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Order this writing in the collection book Breaking Silences available for only 1650 |
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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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EVIL EYES
Mel Waldman
Nothing much had changed from yesterday. Except Friday night had slipped away, softly and inconspicuously. And Saturday surrounded Charlie, like a noose around his neck. A prison cell with no exit.
That&146;s the way it was for little Charlie Walls when he rose abruptly at dawn from a troubled sleep filled with disturbing dreams which seemed more real than reality.
When Charlie opened his eyes, he saw the old and familiar universe which contained him. The bleak white studio apartment was still there-stretching across two decades of isolation and barren visions. Still there and unchanged, except for a few objects moved into new positions, slightly altering the structure of the room.
Everything looked familiar and yet shamelessly different and strange.
Slowly, Charlie sauntered to the center of the room. His short journey seemed endless and it seemed he was trudging through a deep snow.
At the center, he found the round table and the crumpled note on its top. He opened the paper with soft hands and delicate fingers as skilled as a surgeon&146;s. A fat grin stretched across his face. Perhaps, he imagined he was delivering a baby. Perhaps, his own.
With blurred vision, he read the name. It looked like Laura or Rita to his defective eyes. After the name, was a phone number.
Clutching the note, he drifted to a corner of the room, lifted the receiver of the wall phone, and dialed the number.
He let the phone ring for a few minutes. But no one answered at the other end. No one was there. She was gone. Or no one wanted to talk. Perhaps, she couldn&146;t.
Momentarily, he visualized her unreal face and the cold dark blue eyes which had assaulted him in the bar. Her eyes disturbed him. Her look was desperately familiar. He understood. Of course, he knew. Remembering the other woman, he recognized the lost, murderous eyes. Evil eyes!
Of course, she saw his empathic look of recognition. Her killing eyes softened. And before the night ended, she gave Charlie her number.
The phone rang ceaselessly. Charlie breathed heavily. He wanted to save her. Laura. Rita. He couldn&146;t figure out her real name. A blurred image, it floated on the paper.
Quietly, he left the studio. He rushed to Laura-Rita&146;s apartment.
Downstairs, he rang her bell. When she did not speak to him through the intercom, he rang several bells until someone buzzed him in.
Her apartment was on the 13th floor. When he got off the elevator, he turned left and hurried to the end of the corridor. Her door was ajar.
He entered. &147;Hello. Anyone home?&148; Charlie whispered. He had wanted to cry out, but he could not will his voice to obey.
He entered a long hallway. Halfway through, he stopped. He wanted to run away. But he was compelled to stay. He rushed slowly into the living room.
&147;Laura, are you home?&148; he said nervously. Silence. An elongated silence encircled him.
Charlie roamed through Laura&146;s place. Eventually, he headed for her bedroom. But when he opened the door, he found an empty room. From the corner of his right eye, he noticed the TV. It was on, without sound. Abruptly, Charlie turned around and continued to search for Laura.
The living room was empty too. So was the dining room and study.
In the distance, Charlie saw the other room. The door was ajar.
Charlie rushed into the quiet room. A second bedroom. Empty. Laura was gone. But in a corner of the room, a silent TV was on.
Perhaps, Laura was in the bathroom. Perhaps.
He heard the sound of rushing water.
&147;Laura, are you in there?&148;
She did not answer. Charlie turned the knob and entered. Empty. Charlie turned off the faucet just in time, for the water in the sink was overflowing. And then he scurried off.
Before leaving, he returned to the first bedroom he had searched. He slithered to the TV and looked at the picture tube.
Laura was there-inside looking out, her evil eyes cutting Charlie&146;s soul in half. From a distance, he watched her lift the gun to her head. Her vacant eyes shot hellfire into his guts. With trembling hands, he turned on the sound.
In that unforgettable moment, the boy entered the room as his mother pulled the trigger. &147;No!&148; he screamed, his voice leaping out of the TV and into Charlie&146;s heart. Too late. Laura Walls was dead. Little Charlie couldn&146;t save mama.
Like a zombie, Charlie left the first bedroom and drifted to the other one. The room was empty but the silent TV was on. He closed his eyes and turned on the sound.
&147;Name&146;s Rita, babe. What&146;s yours?&148;
&147;Charlie. Charlie Walls.&148;
&147;Charlie Walls. A sweet name. Wish I met you twenty years ago, Charlie.&148;
&147;What&146;s wrong with now?&148;
&147;Too late, Charlie. You can&146;t save me, babe.&148;
Charlie opened his anguished eyes and looked at the picture tube. He saw Charlie and Rita sitting at the bar. Inside the tube, Charlie looked into Rita&146;s lethal eyes, the cold dark blue eyes evoking a familiar terror.
&147;I wanna save you, Rita.&148;
&147;Too late, babe. Maybe in the next world. Not here.&148;
A few tears slipped down Charlie&146;s scarred face. He rose and sauntered off.
&147;Hey Charlie,&148; Rita cried out. &147;How about a nightcap? Your place or mine.&148;
&147;I wanna save you, Rita,&148; Charlie whispered from a distance, standing alone in the barren room, speaking to the empty woman in another universe. And then he slithered out of Laura&146;s place.
Little Charlie Walls opened his eyes. A few tears cascaded down his face as he remembered the labyrinthine dream which had engulfed him.
Slowly returning from Phantasmagoria, he noticed the darkness which surrounded him. It covered him. Protected him. He loved the Darkness. But he rose and turned on the light switch.
Explosively, the studio lit up as if it were the 4th of July. Charlie&146;s eyes twitched, so he shut them for a few seconds. Then he opened them again and found his watch on the night table. Just a minute past midnight. Maybe there was still time.
He hurried to the center of the room, found the crumpled note, and rushed to the wall phone. &147;Gonna save you, Rita!&148; And he dialed the number.
As the phone rang, his eyes drifted to the bathroom. The door was ajar. Charlie noticed a puddle of water. Red water. Red!
He hung up the receiver. And breathed deeply. Deeply!
The apocalyptic moment contained and resurrected Charlie Walls. Charlie was flooded with joy. Strutting to the bathroom like a majestic peacock, he shouted: &147;Guess I saved you, Rita! I really wanted to! Love you, Laura.&148;
And the little savior walked into the light.
