It was isolated, dark, and warm as he walked down the trail. The lake was on his left, gray and moving rapidly, tipped with white. On his right, a thicket rambled along the trail, hemming him in. The branches trembled in the breeze, and dead leaves skidded across the pavement in front of him. There shouldn’t be dead leaves in the summer.
He felt strong and fast as he looked down the long, empty path. His legs surged with energy, and his feet felt swift. He began to run, faster than he had ever moved.
The warm air invigorated him, sweeping beneath him until he felt his feet lift away from the pavement. He laughed as he flew, virile and unrestrained, faster and higher. He looked down and saw the ground racing away from him. Beneath his feet, the city sank into a blur of light, then vanished behind clouds.
The warmth grew more intense as his speed increased, the air closed around him like a shroud. He panted. Sweat slid down his brow. The wind scorched his eyes. His throat was like paper. His ascent flattened and his movement slowed as his feet became heavy and began to drag, as if he had wandered into quicksand.
He tried to glance down at his legs, but his neck was fixed, locked in place. He panicked. He tried to stop panting, to deepen his breathing, but his trachea contracted and his lungs were gripped tight in fists of adrenaline. His body stilled around him even as his heart panicked, pounding violently against the walls of his ribcage. It became the only noise he could hear in the empty air.
He was hanging in the starless gray sky. He wanted to thrust out his arms to catch himself, but they were clamped to his sides, immovable. He was pinned there, suspended in the darkness. He hung there, straining for sound. Nothing. The silence smothered him, thickening in his ears, seizing his brain. He tried to raise his hands to his face, but he couldn’t move them. He was paralyzed in space. Motionless in the dark, helpless in the air as it grew hotter and hotter. Sweat blinded him, stinging his eyes.
A blinding light. White. Vast in its unsearchable brightness, unapproachable in its deadly heat, swallowing up everything in its terrible beauty. The face no man had seen. He tried to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. He tried to look away, but he couldn’t.
No man can see Me and live.
He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out.
He was jarred awake as his head smacked the floor. He gasped, gulping the air as fast as he could. Everything was blurry without his contacts, and he picked up his phone and squinted at the screen. 3:18 a.m.
He shoved himself back against the bed frame, his knees against his chest, leaning his head on his elbows. His skin was prickled and damp with sweat. His eyes began to close, but he jerked himself awake, terrified he would see it again. He couldn’t bear it.
What do You want from me?
There was no answer. A cool breeze off the lake streamed in through the open window, and he let it rush over his face, inhaling it.
What do You want from me?
Silence.
“What do You want?” His lips formed the words but they were barely a whimper.
Whenever his eyes became heavy and closed, the bright white light from his dream startled him awake. He tried to recite the words again, his mind groping for the words, his talisman against the terror. He opened his mouth to say them. Lord, I’m a sinner. That was it. Yes. Lord, I’m a sinner. I believe that Your Son died for me.
Casper swallowed. His tongue formed the first sound. His lips tensed.
“Lord,” he began. But nothing else came. He couldn’t say the words again. Not now. If he did, he would be sick. There was no comfort in them. Not for him. They offered no promise for him. They never had. He had only used them for the temporary relief of symptoms. He liked to yank on them for an extra yard of slack. Let me go a little further. One more night. I’ll come back tomorrow. I promise. He had presumed upon them over and over, and they had suffered it. But not now.
Now they were nothing but a finger in his chest.
—
He didn’t let himself fall asleep again. He was relieved when the sky began to change, when the clock read 5:00 a.m. It was finally early enough to leave. He dressed for work nervously, ignored his empty stomach, and strode out the door, leaving his Rimshot behind. He wanted to walk.
He took the long way beside the lake, watching the sun color the water. He was comforted by the sight of joggers and dog walkers and the sound of leashes jingling. The earth was still in its orbit, the heavenly bodies where they had always been, fixed and apathetic. There was no face gazing at him from the sky. In the fresh morning, he almost believed that.
She wasn’t at work that day, and he was relieved. She wasn’t there the next day, or the next. He didn’t text her. There was nothing he wanted to say. He wanted it all to be over.
When she returned to work, she didn’t speak to him. She wore her hair hastily done up with that chipped, gilded pin. He couldn’t help but notice several wrinkles in her skirt and a run in her nylons. The faux leather was flaking off the toes of her shoes. He looked away.
It had probably been like that all along, but he must have been too enthralled to see it.
Perhaps she was signaling that she was done, too. As easily as it began, it could end. Nobody would notice if they stopped having lunch together, or if they didn’t flirt in the hallway. Painless.
He found his work far more engrossing than he had at any other time in the last six months. With his mind so eager to abandon thoughts of Reagan, he found all of his faculties sharper than ever, and he was able to finish his tasks with perfect accuracy and alacrity. Even Jin took notice.
On Friday, from the corner of his eye, he saw her closing her computer and gathering her things. It was early. 4:30. She spoke briefly to Jin, but Casper didn’t look up to see her go. Tricia said something snarky which nobody acknowledged. It was probably her dad.
For a moment, he saw the poor, emaciated figure beneath the sheets.
But he rubbed his eyes and gazed at his screen again. She didn’t want him in her life.
It was better this way.
Perhaps he had been spared. Perhaps God had had mercy on him.
—
The weekend passed pleasantly. Far from pining away, he was strangely invigorated. Having so narrowly missed being swept up and webbed in, he found himself grateful for every moment of unoccupied time.
He had been so completely in her thrall, blind and stupid, that he had considered it a mere parenthetical detail that she had a child with another man. He had been spared.
So elated and relieved he was, that when the idea occurred to him Sunday, he was immediately amenable to it. The mellow morning light warmly stroked his cheek like a benediction. Far from accusing and stern, it glowed softly, with kindness.
And so he found himself eagerly dressing for the 9:00 a.m. service.
Unlike his first visit, he arrived before the service began, and stayed through the final song. He filled out a connections card and handed it to an usher. He filled in the sermon notes on the bulletin, and attempted to sing along when he could. The message seemed to be hand-chosen for him; it was on finding freedom from anxiety. Cast your worries upon Him, for He cares for you.
The familiar text seemed far more relevant to him than it ever had. He had never had real things to worry about before. He felt he had already been spared something grievous, and yet he dared to wonder if there could be even more richness awaiting him.
God has a plan for your life. Seek first the kingdom of God and all these things will be added to you. Commit your works to God and He will establish your plans.
For as long as he had been besotted with Reagan, he had scarcely thought of anything but the next time he’d have her to himself. He felt for the first time in months that he could look ahead.
He had always been told he had promise. People said he was gifted and exceptional, though it never felt that way to him. Reading a textbook and understanding it — something so mundane didn’t seem to merit extra attention. It had embarrassed him to be so highly regarded for his intelligence, something he had no hand in procuring, anymore than his stupid name or his lanky build. He personally had much greater respect for someone who could shoot free throws or play the guitar.
But as he got older, he discovered how his intelligence was raw power which could be harnessed into a worthy cause. Medical school was the logical first thought, but he had never liked being around sick people. If he could help them from afar, anonymously bestowing good upon mankind, so much the better.
So when he had first landed the exclusive internship at Carver, he thought nothing could stop him. He knew he was entering the ground floor of some of the most exciting advancements in biomedical engineering. The greatest achievements yet to be made were on the horizon, within reach. With his abilities, he would be granted an opportunity to help thousands, or possibly millions of people, for generations.
He had been foolish to allow a silly dalliance to so derail him. It was largely his own fault. Apart from his most recent interactions with her, he didn’t know if there had been a single moment he had desired her without the basest of intentions.
God has a plan for your life. A great plan. Casper had almost allowed it to slip away for nothing.
He was thankful all over again.
—
He got to work early Monday morning. He contributed twice during the morning meeting, and received both an enthusiastic nod and a verbal assent from Jin. By the following week, Jin had emailed him a preview of the new schematic he was working on, and asked for his feedback.
He was rapidly outpacing Eric, but was careful to keep in step with Pavel and Tricia, only offering his suggestions in the most circuitous way. Over the years, he had learned by different maneuvers to conceal his intelligence; it was crucial to his success not to alienate anyone. He didn’t give the answer for mental calculations until one or two incorrect attempts had already been made. He waited for someone else to point out errors until it became painful and he couldn’t bear it any longer.
At one meeting, Jin actually addressed him in front of the entire group, acknowledging a contribution he had made.
Reagan sat quietly in her usual spot. There were dark circles under her eyes. She left the room first and walked with her shoulders hunched forward, and he never saw her in the cafeteria at lunch. It was as if she had gone back in time, but was somehow older.
But he knew it had nothing to do with him. She hadn’t liked him as anything more than a brief diversion. She couldn’t still be in mourning for whatever they had. He wasn’t. But there was still a pang of pity when he saw her in his periphery. He couldn’t help it.
He had been attending New Heights regularly for a month. He had connected with the campus pastor. He had done more in four weeks at Carver than the entire preceding year. He woke up at 5:00 a.m. every morning. He cycled for an extra hour before and after work. His face was ruddy from the sun and the exercise, and his increased appetite had put a welcome ten pounds on his bones.
Jin had asked him to join him for lunch. Carver was about to launch a new division into developing better synthetic valve replacements, and they were looking to make a few internal moves to staff the project. Jin had implied that Casper could be up for consideration as part of the enterprise.
He didn’t want to wait for the slow elevator, but discovered that the east stairwell was temporarily closed, a leaking pipe requiring repair. He sighed, suddenly feeling tired, and not wanting to hoof it all the way down to the south stairwell. He pressed the button on the elevator and waited.
She appeared next to him. Her arms were folded, and she clutched her green ladybug lunch bag. They stared at the lights above the doors, indicating the elevator’s leisurely progress.
He cleared his throat. She was looking at the floor.
“How are you doing?” he asked. She didn’t answer. He inquired after Charlotte and her dad.
“They’re fine.”
“I noticed you left early last Wednesday. I didn’t know if—,”
“That was for me. I had a thing.”
“Oh.” He glanced up and checked the location of the stupid thing. Still floors away. At a rate of eighteen seconds per floor…
“Is everything okay?” he heard himself say. “You’re feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. An unbearable pause.
“I saw they’re remaking 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. I thought of you.”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“They’re making Captain Nemo a woman.” She shrugged.
“I wasn’t going to see it anyway. They’d ruin it.”
“You’re probably right.”
At last the elevator doors opened. He stopped himself from running inside, forcibly slowing his steps. He was horrified when she followed him. He was hoping someone would materialize at the doors and ask them to hold the elevator, but no one did. They were soon enclosed. Two minutes to go. The elevator began its indolent journey down to the ground floor. He checked his watch. He didn’t want to be late for anything Jin wanted to tell him, like a potential offer to put his name to a brand new project in a cutting edge division. Or something like that.
She spoke. A few words. Flat, blunt, without preamble. He was surprised how quickly and painlessly they fell on his ears. There was no other sound but the slow, metallic creaking of the elevator. He stared at the sequence of numbers above the doors of the elevator. Level four was illuminated, but the car didn’t stop, continuing its unhurried descent.
He swallowed, knowing he was expected to say something in response. The occasion demanded that much. Even if she had done all she could to wring out any feeling or significance from those portentous words, he knew he should make an effort to answer her. But before he could, she spoke again.
“I left early last week to pick up a pill. It’s a series of pills, actually. But it’s pretty straightforward. Shouldn’t be a big deal. It’s not even supposed to hurt.”
“Yeah, good,” he croaked at last. He cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah. Good.”
“I haven’t taken the first one yet, but I will. Soon. I don’t want it to—you know,” she lowered her voice and scratched her nose, “I don’t want it to feel anything.”
“Yeah. Totally. I mean, it’s your—,” the words caught in his throat, and he couldn’t say them. “It’s your—,”
“It’s not a big deal,” she said. “It’s not.”
“Yeah. Good thing you caught it early. You don’t want it to—you know.”
“Yeah.”
The doors opened. There were still three floors to go. People flooded in. Reagan pushed past them and stepped out without another word.
Without thinking, he followed her. She had turned down the hallway and was moving briskly toward the stairwell at the far end of the hall. He stopped and watched her push open the door and disappear. She was desperate to get away from him. He stood stupidly in the hall, staring at the door as if he might actually go after her. As if he had the guts to catch up to her and say something noble, or at least to say he was sorry.
People milled past him, busy and unconcerned, as if the universe had not just ground to a halt.
—
He nodded as Jin spoke, and even peppered in a few nods and terse affirmations. Jin was treating him as if he were important, or at least an equal, lowering his voice confidentially, furrowing his brow meaningfully, and staring thoughtfully at the ceiling when he was considering his next words. He didn’t seem to notice that Casper was struggling to attend.
Snap out of it, Stupid. This was it. This was why he had wanted to come to Carver. Everyone knew it was the place to be if you had any ambition at all in the field. There were few other places in the country doing anything as remotely important and groundbreaking. He had put in barely a month of focused effort and was already on the verge of being promoted. There were no limits to how far he could excel if he kept at his current pace, not to mention if he even pushed himself a bit.
He had noticed in the elevator that her head scarcely came up to his shoulder. She had never seemed so small before. He had never thought of her as small. She had always appeared to be gliding, her feet barely touching the floor, as untouchable as the heights of heaven.
When she fled down the hallway, her body was huddled over her crossed arms, her pin loose and dangling in her hair, her worn shoes shuffling on the gleaming tile. Concealing something within the darkest depths of her being. Something invisible and alive. Something of his.
Soon. I don’t want it to feel anything.
“I’ll keep you up to speed, okay?” said Jin. Casper nodded and thanked him. Jin gave him a firm, friendly smile, then strode away.
It’s not a big deal.
He sat forward and let his face fall into his hands.
—
His eyes flew open in the dark. He struggled to ease his breathing, and wiped his cheeks. He had only dreamed he was weeping. The pain had been unbearable. The finality of it, the irrevocable, impassable finality, unable to be undone. The deep chasm that yawned about him, swallowing up everything till there was nothing but the sound of his wretched, powerless sobbing.
Every time he closed his eyes, he dreamed it all over again. The same story. He felt the tiny fist close around his finger. His heart surged toward it, smitten with terror and tenderness. But the fervent, trusting grip was wrenched loose, broken off by an unseen force. He could hear the sound of it wanting him, begging him to help.
He lunged toward it, but was seized with weakness, stricken numb. His legs dropped out from under him, and his arms fell to the ground, useless. It cried out for him, and he opened his mouth to answer, but there was no sound.
Each time he awoke, he threw off the sheets and sat up, sweating, then within moments, shuddered with cold. He glanced out the window. The night was damp and velvety, and across the city lights, she was out there. And it was still there too, deep inside her, as distant from him as a star.
She said she was going to end it quickly. She had to. Mercy and human decency demanded it. She said she didn’t want it to feel pain. Of course not. That was right. Such a small thing, so innocent and unaware, ought to be given that much. He didn’t want it to feel pain either.
He rolled over and picked up his phone, then entered a quick search. He read about the method. She was right. Since she caught it early, it was more likely to be effective. But would it hurt? Could it feel anything? He tried to think back. She couldn’t be farther along than six weeks. He searched the developmental progress at six weeks. It had something that resembled a beating heart, but there was no indication it would be aware of anything.
Had she gone home and taken the first pill? If she had, she could take the next pill several days later, which would complete the process. Emptying the uterus.
That didn’t sound so bad. Some cramps. Some heavier blood flow than usual.
He set down the phone and lay his head back on the pillow.
It was only a dream.
—
The air was cool and sweet off the lake as he sped forward on his bike. It was early, and the streets were quiet. A police siren sounded a few blocks away. His glasses were smudged, but he had been in too much of a hurry to put in his contacts. His arms were bristled in the morning air, and he shivered in his t-shirt. His feet were sweaty in his sneakers, and he hadn’t stopped to put on socks. He had thrown on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers then rushed down the stairs as fast and quietly as he could.
As soon as he arrived, he leaped off his bike and dropped it on the sidewalk. He ran up to the door and knocked. There was no sound. He rang the doorbell and knocked again. He heard Miss Stacy bark. He pulled out his phone to text her.
>> Hey – I’m sorry it’s early but
A light came on. She was standing there, half-hidden behind the door.
“No, I haven’t taken it yet.”
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Katie Bertola 