Stasi
Chapter 10
Stasi
1 Day Dead
They say love makes us do terrible things. But what about obsession?
According to Dr. Daniels, love fills you; obsession takes everything you have.
Love brings you to life; obsession has you running head-on into the tunnels of madness.
Before I’d been able to find my way back to the surface; I was equipped with the tools I needed—my goddess, my coping mechanisms. Seeing Becca give in to him, like that, has tipped me over the edge. I’ve descended without food, a light, or any sense of direction. I’ve disappeared into the complex chambers of the cave system that is our past. At the heart of it is complete darkness. There are only my thoughts of her. The bitterness of tainted memories on my tongue. She stole my sanity with the very first hello, sucked it right down inside her, and now everything is dark.
I wake much like my last living memory—cold and heartbroken.
I thought my death would be peaceful. Drifting away in the bed I’d shared with my wife over a lifetime of love and happy memories. But it was nothing like that picture-perfect dream of the hopeless romantic I’d been. It was bloody and worse, the woman I thought would hold my hand as I took my last breath stood by and did nothing.
It’s true that I’m partly at fault; my miscalculation, my underestimation , led to my death. But that’s where my portion of the blame ends; it’s only the beginning of the nightmare. Even the cut of the blade opening me up, violating the ink that I’d carefully chosen to decorate my throat, is hardly worth mentioning at this point. Because the worst of it, the real violence against me, was watching through hazy, tear-clouded eyes, as she resigned herself to his actions, and allowed herself to be complacent in my death.
That’ll fucking undo me if I let it. But I won’t make the mistake of allowing myself to be vulnerable around her again.
This whole time I’ve been viewing the picture of our relationship all wrong. Painted by children’s fingers, I interpreted the ambiguous shapes as love that needed a second chance. Viewing it through the other side of the blood-spattered looking glass of the afterlife, I see now the messy splatter of heartbreak and broken promises that should have been left in the past. The whole thing is like some fucked up Rorschach test. I’d truly believed that Becca’s betrayal all those years ago was a mistake. The choice of a terrified child. Now I see it for what it really is; the decision of someone whose self-preservation is what matters above all else. The indicator of a selfish fucking bitch .
As much as I hate myself for being so goddamned na?ve, there’s something I hate more, Becca.
I get to my knees ready to make her regret what she’s done, but there’s a magnet tugging at my spine, begging me to turn around, to come closer. Slowly, so slowly, like a rusted wheel with worn-down rubber, I turn and see the freshly planted rose bushes. The markers of my grave. I don’t know what’s worse, the trellis-covered bench that insinuates this space will be used for leisure or the fucking bird bath in its unassuming innocence.
The scene is quite possibly the most macabre sight I’ve ever beheld. This is the shit people would write darkly romantic poetry about. The girl buried beneath the rose bushes. That kind of eternal infamy would be better than this half-assed gesture to show some semblance of respect for me. Unfortunately for her, she’s not getting off that easy. Not after I was ready to get Nate out of the way for her, not after I made the ultimate sacrifice for her .
If you’d told me all those years ago that the girl with rainy-day eyes and a smile better than sunshine would be my downfall, I wouldn’t have believed you. She was the best thing that’d ever walked into my life. She loved me . . . at one point, at least. Until loving me became dangerous. Until loving me became a sacrifice.
She has something in common with my mother.
Some people just aren’t cut out for it. Maybe I’m not either. Because I’m starting to think that maybe this thing I called love all these years isn’t, not really. It’s not a thing of writing sweet letters or wishing the best for someone even though it didn’t work out with you.
No; it’s not that tender thing at all. It’s an affliction of hunger that’s left me starved and stealing. I’ve gorged myself on her, but nothing is enough.
Just one more refresh of her feed.
Just one last drive past her house.
Just one more time falling apart with her name on my lips.
Then I’ll let her go. Then I’ll set myself free.
But I didn’t keep that promise to myself or Dr. Daniels—not that I really give a shit what she thinks. One more time turned into three more times and then ten. After the first day I lost count.
Maybe it’s because all I got was scraps of her. Not from her. Of her.
She never looked for me long enough to realize I was down there beneath her table. Lurking, begging an unknowing hand to drop something that would satiate this empty, growling heart of mine.
The problem is, the scraps didn’t nourish me; they turned mealy in my mouth, were bitter on my tongue, and were rotten through and through.
With her toxic love, she’s poisoned me and turned me into something I don’t even recognize. The only thing I do know is that I’m done with her bullshit. I rise from the dead like a demonic entity ready to make Becca’s life a living hell.
Navigating through the Murphy house is like riding a bike. It’s been many years since I’ve been here, the pictures on the walls are different, and the furniture is updated, but I could walk these halls with my eyes closed. Within a minute, I’m standing outside Becca’s cracked bedroom door.
I’m about to shove it open when my eyes catch on the strand of butterfly charms that hang from the handle. The little bells might be a bit rusty, and the beads have faded over the years, but there’s no mistaking the gift I’d bought her on one of my family trips over a decade ago. Before I can think better of it, I reach for it, the metallic tinkling ruins the element of surprise.
“What the hell was that?” A man’s voice grunts from inside.
Becca lets out a long sigh that covers her footsteps, so when she pulls the door open, I let out a gasp of surprise. But she doesn’t notice, she looks through me, down the hall searching for the source of the sound.
I guess being dead isn’t all that different—I’m still invisible to her. Using that to my advantage, I slip past her before she shuts the door behind her. In my haste, I don’t chance a look around and find myself running right through Nate who’s hovering around the door.
A full-body shiver courses through both of us for very different reasons. There isn’t time to fully process the fear and loathing that seeing him stirs up, because he’s crowding her, forcing her back up against the door, and despite everything that’s transpired, my instincts are rioting within me to keep him away from her. My first thought is to protect her of all things.
I reject the impulse and remain where I am. This isn’t my problem anymore; they made sure of that when they put me in the ground.
“I promise; I didn’t do anything,” Becca resumes their conversation. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Nate.” She tugs at the jewelry that adorns her left ear.
“You’re telling me that you didn’t send all that shit to the dean? You really expect me to believe that you’re not the one trying to get the fraternity disbanded.” He towers over her. “Who’d have a better reason than you?”
I bark a laugh. Could this be some tiny taste of justice? He thought killing me would save his ass, but maybe my goddess didn’t abandon me after all. If she’s turned her vengeance on him on my behalf, his life is falling into chaos. Aphrodite doesn’t take kindly to people mistreating her devotees, and nobody is more deserving than him.
“It wasn’t me.” Her words are jittery with the nervousness that’s vibrating through her. You have to believe me,” she insists. Her fists ball into his shirt and my stomach turns with the potency of her desperation. “You have far more incriminating evidence on me. Why would I risk pissing you off?”
Everything is silent and still for several seconds, all the swirling emotions cloying the air.
A bitter laugh breaks the eerie quietness, but it only puts her more on edge. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. It was your little fucking girlfriend wasn’t it?”
“My—” realization flashes across Becca’s face and she pales even further. “She wasn’t my girlfriend. I barely even knew her. Why would she do this?”
“Wouldn’t she?” Nate finally gives her some space to breathe, turning his back to her as he paces. “You can’t really be that fucking oblivious, can you?” He casts a withering look over his shoulder.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Haven’t you wondered at all why she was here in the first place?” He takes a step back in her direction. “She was in my back seat waiting for me when I left.”
Becca’s brows tense with confusion. He takes another step forward.
“That bitch held a knife to my throat; she was ready to spill my blood for you.”
Her mouth opens and closes, words evading her completely.
“She was here for you under the pretense of protecting you, but make no mistake, she was intent on having you to herself.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Nothing was going on between us.” She pleads her case.
Nate doesn’t respond right away; he peers down at her daring her to lie. “For your sake, you better be telling the fucking truth.”
“You have to believe me. Whatever she did or didn’t do has nothing to do with me.”
“I guess we’ll see.” With one more look at her, he storms out.
He might be done with her for now, but I’m not done with him. I want that motherfucker to pay. Being dead limits my options, but if the movies taught me anything, it’s that you shouldn’t underestimate a vengeful ghost.
Taking off after him, I chase him through the yard. He doesn’t even suspect me coming as I gain ground on him. Just a few more feet to go, and then his ass is mine. I can almost taste the satisfaction of a bit of revenge when I reach the curb, but as I go to step off, he’s ripped out of my line of sight.
In a disorienting flurry of confusion, I find myself reeling in Becca’s backyard.
What the actual fuck was that?
I race back to the front yard, but as soon as I round the corner of the house, I can tell his car’s gone. Still, I’m determined to pursue him down the street. I won’t go quietly into the silent night of death.
Avoiding that section of the curb, I cut across the driveway. He’s just a few houses down, I’m still hopeful I can catch up to him. That little bit of optimism is cast into the wind when I’m once again tumbling through time and space, ending up right back where I started.
I let out a shriek of fury at the realization. Being bound to this property for an eternity is a special kind of sentence. What had I ever done to deserve this shit?
So what if I did some light stalking? Maybe I fucked a dozen or so more people than was socially acceptable? Maybe I’d been envious and obsessive, and sometimes even ruthless in my pursuit of love, but I’d never really done anything that bad. I mean, sure, I might have toyed with the idea of murdering Nate. That might not have been my best moment, but I certainly don’t regret it. And most importantly, I wasn’t successful.
The punishment doesn’t fit the crime. That’s one of those universal truths about life though, isn’t it? Things rarely work out fairly.
It’s definitely not fucking fair that I’m going to be forced to watch the woman I loved move on with her life while I’m stuck here rotting.
Fuck her.
I tried to help her, I knowingly put myself at risk, and all she could do for me was plant some rose bushes. Rose bushes that, of course, serve her.
I should dig those motherfuckers up. I should expose her for what she really is. I should show everyone what she’s done.
I should.
My fingers claw beneath stones, sink into dirt, tear it up, make a mess just for the chaos of it. Gathering up as much dirt as I can possibly carry, I get back to my feet. Through the red haze of anger that surrounds me, tinges of guilt sting me as I realize dirt is dropping all over the clean floors, but I continue to Becca’s room anyway. Kicking her door open, I stomp over to her bed and drop the heap right in the middle.
In my eagerness to punish her, I hadn’t considered that she might be here to witness my destruction, but the room is empty. The whole house is empty. Instead of being disappointed, it inspires me further. I don’t stop until her perfectly made bed—with its comforter pulled tight and the decorative pillows piled just so—is covered in dirt. As I wait for her to return, the mess I made seeps into the fabric, moisture spreading into a large damp spot that’s a beautiful sight that turns her comforter an ugly brown.
As I sit here, I take in just how much Becca’s room has changed since the last sleepover I had here. Gone is the pink and white decor of her pre-teen years; it’s been upgraded to the more elevated green and white palette with touches of purple. Soft, earthy, and feminine. Plants and vines hang from the ceiling, butterfly knick-knacks hide amongst shelves, and fairy lights drape from her curtains and headboard, creating a whimsical escape. It feels like the Becca I knew, but seeing her through this new lens, it’s a little too wholesome for a woman who’s willing to cover up a murder.
The room is cast in the orange glow of sunset when she finally returns, the horror on her face illuminated in red and orange shadows. Her distressed gasp is the cherry on top of my antagonistic sundae. I take a long sip of the furrow of her brows, the fear in her eyes, and the shaking of her willowy limbs.
“What. The. Fuck.” She drops her bag and runs to the backyard. I follow her at a leisurely stroll, knowing she’ll be out there for a bit if she hopes to get it all nice and tidy before her family returns. Hoisting myself up on the kitchen island, I have a great view of the backyard and the rest of the kitchen and dining room where most of the dirt dropped.
“God dammit. What the hell happened?” I can hear Becca grumbling to herself as she works diligently to restore her little cover-up job. Sighs and grunts of frustration punctuate sniffles and whimpers of fear to make a lovely melody that I thoroughly enjoy while she frets over the mess I’ve made.
“If Mom and Dad ask what happened, I’ll just tell them a possum got into it or something. It’s fine,” Becca mumbles to herself. “ Everything’s fine ,” she says with more finality like she’s trying to convince herself.
Too bad for her, if it’s up to me, she won’t get away with what she’s done. But I’m going to play with her a bit first. I might be the one in hell, but I’m happy to bring purgatory to her.