Read Online The Visible Filth by Nathan Ballingrud - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nathan Ballingrud
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his way out of it.
The first order of business was to restore sanity to his own home.
He lifted Carrie from her chair, heedless of the urine, and carried her calmly to the bedroom. She did not protest; he thought she had fallen asleep, until he glanced down and saw her eyes were open and unfixed. He laid her on the bed, next to where he’d left his cell phone. He knocked it to the floor with an angry flick of the wrist, as though it were a cockroach that had crawled into their sheets. He ran hot water into the bath, and in moments he had her undressed and submerged to her shoulders. He talked to her while he bathed her, saying nothing in particular – just maintaining what he hoped was a steady, calming flow of speech.
Once the water began to cool, he drained it and guided her out of the bathroom. She seemed to have recovered something of herself. She unhooked her robe from the door and shrugged into it, binding it tightly around her waist. Then she sat on the bed and sighed deeply, still staring at the floor. But she was present this time; she had come back.
Will sat beside her and for a time neither of them said anything. He tried to imagine what might be going through her head, but couldn’t do it. His phone, its screen now cracked, blinked at him from the floor. Three missed calls. All from the bar. He didn’t even want to imagine what was going on over there. He took it for granted that the job was lost.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” she said, finally.
“Yeah.”
“Why did you come home?”
He looked at her. She was still staring at the floor, or at nothing in particular, and he couldn’t gauge the weather in her voice. She was no less mysterious for having decided to speak to him. “Do you remember anything that just happened, Carrie?”
Her brow furrowed as she tried to think. “I was looking for something online. Doing some research. Then you called me.”
“I didn’t call you, Carrie.”
“You did. I remember because you were at work and I wondered what it could be about.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Well your number came up. After that… I don’t know. It’s hard to think.”
The image of the figure sitting on their bed, its head weirdly distorted, floated to the surface of his mind. “Was anybody here tonight?”
This question seemed to require a special degree of concentration. “I think there was.” Something in her voice slipped. “Oh my God. I think someone was here.”
“Who?”
Carrie shook her head. “I don’t know. I was doing research. Your call came in. I remember talking to you.”
“Goddamn it, Carrie, it wasn’t me!”
She rubbed her finger against her temple – lightly at first, and then with increasing ferocity. Startled, he pulled her hand away. “Am I going crazy?” she said. “Do I have a brain tumor?”
“No, it’s… no.” He drew in a deep breath. “What’s The Second Translation of Wounds , Carrie? What were you researching?”
Her face blanched; she leaned over, her head between her knees, and for a moment he thought she was going to puke. But she pulled herself together and sat up again. “It’s a book. I was trying to figure out what those pictures were. It was on the table in the video.”
The red volume. Of course. “What kind of book is it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. Something bad. It’s something bad. I can’t seem to hang onto it.”
“What about the tunnel?”
“What tunnel?”
“When I came home… two nights now. You’re looking at a tunnel.”
“I don’t know.” Her voice shook. She put her hands on his face and pulled at him, turning his face into a grotesque frown. “What did we see, Will? What did we see? ”
He didn’t say anything. The panic wall stood resolute. No option made sense.
After another moment, Carrie drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and quickly expelled it. “Okay. Well. You have to go back to work. We can’t afford you to lose that job.”
“Are
The first order of business was to restore sanity to his own home.
He lifted Carrie from her chair, heedless of the urine, and carried her calmly to the bedroom. She did not protest; he thought she had fallen asleep, until he glanced down and saw her eyes were open and unfixed. He laid her on the bed, next to where he’d left his cell phone. He knocked it to the floor with an angry flick of the wrist, as though it were a cockroach that had crawled into their sheets. He ran hot water into the bath, and in moments he had her undressed and submerged to her shoulders. He talked to her while he bathed her, saying nothing in particular – just maintaining what he hoped was a steady, calming flow of speech.
Once the water began to cool, he drained it and guided her out of the bathroom. She seemed to have recovered something of herself. She unhooked her robe from the door and shrugged into it, binding it tightly around her waist. Then she sat on the bed and sighed deeply, still staring at the floor. But she was present this time; she had come back.
Will sat beside her and for a time neither of them said anything. He tried to imagine what might be going through her head, but couldn’t do it. His phone, its screen now cracked, blinked at him from the floor. Three missed calls. All from the bar. He didn’t even want to imagine what was going on over there. He took it for granted that the job was lost.
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” she said, finally.
“Yeah.”
“Why did you come home?”
He looked at her. She was still staring at the floor, or at nothing in particular, and he couldn’t gauge the weather in her voice. She was no less mysterious for having decided to speak to him. “Do you remember anything that just happened, Carrie?”
Her brow furrowed as she tried to think. “I was looking for something online. Doing some research. Then you called me.”
“I didn’t call you, Carrie.”
“You did. I remember because you were at work and I wondered what it could be about.”
“It wasn’t me.”
“Well your number came up. After that… I don’t know. It’s hard to think.”
The image of the figure sitting on their bed, its head weirdly distorted, floated to the surface of his mind. “Was anybody here tonight?”
This question seemed to require a special degree of concentration. “I think there was.” Something in her voice slipped. “Oh my God. I think someone was here.”
“Who?”
Carrie shook her head. “I don’t know. I was doing research. Your call came in. I remember talking to you.”
“Goddamn it, Carrie, it wasn’t me!”
She rubbed her finger against her temple – lightly at first, and then with increasing ferocity. Startled, he pulled her hand away. “Am I going crazy?” she said. “Do I have a brain tumor?”
“No, it’s… no.” He drew in a deep breath. “What’s The Second Translation of Wounds , Carrie? What were you researching?”
Her face blanched; she leaned over, her head between her knees, and for a moment he thought she was going to puke. But she pulled herself together and sat up again. “It’s a book. I was trying to figure out what those pictures were. It was on the table in the video.”
The red volume. Of course. “What kind of book is it?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t remember. Something bad. It’s something bad. I can’t seem to hang onto it.”
“What about the tunnel?”
“What tunnel?”
“When I came home… two nights now. You’re looking at a tunnel.”
“I don’t know.” Her voice shook. She put her hands on his face and pulled at him, turning his face into a grotesque frown. “What did we see, Will? What did we see? ”
He didn’t say anything. The panic wall stood resolute. No option made sense.
After another moment, Carrie drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and quickly expelled it. “Okay. Well. You have to go back to work. We can’t afford you to lose that job.”
“Are
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