An Axis Oblique - Chapter Three

You asked for it. Okay, maybe not in so many words but I know you were thinking it. So here you go, no need to keep persturing me. Chapter Three of my horror-epic, An Axis Oblique, for which, incidentally, I've been sending out queries again after a fairly lengthy hiatus. For earlier entries, please check the Post Index over there on your right.


–– Three ––

Just a few hours before his death, Henry McAllister had the Grand Slam Breakfast at Denny’s, right off the Langferth Expressway. Normally, the cholesterol alone would have dissuaded him, but on this particular morning, heightened anxiety had trumped other considerations. It was time, he thought, soaking up the last of his syrup with a half a piece of toast. It had been a good four, maybe five minutes since he looked her straight in the eye; Abigail Waike, sipping her steaming hot tea. She really was a sweet kid. And part of him really hated himself. It’s not that he meant to hurt anyone. He had a disease.
“I don’t think we should see each other any more.” There, he said it. It was out there at last. Poor thing. She was looking at him with those pouty, puppy dog eyes, which usually made him want to ravage her but––no––must stay strong. “Please say something.”
Her expression changed.
“What do you want me to say?”
She had to have seen this coming. Not today perhaps. Or any time soon. But surely somewhere down the line.
“Sweetheart this isn’t about you,” he attempted clumsily. “It’s about––”
“I love you, Henry.” She interrupted him, then paused, probably just for effect. And, though tempted, Henry held his tongue. “If you can honestly say that you don’t love me back…well…I guess that’ll be that.”
“Abi, honey, you’re my hygienist.” He stopped. What more was there to say? “Look, you know I’m married. And you… You’re a beautiful, smart, sexy…sexy…sexy girl…” Off-track, off-track, off-track. “What I’m trying to say is…you’ll have no trouble attracting the right kind of guy.” About to break in, he held up his finger–– “I have to make it work with my family. My boys…are the most important thing in the world to me, you know that.” He sighed. “Then, of course, there’s Mary…”
“The Ice Queen,” she murmured. “I thought you ‘fell out of love’ with her…”
“I thought maybe I had, but…she has her reasons for being angry, believe me…”
It was almost as though he believed himself for the very first time.
“So that’s it then…”
“I’m afraid so. I’m sorry.” Next came the uncomfortable silence. “If you like, I can write you a killer referral with Dr. Abbott. Seriously, the man owes me a––” Oops.
“Thanks.” She snipped; the last straw.
“I am sorry, Abigail. Please believe that. If there’s anything I can do––”
“I’d say you’ve done enough.” She folded her hands on the table. “Now I’d like to be alone, if you don’t mind…”
Beautiful.
Henry stood from the table and reached into his back pocket. “Say no more.”
All in all, he was grateful to her for not making a scene; (one of the reasons he’d suggested this very public venue to begin with). Thank God he’d asked her to mail that little letter to Leon back at the office, putting to rest yet another ugly chapter in his personal book of shame.
The ordeal had gone much smoother than he’d any right to anticipate. There was anger, sure; hurt, guilt; perhaps even a little betrayal...but to his reasonable astonishment, she’d taken the whole thing like a grownup. Better than some grownups he knew.
By the time he got out to the parking lot, he’d already begun to reconsider. Perhaps he was giving himself too much credit. She was a very attractive girl, after all, who’d likely broken her share of hearts along the way. She’ll be fine, he unlocked his whipped-cream white S-120 from half an aisle down, repeating the silent mantra all the way inside, pulling out and due north onto Bluemont Drive.
He still had a good deal of growing up to do, but he felt a weight lifted and longed to hold onto the feeling. With nearly two hours to his next appointment, he decided to get in some holiday shopping before heading back to the office. Things were gonna be different, he sternly proclaimed, circling the lot for a space, and in his mind, it was already true. After all, he’d been strong so far with Cynthia, despite clear opportunity. Yes sir. Henry was going to grow up if it killed him.
It was just wrong, what he’d had with Abigail, and he’d always known that. She was just so…there. And life with Mary could be so…predictable. ‘Boring’ was the only real word for it. He meant every word at the restaurant. Mary was the most patient soul he’d ever known and over the years, had a million and one reasons to leave––and only two to stay. Granted, those two carried considerable weight, but there were plenty of women out there who would’ve opted for personal happiness over a sham-marriage any day.
Jessica Todd came as close as anyone to breaking up their not-so-happy home for good. What happened to her was a tragedy, and not a day went by when he didn’t wonder what might have been if he hadn’t––a thought that usually kept him up at night…
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His blinker was clearly blinking when some hipster college-boy in a trendy Mini Cooper, (not the Classic, mind you; one of those new plastic knock-offs), slipped right into his space from nowhere. Henry leaned on the horn a good ten seconds before begrudgingly moving on.
This is hopeless, he thought, adjusting the heat to his liking. He would be damned if he was going to walk up from half a mile out. Driving up one of Lot Purple A’s many crowded aisles, he noticed a white minivan with its reverse lights on. No time to be diplomatic. With the skill of a Formula One driver, he threw the standard transmission into the reverse position and backed his way down the aisle, cutting off the car behind him in the process. A loud honk let him know it.
“Okay, guess I deserved that...” he maintained, doing almost ten now, backwards all the way to the other end of the fifty-car stretch. And just as he came within a few dozen feet, a faded-gray, piece of shit Buick signaled its intention to move in on his territory. “Oh no. No fucking way, pal!” he declared, flooring it as a Dodge Caravan unintentionally ran defense.
Mr. Buick didn’t like it one bit. Henry could see him ranting through the rear-view mirror. For a second, he thought the large driver might get out of his car, but seeing a space on the other side of the aisle must have made him think twice, (though he made sure Henry could see his lewd finger as he drove off to go after it).
On the short walk inside, he again thought of Jessica. She would have been thirty next month.
_____
“Do you love me?” she once asked out of thin air.
“Well, I…I care about you, Jessica, you know that. I care about you a lot.”
“But do you love me? As in the way you used to love your wife.”
“I think that’s a little different. She and I were in the same place when we fell in love. We had our whole lives ahead of us. With you and I it’s…well, more of a spiritual connection, don’t you think?” She didn’t respond. “To answer your question, though, of course I do. You make me so happy, hon. Happier than I ever thought I could be...”
Things just weren’t quite the same between them. Not since ‘the scare.’ He could still see the pain in her eyes; every time he closed his own––and Mary, on the night she confronted them. The bitterness. The resentment. The betrayal.
Looking around her immaculately clean apartment that afternoon, he’d wondered just how often she went around with a duster––before noticing what had somehow escaped him till right about then. The bookshelves. They were…emptier. The walls…bearer… And then there were the two empty boxes in the hall near the bedroom.
“I’m leaving,” she said, and he stood from her sunken half-sofa. He recognized her tone; one he had tendency to use himself when he knew it was time to move on.
_____
Unlike all the others, he believed himself when he told her he loved her. Not necessarily more than his wife––only different. She’d had it all planned out; resignation typed-up and on his desk at the office; a suitcase packed and ready; a full tank of gas for the four hour drive to her sister’s in Rochester; and most important of all, the courage, which had been building for months; to make a clean break––
until he so selfishly stopped her––
Somehow, he’d managed to make his needs, his desires, his priorities more important than her own. Perhaps if he hadn’t been such a self-absorbed son of a bitch; perhaps if he’d put her first just once in all the time they were together, and let her go, she would be here today, or at least somewhere; alive. Sometimes he truly hated himself.
“Hey why don’t you watch it?” someone snapped.
“Sorry…” he mumbled into some idiot with his head down in the housewares department. It was time to get focused …new leaf, new leaf, new leaf…let’s see, new roller blades for Nicky, no brainer, and, um, for Patrick, something Spiderman, easy enough. Mary’s gift would be the toughest. He wanted something sentimental, to remind her of the happy times, but also convey what he felt for her now, after all they’d been through. Better go Tiffany’s…but first something to drink… The aftertaste of morning coffee left his mouth uncomfortably dry.
So he headed out, hanging a right toward the food court.




Thanks for reading. And for those of you who just skimmed it, what's a matter, you too busy? Go back and read it again, I'm very dissapointed in you.

D.A.