"Deacon Ash"

Chapter 16: Fading Away

Hours after the abomination had left to me to my self-loathing, I tried to call my family. A cell phone signal had eluded me yet again.

With a spare t-shirt turned makeshift bandage covering my wounded hand, I had taken the family photo from the counter and sat it on the kitchen table, looking at it over a few drinks.

I couldn't take my eyes of it. I simply stared at it to curb the sting of loneliness. I had too much fear pinned up inside of me to willingly drift off to sleep. I had been relegated to looking at the photo and drinking until I pass out, forced to sleep.

I had rotated between the visages of my family, beginning with my wife. Amanda was so strikingly beautiful that day. She had dressed in a gorgeous sheer, primarily white colored, floral dress with splotches of purple roses. Her long, brown hair was draped on her shoulders. She loved taking family photos and the smile she wore revealed the pride she had for our family.

I looked at my daughter. She was six years old at the time but her personality had developed been beyond her short years. I recalled the day before we took the photo and how important it was to Amanda for Micalah to wear the same patterned dress that she had decided to wear. Micalah had approached me, the mediator, and told me that she didn't want to dress like mommy, that she wanted to be different. She had advised me that she would come to a compromise and wear a light purple dress because it matched the flowers on mommy's dress.

Then I looked at me. A broad grin was stamped on my face, although I had not truly wanted to partake in that particular photo shoot. My appreciation of Amanda's love for family had me under her control, so much so that I permitted her to dress me in a white suit with white tie, purple shirt on underneath. I had had no desire to sport the suit. I thought it was ridiculous, not my style. But I did it for her anyway and I later admitted that the photo turned out well.

I missed them so much. To have heard their voices would have been therapeutic. As if on cue my cell phone rang. I set the photo face down and dug frantically into my pocket for it. I held it firmly and flipped it open.

"Hello," I said, wheezing.

A pause.

"Are you okay?" Amanda asked.

"I'm fine," I said.

Her voice had never sounded sweeter.

"Why haven't you called?" she asked.

"I was— " I caught myself in mid-sentence, debating if I should tell her what had happened.

Deacon Ash, the hellhound, the storm, the days are mine and the nights are his. It just wouldn't fly.

"I was trying to call but couldn't get a signal," I said.

"Oh," Amanda said.

I had detected the disbelief in her voice. How ironic that I was telling the truth, albeit under certainly different circumstances, and she didn't believe me.

"You sound tired," Amanda said.

"I've been a little busy," I said.

I had been battling to breathe normally as I spoke and the effort was taking its toll on me.

"You should get some sleep," Amanda said.

It made sense. If it had been that easy, I'm sure I would have.