It's You

Disclaimer: The following story contains themes of death, violence and gore. Reader discretion is advised.

The clang of yesterday’s dishes coming out of the dishwasher filled the air of my silent kitchen. The only sound in the entire house, unless you counted the hum of the furnace kicking on, on this unseasonably cool spring morning. As I continue with the housework, I am interrupted by a shiver that runs down my spine and a vision flashes before my eyes.

In slow motion, I watch as my hand reaches into the dishwasher and pulls out a knife by the blade. A spilling of red ichor erupts from my flesh, it drips into the open dishwasher, down the dishes, and onto the floor.

 

Suddenly, I am watching from outside of my body as I usually do in these daydreams.

I watch myself collapse to the kitchen floor. Then step closer and continue to observe as the pool of my blood spreads across the kitchen tiles around my unconscious body.

But my awe at the scene before me is short-lived as a figure emerges from the shadows.

  

A man in black dress pants and a blue-black dress shirt that hangs open at the collar approaches. He runs a hand through his thick, onyx-black hair as he saunters up to the growing pool of my blood. The toes of his Allen Edmonds lick the edge of the puddle as he crouches over my unmoving body.

 

I watch from alongside him, as his remorseful grey eyes rake over my lifeless form. 

 

His square jaw clenches and pinches his face into an expression of regret. Then he turns and his steely eyes land on the real me, as I stand over the eery scene.

 

I shiver under his appraising gaze.

 

His sorrowful grey eyes meet mine, his lips turn downward in anguish as they part and he murmurs, “I’m sorry.” Then rises into a standing position, looming over me as he continues to appraise the me. Gently, he uses a single calloused finger to lift my chin as he leans in to meet my waiting lips with his. Our connection feels like it might suck the very essence of my being out of me and I’m happy to allow it.

In the blink of an eye, I am back in my kitchen, standing over the open dishwasher.

I glance around, half expecting the man from my daydream to still be present.

More like wishing he was. But as usual he’s gone.

I brace my hands on the kitchen counter to steady myself. Still blinking away the traces of my reverie, my fingers trace my lips in memory.

With a long sigh, I return to unloading the dishwasher.

As I put away the last of the dishes a new sensation washes over me and suddenly I find my eyes drawn to the backdoor.

There stands a strange man whose grey eyes meet mine through the windowpane.  A wisp of his onyx-black hair hangs over his furrowed brow, drawing me into his steely gaze. He appraises me with a sullen expression, his face pulled tight in analysis.

He swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob with unease,  my eyes travel down to his blue-black dress shirt that hangs open at the collar with a few buttons left undone.

“It’s you.” The words leave my lips before I even know what I’m saying. 

Then my feet act on their own accord and lead me to the backdoor, I unlock it and it swings open as he slowly steps inside.

“I’m sorry, but I had to come.” He apologizes, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob in discomfort again.

“I know,” I mumble in a breathless voice as my eyes land on his steely gaze. I find myself paralyzed in his presence, unable to comprehend how he is standing before me in this moment.

A cool breeze rushes inside and pulls a few strands of my auburn hair across my face. I blink in response and suddenly a series of visions flash before my eyes.

I’m standing at the top of the stairs, looking over a familiar scene from my daydreams.

I see my lifeless body in a crumpled mess at the bottom of the stairs. My neck twisted at an unnatural angle, and my arms and legs folded around me like a broken cocoon.

I watch as the stranger from my kitchen steps toward my broken form at the bottom of the stairs.

 

He crouches alongside my mangled body, his hand gently caresses my cheek and then his glassy grey eyes shift to look up at the real me. 

 

From where I watch at the top of the stairs, I shiver under his mournful gaze.

 

Then the reverie changes and suddenly I am sitting in the passenger seat of my Jeep Wrangler, looking at my unmoving body in the driver’s seat. My pale green eyes are wide open and my mouth agape as my head rests on the steering wheel. Blood trickles from the corner of my mouth, down my chin. A stray tear breaks from my unblinking eyes and makes a trail down my cheek.

 

But a gentle finger wicks it away with care.

 

My eyes comb over the owner’s hand, up the sleeve of his blue-black dress shirt and then meet his sorrowful grey eyes. His lips form a tight line in a remorseful expression. As he looks back at me, I shiver under his watchful grey eyes, once more.

 

Then I am one with the mist in my mind as the vision changes.

I find myself in the middle of a street near my home. I glance around, unable to locate what tragedy has befallen me in this daydream. Until I see a stopped car in the middle of the road, steam coming off of the dented hood. As I approach, I remember this one and know exactly what I’ll find behind the car.

Just passed the rear bumper, my feet freeze in place as I take in the sight of my mangled body, a mess of cuts, scrapes and blood. My limbs splayed out in awkward angles as I lay there unmoving, eyes wide open and staring at the sky above.

  

As expected, the man appears, just as he always does.

Suddenly I am at his side as he kneels beside my corpse, his onyx-black hair drapes around his face as he looms over my deceased body. Gently raising his hand to my eyes and sliding them shut with care, his Adam’s apple bobs with discomfort once more.

Then he turns his gaze to me, kneeling alongside him, his glassy grey eyes meet mine and once more, he says, “I’m sorry.”

With the blink of an eye, I am suddenly back in my kitchen. Standing at the backdoor with the stranger from my daydreams.

He reaches up and brushes the hair from my face, careful to tuck it behind my ear.

“Do you know who I am?” His melodic, deep voice purrs and his grey eyes search mine for an answer.

I nod, unable to speak his name aloud. “You’re here to collect me,” I mutter, reaching behind myself to untie my apron.

He nods in confirmation. Again, his Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps down his discomfort.

I toss my apron into a nearby chair. “I’m ready,” I state, steeling myself for whatever comes next.

“Are you not afraid?” He asks as one of his dark brows hooks upwards in intrigue.

His steely grey eyes lighten in curiosity as he appraises me, tucking his hands tucking in the pockets of his black dress pants.

“Should I be?” I counter, cocking my head to the side.

A charmed smile crosses his lips as he chuckles in approval. “I don’t think so,” He croons, his steel-grey eyes twinkling at me in anticipation.

I shift nervously in my stance, waiting to see what comes next.

“Come on, then.” He requests as he offers out a hand for me to take. Still wearing the charmed smile that makes his grey eyes sparkle at me with excitement.

I grasp his warm, calloused hand and allow him to pull me out of the backdoor, making my final departure.