Entangled Souls

Chapter 1

John stood at the bridge, bored, and watched the countless fish in the river snapping at bread crumbs as he tossed them in regular intervals. Yet another of those endless, listless Sundays. If only it were Monday, he thought. Then at least he wouldn't have to kill the hours alone just to put his dismal free time behind him. The days in the office were much more preferable to these wretched Sundays. He was probably the only person in this damn world who thought so. Nothing had been the way it once was since Rosie left him. He could so clearly remember how, one year before, her approachable manner allowed him to finally crawl out of his shell. But her efforts didn't last long. She soon grew vapid, bored in his presence. He just did not have the drive or the power to enjoy the beautiful, exciting things in life with her. After everything that had befallen him before they first met, he was content keeping things to himself. He couldn't change his spots, although it did not escape him how much she suffered for it. His constant ill temper and spells of depression exhausted her, and she had explained this to him. She just wanted to live and could no longer bear being dragged down with him. Then what had to happen, happened. One day after another, she packed her things and vanished. She always made it unmistakably clear when she concretely stated that he was not to look for her, to never contact her by phone. She had had enough of him. Maybe it was his lot in life to scrape out his existence as a loner and a pariah.

When all the bread was gone and the fish had swum off every which way, John left the bridge and set off toward his empty, desolate apartment. After he became newly single, he had nothing left in the tiny apartment he furnished with Rosie. He was a second away from going in the wrong direction and taking the bus into a different part of town. Before the automatic doors shut, he managed to step off and go in the right direction. Arriving home, he collapsed onto his threadbare couch, irritated, and turned on the television with the knowledge that the programs airing would not interest him. But better to flip through the different channels than nothing at all. How many hours would he have to carry on like this before he could go to sleep without feeling awful? Five endless hours!

"Well, you loser. Are you lying around like a beaten dog in front of the tube again?"

John looked in the direction from which the voice had stemmed. As always it sounded unfriendly, but he expected nothing else.

"Just leave me alone," he tiredly whispered.

"Never," the voice breathed directly into his ear.

John could actually feel the humid breath. The thrill left him with goose bumps on his arms. He shuddered and began to lightly shiver. The loud, sardonic laughter pierced right through him. He desperately held his hands over his ears and tightly closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear or see any more. When would this nightmare finally end?

"Go away!" he screamed hysterically into the room. John could distinctly remember when he was first harassed by his presence. As now, he was standing casually in the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. Although John could only make out a blurry image of the figure - like the monochrome picture of a flickering television - he knew immediately that it was his dead brother. Of course it was clear to him that he was hallucinating, but even after trying multiple times to rub his eyes awake, it was always the same. The apparition, unchanging before his eyes, was definitely Christopher, his brother who died tragically three years before.

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It happened during a sailing trip in Croatia, an annual tradition they had long carried out together. On the day it happened, a storm was forecast but they still wanted to journey out. It couldn't be that bad. They were both highly seasoned sailors and they loved it when the sea was a bit more raw. Yet the waves broke stronger, the boat was struggling. John took the helm while Christopher overtook the head sail. A gigantic wave slapped over the boat and it was on the verge of tipping over. Only because of the helmsman's quick reaction a capsize could be prevented. However, after the sailboat regained its position on the water, Christopher was gone. John conducted one man-overboard maneuver after another, but his brother was gone without a trace. He was never found. Every day since, John bore the guilt for this tragedy. He was the older of the two and he alone carried the responsibility. Had they heeded the warning from the harbor master's office and not swept it under the rug, his younger brother would still be alive. Since this accident, he lost a lot of sleep and shed over 20 pounds. He could almost be considered gaunt, and his visage was everything but healthy. Not that he looked terrible - he had always been an attractive man - but his joie de vivre had almost entirely been sapped from him. That his parents had completely broken off contact with him was another nail in the coffin. Up until the accident, he had always enjoyed a good relationship with them.

Even considering that Christopher had been the favorite since he was born, John could live happily. But after the death of his younger brother, everything changed. His mother could no longer bear to look at him and his father always disappeared into his workshop when he came to visit. After a few months he gave up. He has not tried talking to them since. The Family chapter of his life had definitively ended. Except for his brother of course, who would not let him go.

The first meeting with his deceased brother shook John to the core. Moreso, it unnerved him to the extreme. Was this the first sign of insanity? His intensive Internet research showed that people who have been severely traumatized at a young age sometimes develop so-called dissociative personality disorder. It also said that those affected could thus separate themselves from the horrible occurrences that they need to overcome. Christopher had been visiting him for two years, giving him Hell about having to get his life together again. But how was he to ever live a normal life when two voices in his head were calling the shots?