Lifeline

A story I wrote in class, using Edgar Allen Poe as inspiration.

My beautiful, sweet Edelith -- the love of my life, she stood in the kitchen, shouting angry words; words that I could not understand. The anger twisted and contorted her expressions, and several items were thrown. Candles, books, anything she could get her hands on. All were dodged easily. Tears streamed down her face as I caught wind of her words -- “uncaring, cold hearted, not worth it -- leaving.”

No, no -- she could not leave, she had to stay. She kept me sane. Like a virus her anger spread to me as I reached to the side. I grabbed whatever I could wrap my hand around and brought it down on her head -- she couldn’t leave me, she had to stay. She was my life. I watched as her eyes, so bright and blue, grew dull as something red trickled down her face. Finally I looked down at the object I held in my hand -- it was a kitchen knife.

Horror washed over me in large waves as I dropped the sharp blade. It hit the floor at the same time she did -- the sounds, although different, came together in a sickening harmony. I stared down at her still, pale figure as she slowly bled out. There was nothing I could do; I was a murderer. My beautiful, sweet Edelith lay dead on our kitchen floor, and I was the cause.

The horror quickly faded and was replaced with immense guilt. I fell to my knees beside her and wept -- I killed her! My love, my life; dead on the tile in front of me, the crimson blood forming a pool and tainting her shiny blonde hair. With a deep breath I held back the tears and picked her up daintily. I looked into her eyes -- minutes ago they were fueled with fire and hatred -- now they were dull and void of life.

Carefully I carried her to the back of the house, into the storage closet. It was a tiny room, with only a few unused coats and shoeboxes collecting dust inside. I sat her down against the wall, and crossed her hands on her lap; aside from the large red stain on her head, she looked asleep after I closed her eyes. Pulling the closet key out of my pocket, I walked out and shut it, locking it behind me. I held the metal above me, mouth open; and dropped it. Quickly I swallowed it and ran for a glass of water.

After I could breath again; which, mind you was only a few moments; I sighed. I had to get my mind off of her. So, I did what any person does to get someone off their mind -- I went to the pub. I only had so much money; Edelith was the one with the job. I was just an unsuccessful writer. But what I did have I spent on alcohol. I downed 4 drinks, and that’s all I remember from that night.

I woke up on a street corner, my head pounding with a horrendous headache. Patting my pockets, I sighed; all my money was gone, just as I had suspected. But I still had my house key, so it was okay. Edelith was going to be angry, though, for me to have spent all that money on alcohol. She’ll find a way to forgive me, she always does.

I trudged home as quickly as a hung-over man could, and unlocked the door. Once inside I quietly shut it behind me and went to get some aspirin. Once the headache receded enough, I went into my study and sat down at my desk; with a pen in one hand and a paper in the other, I began my next tale.

The first chapter followed a young girl as she told about her life, what her dreams were, and where she was now. Then in the chapters following, the story follows how she is murdered out of cold blood by someone from her past. One of her friends, who became a detective, found the responsibility thrust upon him by others to figure out who it was. In the end -- which yes, he actually did reach for once -- it turns out it was he himself who killed her.

Once the tale was complete, I found myself staring down at dozens upon dozens of pages filled with writing, and I thought to myself, ‘I actually finished a story for once.’ Excitement coursed through me as I jumped up with glee. “Edelith, darling, you’ll never believe it!” I called out to my wife, and almost on que, she yelled back.

“What is it, dear?” I don’t know why her voice sounded so foreign to me -- it must be the effects of the alcohol, I decided as I marched proudly into our room where she sat on the bed knitting.

“I finished a story,” I calmly explained. She looked at me strangely.

“You finish stories all the time, my love. Why is this one any different?”

“I finished it in an entire sitting. I just sat down, and told the story, and before I knew it, it was done!” My face broke into a large grin, and hers did as well.

“That’s great, my dear! What is it called?” I frowned. I hadn’t bothered to come up with a title for it yet. I thought deeply, trying to come up with one on the spot.

“Wasted Time,” I finally decided. She nodded aprovingly.

“You should go down to the publishing company, and tell them about it! I’m sure they’d be delighted to help.” She smiled kindly, but something looked off about it. I could not place what. Pushing the thought out of my mind, I frowned again.

“Edelith, dear, you know that company does not like me very much at all... I think they would just take it and publish it as one of their own works. They’re cheating, stealing liars anyway.” She looked at me with her bright azure eyes and I just could not say no. “But, I suppose I will give it a try....” She smiled and pushed me out the door. “I’ll be back for dinner,” I called out behind me, but there was no response as the door slammed shut.

Thinking nothing of it, I gathered up my papers and put them in an envelope. Grabbing my key and a quick glass of water, I headed out the door and down the street Ravenclaw Publishing Industries. I thought the name was just a little ridiculous, but when did anyone in this town ever listen to me? They all thought me insane, thought I needed medication. That I was ‘sick’ with some kind of disease or something of that kind. What did they know? I only need listen to Edelith; only she understood me.

As I arrived, I took a few deep breaths; okay, so I was nervous. Didn’t I have the right to be? They would more likely than not take my story and publish it as someone else’s, someone who ‘deserves the credit.’ Finally, I pushed the door open and confidently walking in.

Immediately all eyes turned to me. Some glares were hateful, others sympathetic, some just downright disgusted. I ignored them all, though, and walked straight to the lead publisher’s office. “Mr. Ravenclaw,” I nodded as I opened the door and walked in.

“Ah, it’s you, Mr. Everett. What is it? I have things I need to do,” The man said impatiently.

“Well, sir, I have this story I wrote... and, I was maybe wondering if you could get it published,” I phrased it not as a question, but as a statement. Mr. Ravenclaw clicked his teeth and sighed.

“Well, I’ll have a look at it and get back to you. How does that sound?” I smiled gratefully and handed over the envelope.

“Thank you, sir. To be honest, I didn’t think you’d take it... Edelith actually convinced me,” I sighed in relief; she was such a godsent angel. The elder man gave me a strange look, but I shrugged it off as I thanked him once again and left the office.

A week later, I got a call from the office that they were publishing it. For a moment, I thought they were joking, but then I realized it was not. I calmly thanked them, but once I hung up, I jumped for joy. It couldn’t be really happening!

“Edelith! They’re publishing it!” Instead of the normal response I got from her, I heard silence. Concerned, I crept down the hall and cracked the door to our room. There was no one in there. I pushed the door open and blinked, and then; there she was! But she had not been there a second ago! “Edelith?” She turned around to face me.

“Oh, that’s great darling!” She smiled at me as she continued knitting the same thing she had been a week ago. Looking closer, I noticed that she had not made any progress. What was going on? I also noticed that she had not left the house, which was unusual for her. Didn’t she have work? I decided to ignore it, for now.

Another week or two later, I was being showered with fame; everybody loved the story. I had to write more, and more! On a particularly frosty winter afternoon, I was looking for one of my older transcripts for inspiration when I stumbled upon a key. I vaguely recognized it as the spare for the closet down the hall -- from which lately there had been coming a peculiar smell.

I decided to look for the transcript later, and took the key and walked down the hall, turning it over in my hand. For some reason, when I tried to remember what was in the closet, I came face to face with a wall in my mind. Did I not want to remember? I suppose not. When I reached the door, I had to hold my breath and cover my nose. The smell had definitely gotten worse.
Very slowly --suspensefully, dare I say -- I put the key in the lock and turned. My heart thumping my chest, I uncovered my nose and reached down, twisting the handle. Finally I pulled it open.

I came face to face with a grisly sight; the rotting corpse of what I thought was a woman. Bugs covered her decaying flesh and spiders crawled in her eye sockets. I almost threw up right then and there, but I had the sense of mind to run to the bathroom and do it there. After my stomach had settled, I went back to examine the body.

Her blonde hair was still there, but it was covered in dark red bloodstains an had many bugs weaved into it. That hair -- I recognized it. My eyes grew wide and wild as I frantically called out for my wife. “Edelith!” I raced to our room, hoping, praying, that she’d be there knitting the same thing she always was. “Edelith!” I threw open the door, and found no one. No wife of mine sitting on the bed, ready to congratulate me on my latest story. Nothing.

I collapsed to my knees as the recollection of that night slammed into me. I... I killed her.... I suddenly grew wild and frantic as I ran through the house screaming. Tears streamed down my face as I called out for her. I needed her -- she was my lifeline. She kept me sane.

Suddenly another memory returned to me; the reason why the townspeople pitied me, hated me. A doctor’s words rang through my head: “Schizophrenia.” That’s right. I had been diagnosed, and given pills -- but in a rage, much like the one that made me a murderer, I had gotten rid of them. More words, the same voice: “Side effects include hallucinating,” So that was it. The Edelith I had come to share my glory with was just a hallucination; a figment of my mind. Made up.

It was all too much for me to handle -- I couldn’t take it. I frantically ran to the kitchen and grabbed another knife. Taking the blade, I lifted it so the blade was directly above my heart; and I plunged it deep inside me. The pain was only slight, because soon the world faded to black.

But soon afterward, a white light lit up in front of me. Opening my eyes, I saw her. She was smiling sadly as she held her hand out to me. Taking it, I walked with her. I was home.