Lance

A woman is being relentlessly stalked by her ex-husband. Trapped in a corner and on the verge of losing her sanity, Carrie is at a loss of ideas. Lance is around every corner.

Lance

 

 

 

“I’ve seen him every day for the past week now,” Carrie mumbled, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she brought the cup to her mouth and back down into her lap. Every little noise had her on edge, every shadow brought forth a scream, and every horrific image of possibility brought her to tears. She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath. “I don’t know how long I can take it anymore, Peter. He’s scaring me and he’s scaring our kids. It’s getting out of control.”

“Have you been taking your medication?”

“What the hell do those damn pills have to do with anything?” Carrie snapped back, her eyes opening quickly in order to shoot him an angry glare. “I’m not seeing these things, Peter. He’s as real as you or I. I see him everywhere now, and I’m sure it won’t be long before he tries to do something horrible. I don’t know how you think these ‘magic’ pills you have are going to help me. What I need is for someone to kill that deranged man already.”

Peter let out a quiet sigh as he stared out the window. “Well, if you’re really seeing him, then why isn’t he doing more to try and get in your head? Stalkers usually call and bombard their victims with mail and messages, don’t they? Why wouldn’t he be working harder to get closer to you?”

“Because he’s psychotic!” Carrie shouted, her coffee flowing slightly over the rim and burning the side of her fingers. She emitted and aggravated groan as she swung her hand back and forth to dry it off. “I just have no idea what to do anymore. The police can’t help me because I have no evidence of the stalking, my parents won’t even listen to what I have to say, much less believe me, and none of my friends but you will have anything to do with this situation. I feel abandoned, Peter. What on earth do I do?”

“Don’t worry, Carrie,” Peter assured her, reaching a hand forward to pat her arm as she began to cry. “I’m sure it’ll get better with time. He can’t keep up with this creepy game forever. Either he’s going to make a move or he’s going to back off eventually. You just have to be prepared for either way. Maybe try talking with him next time you see him, huh? I mean, he’s still human, isn’t he? He’s your ex, he has to still be civil, doesn’t he?”

Carrie brushed the tears away from her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. “You don’t know Lance, Peter. That man is absolutely, insanely aggressive. There’s no telling what he’ll do to us. I just… I just…”

“Listen, Carrie, there’s no need to be so worked up over this,” Peter assured her. “Everything’s going to be okay, I promise. Take the medication I gave you. I’m not calling you crazy, I’m just saying it’ll help. I took some when I was feeling as stressed as you, and it should help you feel better. It’ll help you deal with this all with a level head.”

Carrie was at a loss of words. For a moment her head seemed to be emptied entirely. She studied the face of her friend aimlessly, staring at his short black hair and his deep, amber eyes, forcing herself to breath in and out in a timely manner. She knew she wasn’t crazy, she just knew it. Lance was a horror, an absolute demon in disguise, and he was dead set on killing her and her kids, this she was sure. But nobody would believe her, nobody would even entertain the idea that sweet, harmless little Lance could be the mastermind behind so much corruption and uneasiness. Every day the world around her contorted into a world a little less light, a little less happy, and a little less hopeful. Slowly but surely the tenacious claws of hell had ripped and torn their way through the confines of the earth and were now beginning to envelope her life, home and world in an embrace of absolute darkness, completely destroying every dream she had ever dreamed and every memory she had ever cherished. “Whatever you say,” she mumbled suddenly, looking away from her friend and reaching down to grab the purse that sat at her feet. She hesitated a moment, ready to stand up but not ready to relinquish her seat just yet. She felt like there was something that needed to be said, something that needed to be clarified, but the words would not come to mind. Eventually she gave up at the game she played with her tedious brain and abruptly started for the door.

“Wait, Carrie,” Peter called to her from his seat.

She stopped but she did not turn around. The shadow she saw on the ground before her was her own, but it seemed to move when she did not and speak with words she had never said. A chill went reverberating through her spine like a bolt of lightning and she suddenly wanted nothing more than to run out the door that sat merely ten feet away.

“Call me whenever you need to talk,” He assured her. “If anything happens at all, just give me a ring, okay? I’m always here for you.”

Carrie quickly nodded her head and rushed out the door, closing it firmly behind her and bursting hurriedly into the midst of the city sidewalk. Walking in a crowd of random strangers had made her feel safe, secure, and protected, but the presence of unknowing passersby no longer brought her a feeling of ease. Lance could be hiding behind one of the faces she did not recognize, lurking amongst a group of others she did not know, or convening with evil persons she was not even aware of. A sense of security was no longer even achievable for her anymore, and every second of her day, including when she was immersed in what should be the safe confines of sleep, her heart raced inside of her, an ever beating drum that could never be silenced and pounded in her ears with such ferocity she was afraid at times that her very head would burst. Her life had become nothing more than a horrifying game of hide and seek, and she was allowed nothing to do but wait helplessly in the shadows like a scared little kid.

She arrived back in home still stuck in a fleeting panic, rushing through the front door and hastily locking it behind her. She quickly observed the clock and noted that it was already one o’clock. Only two hours before her children were out of school, and only two hours twenty minutes before they would be back with her. If they were not home by 3:20 she would call each of them. If they did not pick up she would call the bus driver whose number she demanded to be given as soon as she had started to see Lance lurk about. If the bus driver did not know her kids’ whereabouts she would call the police. If the police could not do anything a devil had been unleashed, and she would have no choice but to unleash her own.

She spent the next two hours the way she spent any minutes while her children were not in her sight. She sat at the kitchen table, hands balled up into fists near her face, cheeks streamed with tears of stress, panic, fear, and fury, watching the clock as the seconds slowly ticked by. Her stomach churned and her fingers shook, making every moment of her solitude uncomfortable and unbearable.

She lost herself in a dark world of her own, and she didn’t come back to earth until she heard the sweet voice of her 8-year-old daughter ringing in her ears.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” Marie asked, standing across the table from her mother, looking at her with a stare of confusion and worry.

Carrie lifted her eyelids slowly and looked at her two beautiful children, standing like statues in their bright clothes and character back packs. She unclenched her fists and quickly began to wipe away at the tears that covered her face and filled her eyes. “Hey, sweeties, how was school today?”

“Why were you crying?” Marie persisted, her tiny hands clinging to the straps of her backpack.

Carrie let out a long breath and stood up from her seat. “Do you want a snack? Are you guys hungry?”

“Did daddy come by again?” This time Johnny spoke, his question striking Carrie like a rain of fire. Carrie refused to look towards either of them, focusing instead on grabbing plates from the cupboard and apples from the counter.

“You guys like apples and peanut butter, right?” Her voice was shaking now. She was trying so hard to keep it together, to keep from scaring them. She cut into the apples with a shivering blade, coming dangerously close to slicing off her own trembling fingers.

“Mommy,” Marie started in a tentative and quiet voice. “What’s the matter? Why’re you so-”

“Go to your rooms,” she snapped as she slammed the knife down and locked her arms, standing with her back arched and her head hanging low, her blond hair covering her face and her terrified eyes as she stared down at the severed apple.

“But, Mommy-”

“I said Go!”

The kids went running, their small feet sending soft vibrations throughout the house, and their whimpers of fear hardening the air around her. The gentle sound of their doors being shut released her from her fury, and she found herself exhaling deeply as she tossed the knife in the sink and the apples in the trash. She resumed her position at the table; hands balled up, eyes watery, and fingers shaking. She pressed her hands to her mouth and bit anxiously at the skin of her thumb, gaze unwavering and focused on the black and white tiles of her kitchen floor.

The entire world around her, save the tile her eyes were set on, was lost. Everything dropped into oblivion and was eaten by the satanic fires that had already engulfed her very soul. Around her was the vortex of hell that she had known to call home. Horrific sounds filled her ears and shook her body, causing tremors to overtake her and her stomach to churn. Bouts of nausea threatened to be her demise, to cause her to fall from the chair she sat on and into the swirling chiasm of death that surrounded her. Her body shook uncontrollably, her breathing had transformed into erratic intakes and vigorous exhales, and the skin on the knuckle of her thumb had become raw and open from where her teeth and sunk in, allowing blood to fill her mouth and flow down her arm. It all became too much, the taste of blood, the nausea, the lack of control, the misery… the smell of fear. She dropped her head down and closed her eyes. The straw-like strands of her hair beat against her face, and the aroma of it masked the putrid odor of the hell that surrounded her. For a moment, she felt that she could escape on her own. She felt that she could convince herself to leave-

“Mommy, it’s Daddy!” Johnny screamed from miles away. The sound of small feet scurrying across the floor was like a heartbeat, heard from off in the distance yet seeming as if it were coming from within her very own heaving chest. “He’s back, Mommy, he’s back!”

As if a surge of life had beat her alongside the head, her eyes shot open and her head sprang up. Without even looking at her two kids who stood before her, holding hands and crying, she started walking to her son’s room. Trying to fight the urge to kill him, she remembered what Peter had suggested that morning; “Maybe try talking to him… He’s your ex, he has to be civil, doesn’t he?”

He had a point. As crazy as Lance may be now, she knew that he wasn’t crazy when she had married him, and she was sure that somewhere, hidden deep within the layers of psychosis that now enveloped his being, there had to be the civil man that she had somehow come to love.

His face was dark, and his eyes seemed almost yellow in the afternoon light. He stood, peering in her son’s window with a malicious frown and an unwavering glare. Not a muscle moved as he stared at Carrie, she wasn’t even sure if he was breathing.

This was a sight she had come to know far too well, an image that appeared in her dreams several times a night, and filled her head whenever she dared to close her eyes. Her husband, the man she had once loved, had declared her undying faith too, and had raised her infant children with, standing outside one of her windows, worn, haggard, and unkempt, glaring at what used to be his family with a menacing snarl. The yearning for death thrived in his stare, and his fiendish intents were evident in his snide smile. The man she had most loved was now the man she most feared, and every time she saw him lurking outside of her home her heart stopped for a second, and the world around her came to a halting freeze before allowing time to move on again.

It took all of the courage she possessed, but she managed to stride over towards the window and open it ever so slightly, so that he could hear what she would have to say. Her actions didn’t faze him in the slightest, his gaze remained fixated on her and he continued to stand stiff as a statue.

“You need to leave me alone,” Carried demanded, eyes darting from the face of her ex-husband to the floor and back again. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but I won’t put up with this any longer. You can’t be around here anymore.”

“It’s my home too,” he snarled. “Just because I left doesn’t mean I’m gone forever. You can’t just drop me like that.”

“You are gone forever, though. You have to be. We’re done, and we’re never getting back together. You’re not a part of this family anymore, Lance. You never will be again.”

At this Lance chuckled, his eyes averting from Carrie for the first time. “You’ve always been such an optimist, baby, you really have been. But someday you’re going to realize that things don’t always turn out the way you’ve planned. This house is ours, and those kids, they’re ours too, and the more you try to make them just yours, the more I want to make them just mine. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Carrie’s mouth had gone dry and her heart began to beat a little faster. “I don’t understand what you think you’re gaining by standing outside of my house like a f*****g creep-”

“Our house, Carrie!” Lance boomed, his brow furrowing and his fists clenching. “This isn’t your God damn house, you get that? This will never be your house!”

“I don’t know what you’re problem is, but if you try to do anything to me or my kids, I’ll kill you.” She began to shut the window. “And the next time I see you standing by one of my windows again, I’ll get my f*****g shotgun and blow off your God damn head.”

Lance’s face fumed red as she slammed the window shut and he began to explode. “That’s not your f*****g gun!”

 

 

 

 

“Well, I did it. I tried to talk to him.” Carrie let out a deep breath and took a tentative sip of her coffee.

“And?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know yet. I talked to him yesterday afternoon. I didn’t see him last night or this morning, so who knows, maybe my threats worked some magic.”

“What did you say to him, exactly?”

“I told him I’d kill him if he tried to do anything to me or the kids.” Carrie began to laugh dryly and rubbed at her face with her free hand. “I told him I’d take the shotgun and blow his head off.”

Peter’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. Didn’t think you had it in you to use such strong threats.  You think you mean them?”

Carrie shrugged. “I don’t think I could ever kill anyone, Peter. But, if he went after Marie or Johnny… Well, there’s no really saying what I’d do.”

“Do you feel better now? Now that you’ve confronted him about it?”

“I do, actually. I feel like I’ve gained some control in the matter.”

“So, those pills have helped, then?”

“God, Peter, why do you keep trying to drug me?” Carrie snapped. “I haven’t taken those pills, and I don’t need to. I’m not crazy, and I don’t need any meds to calm me down. I can handle this on my own.”

Peter tightened his lips and looked down at the ground. “Whatever you say. If you believe you can, I suppose that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you,” Carrie muttered. She turned her head to look out the window of Peter’s living room. The streets bustled with people and cars. In the midst of colors and faces, she saw him. She saw him everywhere. She saw his shaggy brown hair amongst the heads of many others, saw his nearly yellow eyes glaring at her through the window frame, and saw his jagged white teeth mouthing words of hatred. The shadows in the room belonged to him, the noises in the air belonged to him, and her very spirit belonged to him. She claimed everything to be her own, but, in reality, she knew it was anything but.

 

 

The moon, to her, was nothing more than an ominous light in the sky, unable to even fully illuminate the darkness that surrounded her. At night she would stare out the window, watching and waiting, paranoid out of her mind that his eyes were everywhere, that he was in the bushes, behind a tree, or hidden beneath her feet, holding a gun and coming for her. She would shake. She would cry. And, very rarely, she would fall asleep despite the fits of panic and fear that overcame her.

Several times throughout the hours of the night she would peak into her children’s’ bedrooms, just to ensure that they still lay safe and sound under their covers. As she kissed their foreheads or brushed back their hair, she would mutter something in amazement at the fact that they could somehow still find solace in sleep when they were very well aware that their father terrorized their entire home. Their innocent and hopeful minds allowed them to still experience joy and glee even though they were immersed in a dangerous hell. She would then leave their rooms with her head hanging low, wishing that her mind were still trapped in the glorious confines of naïve youth. Her joy left forever when her husband did, and even though she had assumed that separation would bring it all back, she soon discovered that it would prove to be the exact opposite.

In the darkest hours of the night she would find herself staring helplessly at the gun case, or at a shining knife that she would hold in her hand. She hated herself for thinking what she thought, and she knew that she would never let herself do it, but sometimes she just couldn’t help but believe that it would ease her suffering. The only thing holding her back where her kids, and sometimes they were hardly enough. She would never leave them alone with that man lurking out in the darkness, but, on the darkest of nights, even that couldn’t keep her from wanting death to cure her of her anguish.

 

 

“You never think of… um… You know…”

“Suicide?”

“Yeah, that. You don’t think of that ever, right?”

Carrie stared at her friend for a long moment, and then looked away. The sky was blue, the day was clear, and the air was filled with the fain smell of roses. Though the day seemed nearly impeccable, the single black cloud that lurked above her head had flawed it, threatening to downpour the very moment she let her guard down. “How could I not think about it? I mean, wouldn’t you if you were me? But, if you mean have I ever gotten close to doing it, then no. Never. I couldn’t do that to my children.”

Peter stared at her for a long moment. “Are you telling me the truth?”

Carrie’s head snapped forward and she glared his way. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“No, no. I’m just wondering… I mean, I’m not sure that you always-”

“Peter, when I say something, I mean it.” Carrie stated bluntly. “This whole thing with Lance may be nearly unbearable, but it’s not completely unbearable, and that’s why I’m still here. As long as I can fight it I will. I don’t just give up right away, and you know this.”

“I know, I know. I’m just saying that… Well, you haven’t seemed yourself lately. You look like… Well, you look like hell. And you haven’t been talking much, and you haven’t been-”

“Thank you, Peter, for your wonderful words of support,” Carrie snapped as she stood up and grabbed her purse from the floor. “I’m truly beginning to consider why I ever even come see you anymore, seeing as I always end up leaving in a rage.”

“Carrie, you know I don’t mean to insult,” Peter pleaded, standing up as well and following her to the door. “I’m just worried for you, is all. Have you been taking your medication?”

Carrie’s face tightened as her hand clenched the door handle so hard she thought she might bend it. Turning to face her friend she looked him deep in the eyes and grimaced. “I’m not crazy, Peter,” she growled, flinging the door open. “And, don’t worry, you won’t have to worry about me anymore.” She stormed out of the building and into the crowded street, facing the horrid world as alone as ever, and with more fear than she had ever experienced before.

 

 

He had come once more before the darkest night of all encompassed the earth. They had stared at each other through the glass of her kitchen window for what felt like centuries. His pupils lead directly into the deep pits of Hell, and she found herself slowly but surely sliding down into them. No words were exchanged, but messages were received. He left with a smirk on his face, knowing that her heart and soul were left in nothing more than desecrated shambles inside her being. When he was finally out of sight she placed her face in her hands and cried until there was not a tear left in her. She wept and she wept, harder than she had wept when her marriage had fallen apart, harder than she had when her brother was killed in war, harder even than when her parents had refused to talk to her. She sat at her kitchen table, sobbing and shaking until the sun brought light to the earth.

She passed the next day in a robotic fashion, going through the motions of life without any vivacity or reason. She played her part until darkness enveloped her once more, and then a black life brought that sense of vivacity back into her eyes.

When she finally brought the knife into her stomach she saw him all around her. His face was in the window, in the doorway, and right next to her. His breath smelt like beer and cigarettes, and the words he whispered in her ear made her actions only easier.  

She had told him to go away. She had tried. She tried speaking to him at first; she tried to be civil. But he didn’t respond well. He only laughed his deep hearted laugh, spittle flying from his tongue and showering her face. He told her she was worthless, that she didn’t stand a chance against him. He owned her. Even though she thought he was gone he wasn’t. He was here, he will always be here.

Then she had screamed. She had screamed at the top of her lungs, told him to leave, told him to die. She threatened to kill him, but they both knew she didn’t have what it took. Like a fool she sat at the table, butcher’s knife in hand and tears streaming down her face, battling with feelings instilled within her by the Devil.

Her pained screams mixed with the commotion around her. The shouts of her children, the laughs of her ex-husband, the roar of gunfire, the whirr of crying, the drone of Peter’s unhelpful words, and her shrieks of anguish all exploded in her ear drums, forcing her to her knees with her hands clasped on either side of her head, begging for salvation from her eternal suffering.

She had had no choice in the matter. If she had not, her pain would have gone on. At least her actions brought her peace. As the voices simmered and the visions faded she began to remember what it was like to live a life of peace and simplicity, and she began to remember the feeling of joy and glee. While she lay on the floor, knife in hand, light diminishing, and world caving in, she started to realize that salvation would be hers at last.

 

 

When her eyes opened she had truly thought she were in heaven. The ceiling was an impeccable white, the air was soft and gentle on her skin, and all that surrounded her was glorious and wonderful silence.

“Carrie, are you awake? How are you feeling?”

Hovering over her suddenly was Peter, his eyes bloodshot and his hair disheveled. Confusion overwhelmed her as she looked about the room, finding that her heaven was no more than a cramped hospital room. “But…” she forced herself to a sitting position and was startled by a sharp and nearly unbearable pain in her stomach. She let out a faint whimper and allowed herself to lie back down.

“Do you remember anything that you did?” Peter asked, his face turning sullen and his eyes filling with that same pity that she had grown so accustomed to seeing.

“Yes, I remember everything,” she stated. “And I regret nothing. I can’t take it anymore, Peter. I need Lance out of my life, and if he won’t leave, then I will.”

Peter let out an aggravated groan and turned his back on her. Slapping his hands to his forehead and running them through his hair, he licked his lips and said; “The only reason you were able to be saved was because the neighbors heard you screaming at the top of your lungs. They thought someone was hurting you. They called the cops, and when the paramedics finally arrived they found you smiling and laughing as you lay in a pool of your own blood.”

Carrie remained silent for a long moment, allowing the horrid memories of the previous night to filter through her head. “Are you trying to scare me?”

“Why did you do it?” Peter demanded, turning back on her with angry eyes. “You said you had never even come close to doing it, so why would you?”

“I told you, I can’t live with Lance in my life anymore. I need him to leave-”

“Then, for God’s sake, let him leave!” Peter shouted. “Lance is dead, Carrie! Lance has been dead for over a year now! Your children, they’re dead too. Do you really not remember any of this?”

Carrie stared at her friend, speechless.

“Had you continued taking your medication you just might,” Peter mumbled, turning away from Carrie again and approaching the window. “Tell me now, Carrie… Tell me how the three of them died. Please, do.”

Carrie opened and closed her mouth three times before she could even began to speak. “What the hell are you talking about? My kids are back at home-”

“Tell me, right now. How did they die?”

Carrie let out a frustrated sigh and shook her head. “You’re crazy, Peter. None of them are dead.”

“You’re husband killed them while you were off visiting your parents before he killed himself,” Peter growled, spinning around. “He was psychotic, manically depressed, and extremely suicidal. You didn’t know, nobody knew, you just thought that you two were drifting apart. Things weren’t as easy, as happy as they used to be. You went to visit your parents to give him a break, to give you a break, and you were called back by the police telling you that your entire family was dead.”

Carrie shook her head furiously. “You’re lying,” she snapped. “I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to do to me, but it’s not working. I’m not falling for it.”

“You had problems afterwards. You were stuck in denial and never moved on to the further stages of grief. When you were still in your right state of mind you came to me looking for help, thinking that there was something wrong with you. At the time, there wasn’t. You were perfectly normal, just having an increasingly hard time dealing with the trauma you had been put through. But, something set you off, and you spiraled out of control. You were diagnosed with Schizophrenia three months ago, and I have been trying my hardest to put you back on the right track since. You stopped thinking that I was your psychiatrist, and started believing that I was your friend, making it hard for me to ensure you took your medication. I tried, Carrie, I really did. I thought that if I just played along you would listen to me, that you wouldn’t believe me if I told you I was your doctor, but, obviously, that didn’t end up working out in the end.”

“You are insane,” Carrie grumbled.

“And then you go and do something like this…” Peter let out a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair again. “And the worst thing is that I should have known. Suicidal thoughts are a common effect of schizophrenia, and I barely gave it any mind. You seemed so tenacious about your whole situation, you seemed like you would fight, not like you would let it overpower you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Carrie demanded angrily. “Why?!”

“Because I have no control anymore, and I’m tired of seeing you stuck in the cage of denial that you refuse to let yourself out of,” Peter said. “You would rather see your husband as a fiendish monster planning to kill, rather than the seriously ill individual that already did… You’re going away as soon as you get better, Carrie. They’re taking you to South Beach Psychiatric Center. You’re going to have to stay there until you realize the truth.”

His words washed over her like the deadly waves of a hurricane, threatening to push her over with every syllable. She closed her eyes tight to try and stop the tears that squeezed through, grabbing the sheets she lay on with her two hands so tightly she nearly ripped through the fabric. “I don’t believe you. I can’t believe you.”

Peter let out a deep sigh and turned back to the window, placing his hands behind his back and looking off into the sky. “I know you can’t. And maybe you never will. But, do one thing for me, Carrie.”

Carrie stared at him, watching as his shoulders heaved slightly with every breath he took. “What?”

“When Lance finally leaves you alone, let me know, would you?”

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Wow. A wild ride in the story and the ending became more wild. Poor woman had a bad situation and loss of children. I would be loco too. No weakness in the outstanding tale.
Coyote