Darling

Thomas Mallet finds himself returning to the Staines Bridge every night, hoping to stop the pain of his lost lover from consuming him.

He wandered around the foggy streets of London on a belly full of beer and a death wish. Staggering, cursing under his breath he wandered. He weaved himself through the crowded streets and turned down crooked alleyways, trying to sever himself off from the miserable population. Quiet was what he wanted. Thomas Mallet was determined to find it if it killed him. He surrendered himself to his internal compass and allowed his feet to wander. When he stopped, his pickled liver throbbing in his torso, he found himself again on the Staines Bridge.

               In the darkness, he laughed, all by himself with nothing but the shadows in the fog to hear him.

               “Hello, oldest friend!” said Thomas. “Surprised to see me?” His voice shook. It was jagged to hear, all worn out from his many days of crying and screaming. He hung his head. Thomas’s reflection peered at him from the glassy water. Sunken eyes. Hollow cheeks. Desperate.

               Off in the distance, he caught the faint murmur of horses clomping towards him. He made himself lift his head to watch the carriage go by. He made out a small figure perched in front of the swaying cab, and waved to whoever it was. When the carriage got closer, the driver pulled on the reins.

               “Out this late, sir?” It was a boy, not a man, driving the carriage. It caught him off guard.

               “Oh, just a stroll. Couldn’t sleep.” Thomas blushed. Could the boy smell the booze on his breath?

               “Could I give you a ride? I’m returning the cab to the owner now. Could drop you off in town.”

               He stopped for a beat, thought about it hard. Thomas looked out at the rushing Thames. He was tired of hearing its constant rambling. Every night the same. He should go with the boy, it was better for his sanity. But it couldn’t be long now . . .

               Just as the thought passed through his mind, the fog behind the carriage began to churn and shift. Thomas frowned at it, as if it wasn’t what he had been waiting for.

               “You should go now, boy. But thank you. Take care.” Before the driver could say anything else, Thomas smacked one of the horses. The animal neighed, then took off with a shake of its head. Thomas watched as the carriage got swallowed by the fog.

               He turned back to watch the low-hanging clouds that had come to life just moments before.

           Thomas’ eyes searched the bitter foggy horizon until, there, right in front of him, one wisp of cloud congealed to make a ghostly face. He watched as little snatches of water mist was stolen from the mass and woven together. The outline of a woman began to loom out of the fog. Her hair, her eyes, her luscious lips. Thomas recognized all of it, had hungered for it since he had come here.

               Before he could stop himself, the apparition’s name fell off his tongue.

               “Elizabeth!”

               The figure did not stop moving towards him. The mist parted for her, or she parted it, and she was barreling towards him, her blank slate eyes boring into him. Her gaze cut into his soul. The woman raised a delicate arm, and pointed a delicate finger at him. She was seeking him out.

               The woman came at him fast, carried on the clouds like a goddess riding into battle. Her gaze was fixed on him, and he stared at her with devotion. The woman stopped with a few mere inches between them. The fog swept past Thomas, swaddling him and kissing him. The world disappeared and for a single, blissful moment, it was just him and the woman in the cover of the fog before the clouds rushed past him. When it was gone he felt raw.

               The ghostly woman stood before him, looking tragically solemn. Her calm composure held for a brief, beautiful moment before it fell away. Tears began to slide down her cheeks, slipping down her face.

               Thomas felt something break inside him.

               “Jump with me Thomas, please.”

               He panicked, knew he had to say something. It was her voice that he had missed most of all.

               “I cannot, my only.” Words that he had spoken long ago. Words that he repeated now, to placate his lost lover. “Do not take yourself away from me, Elizabeth. Do not.”

               “Please, do it with me. We can be together, away from this cruel world.” She took his hand. He gasped at the cold, but did not pull away. She pulled his hand to her stomach, held it there. “If we do not, my father will kill us both.” Thomas thought he felt a phantom gently kick his hand. Blood drained from his cheeks.

               He knew she spoke the truth. Even now, with so many years past, he knew that she spoke truly. It was that more than anything that made him look her in the eye. He whispered, “We will be together in death.”

               She smiled up at his, her white teeth blotted out by the color of the mist. Together they climbed to the top of the Staines Bridge. Like he did on that night, Thomas knew that he had lost her even before she jumped. The crushing weight of that knowledge weighed him down like lead in his stomach.

               “On three,” Elizabeth said. Thomas looked at her. She seemed to feed off the moonlight. Her face pulsed with radiant light.

               “One.”

Elizabeth’s hair was like lashing tendrils, lapping at her face. But Thomas remembered her every feature.

               “Two.”

               They had been so young. Time was so cruel. Life was crueler, he knew that now.

               “Three!”

               Thomas watched her as she flew off the ledge. He didn’t let his gaze drift down to the crushing waters of the Thames. He knew what he would see.

               Long hair floating in the cold water. Elizabeth’s brow creased, her blood tainting the river. A word stuck on her twitching lips.

               Thomas knew she was trying to say “Why.”