Saving Nathaniel (39 page)

He wandered over to the desk to pick up the newspaper. 'Crossword. Do the crossword…' and flicked through the paper looking for it. He thought he heard a noise outside - was it a car?

He threw down the paper and ran to the window. It wasn't Megan, just the mail van. It pulled up for a few seconds while the postman deposited mail through the front door before drawing away down the driveway again and with it went Nat's hope for his lover's return.

'She's not coming back…she's been gone too long…she's gone.'

Now firmly convinced she had decided she no longer loved him and had abandoned him, his restlessness developed into a definite disquiet. It blossomed, subtly at first, into a chorus of small voices. They whined like gnats inside his ears and they started to badger him.

'You're right…she's gone…she's not coming back.'

'No more Megan…she's left you… for good this time.'

'She's won't come back to you…'

'If she were coming back, she'd be here already…so where is she?'

He began to tap his hand against his leg in agitation. The disquiet grew steadily, like a vine. Small thorny tendrils of doubt and insecurity burrowed and wrapped themselves around his thoughts. They began to tighten their grip and the voices grew louder.

'You couldn't keep your big fat mouth closed could you?'

'…she doesn't love you…she's too good for you…'

'She doesn't want to be tied to an old soak like you.'

'You're pathetic… you're not worth her time.'

'She said you were ridiculous….that's what you are...ridiculous…to think a woman like that could love a hopeless shit like you.'

'She's not coming back,' he said, 'and it's my fault.'

The Voices continued to nag and taunt and mock, on and on, relentlessly crushing his senses. They stirred up his anxiety until it began to overtake him. His mind clouded and darkened. His pacing quickened and his heart began to race.

'She's gone…abandoned you…she's found someone better…'

'You wanted to own her…'

'You've ruined it…'

He stopped striding back and forth and sat down at his desk. Resting his elbows on the desktop, he covered his ears with his hands. He could hear his blood pounding, but through the thrumming of his heartbeat the Voices still came.

'You got greedy…she's gone…'

'It's all gone now…there's nothing left…'

'She's not coming back…she was lying…'

'You really are an idiot, aren't you?'

He balled his hands into fists, pressing them to his eyes until they hurt.

'There's only one thing you can do…make it all go away.'

'You have to…she's made you look a fool.'

'Make her pay…no-one makes you look like an idiot…'

'It's all my fault! She's left me…' He jumped up from the chair and recommenced striding and turning, back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching.

'You drove her away…she doesn't love you…'

'She doesn't love me…she never did,' he said.

'She's left you '…make her suffer…she deserves it.'

The Voices tormented and harassed until, like a sudden attack of vertigo, he became dazed and disorientated. Rational thought rapidly deserted him, and as it did so, the Voices took advantage of his growing paranoia, whirling around inside his head, making him dizzy.

'You're all on your own…you don't want to be on your own do you?'

'I don't want to be on my own…I'd rather die…' he said.

He leaned onto the desk to steady himself, his arms straining, breathing fast.

'It's so easy…it won't hurt…'

He opened the desk drawer and put his hand inside, closing it around the gun cabinet key box. 'I'd rather die.'

'It's the right thing to do…you know it is…it's all her fault.'

He took out the box and it lay hard and cold in his hand. He fixed his eyes blankly on it. Barely aware of his actions, he put his hand in his pocket, pulled out his keyring and opened the box. The cabinet keys glinted at him; mocking him, daring him…he picked them up.

'It'll be quick...you'll be doing yourself a favour…'

'…you know what to do…'

'…finish it...and nothing will hurt any more…'

'…it'll solve all your problems …'

Moving as if in a trance, he unlocked the gun cabinet. He took out one of the twin shotguns and broke it open. From a box on the shelf above the guns, he took two cartridges, loaded them into the barrels and snapped the gun closed with a solid
click
.

'…finish it…punish her for leaving you.'

'If you don't…you'll be on your own forever…'

'Go on…just a little squeeze and it's all over…'

'It's your only chance…or you'll die a lonely old man.'

His palms were sweating. He seized the gun tightly by the barrel and pushed it firmly up under his chin. The cold metal dug into his flesh. By now, he was breathing so hard his chest hurt. He stretched his arm and placed his thumb on the trigger, and pressed his eyes tight shut. He applied just the smallest amount of pressure, enough to indent his skin, but not enough to move the hammers.

Beads of sweat broke out at his temple and ran down his face. His damp palm began to slide on the barrel and he readjusted his grip. He took one final deep breath…

'Nat, darling…don't do this…wait for her…'

A new voice broke through the thick, suffocating fog of his desolation. 'Don't listen to them they're lying to you…listen to me, I won't lie…Megan loves you.'

The voice was soft and female; gentle and calming…like Megan's. It reached into him like a cool, comforting hand. 'Meg loves you so much…you know she does...don't do this to her…'

The quiet, soothing presence began to gather up the scattered strands of his sanity. Thread by thread, it started to weave them back into some semblance of reason.

'She'll come back…give her a chance…wait for her…if you do this you'll never know…she'll come back to you…'

His eyes began to stream and he panted through clenched teeth. 'She won't come back…she's left me on my own…I don't want to be on my own.'

'You're not alone, Nat, she won't leave you…she loves you with all her heart…you know she does…you know it!'

'She loves me…' he repeated in a shuddering breath. His grip on the cold steel barrel had turned his hand white and his arm shook with the strain.

'She won't leave you…she promised…'

'She promised…'

'Megan loves you... do this and she'll never forgive you'.

'Megan… she loves me…she said so.'

He could feel the fabric of his senses being re-spun. It was smooth and silken and he could smell…roses. He released the pressure on the trigger. His grip on the barrel slackened and it came away from his skin leaving two round red marks.

'That's it…let it go…put the gun down…if you hurt yourself…'

'Megan loves me.'

The cruel chorus tried one last time to corrupt him. 'No she doesn't…she's gone…' 'You'll never see her again…you're a pathetic worthless loser…there's no other way...do it!'

The female voice cut them off. 'Don't do it…think of Megan…think…think of Megan…how much she loves you.'

He slid his thumb off the trigger and let out a loud sob. 'Stop talking! All of you! I can't think! I can't…I can't…help me, Meg!'

With a heart-wrenching howl of anguish, his nerve broke and his little remaining strength left him. The gun slipped from his hands and dropped to the floor with a clatter. He fell back against the wall and slid slowly down to his haunches. His whole body trembled violently and sweat soaked through his shirt.

'Help me, Meg. Come back. Where are you? Please, come back.'

'…deluded idiot.'

'Leave me alone!' he spat at the mocking chorus.

'You're a fucking coward…'

'Shut up!'

'Coward!!'

'Shut UP!' he yelled. 'All of you SHUT THE FUCK UP!!'

He snatched up the shotgun, swung it round, his finger on the trigger…and fired.

Chapter 38

The back of the chair disintegrated where the shot entered it, opening into a gaping maw of splintered wood, torn leather and pulverised stuffing.

Nat's ears rang with the deafening noise. His nostrils burned with the stench of powder, and smoke filled the room, stinging his eyes. He was shaking, relieved to be alive.

Pulling in deep breaths to steady himself, he tasted gunpowder. He gingerly placed the smoking shotgun onto the floor and laid his hand to his ribs, against the tender spot where the gun's recoil had bruised him.

He stared at the destroyed chair, and the sudden realisation of what he had done hit him like a fist to the solar plexus.

'Holy Christ! Holy fucking Christ. What a mess! Megan's going to kill me.'

He pictured the goggle-eyed look of horrified astonishment on Megan's face when she saw the damage and began to giggle. The giggling quickly developed into a wild, maniacal laughter that made his sides hurt and his eyes water. Seamlessly, the laughter turned to loud, hysterical weeping.

Gaining control of himself, he wiped his eyes with his handkerchief and blew his nose. On his hands and knees, he crawled over to the chair and ran his fingers around the jagged edge of the hole. He put his hand inside.

'That could have been me; I could have done that to myself. There would have been nothing left…no me…and if Megan had come back she would have found…'

In his mind's eye, he could clearly see her as she tripped across the hall and pushed open the study door. She would enter the room, expecting him to be sat in his chair reading his paper, alive and well. Instead, she would stumble over his bloody mangled corpse, the shotgun clutched in his stiff dead fingers, a mass of pulverised bone and flesh where his head should have been and a spray of scarlet blood and brain matter coating the wall and ceiling in a halo of gore.

The horror of what he had almost done caused a wave of nausea to rapidly rise in him. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled through to the kitchen, throwing himself over the sink, retching as his cramping stomach forced burning yellow bile and the last of his partially digested breakfast up his throat and into his mouth. He spat it out and retched again, bringing up more bile. He filled a glass with cold water and took a large mouthful, gargled with it and swilled it around his mouth, diluting the acidic taste. When he spat out the liquid and let fresh water carry it down the drain, it took with it the last toxic remnant of his temporary insanity. He turned off the tap. The drain gurgled and the room fell silent. He wiped his mouth on a paper towel and listened intently. Apart from the rustling of the paper and the ubiquitous hum of the fridge, he heard no other sound. The voices had gone.

Wetting his hands, he splashed cold water over his face and it revived him a little. As he dried his hands and face, his eyes came to rest on Megan's overnight bag, still standing on the kitchen table.

'If she had meant to go for good, she would have taken you with her,' he said to the bag.

He unzipped it and peeked inside. In it were her clothes; slacks, tops and clean underwear, neatly folded and economically packed. There were enough for at least two days. She had brought them with the full intention of spending the whole weekend with him. He dug about in the bag some more, finding a wash bag, a hairbrush and…a book. He pulled it out.

The leather binding had at one time been blue. It was battered from handling, and on the front cover the gilt lettered words, 'Selected Stories by Anton Chekhov' were faded, almost worn away. Some of the pages were dog-eared, a few still turned down. A bookmark indicated her current reading place. This was a well-beloved tome, a treasure.

'She would not leave you behind on purpose.'

He repacked the bag and closed it up. 'She didn't take you, because she knew she was coming back. The fact that you're still here can only mean one thing…she can't come back, something's happened to her.'

He went back to the study to reclaim his keys, grabbed a coat from the closet and set out to look for his missing lover.

He drove through the village noting every car he saw. It was almost six o'clock and the shops and the café were closed or closing. He checked the car parks of the Community Centre and the convenience store. There were no small, blue cars.

'Where else would she go? Think man!'

He turned the car around and headed for Rebecca's house.

She opened the door to her caller, astounded to see him on her doorstep. 'Mr Mackie?'

'Rebecca…where's Megan? Have you seen her?'

'She's out…she's been out all day.'

'Do you know where?' He was trying to look past her shoulder to see if there was any sign Megan was in the house. She might be hiding from him.

'I thought she was with you,' said Rebecca.

'She was…then she left. I don't know where she went.'