Page 57 of A Perfect World
Wedidn’tspeakashe drove.
I stared out the window at the dark neighborhood convinced we were headed in a different direction than the one we came from. Older trees cropped up beside a road that needed repaving, the space between homes grew, revealing peeks of sand and white sea foam from behind. The car slowed as he rolled into a driveway. Under the bright moonlight, the modest two story home bore down on us with whispered secrets and yawning windows.
“We’re not going in,” he murmured, voice shocking me from my stare off with the house. He shoved out; I rushed to follow, a sharp gust of wind whipping my hair. This close to the ocean, the wind scratched salty claws across my skin and cut to the bone.
Ollie guided me around the side of the house past browned grass invaded by sand until only a few blades poked through. Soon we neared a sight that brought tears to my eyes.
Worn wood stretched into the sea like a finger pointing to the horizon. Ocean waves hushed the gush of emotion clogging my throat as he led me towards the dock.
I take you up the steps, you have to be careful on the third one, it’s kind of rotted through now, but you’re holding my hand, so you don’t fall.
At the end of the dock, he released my hand and lowered to the edge. He took two things from his pocket as his gaze dropped to his lap. I stood behind him, blinking back tears; my fingertips skimmed across his shoulder, snagging his attention.
A small journal splayed on his lap, red script flowing like a phantom pen was documenting every detail. Thin trails of blood carved down his cheeks as his glowing silver eyes met mine.
“There’s only one last piece of me I haven’t shown you,” he said. As if the ocean heard his words, a tremendous wave battered the pylons. “When I was young, my mom gave me a journal. She said it would help me remember the good things. The day we built the dock, I was desperate to remember every detail, but I didn’t know how to translate that perfect memory into words. Those images, those sounds, the heat- how could I?”
Twin tears smeared the blood on his cheeks. “I imagined that somehow, I could burn the memory into my journal. I was terrified the first time it happened. I wouldn’t touch it for weeks. One day, Dad was furious with me for existing and belted me so hard I couldn’t sit. I had to get out- I couldn’t be in that house, so I took the journal and I ran here. I meant to reread it, to remember what his love felt like, but then it happened.”
My brows knit. “What did?”
“Turn around.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I twisted with excruciating slowness, the wind whispering in my ears. Though, it wasn’t the wind I heard- It was a small voice and a gruff one. A hammer hitting a nail. Gentle instructions and little footsteps.
They continued without noticing us; a little blond boy, both skittish and curious, followed the hardened man from the photo in Marie’s hall. The blue in their eyes was identical, only the little boy’s had silver flecks catching the sunlight. They worked side by side, the man occasionally wiping sweat off his brow and handing the little boy a bottle of water. A large hand held a small one, demonstrating how to hammer a nail, offering a firm, but encouraging word here, and an awkward pat on the head there.
Crying, I couldn’t watch but couldn’t look away either.
“For years I’d come here and watch it, remember it, relive it,” Ollie said, his breath on my ear. “I was obsessed. I thought maybe I could pull this version of him from the memory and the devil would disappear. When he died, I tried. I was fucking ashamed, but that boy couldn’t let go of a dream.”
I finally turned my back on the scene, looking up at the beautiful, tortured soul in front of me. “What happened then?”
“Nothing,” he whispered. “Nothing got his attention becausethisversion was gone. He never truly existed.” I reached up to brush the tears from beneath those incredible eyes. Dark shadows cast his face in stark solemnity. “I can’t give up the idea that I can capture a soul and bring them back.”
A knife of panic lodged in my throat.
“Ollie-”
“I know it’s fucked, but I think about it all the time,” he sighed. I rose on tip-toe to graze my mouth on his. “You don’t think I’m insane?” he asked against my lips.
“I do,” I admitted, hating his flinch. “But so am I.”
He smiled sadly.
“I have one more thing for you, if you choose to stay,” he murmured. The fact he expected me to leave now, after everything, tugged at my heart. He lifted his fist between us, unfurling it.
I gasped, my eyes darting between what lay in his open palm up to his shy smile and back. A delicate silver chain with a dainty purple stone sparkled in the moonlight.
“It reminded me of your eyes. When I look into them, I remember to live for something more than just survival. I remember to dream.”
I couldn’t speak, choking back tears as he draped it around my neck.
When he bent to kiss me, I held onto him like he’d blow away.
“Capture this,” I begged. “Captureus.”
His eyes glowed and swirled, the journal open on the dock at our feet. He reeled me down to the weathered wood and drew me into his lap as he kissed me. Languid, reverent kisses like he was savoring every second, documenting every taste, touch and scent. Pages rustled, waves crashed, and our breaths mingled as he laid back with me over him.
