Story B: Noah
A certain grimness hung over the porch as he stared ahead at the solid oak door, a pair of straps loosely slipped between his fingers, just barely hovering the bag connected to them above the ground. He took a deep, long breath, trying to figure out what he was going to say. What could he say? What could he possibly say in this situation?
Liam wished that his first day back home after being out on the rig for so many months could be on happier terms, rather than brought about by tragedy. His hands were still shaking. They hadn’t stopped since he’d read his wife’s most recent letter… and now, on the other side of that door…
Hesitating, he brought his knuckle up and forward and gently tapped the door a few times, a sharp series of clicks that got him an immediate response. The handle of the door made its own clicking sound, being unlocked, before it creaked open.
“Oh, Liam,” a soft voice welcomed him from within. There stood Yvette, just as he remembered her.
Yvette was a lovely woman, with skin as pale as milk, and long, straight hair as black as the night. She threw her arms around him and planted a brief, yet full kiss on his cheek, holding him tightly. Liam was surprised by the greeting, but hugged her back anyway, feeling the warmth of her cream-colored sweater against his arms. He began to sob.
Their relationship was an unusual one, it was something he’d accepted the day they’d met, nine years ago. She’d been perfectly honest with him about her social condition- that she could have difficulties getting truly attached, that she didn’t even love her parents, and that if they were together, she would likely never love him either. Foolishly, in his youth, Liam had just taken it as a challenge, emptied his pockets on every romantic date idea he could think of, yet he’d still to this day never seen that spark in her eyes.
He’d known about it the day they’d met, he’d known about it on their wedding day, he’d known about it the day he’d left for work months ago and it didn’t seem like she was going to miss him at all…
He’d known about it the day their son Noah was born, when he’d gotten his hopes up that them becoming a family would be the missing piece, only for her to break his heart with six simple, devastating words in that hospital room.
“I don’t feel like a mom.”
“Really? Not even a little? He’s so cute,” he’d replied with a small, sad smile, cooing at their newborn son as Yvette held him.
“Could you take him?” she’d then asked through a tired yawn.
“Oh- yeah, of course.”
…that was a long time ago. He’d reprimanded himself many times for getting his expectations up. All he knew was that he loved her, and… it was okay if she was never going to say it back to him. It wore on him, and it hurt, but he would survive.
At least, he thought he’d survive. He was unsure now, now that the thing that had been holding him together was just gone.
“Is he, um…” Liam sniffed, shocked. She’d never hugged him before, or kissed him like that- not for real. In their nine-year relationship, the only hugs and kisses she’d initiated had been awkward, stiff, only happening because she figured she was ‘supposed to.’ She didn’t seem to be very upset… so where was this coming from? Was this… empathy?
“Where is he?” he asked.
“Liam, please,” Yvette’s usually soulless eyes twinkled at him after he pulled away, thin lips curled into a frown. “Don’t ask questions,” she suggested, slowly shaking her head.
“I have to,” his voice broke, not able to meet her gaze, staring down at his own clothes. They were more like rags at this point, torn and worn and stained and permanently scented like stale oil and seawater. He hadn’t had time to change- since he’d gotten that letter, his only mission had been to come home. “...my son’s dead.”
“Come inside,” Yvette suggested, pulling at his wrists with a fondness in her voice. Liam couldn’t quite process this caring side of her, it just felt unnatural.
Halfheartedly, he stumbled into the house behind her, wiping at his eyes with a grungy sleeve.
“I missed you, Liam,” she spoke quietly in her alluring accent, turning her head to smile.
It was strange. For almost a full decade, including throughout five years of marriage, he’d been waiting to hear her say something like that. He hated that he was only hearing it during the one time when it didn’t make him happy, and there was nothing that could make him happy.
“I’m, uh, surprised to hear you say that,” he finally admitted, trying to mask his lack of enthusiasm.
“Didn’t you get my letters?” she asked. “I’ve been begging you to come home for months now.”
“I did,” he admitted, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I figured you were just saying things without meaning them. To make me happy.”
“I meant every word.”
They sat at the couch, the piece of furniture creaking heavily. They’d been meaning to get a new one for years, this one was all out of sorts thanks to Noah’s constant belly-flopping onto the cushions.
Everywhere Liam looked, he was reminded of his son. Like a lingering spirit in every corner of the house. It didn’t help matters that he hadn’t had a wink of sleep in three days now.
“How was it out there?” Yvette wondered, placing her hands on his. “You promised to tell me more about that dead body you pulled in.”
Liam’s eyes widened. He’d completely forgotten that he’d written to her about that- and now, it was rushing back in excruciating detail. The nasty heap of flesh, both infected and infested, loose skin, teeth marks…
She wasn’t the most socially aware person, but Liam was perplexed by her decision to bring that up right now of all times.
“Yvette, dear, that’s… can you see how that might be inappropriate to talk about right now?” he offered her the most patient smile he could muster, even if he was feeling some hints of anger beneath his exhausted expression.
“I just thought it would be good for us to talk,” Yvette blinked innocently. “I missed the sound of your voice… I didn’t realize how much I liked it, until I couldn’t hear it anymore…” the oddly flirtatious tone of her voice trickled through the air, as she crawled forward toward him, cupping his face with her hands and staring into his eyes.
“Yvette, I…” he swallowed, not in the mood for this. “We can’t just gloss over it, okay? I’m- I’m really hurting right now. And I know, on some level, you have to be hurting too. We have to talk about it.”
“We don’t,” Yvette insisted.
“I’ve been away. I don’t know what happened, or when, or how, or why, or anything. Please don’t make this harder for me, I’m begging you. Just tell me what happened to my son,” he said, his eyes dripping with moisture, down his cheeks and onto her wrists.
“What if the answer would destroy you?” she whispered, tilting her head slightly. “What if you couldn’t bear it, Liam?”
“Huh?”
“What if he just… couldn’t take it, his father being away for so long? What if that’s the answer? You might be better off not knowing.”
“What are you…” Liam was puzzled, his brain running at half its usual efficiency as he tried to decipher the intent behind her words. When it finally dawned on him, his eyes widened, and his voice trembled. “You mean to tell me my seven-year-old boy… killed himself because I was gone?”
“I didn’t say that,” Yvette quickly corrected, not seeming to feel even a percent of the emotion that her husband was. “But what if that WAS what happened? See, you might not want to know after all. It might hurt too much.”
“I can’t believe you,” he whispered, shaking his head.
“You know what? I can’t believe you either,” the irritated wife suddenly hissed, glaring daggers at him. “It takes your son dying for you to finally come home.”
“You- I-I’m not doing this,” Liam cleared his throat, filled with a boiling heat in his gut. He had to get away from her right now before he started seeing red, all his sorrows turned to impatient rage in an instant. “I’m not playing this game- this is disgusting- Christ-” he spat as he tore his gaze away from her, stomping out of the living room and down the hall, his eyes laser-focused on the door at the end of it.
Noah’s room. He had to look at it. A part of him really hoped that maybe, just maybe, he’d open that door, and his son would be in there- perfectly fine, and everything would be okay.
His hand quivered against the doorknob for a few moments, before he finally summoned the courage to open it, pushing the slab of oak inward and peering into the darkness. There, at the far end of the room, on Noah’s bed… someone was there.
“Noah?!” a choked-up Liam called out, his hand scrambling across the painted wall for the lightswitch, fumbling at it for a few seconds before finally succeeding. The room lit up, and…
Immediately, Liam vomited on the ground, completely emptying his guts of every bit of food he’d managed to get down over the past few days. He fell to his knees in a puddle of his own filth, a foul, rotten, and sour flavor assaulting his tongue. Through dizzied eyes, he once again looked at the bed, where the torn-apart man laid.
It was the very same body they’d managed to pull in, back on the oil rig. Of course, at the time, they hadn’t realized exactly what it was- it was only after they’d retrieved it that the sickening hunk of remains could be identified. The bloating, the waxiness, the rot- the sight and smell battled against his mind, ripping apart his sanity once again. He’d thought he’d never have to see something so vile again, but now, here it was- in his home. For the briefest of moments, he managed to look away, and when his gaze returned, the body was gone.
“Just…” he gasped for air, feeling like he was suffocating in that moment, hearing the clicking of Yvette’s shoes behind him. “Please tell me… what happened to my boy…”
“You wouldn’t be able to handle the answer.”
That line again. His hands curled into fists- but then, something… clicked. A lot came rushing back to him all at once- words she had said to him…
“I don’t feel like a mom…”
“Don’t ask questions...”
“You might be better off not knowing...”
“It took your son dying for you to finally come home…”
The pieces were connecting in his tired head. He stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes. He knew she was an oddball, she always had been, but the theory he’d just cooked up in his head- could his Yvette really be capable of that…?
“Tell me what happened to my son, or else,” he growled at her, his jaw clenched tightly. He hadn’t even realized that he’d caught a chunk of his cheek between it, the taste of blood filling his mouth as he began to see red.
“I’m going to my parents’ house,” an uninterested Yvette said simply, staring down at him like he was a piece of roadkill. Her shoes clicked along the distance of the hallway, and then just like that, she disappeared through the front door.
“Stop…I have to know…” he mumbled through his hateful tears, some seconds after she was already gone, pulling himself to his feet, trying to remember where he kept his gun.
“I’d kill to know.”
