Revisiting Covenant

Covenant

The rewrite.

Authors Note: Covenant was born one Sunday morning as I was reading the paper, while mentally searching for the next story idea in my 26 story challenge. I came across a report about a murder and attempted suicide of an older couple in their eighties, that happened on the east side of my small town. Details revealed the wife was suffering from end stage Alzheimer Disease, and her husband was trying to end her suffering. That of course set the gears into motion and the first thought to emerge centered around that certain stubbornest to being married to the same person for more than fifty years. 

A union like this transcended love. 

When you toss in a healthy dose of Alzheimer disease, dementia, and the assorted other demons that tend to rear their ugly little heads, you've got a tragedy in the making. Suddenly the woman, or man, you've spent your entire life with, is no longer there. A stranger has taken their place as you struggle to come to grips with this new reality. If you've witnessed this first hand, and discover later in your own life that you are likely to come down with the disease, what would you do?

What if the woman, or man, you love turns to you as their last resort in such a situation? Would you be able to do as they ask?

Archie faces that very situation, he made a promise to his wife after they buried her mother, a pact, a covenant, to not let her suffer the same fate.

Most of the rewrite consisted, as it usually does, in cleaning up my sentence structure to excise as much of the passive voice as I could. To tighten things up while discarding much of the needless stuff.

Upon completion of the first draft I realized what the story was trying to say and knew I had to set the scene. In the first rewrite I added the following passage.

She watched him from the pillows under her head, her once vibrant red hair now the color of the sheets she lay on, her faced lined with age, eyes that once sparkled with a mischievous light now watched him with guarded mistrust as he moved around the foot of her bed, and crossed to the window.

“You promised,” she said, her eyes darting back and forth as she searched for her words.

He was taken back by the comment, it was so out of place when compared to the way she had been acting lately. “I promised what, Sweetheart?” he said, choosing to ignore for the moment this turn of events. He didn’t want to get his hopes up that her condition was improving. The disappointment would be too much to bear.

Her eyes continued to dart back and forth, in search of words that were not forthcoming, her brow creased with concentration as she tried to capture the elusive tail of her comment. 

As the story is titled Covenant I felt it necessary to make an early reference to the promise Archie made to her the day her mother was buried. 

For me, the restored phone booth in the basement as well as the assorted advertisements, represent a link that connects Archie with the past. It is this link that will provide the conduit into Pat's mind where he will be reminded of his promise. I used the bar as a refuge from the storm that was her disease constantly churning beyond the walls.

In the end he comes to realize what he must do.

On the churning clouds around them flickered the scenes from their past together. Fading in and out of focus as the clouds beneath the images churned. He saw the day they met, he just a clumsy kid too big for his own good. She, as she had always been, quite and demur. Self assured where he was still coming into his own. He saw it all laid out before him, the billowing depths of the clouds serving as a living screen as those moments replayed themselves in brief flashes of light. He saw her walking down the aisle in the little church where they were wed a week before he shipped out to Vietnam. He saw the birth of their boys. Birthdays, anniversaries, and summer vacations stretching out into eternity. As he watched the scenes playing out he came to understand something that at first glance was beyond belief.

 

He looked from the clouds to his wife, and back again as the realization filtered through his thoughts. He was in her mind, experiencing first hand the loss of self she’d so far endured. His heart was broken when he realized the truth of what he had to do. 

And so the story ends with a replay of the opening sequence with one exception. The addition of a pistol on her tray.

Next to the napkins lay his nine millimeter pistol. Dark and sinister, it’s muted color in sharp contrast to the white napkin. The difference between the two was like that between night and day, or life and death.  

You can read the edited story in its entirety at this link: Covenant

Keep in mind that when the story is released I will be truncating the story on my blog, and providing a link to where it can be purchased. I'd really appreciate it if you did buy one or two of my stories, they're only a buck a piece, less than a cup of coffee, and the sale will keep me motivated and turning out more stories. Thanks,

Two new titles, along with an idea for two of my upcoming stories has come to me. 

For the letter G we will visit the boys from my Dreadland Chronicles series, Meat, Window, Einstein, and Billie-Bob will come upon a strange compound in the short story G is for GOD IS DEAD. Don't know everything that's gonna happen yet, but I can see the opening scene is in my mind, so look for the first installment that should be coming Friday April 27, 2018. 

Don't forget the final installment of F is for Funghi, will be posted Friday April 20, 2018.

For the letter H I've come up with the idea of an opening to hell appearing in the Appalachian mountains where I currently live, keep your eyes open for H is for HILLBILLY HELLMOUTH coming soon.

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Free Read Friday: Covenant The End

Read this story from the beginning HERE!

Covenant

Some promises can not be broken.

“But you must,” she whispered as silence replaced the voice of the storm and he struggled to understand, “don’t let me suffer anymore.”
 

He nodded then as he reached out to caress her lined cheek.
“I’m so sorry I’ve let you suffer,” he whispered as he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close.
 

Dateline Cumberland AP - Emergency personnel responded to a 911 call from 1254 Mulberry street where they discovered what at first appeared to be a home invasion, but what turned out to be an apparent murder suicide attempt gone awry. The deceased was identified as sixty nine year old Patricia Halverson, who had been confined to bed as a result of advanced Alzheimer’s disease. Her seventy year old husband, Albert Halverson was discovered in the basement of his home, in a vintage 1940’s restored phone booth, with a self inflicted gunshot wound to his chest. He was transported to the Western Maryland Regional Hospital where he is currently listed in stable, but guarded condition.
 

Police have reported that the weapon used has not been discovered at this time. Next of kin have been notified and no charges have been filed. Local authorities have offered no further comment on the case. A source that asked to remain anonymous reported the initial 911 call came from a woman who would only identify herself as Pat, and was calling from a phone number that had been phased out in the mid-fifties. We will share more details as they become available. 

THE END

Authors Note: This is one of those stories I really need to revisit as I feel I have not done the story justice here. I was trying to find a way to show what it might be like to be in the mind of someone suffering from Alzheimer Disease. I couldn't very well just say, and he slipped into her mind, so I used the promise he'd made and the memory of it to hopefully bring the reader to the conclusion that  Albert was getting a glimpse of what his wife was going through. 

This story had its roots in a news item that appeared in my local paper. Concerning an older gentleman who killed his wife, then tried to commit suicide, failing to do so. They too were an older married couple and it got me to wondering how someone could kill the person they've loved for so many years. I guess it's true what they say. If you really love someone you will let them go.

If you've been enjoying what you've read why don't you stop by my one of my Author Pages listed below to check out my other work. 

Next week I will start the story DESTINATION UNKNOWN. 

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Free Read Friday: Covenant Part V

Covenant

Some promises can not be broken.

Authors note:

We are nearing the end of this one, and I would like to apologize again for vanishing for nearly two months. Keep in mind this is a first draft, editing is at best very minimal, this is how I write. After the story is done and has had time to stew, as it were, I'll go back over it to adjust the narrative. 

If you've been enjoying what you've read why don't you stop by my one of my Author Pages listed below to check out my other work. 

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Read this story from the beginning to this point HERE!

Without further adieu I give you part 5 of Covenant .

But the harsh reality of what he’d experienced was right there on his hand. Maybe he’d cut it in the phone booth while he was dreaming, after all it had to be a dream, it wasn’t possible for that murky bar to be in his basement. At this he pushed open the door and leaned out to gaze at the familiar surroundings of his basement.

It was a dream, nothing more, the stress of caring for Patricia was taking its toll. The time for his decision about her future was drawing closer with every breath he took.

“Promise me!” the memory of their argument that day in the cemetery surfaced in his mind. He took a step back, just as he had that day, the ferocity of her desire threatening to overwhelm him.

What could he do?

“Archie,” her voice shrieked from the baby monitor in his hand and he looked at it as he glanced again at the watch on his wrist. This time he had been gone for nearly six hours. His heart sank at the thought that she had been left alone for so long.

“You promised,” She cried out, the baby monitor vibrating in time with her voice. 

He raced from the basement, taking the stairs at a dead run, becoming winded before he reached the top, but he pushed on as his heart trip hammered in his chest. Nearly staggering down the hallway he came to her door where he stopped with his hand on the knob as he struggled to catch his breath and compose himself.

When he pushed into the room he found her sitting up in her bed, watching him with the same mischievous expression he’d fallen in love with. Though her face was lined with age, and her hair had been bleached by the passing of the years, she looked more alive than she ever had since the onset of her disease.

“It’s about time,” she said in a perfectly normal voice as he nearly dropped to his knees at her bedside.

“You do recall what we talked about?”

He could only nod silently, his heart filled with joy and sadness in equal measures. She had come back to him, it was a miracle, and then he stopped. Or was it just an extension of the dream he’d been living in the basement.

“You understand what you have to do?”

“I can’t,” he answered honestly.

“But you must.” She slid across the bed and swung her legs over the side, planting her feet firmly on the floor in front of him, then she was kneeling next to him, her small hand hot and tender on his back as she leaned in close. He could smell her, the scent of Ivory soap strong on her flesh, masking the sour stench of her approaching death.

“Don’t let me suffer anymore, I’ve grown weary with this life, this disease has robbed me of my memories, it has taken my past. Please don’t let it win.”

A shadow passed over the day at the mention of her disease and he looked up at the window. The day that had once been bright and cheery had grown dark and overcast, with gray clouds drifting low to the ground, mimicking his sorrow. He felt first one, then another tear as they traced twin paths down his cheeks.

“I can’t,” he said, snuffling into the sleeve of his shirt, “how can you ask me to hurt the one I love.”

“Is it love to keep me like this, to let the shadows take all that I had been?”

“I can’t,” he shouted as he pushed himself to his feet, “you can’t ask me to do this.” He stepped back from her bed where she was sleeping peacefully, a serene expression on her face, the dwindling light of evening retreating from the shadows that were growing long and thick in the corners of the room.

It had just been another dream, her kneeling beside him, talking to him in that lost voice. As he watched her sleep he noticed that her eyes were moving rapidly back and forth beneath her closed eyelids. From outside came the rumble of thunder and the darkness deepened as gray clouds obscured the face of the dropping sun. From the shadowy corners of her room came low growls that grew from the night.

He turned away from her sleeping figure to find himself in that bar once again. She was standing at the other end of the shadowy room, that vibrant blue dress faded somewhat, her red hair had lost some of its luster, lying flat against her skull. Her face was gaunt, withdrawn, her cheekbones more prominent than before, her once sparkling eyes were now dull and lifeless orbs resting in shadowy basins.

“You made a promise,” she said, lifting her withered arm to point one crooked finger at him. The patrons at the bar on his left roiled and growled as she shouted. Outside a flash of lightning whipped across the sky followed by a tremendous crack that split the night sky open and sent a tremor through his soul.

The roof of the bar was ripped away, exposing the dark clouds that churned in a maelstrom above their heads.

“You promised,” she shouted over the rising voice of the wind, her rage whispering across the sky, a thick bolt of lightning that danced upon the canvas of  agitated clouds. Branching out, dividing again and again until they surrounded them in a prison of bars that caressed the ground and filled the air with the heavy scent of ozone.

“I can’t,” he replied, cringing from the dancing streaks of lightning that were now trapped in the moment of their creation.

To be continued 

 

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Free Read Friday: Covenant Part IV

Covenant

Part IV

Read the story from the beginning to this point HERE!

She stood on the other side of the glass, watching him with sparkling blue eyes, a faint smile playing hide and seek on her full red lips.  His back complained loudly as he pushed himself to his feet, and pulled open the door. She took a step back, her eyes never leaving his, as he emerged from the phone booth.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Don’t you know? She answered before she turned and walked away, sashaying down the length of the bar to her seat. She stopped, turned, and motioned for him to follow with a crooked finger.

“Who is she? He wondered as he moved the length of the bar, aware of others on their seats, obscure shadowy shapes that muttered and groaned at each other in his peripheral vision. 

Coming abreast of where she sat he stopped and gazed at her. She looked so much like Pat when she was younger, yet there was something missing, some little thing that stood her apart from the woman he loved and had grown old with.

She motioned to the seat beside her, inviting him to sit down, and the shadows to her left shifted with a faint, yet menacing, growl, to clear a seat for him. As he sat down he realized he still had the baby monitor clipped to his belt, the hard plastic shell digging into his belly as it became trapped against his thigh. Removing it he placed it on the bar in front of him. A harsh white object surrounded by the murky depths of a bar that could be anywhere from a lonely stretch of two lane blacktop in the middle of nowhere, to the bustling center of a crowded city that never slept.

She lifted her hand, her index and middle finger pointing up, and two drinks appeared on the bar in front of them. Emerging from the shadows crowded around them. Above the bar a faint neon light glowed with a muted brilliance, its light battling the dense shadows that were as thick as smoke. From his left came assorted growls, moans, and monosyllable grunts, accompanied by the muted tinkling of glasses colliding with one another, and the surface of the bar.

“What is this place? What do you want?”

She smiled over the rim of her glass as she took a small sip. Archie followed suit, the amber liquid burning on its journey to his belly, almost taking his breath away, and causing him to choke. That was some powerful stuff.  As the heat faded he detected a nuttiness about it that left a strange aftertaste in his mouth.

“Don’t you remember me?” she said as she lowered her glass to the bar, turning to look up at him with sparkling blue eyes. Her eyes grew brighter, glowing with an internal light. They looked as if sparks were about to start shooting from them.

He shook his head as he tried to recall, the features of her face were familiar, her name playing hide and seek on the tip of his tongue, frustrating him as his thoughts became a muddled morass of shadowy images like the indistinct shapes that jostled around them.

He knew her, he knew he should know her, yet every time he tried to put his finger on that elusive name, to pin it in place long enough for him to grab it, it faded into the crowding darkness that was threatening to overwhelm him from within, and without.

Something bumped into his back and he swiveled his head around, an act that seemed to take impossibly long, and peered into the murky depths that pressed in close on every side of him.

“Hey, watch it,” he said, his words slurred as he peered into the that crowded emptiness. A hand shot out, slapping him across the face, hard, and a memory blossomed. They were supposed to have been home by supper, but hadn’t made it until after dark. He sensed fear and anger, tempered with a touch of love and caring, all battling for dominance. Something could have happened to you, the sensation trickled through his thoughts as the memory that didn’t belong to him faded into the shadowy recesses.

He spun back around, intent on finding out once and for all who she was, but she had vanished. Her empty stool remained, glowing in a soft light that held the crowding shadows at bay. He spun round on his seat searching for her in the murkiness that was gathering even closer around him. Dark shapes moved through the emptiness, bustling and jostling for position as ebony hands darted out of the shadows to snatch at him. He slapped at the shadow hands that reached out for him.

Spinning around on his stool he reached for the baby monitor as a pair of black hands emerged from the darkness to grab it.  Each finger was tipped by an ebony claw that clicked against the plastic case with a sound reminiscent of a bird pecking at a window.

“Archie,” Pat’s voice shrieked from the monitor and he struggled to pull it loose from those shadowy hands as one of the claws raked his hand, laying open his finger that bled onto the white surface of the monitor, staining it with his blood. 

He yanked on it with all he had, pulling it free, his actions causing him to spin around in his seat and slam his elbow against the side of the phone booth. Pain shot down to his hand as numbness danced through his fingers. He dropped the baby monitor with a clatter. He looked around wildly, searching for shadows that weren’t there as the realization slowly dawned that he was still sitting in the phone booth.

It had been a dream bordering on a nightmare.

“Archie,” Pat cried out again, her voice tinny, and filled with static, coming from the plastic grill of the monitor lying on the floor at his feet. 

It was just a dream, he sought to console himself. All the stress he’d been feeling coupled with his horror at his recent revelation had given him a nightmare.

“Archie,” she cried out for a third time, driving him up from his seat, and he pulled open the door of the phone booth. As he did he noticed the small cut on his finger, already starting to scab over, and a cold fear slowly unwound in the pit of his belly.

It had been a dream, right?  He sought to convince himself.

To be continued!

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