Killing Tink

Ch. 19

John entered the back bedroom slowly and silently balancing the plate with one arm and his torso.  He closed the door behind him and clicked the deadbolt into place. For a moment he stood motionless, his back pressed against the door. The thick metal was cool and comforting, a nice contrast to the sticky sweat present on his skin and slowly trickling down his spine.

He inhaled and slowly exhaled. The first few moments were always an assault to his system. It took getting used to, the smell of a body in constant movement in a closed space. It was a type of punishment, and he relished it.

Anything to pay the price, he deserved more. He deserved to crawl deeper into the room on his hands and knees and allow to fulfill her greatest wish. Ripping out his still beating heart and shoving it down his throat. For her it wasn't about causing him pain, or retribution, or even judgement. For her it was about watching the process, and enjoying the moment.

When his nose stopped stinging and the bile that had risen in his throat was manageable, he walked forward. Slowly, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence.

She was curled on the bottom of the cage, naked, covered in filth with new gashes from her nails and teeth covering her arms and legs. The copper tinge of blood mixed with the stale sweat and filth odor and he gaged.

It had been too long. Three days of uncirculated air and abandonment had taken its toll on her. But right now it was Hope that deserved and needed his energy. Hope was salvageable. Hope, even the name he had given her rang of possibility.

When the form didn't move he felt this breath quicken and his heart race. For an instant he dreamt it, her death. Chains and bars empty, disassembled, hidden from the world. It would add to the guilt he lay under. Maybe even be enough to crush him, but it would be over.

"I've brought you food. Potatoes. Your favorite."

Sliding the warm plate into the plate sized slot
In the gate he waited. She was cunning. Always a step ahead, always a quicker thinker. She'd become an animal in more ways than being caged.

"I would have come sooner, but work. And pain. And anger. I hate coming in here. You know that don't you? I hate coming in here more than you hate me coming."

She moved slowly, animalistic, dragging her body toward the plate and slowly putting her nose down to the food before picking up a potato with a hand covered in grime. Dried  blood and worse deeply crammed under nails and John couldn't help envisioning mounds of bacteria being eaten as she shoved fistfuls of food into her mouth.

Her long black greasy hair now a knotted and tangled ball obscured her piercing eyes and he was thankful. It was her eyes that had always made him believe she was human, capable of feeling, emotion, learning.

She pulled herself into a squatting position and shoved the rest of the plates contents into her mouth by the fistful.

"You're going to have to bathe. I can help you, but you'll have to take the medicine first. We can't have another outburst. You understand that. Never again. I'm going to walk to the kitchen and get you a pill. You'll take the pill and I'll get you dessert. When you're relaxed, you'll put your back to the bars and I'll put on the ties. Remember the process?"

Just thinking about the work of getting her clean and bleaching down the bathroom exhausted him. But penance was due and she was his. Punishment for believing, for trusting. For putting important things at risk.

She crawled forward and stuck her face up to the grated bars making direct eye contact and screeched. Releasing a pool of urine that ran down her legs and onto the bottom of the cage.

"Does that make you feel better? It makes me feel better. Because I know you're an animal. Two years ago I wouldn't believe it. But you don't have to prove it anymore. I know."

He backed his feet slowly to the door not losing eye contact until his hip tapped against the sturdy metal. Only with the distance of the room and the safety of the exit did he dare to turn away.

He unlocked the deadbolt and removed his paper shoe-covers before stepping on the pristine wooden floors of the hallway.  Using the key he dead-bolted the door again. No risks. No shortcuts. His heavy steps echoed through the empty silence toward the kitchen.

In the kitchen he took down the bottle of pills from the back corner of the cupboard above the stove. With shaking hands he tried opening the bottle and in a frustrated surge of emotion slammed the bottle against the counter several times before the cap split and white pills cascaded onto the floor.

Kneeling to pick them up he lay his head against the cupboard. He couldn't do it. Not tonight. She could rot in there. Without nothing to lift his head his fingers grazed the ceramic tile until they grasped onto two oblong pills.

He banged his head once against the cupboard  door before groaning and plopping then into his mouth. The bitter taste caused saliva to increase and pool in his mouth, and he swallowed.

With his right hand he pulled himself to a standing position.  Taking off his clothes he made his way to the bathroom. If he hurried, he could scrub himself down and get into his pristine nightclothes before the pills kicked in.

All he needed was a night beside his wife. One dreamless night and he would tackle tomorrow with enough gusto to make up for his failures today.

He turned the shower on hot, sealed up the dirty contaminated scrubs and added them to the pile of baggies in the box.

Somewhere in the distance his phone began buzzing. There was only one reason they called lately, Hope. Tonight she'd have to make it on her own. The pills were already making his limbs heavy and the room sway. He had nothing left to give.

This was all Alice's fault.

It didn't matter tonight. Nothing mattered now except stumbling safely to the bed. His wife was waiting. That was all he needed tonight. The numbness of the pills would wash it all to nothing.

As he unsealed the bottom of the bedroom door and opened it the darkness quickly comforted him. He felt his shoulders unclench and slowly tip toed toward the end of the room to the bed. His wife was waiting. Like always. An anchor to the day. The arctic air seeped beneath his skin and his joints creaked with stiffness. Funny, he could almost feel it.

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Oh John. What more can I say. Have you figured out Johns secret yet? At least one should be fairly obvious.

A person can take a lot before they get to their breaking point. Sometimes, a lot happens all at once.