Beating a Dead Horse

Coming home is always a good thing — he’s felt more centered more grounded, than he’s ever felt in a long damned time.

Which, of course, makes his stomach feel like it’s turned to lead, and sinking.

Things aren’t wonderful — they don’t stay wonderful.

With her car gone, he wonders if Hollis has done something to himself — he couldn’t imagine Anne being here with the other man, simply because Hollis wouldn’t have wanted it.

His fear begins to solidify, and his steps quicken — walking into the house becomes running into the house, and bolting–panicking–heartpounding–

Flinging the door open, he comes upon Hollis, who is startled by his entrance, but seems otherwise fine as he reads a book. “…hi. she’s gone grocery shopping. Feeling jumpy?”

“…she’s all right?”

“As far as I know. Are you?”

“M’fine. Anne’s with her, then?”


“…no?” Something tightens in his gut, a cold fist clenching in the pit of him, twisting.

“She’s here.”

He says nothing, just turns to go down the hall, his heart breaking, his expression already blanking out as he runs — it’s too late, he knows it’s too late — down to the guest bedroom.

“Wait! Don’t–” And Hollis is chasing after him, as though on the pretense of keeping him from waking the baby.

And when they both go barreling into the guest room, that silence, that stillness… it’s too much to bear. Wordless, trembling, he turns to Hollis, and stares him down.

“I couldn’t make her sleep.”

“You killed her.”

“I couldn’t make her sleep — I was just trying to make her quiet.”

“You killed her.”

“She was crying, and she wouldn’t stop.”

“So you had to SUFFOCATE her?”

“She wouldn’t stop!”

“…she was a baby.”

“And now she’s a quiet baby–”

It was then, without thinking, that the blue-eyed man moved. Thoughts are gone, and the world is a blur, and there’s the most terrible noise — and then a heavy weight in his arms.

When he’s thinking again–how much time has passed, how much?–bright blue eyes wide and staring, he’s still holding the body of his lover’s lover, and he can hear her car pulling up in the driveway.

He drops the body to the floor, looks to the baby on the bed, and makes his feet move so that he can try to stop her mother from getting in the house.

Try to stop her from seeing this.

Anything but this.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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0 Responses to Beating a Dead Horse

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    That was hard to read. Fuck Jones, that was difficult and I don’t know what this is meant to lead to. Greatly respect that you are uncompromising, but fuck.

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