Phrontistery Of Monster Kind - Six Feet Deep

Chapter 34

I packed up the last of the files, ensuring the CD was put in fully intact. Though the woman stayed a mystery, I was okay with it remaining as such as I prayed I would for him.

None of this mattered now. He made his choice and I've made mine. And though my heart still pained me, this would be for the best. Immortality should not be trifled with, and love, no matter how bizarre or powerful, does not bode well for the few who can't expire. One time was proof enough.

Mors had learnt this with Deborah, and was still caught in the web of the aftereffects. I wasn't a mayfly. With all the time in the world, there was no time for crushes.

I would keep telling myself that until I believed it.

Twenty years, the man had dangled on, preoccupying himself by teaching. At some point it was pathetic.

But I found myself in a situation, one I judged many weeks ago. Who would destroy something that someone loved? The answer, me.

I could still fix my mistake, return the files in the dead of night. Then, only I could judge my sins.

When I was in the clear, everything can go back to how it once was. I could go back to day one.

But when it came down to doing it, it didn't seem so easy.

I crept silently down the hall, my heart pounding in my ears. I knew that I shouldn't be there, but something deep inside me drove me on. It seemed so easy when I took it. But there was no guarantee that the office was clear. It was after his duty, as the hours beyond that were a mystery to me. Unless I was there with him, relaxing and venting about the day with a glass of wine in my hand. It didn't help that the night was eerily quiet, like a graveyard for lost secrets. My destination loomed ahead, and the stolen files hidden under my shirt, creeping like a million burning eyes were on my back.

My steps dragged, each one feeling like a burden, as if with every step, I was inching closer to my demise. My heals abandoned in my own office, the only protection from the carpet floor was my pantyhose.

My hand trembled as I reached out and slowly opened the door. With great apprehension, I stepped inside the room and quickly closed the door behind me before anyone could notice.

The room seemed different somehow– darker and heavier than usual. Or perhaps it was just because of the fear gripping my chest tightly? Either way, it took every ounce of strength not to turn around and run away again.

I expected a shadowy figure to loom over me, haunt me like those who dared defile the room's owner. But there was no boogeyman, no sinister smile wearing figure, just me and the door labelled with his name.

I fumbled with the door for a moment before finally unlocking it. Then, with a trembling hand, I set the files down gently on Mors' desk before backing out of the office slowly. To the side, placed near a cigarette box (the type without the anti-smoking packaging), was my Zippo. I nabbed it back, stashing it in my pocket for a later date.

I caught sight of the scrunch up poem I shoved in his hands when I ran off. Beside it was one of his own.

My hand reached out, almost touching it and the secrets that laid within.

With a hesitant pause that filled the air and uncertainty in my heart, my fingers remained trembling over the paper. Should I indulge in the hidden words and the vulnerability that would be held within those lines?

Between the two of us, there would be centuries of penned up emotions. But the love I yearned for wasn't for him, was it? It's hard to tell these days.

I retracted my hand and let the poem lie. Some boundaries were not meant to be overstepped, and I already had too many times this trimester. It wasn't meant to be. So, it shall remain unread, as my words should never have been said.

It wasn't the only piece of paper that caught my eye. On his desk were sticky notes scattered with various words from a foreign language, one he shouldn't know and one I knew all too well. Two were repeated, Avenge Muriel.

Shit.

One, the original was stuck onto a police file on Ralph. The officer in charge must have asked for Mors' help translating.

I backed up, catching a printout of the defaced whiteboard from my old classroom. There were more versions underneath with the words traced out in each language, all saying the same thing: Go Home. With each traced out it was easy to read, so I could ignore the man's scribbles in red marker. All the languages we taught-

"That isn't good."

I stopped flipping, dropping the papers on the desk.

The language of the forest was clearly marked out in all the mess. That couldn't be, only a few spoke it nowadays. The text read like all the others, but it didn't belong here. Simon shouldn't know it.

I stumbled back, leaving and never turning around until after I had locked the door behind me once more.

Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief; one that seemed almost impossible until that very moment– one that told me that this dark deed had finally been complete, and justice served. It didn't feel like it, not with the name of an ex-lover scattered all over my current infatuation's desk.