Torn Apart

One Man's Peace of Mind

The kitchen table. He had to get back to the table. The round wooden kitchen table, not the gray rectangle spread out behind him.

"Mr. Pepper, please. The door is locked, we're not going to unlock it. Take a seat."

Take a seat. Yes. But this wasn't the kitchen table. Maybe they didn't understand that this table was different. It was the kitchen table he was supposed to be at. Then it wouldn't matter if he stood or sat, because he would be at the kitchen table. Where he was supposed to be.

"Don't bother, Stan. I've tried everything in the book. Good cop. Bad cop. Even long-lost relative for the heckuvit. This guy's not there upstairs. I think he's a legit insanity plea."

"That's for the lawyers to sort out, not us."

"Has he even asked for a lawyer?"

"What do you think? He just keeps muttering 'kitchen table' over and over."

Yes. Kitchen table. They understood. He had to get back to it. But the door was locked. It wasn't a door in his house. How far was he from the kitchen table?

"What about the Missus?"

"She's a murder plea with no backup. Says she's behind the Juvie Hall massacre. Says she has a sonic weapon, but it broke, and we're lucky she can't use it on us anymore."

"Well, was a sonic weapon in the jails alright. Didja hear the rumors? Footage killed three investigators 'til they figured it out and ran it through distortion. But how'd she get there so fast from Juvie Hall to the nuthouse? And she'd set off a weapon with her kid in lockup? I'm tellin' you, it doesn't feel right."

None of this was as important as getting back to the kitchen table. What was it going to take to convince them he had to get back there?

"Aw cripes, he's bangin' into the door. Stan, we're not gonna get anything outta this guy. Can we just take him back to the cell?"

"I guess."

The com blared. If it wasn't about the kitchen table, he really, really didn't want to hear it.

"Stan. Ford. We got a weird one. Teles Pepper is using her phone call on Timothy Pepper. Wiring through to the room phone."

"Still no lawyer? What is it with these two?"

She was going to tell him he was supposed to be at the kitchen table. He was trying, but nobody would listen. How many days, now? He'd failed so miserably. A plastic handset pressed against his ear. One order, one simple order he couldn't-

"Páfsi."

His knees sagged out from under him, sending him to the floor on all fours like an animal.

Enough. He'd learned the meaning of every word she'd first spoken to him on the island where he'd found her. Enough. He did not need to be at the kitchen table.

Hands grabbed him, trying to pull him back up. He snatched at the phone, pressing it to his ear and rasping into the receiver, "Why Dulcie?"

"You won't understand, Timothy." The tone through the phone stopped him. He hadn't heard her like this since she told him she was pregnant for the third time. "Hades would be kinder to her than Demeter."

"Demeter?" he ran a hand through his hair. "What are you talking about?"

"I tried to send her to Hades. I tried so many times, but the curse wouldn't let her die, like it wouldn't let me die. And I tried to tell you to run at the very start, but it was too late. The curse chose you for this punishment. I'm sorry."