The abyss eventually recedes. With it being the abyss, there is no way to know how long that takes.
In the abyss there is no time. There is no self. There is no point of reference to base anything on. There is only a void that becomes briefly perceptible as it fades.
And in that moment is one’s ultimate reckoning.
He returns to himself slowly. In a little room where he goes to hell.
Cinderblock walls painted grey with thick, industrial paint. Concrete floor. Wooden bench bolted to the wall. And a steel door with a little window of wire-reinforced glass.
Bright, florescent light up in the ceiling. Out of reach behind a steel cage.
Door is locked tight. Won’t even rattle.
He is damp. Shivering. No boots. Bare feet on cold concrete. Nothing in his pockets.
The paint in the wall is chipped in places. Blood and snot and traces of tissue are smeared across it here and there.
Soon enough they come for him. From behind the bricks. The mortar crumbles to dust and blows away in a sulfurous wind, leaving the bricks levitating in place. The cracks between them now a space for the scuttling creatures behind the walls to peek out at him. Whispering their stories to him. Talk of what they will do to him when he at last joins them.
Things get worse from there.
Eventually, though, this too must end. He curls up under the bench and holds himself tight until oblivion comes again.
Not quite oblivion, though. There are dreams. More creatures there.
The smell of hot coffee and greasy food brings him back.
“All right, guy. Are ya ready to try this again? Come on.”
The voice is tired, but strong. Most importantly, it is human. He clings to it and crawls out to find its owner.
A big cop. Because of course it is.
The cop takes him to a different little room where people go to hell. This one has a shitty table and some chairs in it. The table has a big steel ring bolted to it for suspects to be handcuffed to.
“Have a seat, man,” the cop says, gesturing to the chair furthest from the door.
He does as he is told. Puts his palms down on the table in front of him, near the steel ring, waiting for the cop to cuff him. The cop dismisses the gesture with a head shake, while acknowledging the submission to custody.
The cop sits opposite and puts the fast-food bag and coffee down in front of him.
“Here ya go, man,” the cop says.
Breakfast sandwich and hash brown croquette. Still warm. Black coffee. Still hot. It tastes like Heaven.
Just a taste, though. A gentle reminder of all that is lost. He is going to a different place. And both he and the cop know it.
When all the food and half the coffee is on board, he is ready to get on with it.
“I’m gonna need a lawyer, I guess, huh?” he says.
The cop stares at him for a while. Half amused. Half sympathetic. All weary.
“No,” the cop says. “You sure you don’t have any family we can call for you?”
“What? Family? No.”
He realizes that this is true. It buries him like a landslide.
He is alone. There is no road home. There cannot be, for there is no home.
He realizes this is his chance. His one chance to save something of himself from those demons chittering away behind the walls. Whatever else it costs him in this world, he has to try.
“Listen, sir. I have to confess. I killed a woman,” he says.
“Oh, no shit?” the cop says, dark amusement breaking through his deep fatigue.
“Yes! You have to listen! In my car. Behind her house. Just off the highway by the gas station! I split her fucking head in half with a shovel.”
“Really? We gotta go through all this again?” the cop asks. Earnest.
“What do you mean?” he asks the cop.
“Look, man. I am sorry to say it, but yer a fuckin schizo. You don’t remember?”
“What are you talking about? I killed her!”
The cop stares at him for a bit. They stare at each other.
“Okay, man,” the cop finally says, calm, like he is talking to an autistic toddler. “I’m gonna do this one more time with you. Okay? Because it looks like you might actually remember it this time. So you need to listen to me now and try to remember what I tell you.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, putting his palms back down on the table. Preparing himself for the terrible news. What else did he do? Who else did he kill?
“We picked you up running down the middle of the highway in the storm. You were incoherent, but compliant. So my constable brought you in on a disorderly to keep you from getting killed. On the way into the station, you confessed to killing this woman of yours. They call me in, and I do an interview. You confess again. Kraut shovel through the face. All that.”
The cop stares at him. Makes sure what he’s saying is inputting. Seems satisfied that it is.
“‘So, where’s the body?’ I ask. You can’t say. Not sure where. But ya can show me. So we put you back in a prowler and head out to find this murder car of yours.”
“What? We did all that?”
“Yeah. We did. And you found the house just fine, babbling away about all kinds a shit. Kraut shovels and demon whores and all that. And do ya know what we found out there at that shitty dump of a property?”
“What, sir?”
“Nothing. Not a goddamned fuckin thing, is what.”
“What? No! I killed her there! I know I did! We had the wrong place!”
“Nope! Nope. Pink lunchbox in the backyard, right? You tweaked on that pretty hard. Some fresh tire tracks in the mud, too. Whoever drove outta there tore it up pretty good. It was the place. No doubt. But no car, right? No body. So, no murder.”
“But… no. I killed her. I did. Someone must have—”
“Her grandpa, right? That’s what yer gonna say now, isn’t it? Her demon grandpa, hitman for the devil, came back and cleaned it up. And now he’s coming for you. Yeah. I heard this story already, man. I don’t need to hear any more of yer schizo bullshit. Okay? I need you to accept what I’m telling ya.”
He stares at the cop. The cop stares at him.
He realizes that whatever hell this is, there is only one way forward.
“Okay, sir. Please tell me,” he says with a shudder.
“Good. Thank you,” the cop sighs in relief. “Look. I’m not saying you didn’t go to that house with a woman. And I’m not saying that something didn’t happen there. But there is no evidence that anything criminal happened there. Besides, maybe, her stealing your car. And you tell me that you killed her there. With a World War One Kraut shovel that her devil hitman grandpa brought back from the war. But your word aint exactly good as gold around here. Right? You’ve just spent the last twelve hours screaming at your imaginary friends in my lockup. Do you see what I am saying?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yeah. But the name ya gave me checks out. I pulled up yer record. I mean, you did what you did, back in the day, sure. But it seems like you were a standup guy about it. Did your time. And there’s nothing recent. No warrants. I have no reason to hold you, beyond vagrancy.”
“Yes, sir.”
The cop stares at him for a while, his limited sympathy now at the forefront.
“Look, man. I can call the hospital on a psych intake. I probably should. But it can take them days to process that and get you a bed. And, either way, I gotta send you to county lockup in the meantime. You’ve been inside. You know what that’s like. And I don’t think yer in a state right now where that’s gonna be a very healthy environment for you. You hear what I’m saying?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, it’s your choice now, man. Take you to county to wait on the nut hut. Or, I cut you lose. I’ll find ya a pair of shoes, and I’ll drive you to the truck stop and buy ya lunch. And, in return, I want you to hitch a ride outta there heading east. Which is the fuck outta my jurisdiction. And ya don’t come back. Right? So, what’s it gonna be?”
“I’ll leave, sir. Thank you.”
“Alright. Good. You chill out here. I’ll go find them shoes.”
The cop is true to his word. He puts him in the back of a squad car and drives him to the truck stop. He takes him inside and buys the both of them lunch. Double cheeseburgers with fries and gravy. Coffee. It is greasy and good.
They sit in silence and drink coffee until their cheeseburgers come. Then they eat in silence. Once they are all done, the cop leans back in his chair and smiles at him.
“Man, that bitch really got her hooks into ya, didn’t she.”
“I suppose so. But I’m over it.”
The cop laughs. “Yeah. Sure ya are, buddy.” He stands up. “Okay. That’s it. I’m gonna take a piss. Then I wanna see you on yar way. East is that way. Got it?” He points past the truck stop’s gas pumps, down the highway.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
“No problem. Just make sure you don’t ever fall under my sight again. You hear me?” the cop says, his previous kindness gone. Now it is all the menace of badge and baton and gun.
“Yes, sir.”
He does as he is told. Heads out the truck stop door and starts walking east.
Muse Vassal 