CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN
Chapter Eleven
PAGE TWO OF THREE
She has lost her mind. It was only a matter of time, really. And with this realization comes the inevitable thought: What were they going to do now? Who was going to take care of them, now that neither of them could take care of themselves? A hot and empty space grew within her mind as she considered their future, and the only conclusion she could arrive at was that this was the end. It was over for the both of them, now. She had lost her mind and now their lives were over.
You haven't lost your mind.
Wendy chuckles lightly up into the deepening darkness of the bedroom, of their bedroom, that they had shared together for so many years, now. How many nights had she gone to sleep right here in this very same bed, with the notion that when she woke up the next day, that her life, that their life together, would continue on into the future? And now this same place has become little more than a slowly darkening grave for them both. Their lives are over.
Our lives aren't over. In fact, they are just beginning.
Wendy's chuckle dies a gentle death in the still evening air. Of course it would say that. It's amazing how attuned this voice was to the thoughts she was having, isn't it? Amazing how well she could invent the responses of her husband's words to her thoughts, but then it's all coming from the same place, so there you have it. Fascinating, nonetheless, the way that her mind is twisting in upon itself. Cannibalizing itself. The mind is a cannibal. She wonders if she could have written a thesis on the subject, had she majored in Psychology like Desmond had. But she's a Computer Scientist, and the mind is more than just a computer, after all. So much more.
Wendy, look at me.
Wendy blinks several times. She doesn't want to play this game anymore. She wants to stop eating her own brain, now. It's time to stop this. But the voice, Desmond's voice, that she realizes is coming from inside of her head, maybe it always had been, ever since she had first met him, just a voice in her head right from the very start... His voice wouldn't stop talking to her.
Look at me Wendy. Look at me.
Wendy swallows hard and squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to cover her ears but knows it won't do any good. She won't be able to drown out Desmond from speaking to her inside of her head. The air around her feels like a vise that holds her in place, like a moment that won't deliver itself into the flow of natural time. She sinks desperately into the bed, freezing, petrifying, necrotizing into a brittle shell shocked husk of bloodless blind empty mind -
Look at me.
Wendy turns her head with a horrible aching ponderousness, her neck cracking painfully as she rotates to her side and comes face to face with Desmond. He has turned on his own side, as well, and now he is looking directly at her. His right eye is wandering upwards, careening around as though tracking a buzzing fly, but his left eye – it's staring straight into her. His left eye has a pupil that seems to contract, to shrink to the size of a pin prick, a tight and narrow focused beam staring at her while his fat right eye orbits aimlessly like a lost satellite jittering across half of his face. He stares at her. She stares back. And that is all they do for a while, just a married couple in bed, looking into each other's eyes.
After a while, Wendy sees a picture forming in her own mind. She sees herself lying on the carpet beneath the dining room table. Then she carefully pulls herself up and maneuvers out from underneath the table; rises slowly to her feet. She walks directly from the dining room, through the kitchen and into the hallway. Down the hallway and into the bedroom. Desmond is waiting for her there, in his chair, facing the bed. She moves over to the chair and tucks her hands under Desmond's arms, lifts him from the chair and onto the bed with practised ease. She pulls back the covers and lays Desmond down. Pulls the covers up over him and lightly tucks him in. Then she walks around to her side of the bed and gets in. She lies on her back next to Desmond and stares at the ceiling.
Wendy's voice seeps out of her like air from an almost empty balloon. “...Who are you..?”
Desmond seems to smile, just barely.
My name is Desmond Roberts.
You haven't lost your mind.
Wendy chuckles lightly up into the deepening darkness of the bedroom, of their bedroom, that they had shared together for so many years, now. How many nights had she gone to sleep right here in this very same bed, with the notion that when she woke up the next day, that her life, that their life together, would continue on into the future? And now this same place has become little more than a slowly darkening grave for them both. Their lives are over.
Our lives aren't over. In fact, they are just beginning.
Wendy's chuckle dies a gentle death in the still evening air. Of course it would say that. It's amazing how attuned this voice was to the thoughts she was having, isn't it? Amazing how well she could invent the responses of her husband's words to her thoughts, but then it's all coming from the same place, so there you have it. Fascinating, nonetheless, the way that her mind is twisting in upon itself. Cannibalizing itself. The mind is a cannibal. She wonders if she could have written a thesis on the subject, had she majored in Psychology like Desmond had. But she's a Computer Scientist, and the mind is more than just a computer, after all. So much more.
Wendy, look at me.
Wendy blinks several times. She doesn't want to play this game anymore. She wants to stop eating her own brain, now. It's time to stop this. But the voice, Desmond's voice, that she realizes is coming from inside of her head, maybe it always had been, ever since she had first met him, just a voice in her head right from the very start... His voice wouldn't stop talking to her.
Look at me Wendy. Look at me.
Wendy swallows hard and squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to cover her ears but knows it won't do any good. She won't be able to drown out Desmond from speaking to her inside of her head. The air around her feels like a vise that holds her in place, like a moment that won't deliver itself into the flow of natural time. She sinks desperately into the bed, freezing, petrifying, necrotizing into a brittle shell shocked husk of bloodless blind empty mind -
Look at me.
Wendy turns her head with a horrible aching ponderousness, her neck cracking painfully as she rotates to her side and comes face to face with Desmond. He has turned on his own side, as well, and now he is looking directly at her. His right eye is wandering upwards, careening around as though tracking a buzzing fly, but his left eye – it's staring straight into her. His left eye has a pupil that seems to contract, to shrink to the size of a pin prick, a tight and narrow focused beam staring at her while his fat right eye orbits aimlessly like a lost satellite jittering across half of his face. He stares at her. She stares back. And that is all they do for a while, just a married couple in bed, looking into each other's eyes.
After a while, Wendy sees a picture forming in her own mind. She sees herself lying on the carpet beneath the dining room table. Then she carefully pulls herself up and maneuvers out from underneath the table; rises slowly to her feet. She walks directly from the dining room, through the kitchen and into the hallway. Down the hallway and into the bedroom. Desmond is waiting for her there, in his chair, facing the bed. She moves over to the chair and tucks her hands under Desmond's arms, lifts him from the chair and onto the bed with practised ease. She pulls back the covers and lays Desmond down. Pulls the covers up over him and lightly tucks him in. Then she walks around to her side of the bed and gets in. She lies on her back next to Desmond and stares at the ceiling.
Wendy's voice seeps out of her like air from an almost empty balloon. “...Who are you..?”
Desmond seems to smile, just barely.
My name is Desmond Roberts.
DESMOND CHAPTER ELEVEN