Dust
untitled
The room was dark, save for the slivers of light threading between the boards over the window, and only the faint sound of the rain against the roof interrupted the stillness.
Dust had long since settled on the withered flowers rotting in a vase by the outline of a couch hidden by a drape. All around the room, these ghosts clung to the furniture, weary from their midnight marauding. A bust in the corner looked longing at the window, her expression once youthful in the light now faded. The flowers in her hair finally betraying their cold granite nature.
As if a hush had fallen over the house, nothing stirred except for a spider clinging to her net over the door frame, franticly trying to hold onto her newest victim by wrapping his papery wings with silk, sedating his struggles with a kiss and, sensing the moth’s surrender, drinking the meager amount of blood she smelled circulating in his frail body—Glass broke. Frightened, she abandoned her catch and scurried farther up the web.
A hand reached through the broken pane and twisted the brass bolt back, withdrawing and pushing the latch on the outside until it gave. Jack and Peter entered, one after the other who pressed the reluctant first forward until the door could be closed.
The two strangers entered the foyer which became what was left of the living room with a heartbroken staircase in the corner.
“Sit. I’ll make a fire.” Jack gestured to the melancholy furniture around the room and then began to inspect the fireplace in the middle of the room, grandly walled off by an iron grate. Peter walked slowly in place, his eyes darting around the room, wide with fear and lack of light,
“It’s so dark… we shouldn’t be here.” Jack looked up at this,
“You’re right!” unbent his knees, grabbed a coal-poker from beside the fireplace, and walked over to the boarded up window. CRACK! Metal splintered wood as he lodged the spike between two boards and pulled it down like a crowbar, prying a board off. CRACK! Peter flinched. Another board clanked to the floor, another shaft of gray light drifting into the room. CRACK! Disturbed dust danced in the new light as the last board fell to the floor with a loud clank.
Whistling to himself, Jack picked them up and carried them over to the fireplace where he set them aside and began fishing out the remnants of kindling left in the ashes.
“Hey, Petie, I need s’more starter, see anything around we can burn?”
A long pause. “Petie?”
“It’s Peter. And no…” Jack was already up on his feet again, brushing his ash-stained hands off in front of him, “Hand me some books.”
“B-Books?” Peter looked as if he might faint from the blasphemy. Pushing past him, Jack began browsing the bookcase in the corner, running his palms over their spines until he’d find one he didn’t particularly care for, pull it out, and tuck it under his arm. Once he had a fair-sized armful, Jack went back to the grate and because tearing out pages to crumple under the kindling in a sort of upside-down cradle. Peter hissed in a breath drawing Jacks eyes to him again, “I said, sit.” Reluctantly, Peter sat on the edge of a drape covered chair, his elbows balanced on his knees, palms hiding his face.
Peter was skinny, to be blunt, if there was an inch of muscle on him it was well concealed. His hair was cropped and parted on the side giving him a professional look one might expect of an office worker but made him appear more like a cat that had been left out in the rain as it clung to his face, hiding his eyes, which is exactly how he felt.
Jack, on the other hand, was a lanky man with a wide brimmed hat and long trench coat with beaded up rain rolling off his broad shoulders. His face was angular with high cheekbones and a slightly bent nose which made him appear Native American with his shiny black hair tied back in a ponytail.
Soon after a few moments of only hearing the rain outside the smell of smoke and glow of the fire began to warm them. Satisfied, Jack stood and patted Peter on the shoulder. Jack furrowed his brow, “You’re soaking wet!”
Peter looked up, annoyed, “It’s raining, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Then take it off.” Peter sat back out of reach, “N-No… I’m fine.” his tone less convincing as his teeth began chattering.
“Dammit, Pete! Just take the coat off and let it dry.” As he attempted to grab a sleeve, Peter leapt up from the chair and staggered towards the door but only found himself pinned to the floor under Jack.
“Good try, “ A cold metallic click next to Peter’s ear brought his struggles to a stop, “but not good enough… now stand up slowly and hang it up by the fire.”
Peter obliged reluctantly and glanced over his shoulder as he hung the jacket on a hook by the mantle, “Why won’t you let me go?”
“What’s stopping you?”
Jack seemed almost amused as he put the revolver back in the holster at his side. Peter began flailing his arms as he spoke, “Oh, I don’t know, the revolver you keep waving in my face?! You’ll kill me if I try to leave!”
“I might.”
“You’ll kill me eventually if I stay!”
“I might.”
Peters eyes widened at the eerie casualness of his captor’s tone.
“Why? What did I ever do to you?! I’m not rich, I collate papers for crying out loud!”
“Really? Interesting line of work.” Jack chuckled.
“Stop ignoring me! When are you going to kill me?”
“Why? Is the suspense killing you? Ha. Get it? ‘Killing’?” The taller man was laughing now which only made Peter shake with a combination of anger and fear.
“I never should’ve left this morning.” He muttered to himself. Catching those words, Jack ceased laughing, “Because then you wouldn’t have met me…at the bridge?”
Peter only nodded, still shaking. Noticing this, Jack shrugged off his coat and offered it to Peter who only moved further out of reach.
“But you would’ve gone the next day, Peter, or the next… or the next? You’re still allergic to gravity.” Shaking violently now, Peter looked up hearing his name, the way he asked people to say it, roll off Jack’s tongue in an almost soothing tone. “Maybe.” He replied, shrugging. There was a moment of silence interrupted only by thunder. Taking his cue, Jack approached Peter like someone would an animal liable to spook, one step then another, arms outstretched with his fingers splayed towards the ceiling. “Why did you go to the bridge?”
“I see it from my window everyday and just… the water always looks so… beautiful.”
“What does it look like, Peter?” Another step.
“Like gold… sunlight… liquid sunlight.”
“What’s so great about sunlight?” Another step.
“It’s warm.”
“Were you cold?”
Peter’s eyes were distant, emphasizing each vowel in the word, “Everyday. The damn furnace in my apartment is broken... they still haven’t—” He broke off realizing how close Jack was. Without speaking, he draped the coat around Peter’s shoulders and held on to the front, pulling Peter closer, “Are you warm enough now?” Struck by the sudden concern in his voice and the sudden proximity, Peter found it difficult to speak for a moment,
“…Yes. Why are you doing this?”
“Why were you going to jump?”
“It’s my life. I’ll do what I want with it.” He turned his head to evade Jack’s eyes.
“Good answer! And you should do what you want with it— it just seems to me that ending your life to prove you have control over it is counterproductive.” Peter gritted his teeth, “Shut up! You don’t know!”
“Then enlighten me!”
“There’s nothing left for me! None of it matters! School only prepares you for sitting at a desk for the rest of your life, creativity is squashed out, everything is geared towards getting a career, making money, and buying things to make you happy until you realize... you’re not.” Jack searched Peter’s eyes,
“Where are your happy thoughts, Peter?” He opened his mouth as if to say something but his eyes drifted to the floor and at once he began shuddering so that it seemed Jack’s grip on the coat was the only thing keeping him from going everywhere at once. Peter bit back a sob, trying to wrench himself away from Jack, but was knocked off balance and instead found himself entirely in Jacks arms.
The frenzied repetition of the rain on the roof seemed to blot out all other sound in the world and for a moment Peter felt like he was drowning in the cacophony. Then there was breath on his face. The fire lit up half of Jack’s face in the semi-darkness and reflected in his eyes making them look like molten gold with each flicker. Lips met. Warmth. Lungs began to burn. They parted.
Peter pushed away from Jack, the coat falling in a puddle of wool on the floor. Jack followed and caught Peter’s arm. Peter’s eyes flashed and he caught Jack in the jaw with his fist, sending him spinning out of control.
Peter caught the handle of the revolver and pulled it out of the holster, holding it level with Jack as he regained his balance.
“Do it, Petie. Pull the trigger. Do something crazy for once in your life!”
“Shut up!”
“Or what?!”
“You don’t know! Don’t talk!”
“Don’t know about your fiancée? Or should I say, former fiancée? Still haven’t taken that ring off yet? It’s been what, a year since she left you?”
“I’ll kill you.” It sounded like more of a question coming from Peter’s shaky voice. They began rotating around the room, Peter edging towards the door, Jack trying to get closer to stop him.
“What happened? Did you cling so fiercely to the dream of suburbia, 2.5 kids, lovely house wife… that it slipped through your fingers like smoke?” Jack pushed a chair out of his way.
“Stop.” Peter’s voice was pleading now.
“Or were you afraid of growing up? That you’d get lost in a maze of cubicles? That there wouldn’t be openings for pirates in the ‘Help Wanted’ section of the newspaper? Things end, happily or not. It’s your life. Your choice!”
Jack bounded across the room, knocking over the bust sitting on her pedestal in the corner which fell to the floor shattering into a million pieces. Once more, he was between Peter and the door.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Get out of my way!” Jack smiled at the change in Peter’s tone, and smugly walked towards Peter, noting how his knuckles turned white gripping the cold metal, until the barrel was pressed against his chest.
“I’m stopping you from living your life. Kill me... or I’ll kill you.”
CLICK. Empty.
The gun fell to the floor and the two strangers stood facing each other in the strange house for what seemed like hours while the rain died down outside.
“You’re shivering?”
“I’m laughing.”
“Why?”
“You defied gravity.”
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