts rushing in and out of my mind, none of them getting much attention.

  She continues. “Do you know what it’s like to have your loved ones turn their back on you in your moment of desperation? When your fear has been given a true identity and is staring you in the eyes? Do you really know how that experience can eat you up from the inside out until you’re left cold and dead inside, until your last breath fills you with anguish and leaves you bitter? I don’t believe you have yet. Do you truly understand pure evil? Have you ever tasted revenge at its finest? Have your last thoughts ever consumed you until you pray to whomever will listen only to have those prayers go seemingly unanswered? No! I don’t believe you have, but, I know you will very soon.”

  I sit there analyzing every scenario and possible motive she might have for wanting me dead and not one of them is logical. I muster up the courage and answer.

  “You know I want to be with you. Hell, I’ve been trying to drink myself to death to make it happen! You were my wife, my world, and I don’t know that I can go on living without you. I miss everything about you, your smile, your eyes, your kiss, your laugh, and your touch, but how will we get all that back with my death? I don’t understand, I’m just so confused and lost. Maybe it’s the alcohol disrupting my thoughts but I don’t believe your reasons are what you say they are. I think you want me dead not out of love but for hatred and revenge!”

  Her anger fills the ambulance, there’s no escaping it. I’m lifted off the floor and trapped against the ceiling. The top half of the body bag just explodes. Embers and ashes fly everywhere and her head contorts unnaturally. She is now staring straight up at me. Her dark empty eyes are like laser beams, boring through my chest. My breathing becomes difficult and labored, I’m struggling for air and unable to move. It’s like her hands are squeezing my lungs, not allowing them to expand. I can see sharp jagged teeth and her tongue swells, nearly filling her mouth. The sound that flies out almost bursts my ear drums. I damn near faint. Her mouth is full of a black tar-like substance that spews out with every word and is quickly absorbed by any uncovered skin. Like acid, burning blisters appear and instantly fester until they burst open with rotten decayed flesh and drip down onto the floor.

  She’s smiling now, mockingly as she speaks.

  “You had your chances and both times you failed! You don’t deserve to live. You’re a miserable excuse of a man, you failed as a husband and as a father. Now, I find no redeeming qualities in your sorry existence. Are you ready to die? Are you prepared to join your wife and, oh yes, let’s not forget Daddy’s Angel?”

  I want so much in that moment to say - to scream out,

  “Yes, I want to live! I don’t want to die anymore!”

  The words won’t come. Her hold on my throat won’t allow it. She just sits there looking up at me and laughs. Then she says, “I offered you my heart twice and, though you took it willingly, you abandoned it every time I needed you. Now, for your punishment and for your eternal sentence, your heart will be mine! It doesn’t matter if it’s given freely or if I rip it out of your worthle
ss bag of bones while it still beats. I personally would prefer the latter of the two, but I’ll let you decide.”

  I try to beg and plead for my life, but it’s not possible, the words are silent and no sound leaves my mouth. She notices my attempts and loosens her grip just enough so that I can breathe a little easier.

  She sneers, “Only seconds left. Do you have any last words? Speak now or just shut the fuck up!”

  With what I know are going to be my last moments of life, I beg and beg her to let me touch my daughter’s face again, for one last time.

  “Just one small caress, one final embrace and I can face eternity in whatever hell I’m sent to. Please let me hold her again!”

  She smirks, shakes her head, and laughs. Then she whispers, “I won’t allow you one moment of pleasure. There will be no peace for you before you die! You are unworthy of that experience, but, I will let you stare at her as you breathe in your last gasp of life. Her face will be fused in the retina of your mind’s eye forever and you will understand true pain and suffering! Her image will be the last thing you ever see and serve as a reminder of your unforgivable disappointments.”

  As she redirects her gaze from me to the other body bag, the zipper starts to undo itself and the bag parts like curtains being drawn back and tied. My daughter’s beautiful tiny face is revealed. Instantly my tears flow and I beg again to hold her, to feel her next to me. My wife’s answer is short.

  “No! You can look, but you can’t touch!”

  She is laughing again, her evil nature shining through.

  As my tears run down my cheeks and one by one fall from my face, they land on my daughter’s forehead. I see them flow into a puddle and rest on her face. It is as though her skin is soaking them up, as they just disappear into nothingness.

  My wife says, “You’d better hurry, time is running out and so is my patience!”

  Trying to choke back my tears I cry, “I’m sorry baby, Daddy wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t there and you died alone. I would give anything if I could change it and take your place, but I can’t. Daddy will be joining you shortly. I love you, you were the best part of me, the only good thing about my life. I failed you in life and now it seems I’ve failed you in death as well. Please forgive me! You’re my baby, my daughter and you will always be Daddy’s Angel. I love you now and forever.”

  The strength in her grip returns and once again tightens around my neck, squeezing the air from my lungs and choking the last bit of life from my body. The light in my eyes starts to fade and shrink into darkness. Just before it is completely extinguished, I swear I see my daughter blink! Through the darkness, a blinding light appears over her body. It hovers there for a split second before rising, just floating in the air.

  I know it sounds crazy, but before I lost consciousness in the dream, I thought I heard a voice.

  “Daddy you must live, live for momma, live for me, but most importantly, you must live for yourself. I don’t know how many times I’m allowed to return, but if you need me I’ll be there for you. This creature is not momma, but it’s taken her form to get to you. I don’t know what her reasons are, but she wants you. I can stop her and protect you but only for a short while. I love you, Daddy and I will always be your Angel… But now you must live!”

  With that she’s gone and I blacked out.

  CHAPTER 5

  INTERVENTIONS

  I WOKE UP ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR, LYING in a vile mixture of Captain Morgan and puke. I somehow managed to pull myself up to my knees. I sat there for the longest time waiting for what remained of my senses to return. The lights were so bright, nearly blinding, causing me to look through squinted eyes. Nothing looked familiar, though I knew it was my house and my kitchen. I didn’t recognize any of it from the haze shadowing my mind. I must have been sitting there for hours, at least it seemed that long, before I was able to think or hold a thought or let my eyes become fully adjusted.

  Stumbling into the hallway and falling over every obstacle placed in my path, I reached the bathroom. The three buttons on my shirt were too difficult for my current level of intelligence to understand or manipulate, so I just turned the water on and hopped into the shower fully clothed. I began with only cold water and as it rained down over me, soaking through my clothes, each drop that hit me felt like a million needles being thrust in my skin. I looked down at my arms, they were covered with fresh unhealed sunken pits. For the life of me, I had no idea how they got there.

  Frightened, confused and lost, I panicked! What else did I do to myself? I had never heard of anyone mutilating themselves while blacked out. For a second, the thought of not drinking anymore entered my mind but I quickly dispersed with that notion and rapidly began ripping my shirt over my shoulders and letting it fall to the floor behind me. I managed to get one shoe off and was working on the other wet sock, which seemed permanently attached, when I lost my balance and went crashing to the tile floor. I laid there trying to shake off the fall while the water continued to beat down on me for a few minutes. Then, I finally maneuvered out of my clothes. I had to laugh at myself as I realized that my drenched limp clothes sort of resembled the chalk outline at a crime scene. With that small chuckle, I decided I would finish my shower and then examine my body for more wounds or any other signs of what might have happened.

  Luckily, my wife had had full length mirrors strategically placed all around the room. She never had to ask how she looked in an outfit because every possible angle was covered by the mirrors.

  I remembered once telling her, “If you could twist your head around like that girl in the Exorcist movie you could tell yourself if your ass looks fat in that dress.”

  She would just laugh and smile that amazing smile and say, “I thought that’s why I have you, my personal assistant. Now, how does my ass look? And choose your words carefully!”

  “Yes ma’am, I know how this plays out and I don’t feel much like sleeping in the doghouse tonight.”

  As good and happy as those thoughts made me, they also brought back the numbing realization that she was gone. They were both gone, and I found myself crying once more. Though the shower washed the tears away before they could run down my face, their impressions were felt.

  I continued checking myself for any marks and I found, other than the blisters littering my arms, that I also had deep bruising on my throat and a handprint perfectly burned onto my back. Dumbfounded as to how any of it had happened, I cleaned and dressed the wounds and then put on fresh clothes.

  I returned to the kitchen, unsure of what day or month was but I knew that I should at least clean up the mess I had left on the floor. While on my knees with some rags and bleach I found under the sink, wiping and scrubbing a puddle of dried vomit and whiskey that had to have been there for several days, I looked up and noticed the calendar and the big red X staring me right in my face. All at once, six months of memories, the pain, anguish, and of course the dreams, raced into my head. I swear it was an instant migraine and as my questions seemed to be answered, everything I didn’t know was now a little clearer. I just couldn’t believe what I was doing.

  There was only one day left unchecked before the “X.” I sat there looking at it like it was going to speak to me, like it was going to tell me what I should do now. I couldn’t help but wonder whether or not I should even complete my plan, but I had come so far. My head still wasn’t right, there were too many memories and thoughts competing for the limited amount of space left available in my brain’s capacity. Again, I felt myself going into auto pilot and shutting down. I was being pulled in every direction, but only one option made sense. I knew I wouldn’t be able to continue without them. No! My plan had to be seen through to the end!

  The shaking returned and brought an old friend along…guilt. My stomach was doing somersaults, begging to be fed a solid meal, screaming for something that would stick to my ribs, and demanding satisfaction. But, what did it know? I was in charge here!

  My hand and fingers were
really trembling badly as I reached for the bottle. My mouth was watering, wanting that drink. I wasn’t sure if my grip could even hold the bottle still long enough to get it to my lips without dousing it all over my body like cologne first. As the ridges at the neck of the bottle neared my mouth, something happened and I dropped it. Shards skated across the floor. I thought I had lost my grip, that somehow my fingers had opened and the bottle had slipped through my hand and crashed onto the counter top, causing it to shatter and pieces of glass to scatter in every direction. I tried again. I grabbed a bottle, took the lid off, and guided it toward my mouth. Yet, again, as it reached my lips, I dropped it and the bottle fell. I thought to myself that I must be a lot weaker than I realized. I tried again… Same result! I did this about ten times. Each time, right before my lips spread to welcome a taste, the bottle would fall, hit the floor, and then break. Even in my diluted state of mind, I knew something wasn’t right.

  I was just sitting there at the table, surrounded by my liquid suicide, but for some unknown reason I wasn’t able to enjoy even the smallest of sips. My body was arguing with me to keep trying, cursing at me for letting the alcohol go to waste. I was about to give in and try again but then I realized that I was just losing all my ammunition with each bottle I dropped. Looking around, I tried to come up with ways of fooling myself into somehow getting a drink. All of a sudden, the coffee pot started up and the smell of freshly brewed coffee circulated throughout the room. The refrigerator doors slowly opened and a package of hot dogs slid to the front of the shelf. The calendar that I had so faithfully written on every day for my countdown ignited. A few sparks and ashes floated gently down to the trash can. The curtains began to dance, even though there was no wind in the room. I was terrified, watching this happen, and not knowing what the meaning was. I was not willing to stay long enough to find out. I ran as fast as my jello legs would carry me and hid in my bed under the sheets, not willing to coming out until I felt it was safe. Every once in a while, I would peek out from under the covers just to see if anything had followed me and was now waiting on me to come out from hiding, but, each time, nothing was there! I was alone! Or was I? I couldn’t tell anymore, and I was starting to think that there was something out there, watching me. But how? I was awake, I wasn’t sleeping! This was no dream!