From the depth

Глава 1

- No, no, no…

In the twilight of the quick predawn minutes - again. Once more, that urgent whisper emerges on the uncertain threshold between sleep and waking - a space believed by many to conceal the truth. Do you want to know it? So, just wait, catch this almost elusive moment. And dare to ask. Ready to hear the answer? Are you ready?

This is scary, right?

She did not dare to ask. Never. For three years she has been hearing this early morning whisper, this hoarse breath. Thin nerve fingers convulsively crush sheets. Hair clumps on the forehead covered in cold sweat. For three years she has been staring into open eyes filled with horror. His eyes open and see her beside. His breathing calms down, horror in the eyes gives way to relief and love. She is nearby. In the next room their daughter sleeps. Both are next to him. This situation is likely to continue without end. So, he wants to believe it and he impulsively hugs her, as if he wants to make sure again that she is alive, breathing, that her heart is beating, that she is not a ghost. Not a predawn delusion, not an obsession, not a whim of terrible memories, not a punishment sent by an unknown force to torment his tired soul again. Torment forever. She is nearby. And she also believes that she can ask, a moment before his eyes open. What does he see there, what terrifies him every night? What? She believes that if she dares to ask, he will say. And by sharing with her, heal his soul. And stop falling asleep with fear and doom. But she is afraid. She fears hearing anything that could shatter her delicate happiness, granted by a mysterious blessing. How scary... How she wants to help him... How she loves him! Loves…

My dear, it is over - thing has concluded at last. A delicate hand softly arranges stray hair - please return to us from wherever you are.

“I ... I am here, my girl.” His voice still has not come back; a wheezing sound is audible as he clears his throat in an unsettling, convulsive manner. “God, again ... When will it end?”

He sits jerkily, wrapping her and himself in a blanket, holding her tightly to himself. How she loves these moments: sit like that, clinging quietly to his shoulder, resting her head. And do not remember that just a few minutes ago he was dying of terror somewhere there, far away. What does he see?

“Darling, I know how you feel, but… Do you remember anything again, remember nothing at all?”

He shuddered distinctly, clutching her tightly to himself, shook his head.

- Not. I do not remember anything specific, I do not remember. Only horror. Depth. And terrible fear for you. Awareness of the complete end, that now, another second - and you will disappear. Forever and ever. And at the peak of this horror, I wake up.

She gently rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and tried to soften his words with a smile.

- Wake up, and we are here, next to you.

“Yes, love,” his dry lips gently stroked her forehead, cheeks, gently touched her soft, supple lips and delayed. For a long time.

He remembers.

Lake... The boat glided silently into this secluded cove. How peaceful... How silent around... She sits on the stern can, exactly in the middle, her hands hold on both sides. So, he taught her last summer, that happy summer... She was always afraid of water, depth, not knowing how to swim. How many times he was going to teach her! How many times she asked him about it, naively admiring his ability. She so dreamed of swimming beside him, dissecting warm azure water, smiling at him with her fervent and at the same time timid smile. She dreamed... And now she sings something merrily, carelessly lowering her hand in chilly water. Everything will be fine now. Will it be? Will it really be, honey?

He remembers... Five hundred feet to the shore. Now needed a couple of strong movements to rock the boat... But before that, she must get up, otherwise nothing will come of it. Let her get up and let go of the side, stop holding on... She must get up. Must! How to do it? God, she sits so happy and calm... She loves him so much, no matter what... The horror of recent months, his lies, indifference, coldness, cruelty... He stopped hiding it all. And she could not hate in return. She wanted, really wanted, God sees. But she could not.

It is time. Until she suspected that... God, God... Doesn’t she see anything, understand nothing?! What is ahead of her is not a promised wedding. In a few minutes she is going to die... Doesn’t she feel anything when she right now looks at him with a gentle and affectionate look? Is she unaware of the judgment already revealed and accepted on his face? Hears nothing in the menacingly thickened silence around. The silence of expectation.

It is time. His sweaty palms clutch the slip oars more firmly. They glide… As if shouting to him: “We do not want! Stop! Do not!"

It is time. But how to make her stand up? How? How?! Some inner cry grows from the depths of consciousness. A rumble originated somewhere in the bowels of his being. It is expanding. Yes, that He came to the rescue. Yes, yes, help me! Help me do this, please, please! You promised to be with me to the end! You promised…

Pain... Where does the pain come from? It originated under the heart and a wave of fire struck up. To the head. How painful, God! His vision grows hazy, and with the final strength of his diminishing sight, he glimpses her leaping up and hurrying toward him...

She remembers.

His face suddenly whitened. The body, limply slid to the bottom of the boat. A suddenly blinded look. The wild horror. Her throat clenched in spasm, and finally her piercing scream...

- Help! Lord… Clyde! Clyde! Please, help!!!

She remembers.

As she tried, it was pathetic and inept, to bring him to life, rubbed his chest. Called and maddened, kissed, kissed his cold lifeless face. How hoarse and could no longer scream. How, in desperation, she grabbed the oars and tried to row to the shore... And a shot. Three hunters who have run ashore; they heard her first cry being a mile away from them, it spread far away in still water. They ran this mile non-stop; such horror was in this piercing plaintive call.

She remembers.

A frantic jump to the nearest apartment with a telephone. And his cold hand in her hand. Who you are? I am his wife - answered without hesitation. Clyde and Roberta Griffiths. So, they got married. In the journal of the emergency room. She remembers...

They are sitting close to each other, wrapped tightly in a blanket. As if they want to protect each other from something. They keep each other...

He remembers.

I wanted to kill her. If not for what happened then, she would be dead. I would kill her. This is what I wanted. I wanted to. God, in your eyes I am a murderer. That is why you make me kill her in my nightmares repeatedly. This is your punishment. Until the end of my days. I know, Lord, I can tell her and she will forgive. She even will not believe it. But how to tell her? Bert, I... I wanted your death. I wanted to kill you. I killed you in my soul then. I am a killer. How to tell her? And the answer slips once again...

They are sitting. Soon they will begin a new joyful day, and it will go into the evening, and after it the night will come. And someday. Someday... Before dawn, on the verge of sleep and awakening, on which the truth hidden... She will ask.