I snatch her wrist. “Don't tell anyone. No one would believe you would they? You’re trippin’ out of your mind. And I'm harmless little Sam. I can barely get a word out, right?”
The power. It makes me something else. It makes me the person I hear in my thoughts. And now that I know the secret to being the person I only thought existed in my head, I'm never going to stop.
I’m making spaghetti and meatballs. I am capable of cooking when I put my mind to it, and when I pull out one of my mother’s old dusty cookbooks from the pantry. I usually feed Vesper well, to keep her healthy and attractive, but a pregnant woman has her cravings and I am sure this will be something that will make her light up. So I jotted down the ingredients I needed before leaving and picked them up on the way home. She'll appreciate the gesture. She'll appreciate me.
As I toss the meatballs and spaghetti in serving dish, the phone rings. I let the answering machine take it.
“Hey Sam, it’s Scoot. Thanks for finally calling back. Of course it was on a Sunday morning, and you know we’re at church. Anyway, give me a call. I just want to talk, okay?”
I’ve been avoiding his calls. I know I shouldn’t, which is why I called on Sunday morning. I knew he’d likely be at church. That way, I could say I did, he’d know I was alive, and maybe he’d take a break from being on my ass. I made sure to give him all the necessary information I know he’d ask on a call anyway: I’m fine, working a lot, busy. It’s enough to keep him from stopping by. It would take too much effort to drive the hour trip unless he thought there was an emergency. I’ve just been in a groove lately. I’ve found a state of mind that’s a version of peace, at least when I’m here. The intrusive thoughts aren’t constantly taunting me and I have a beautiful woman who is the closest thing I have ever had to a friend. We listen to music together, she reads to me, we go swimming at the lake. For the first time, I might have everything I need. Scoot brings me down; I just don’t want to fucking talk to him.
With a pair of oven mitts, I grab the casserole dish and leave the house. As I hike to the cabin after a long day of work, that calmness takes over me. When I'm out there, I never feel at ease. I'm an impostor, and it is exhausting work. But with Vesp, she knows it all. She is the fusion of the things I want from out there, and the person I truly I am.
But as I get closer the house, I grow cold. My instincts tell me something is wrong. I've always been in tune with my gut, it's what has prevented me from being caught for so long. I think it comes from spending so much time in solitude. Vesper though, she's like a force field that throws off my calibrations. Taking her, keeping her—those things went against those instincts. But now, in the dark of the forest, they are strong and won't be ignored. I pick up my pace, but don't run. I don't care. She's just a prisoner. I have to tell myself these things. Because I can't afford to put her before me. If I do, I'll end up in prison.
When I open the door, it's clear my instincts haven't failed me.
Vesper is crouched on the floor, her arms crossed in front of her stomach. She's grimacing. The crotch area of her white dress is red with blood.
Blood.
The baby.
It's dead.
“Sam?” she says weakly.
I hear the casserole shatter as it hits the floor but I don't feel it leave my hands.
I didn't realize how much stock I had put in this: the idea of having a child with Vesp. How much I allowed myself to fall into a stupid fantasy. That I could have a taste of normalcy. That any of this could fix me.
She's looking away from a mess on the floor like she can't bear the sight of it. I creep towards it and at its center, I see the small thing on the floor. It's a shock, the little boy, lying there. He has a little body, closed eyes— his tiny feet, ears, lips and fingers are formed. He's not ready to be out in the world, still translucent, still alien in many ways. Yet, he's perfect. He's not deformed or in pieces, he looks like he's sleeping in blood.
I did the right thing. I didn't abort him. I fed her. Gave her things to keep her occupied. Took her to the lake so she could breathe fresh air.
She did this.
She starved herself. She hit her womb against the chair. I bet that all caught up to her. Or even worse, maybe I trusted her to be alone and she's been playing me. Twisting my emotions all the while trying to find her own way to get rid of me inside of her.
This is on her.
I clench my fists as my body trembles with rage.
“Sam?” she asks again, this time a thread of fear in her voice.
I lunge towards her and stop when she cowers.