his sanctum. I move with trepidation following behind him down the long predictable dark hallway.
My heart pounds so loudly; I'm sure he can hear it. He gives me a surreptitious look as he opens a door to his right.
We enter a tomb of a room shrouded in red velvet and there is Ethan lying out on a long table. Why bother with a bed for the dead? I cringe inward at the morbidity of my thoughts. Fuck.
"Leave us," I command.
"But, the law states I have to be present." I turn and give the man a withering glance and wave my superhero hand again. After a minute, he bows out of the room as he did before. "Ten minutes, Mrs. Holloway. Ten minutes. That's it. This is highly unorthodox."
"Fine."
I spend the first two minutes keeping my distance from the man who lies before me. He's dressed in his best suit, the gray one he was wearing when we met. Not surprising, it still fits. Ethan—the impeccable dresser, the finest athlete, the bravest soldier, the best husband, the most doting father. He did everything well. He exuded charm, grace, and humility in every way. He is god-like, all powerful and mighty, even lying here.
I am drawn in to touch him. I trail my fingers along his hands tucked peacefully across his chest. I ignore the clamminess of his skin, the stiffness of his fingers. I've lain with this man for hours. I've heard the gurgling of this man's stomach too many times in our most intimate moments when we would laugh at the sound and its peculiar timing. I lay my head down and listen now, but hear only lifelessness. The stillness of him is so final.
"Don't leave me, baby," I say in the imposing silence.
I lift my head and stare at his face. Pale. Still. Silent. So, unlike him. I wait an indeterminable moment for him to start talking.
"Say anything. Say anything. Say anything at all. I'm here. I'll wait. I'll listen."
The silence wends its way around me like an invisible spider's web.
"Say something. Anything ." I whisper.
His head is partially covered with a white silk handkerchief and I pull it away, before I can think of why the cloth is there in the first place. And, there it is. The clear reason on why Ethan would never be saying anything to me, ever again. His left eye is missing. Part of his skull.
Igor must have done his best to clean up the brain matter and dried blood before he permitted me in to see my husband like this, but no white silk handkerchief was going to be able to cover up the violence that has been done to him.
I kiss his lips, untouched by the brutality imposed upon the left side of Ethan's face.
"I will always love you, Ethan." I stroke his head as I've always done and it's the one thing in touching him that feels the same; his hair moves like the finest boar brush under my fingers. "I will always love you."
My tears fall on him now and the wet trails make their way down each side of his face. I kiss his neck and then his lips, again. After a while, I burrow my head into his left shoulder. For the first time in days, I feel this tranquility come over me. I close my eyes and revel in the closeness of being with him, again.
Reunited, even as we are. The cruelty of our circumstances plays out in the tranquility of the room like a fine mist dissipates into parched earth.
"Ethan," I say, lifting my head from his shoulder and looking into his lifeless face. I can only stare, waiting for him to answer me. I lay my head back down, close my eyes and begin to cry, again, harder now.
"Mrs. Holloway? Are you? Are you all right?"
Igor Dasher has come back into the room. I open my eyes at the sound of his weary voice and look over at the edges of him in his fine green velvet suit. His image swims before me. My sobs fill up the room now.
"Fine. I'm fine."
He seems to smile, if that is at all possible for the man, at my lies.
He glides across to me as if he is on wheels in this slick bumper car motion. One minute he is across the room, in the next, right beside me.
"Your friend. She's looking for
My heart pounds so loudly; I'm sure he can hear it. He gives me a surreptitious look as he opens a door to his right.
We enter a tomb of a room shrouded in red velvet and there is Ethan lying out on a long table. Why bother with a bed for the dead? I cringe inward at the morbidity of my thoughts. Fuck.
"Leave us," I command.
"But, the law states I have to be present." I turn and give the man a withering glance and wave my superhero hand again. After a minute, he bows out of the room as he did before. "Ten minutes, Mrs. Holloway. Ten minutes. That's it. This is highly unorthodox."
"Fine."
I spend the first two minutes keeping my distance from the man who lies before me. He's dressed in his best suit, the gray one he was wearing when we met. Not surprising, it still fits. Ethan—the impeccable dresser, the finest athlete, the bravest soldier, the best husband, the most doting father. He did everything well. He exuded charm, grace, and humility in every way. He is god-like, all powerful and mighty, even lying here.
I am drawn in to touch him. I trail my fingers along his hands tucked peacefully across his chest. I ignore the clamminess of his skin, the stiffness of his fingers. I've lain with this man for hours. I've heard the gurgling of this man's stomach too many times in our most intimate moments when we would laugh at the sound and its peculiar timing. I lay my head down and listen now, but hear only lifelessness. The stillness of him is so final.
"Don't leave me, baby," I say in the imposing silence.
I lift my head and stare at his face. Pale. Still. Silent. So, unlike him. I wait an indeterminable moment for him to start talking.
"Say anything. Say anything. Say anything at all. I'm here. I'll wait. I'll listen."
The silence wends its way around me like an invisible spider's web.
"Say something. Anything ." I whisper.
His head is partially covered with a white silk handkerchief and I pull it away, before I can think of why the cloth is there in the first place. And, there it is. The clear reason on why Ethan would never be saying anything to me, ever again. His left eye is missing. Part of his skull.
Igor must have done his best to clean up the brain matter and dried blood before he permitted me in to see my husband like this, but no white silk handkerchief was going to be able to cover up the violence that has been done to him.
I kiss his lips, untouched by the brutality imposed upon the left side of Ethan's face.
"I will always love you, Ethan." I stroke his head as I've always done and it's the one thing in touching him that feels the same; his hair moves like the finest boar brush under my fingers. "I will always love you."
My tears fall on him now and the wet trails make their way down each side of his face. I kiss his neck and then his lips, again. After a while, I burrow my head into his left shoulder. For the first time in days, I feel this tranquility come over me. I close my eyes and revel in the closeness of being with him, again.
Reunited, even as we are. The cruelty of our circumstances plays out in the tranquility of the room like a fine mist dissipates into parched earth.
"Ethan," I say, lifting my head from his shoulder and looking into his lifeless face. I can only stare, waiting for him to answer me. I lay my head back down, close my eyes and begin to cry, again, harder now.
"Mrs. Holloway? Are you? Are you all right?"
Igor Dasher has come back into the room. I open my eyes at the sound of his weary voice and look over at the edges of him in his fine green velvet suit. His image swims before me. My sobs fill up the room now.
"Fine. I'm fine."
He seems to smile, if that is at all possible for the man, at my lies.
He glides across to me as if he is on wheels in this slick bumper car motion. One minute he is across the room, in the next, right beside me.
"Your friend. She's looking for
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