Shadowed Soul (18 page)

Adrenaline rushed through my body with the same ferocity my thoughts raced.  It was foolish to believe anything supernatural followed us, impossible.  There were no such things as demons and monsters.  The Shadowed Soul had only ever been a metaphor that I had chosen in an attempt to distance myself from the blinding truths of my life.  I was my own Shadowed Soul, but my paranoia was leading me astray.  As we walked I could see him in my mind’s eye, tall, lanky and broken, walking through the night in a way that was not quite human, his face long and deathly white, a shattered lunatic grin sliced across his lower jaw as he loped behind me, his eyes dancing with red embers of hungry desire, his pockets full of ropes and chains and gags and his heart full of unkind desires.

“Where the fuck are we, Bailey?”

I stared ahead at unfamiliar buildings, shops and apartments all of which seemed hostile.  Above me the sky had been robbed of stars.  Clouds gathered with every foot step I had taken away from Beth.  Now there remained nothing in the world that bore any beauty.  Even the light from the street lamps cast bilious and pale.

Bailey stopped to observe and listen, as though he had detected something, something hunched and vicious and hateful:  A physical manifestation of all that resided in my mind’s eye.  I stood quietly trusting Bailey’s decision to pause, until he continued forth.

Another hour of quick walking and I recognized the urban landscape again.  With the knowledge that we were nearly back at Dorothy and Pete’s my anxiety level rose like Ichabod.  Bailey had relaxed and although part of me understood he could have been growling at anything, another dog, a stray cat, I could not shake the feeling that I was being stalked.  After all in Washington Irving's tale poor Ichabod was in sight of his home when his pursuer struck him down. All I could do was proceed steadily.  I believed that if something were behind me, running would just spur it into action and with every footstep closer to the front door my heart pounded harder in my chest.

As I reached Beth's parents’ I beheld the comforting silhouette of my wife stretching her lovely limbs illuminated in her bedroom window.  At this vision any anxieties I had felt melted away and I realized once again that I really and truly needed to go for professional help.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Beth and I had talked for hours.  Despite her compassion I could not yet bring myself to tell her about my online habits.  I had often become convinced by my depression that no one would listen.  It was an illness that made you feel alone and also impelled you to do whatever you could to achieve isolation exactly when you needed as much contact as you could get.  My experiences in the empty streets had convinced me that this ephemeral idea of a Shadowed Soul was not one that I should be clinging to as much as I had been.  I had begun to see this fiction as a reality that could not be healthy.  It was about time for me to fully embrace my condition; turning it into a demonic fairytale character was dramatizing my symptoms allowing me to avoid the truth of what was at the root of my condition.

So Beth and I talked until the daylight filtered through the winter darkness. So much was said.  There were tears and laughter; my wife and I had never been closer. I had always known that she would support me but knowing something and fully understanding it can often be different processes. We had talked softly so as not to wake the baby and Bailey had lain on the floor next to the bed. I just wanted to find a stable reality and I felt this was achievable.

Although we were both shattered from lack of sleep, when we heard Dorothy begin her morning routine, we rose to help her in the kitchen.   It soothed me to be part of a simple family routine.  We laughed and chatted throughout the morning.  Peter took hundreds of snapshots with his new digital camera (a present from Beth and me, apparently).  And then as a family we all took Bailey out for a walk.  Even though Beth and I were both exceptionally tired, this day had been as perfect as Christmas Day. The normal daily routine had filtered back into their life and I was still welcome.

After lunch we put the baby in his crib and Beth and I decided it best that we nap at the same time.  Lying on a bed with my wife under such normal circumstances was perfection incarnate. It was exactly a normal-couple thing, these inconsequential details of life were better for me than any anti-depressant medicine or BDSM site.

The evening too was simple and perfect.  We had dinner and afterwards watched television, followed by an epic game of
Monopoly
. Dorothy proved to be shrewd in the game as she increased her stash ruthlessly while all of our money dwindled.  We laughed and joked, and not once did I wonder where my stalker was hiding.  Nor did the Shadowed Soul make his presence known with a nasty remark.

This was the ideal escape from the demon.  With each passing moment the pressure of my depression lifted a bit more. It was heavenly to genuinely relax. Now when I smiled or laughed it did not seem unusual. So when Peter suggested I stay until New Year I snapped at the chance like a hungry turtle.  I did not want this time to end.

I had to go back to my apartment in order to pick up some new clothes and Beth, Bailey and the baby decided to come with me.   As the bus trundled through the icy streets I worried.  Maybe going back to the empty apartment would not be ideal? So many bad memories had accumulated since Beth had gone to stay with her parents that I was concerned the building itself would tangle me up in my old ways.  Throughout my life, my mother told me I was weak.  There were many times I had allowed the darkness to overwhelm me because giving in was easier than outwitting it. A general weakness I could not ever fully shake off clung like a shadow.  However, I did my best to hide my fears from Beth as she was so happy with our renewed love and communication.  Her joy inspired me to shed my concerns surrounding the handcuffs:  Objects without meaning until we defined their meaning.

Our bus ride took us past my old place of work, and as the bus had rolled by my office Beth put her hand on my forearm to reassure me. Once again I was struck by the question of how I had managed to be so very lucky to keep a wife like her.  When I was younger I had believed in karma and if this belief had been based on anything there was no way that I should have been able to find someone like the woman I married.   I was not a bad person, but if karma had indeed existed, I would have been condemned to a life alone, or at least that was how it seemed to me. When I had said this to Beth at one point she had just smiled and told me that if karma was true then obviously I was a good enough person that my bad deeds were swept away by the fundamental decency within my heart. I had accepted what she said with a smile but never truly believed it. The weird thing was these past few days had begun to chip away at my self-loathing.  My dreams were no longer tortured landscapes.  In fact I could not particularly recall having any dreams since I had been sleeping next to Beth.  It was as though her presence infused me with peace, and my mind relinquished the punishing phantasms.

The baby slept for much of the journey and Bailey sat patiently next to us while we chatted.  As we entered the apartment I felt the sense of foreboding.  The hallway seemed composed of a pithy malignance and although this was invisible to Beth, the baby seemed to sense the negativity.  Distressed, Jonathan poured forth, spilling into full-throttle wailing.

“He doesn’t like it here,” I said to Beth.

“Maybe he just needs a new diaper,” she replied nonchalantly. Beth soothed him as I unlocked the door; we entered the crypt.

“You put the tree up!” exclaimed Beth, delighted. “I knew you weren’t a total Grinch.”  I smiled sheepishly at her happiness.  My only motivation to decorate the apartment was Beth’s appreciation. I was relieved Beth did not notice the missing ornaments, fallen soldiers to my isolationist rage.  However, the feeling of disquiet surged through me; I wanted to collect my clothes and leave.

“Hey, we should have a coffee.  I've missed our old place,” said Beth making her way to the kitchen.  I muttered agreement while inwardly all I wanted to do was get the hell out.

In the bedroom I stuffed clothes into an old sports bag I found at the bottom of the closet. Every moment here felt like endless prison, the scene of my most debauched desires and now I was forced to pretend this was a happy place.  Dumping my bag by the door, I made my way through to the kitchen to find Beth making coffee.

“Honey, can you run down to the store and grab some milk?”  Beth smiled at me.

“Why don't we grab coffee on the way home?” I suggested, desperation rising in my voice.

“Because I want one here. I've missed this place, Thomas.  It’ll be nice,” said Beth breezily.  I could not deny her small request.

As I walked to the corner store I began to reason that Beth’s presence in the apartment might not be such a bad thing.  Perhaps her sunshine would dispel the shadows. Why did I always believe something would go wrong?  Especially when I was in such a buoyant mood? The apartment was simply an apartment; there was nothing sinister about it.  It was not as though I had actually kidnapped women and kept them bound and gagged in that place.  It had only been online images that millions of people looked at daily. In reality the only darkness this apartment had ever contained was the depression within me. I really needed to focus on the idea that my depression only physically affected me and not the world around me. I had accepted long ago that I was perhaps mentally ill. I would not allow this illness to escalate to a point where I considered myself hopelessly insane.  Could I even prevent it?  How would I even know if I had in fact gone over the edge irretrievably?

I bought milk and cookies and as I made my way back to the apartment, I had a freeing revelation.  I found solace in the idea that whatever insidious darkness wormed its way into my mind would be banished quickly. The strength I had found over the past two days was proving formidable.  That was a good sign because fundamentally I was who I was and that was a genuinely decent human being.

“Honey, I'm home,” I joked as I entered the hallway, a slight frown forming on my head as Beth did not respond.  I moved through to the living room and saw her on the sofa gazing sadly at the computer.

“Beth?  Are you okay?” I asked.

“Thomas, what have you been doing?” 

My heart sank at the realization that Beth had found my browsing history. I looked down at the carpet, a small piece of shattered Christmas bauble caught my eye. I had no idea what to say, there was nothing that could be said to make her feel better.

“I was lonely and I was lost,” I admitted after a long painful moment.

“You didn't need to be lonely, Thomas, I told you that.  In fact I've told you so many times to come stay at my parents, and just knowing that you couldn't come to me hurts more than anything. I wish you had told me what was going on in your head.”

“I was going to tell you,” I stammered. “I didn’t know how.”

It dawned on me that had Beth not looked at my history, she never would have known.  And I asked myself if I would have ever told her.  I could only gaze at the floor feeling ever more helpless and humiliated.

“Thomas, it’s going to be so difficult for you to get another job, isn't it?” Had she guessed why I had been sacked?

“Maybe,” I admitted sheepishly.

“Oh, Thomas, why?  How could you be so stupid?  I mean, did it ever occur to you that they would look at what internet sites you looked at? It's bad enough to know that you’ve been looking at pornography.  But I can kind of understand it because I know how harsh your reality can be and because we were apart.  I sort of get it.  What I don’t get is why you wanted to look at those women tied up.  That's not something I've ever seen in you before but again I can sort of understand that to.  What I can't understand is why you would have looked at it at your work and why you didn't tell me on Christmas Eve when I asked why you lost your job?”

“I didn't want you to hate me,” I mumbled.

“For fuck sake, Thomas, you think my love is so weak that I would throw it away because of this?  You think the whole fucking world is focused at you!”  I looked at her sharply.  There was more pain in her expression than anger.

“Beth, I'm not sure how to say this so all I can do is tell you how I feel.  When I’m depressed I can't find anything about me to like and I’m convinced that nobody can ever like me. I know it's stupid and irrational but that's what my depression does, it makes me irrational. Irrationally paranoid, irrationally angry, irrationally stupid and I hate that part of my illness more than anything because at the time that I need to communicate I can't because I don't think anybody wants to listen. I don't think your love for me is weak but I don't know if it's strong enough to tolerate me.”

“I see.”  Beth’s voice was emotionless and her expression had drawn into a tight little smile and for that moment she reminded me of my mother.

“How did you find out?”

“Your boss e-mailed me, Thomas.  I just haven't been physically able to check my internet until today.”

“Why would that fuck e-mail you?” I asked angrily.

“He worries about you, Thomas,” said Beth.

“No, he fucking hates me and that's why he did this, he wants to fuck up my fucking stupid fucking life.” I began to shout and the baby started whining again.

“Don't raise your voice, Thomas,” said Beth, thunder rolling from her throat.

“Sorry, he pisses me off. He sacked me and now he wants to split us up.”

“No, honey, he doesn't want that.”  She looked at me sadly.

“Really?” I asked.

“He sent me a link and an e-mail address to a counselor that he says is good with depression,” explained Beth.  I looked at her and frowned.

“How would he know someone like that?” I asked.

“I have no idea, Thomas, but he says in the e-mail that we should contact this person and maybe she will be able to help us.”