TRIAD

TRIAD(Sylvia Skrmetta) A cold wind blew the icy mist against her skin. Tiny pins of frozen water pricked her flesh and jabbed her eyes. She held the wool scarf tightly around her head, trying to hold the edges as close together as she could and still be able to see. She could smell the blood on her hands. It had a strangely metallic odor. The darkness had intensified the cold until her legs dragged heavily. Her feet felt like frozen anvils. She couldn’t stop — not now, not after what she had done.

Joanna Morris glared at the clock on her bedside table. Three-thirty. She had been asleep at least six hours, but she still felt so tired. Her plan to stay up all day after working the nightshift the night before had not worked as she had planned. Even her visit with Dr. Benjamin that afternoon had exhausted her more than any session in the past year, but it only made it harder for her to fall asleep. It was a restless night, full of odd dreams. She felt agitated and drugged with the kind of hard-sleep hangover that makes you wish you had never gone to bed. Joanna knew when she got this way, she might as well get up. As she pushed herself upward to a sitting position on the edge of her bed, her hand slid over the indention in her pillow. It was still warm. For a second, she thought about lying back down, trying again, but the thought of a hot cup of coffee sounded much more alluring.

The well-worn baby blue robe barely broke the chill of her apartment. Joanna hadn’t realized it had turned so cold overnight. As she slid on her fuzzy white bunny slippers, she found the large hairclip. It was the only thing that could hold her thick auburn hair securely off her neck. A small grunt passed Joanna’s lips as she caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror. Her unruly hair, dull blue eyes, and pale Anglo-Saxon skin disgusted her.

The steaming cup of coffee warmed her hands as she strolled into her living room, only steps from her tiny kitchen. The glow from her computer startled her at first, until she realized she hadn’t turned it off the night before. I must have been tired, she thought. Normally, she would never have left it on overnight.

After taking another sip of the hot brew, she sat down at her small glass-top computer desk. She was totally astounded. Not only was the computer on, but it was still connected to the internet. What was I thinking? Her mind tried to remember what might have distracted her from doing the obvious in her normal routine; sign-off of the internet; turn off the computer.

“You’ve got mail.” The voice momentarily startled Joanna as she logged on to her email site. She sat her cup on the coaster she kept close to the keyboard. “Who in the world?” she stated out loud. She was used to sending emails at this ungodly hour, but to her recollection, she had never received one before eight or nine in the morning. None of her friends were up this early on their days off. Never. And the others were still working the night shift at the hospital.

MM1220@benzo.com had sent her the email. Joanna racked her brain. MM…MM…who could that be she thought. Mary? No, Mary’s last name is Grady. Who? She read the subject line. Joanna, I‘ve been trying to reach you.
Her finger hung frozen over the delete button on her keyboard. It was not her habit of opening emails from addresses she didn’t recognize. She read the line once more… Joanna, I’ve been trying to reach you.
She pulled her hand away from the keyboard. A sudden wave of nausea swept over her. Surely, this was someone who knew her. She was surprised to find her palms sweating, and her fingers clinched. Joanna had the unmistakable urge to shut down the computer; to run back to her bed. As if unable to control her own body, her finger clicked the left button on her mouse and opened the message.

Joanna gazed at the words on the screen. She felt the blood drain from her head as she fell unconscious to the floor. The words “Eric is dead” were still visible on the screen.

The shrieking voice of a heavy metal singer invaded her REM cycle of sleep. She bolted upright in her bed. For an eternal moment, she was confused, frightened, and lost in her own bedroom. She quickly glanced right then left. As if a cloud had been lifted from her brain, she let out a slow sigh of relief. I must have been dreaming, she thought. The irritating blare from the radio insulted her auditory nerves. She quickly turned off the alarm — silencing the radio. The digital numbers on the clock radio read eight a.m. She was puzzled. I never set the alarm on my days off, she thought, and certainly I would never put it on this station. Joanna swung her long legs over the side of the bed. Again, she examined her clock radio. “Huh,” she said out loud.

Joanna reached for her hairclip on her nightstand. It wasn’t there. She turned on the lamp by the bed and looked around her bedroom. Nothing. She always put her robe and slippers within reach when she went to bed. The feeling of “Déjà vu,” helplessness and confusion made her shudder. This was not an isolated incident of “forgetting” or “losing blocks of time” as she had attempted to explain to Dr. Benjamin yesterday afternoon. Joanna didn’t want to think about these things right now.

The bitter smell of burning coffee accosted her as she opened the door to her bedroom. “Oh no,” she moaned as she ran to her kitchen. Her hand knew precisely where to find the light switches as she ran down her hallway and into the kitchen. A black-charred crust had formed on the bottom of the glass carafe belonging to her coffeepot. Joanna flipped the red glowing switch to the “off” position as she lifted the pot from the heat source. Instinctively, she turned around with the carafe still in hand. Part of her was expecting to see someone else in the room. She peered into her living room which was separated only by a countertop bar from her tiny kitchen. A few strands of light peeked through the closed blinds. Nothing. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath and slowly exhaled. What would make me think someone else was here?

The muffled rendition of the Bee Gee’s “Stayin’ Alive” startled Joanna and caused her to drop the glass pot. It splintered into a thousand tiny pieces on her ceramic floor. “It’s my cell phone,” she screamed. “What is wrong with me?”
Joanna carefully stepped away from the scattered shards of glass. With her broom in one hand and the dustpan in the other, she began the tedious cleanup task. One rather large piece of glass had wedged itself under the edge of the fridge. She bent over and impatiently wiggled the piece until she freed it. Joanna stared at the glass and thought she could see the distorted reflection of her face. She was unaware of the cuts on her fingertips; of the blood streaming onto the palm of her hand, then flowing over the horizontal scar on her wrist. She held the piece of blood-tinged glass up to the light. She was mesmerized by the reflection she saw.

“Stupid bitch!” She stood abruptly and flung the bloody piece of glass into the sink. “I hate that nasty crap you drink! Now the whole apartment smells of burnt coffee!”

She carefully made her way out of the kitchen and to the guest bathroom in the hallway. She flipped on the light and immediately stuck her injured hand under running water. Cranberry colored fluid splashed around the rim of the white marble sink and onto the marble vanity. She paid no attention to the large kitchen knife laying in plain view, or of the bloodied hand towel that had been used to wipe the blade clean. She picked up the soiled hand towel and wiped the blood off her fingers and wrist. The scar on her wrist infuriated her. The stupid bitch tried to end it for all of us, her mouth curled in distain as she thought of the near-death experience. Slowly, she looked up from her hand and gazed at the image in the mirror. Pale blue eyes framed in dark lashes make me seem so innocent, she thought. She kicked off the slippers and ripped off the blue robe. “Damn it,” she said angrily as she reached to the back of her head and pulled out the hairclip. Her auburn hair cascaded down to her pale shoulders and around her flawless face. “That’s much better.” She liked what she saw in the mirror.

She had been so excited yesterday when Dr. Benjamin had put Joanna under hypnosis. For the past year, Joanna had refused. The recent escalation of her confusion and memory lapses had changed her mind. Joanna fought me, she thought, but I finally won. She remembered the look on Dr. Benjamin’s face when she had said, “Hello doctor, I’m Margo.”

The admiration session in the mirror was abruptly interrupted by the Bee Gee’s. Her hand reached for the light switch on the bathroom wall, and reluctantly she put herself in darkness and into the recesses of Joanna‘s mind.

Joanna ran down the hallway to catch the cell phone. It might be the hospital, she thought, maybe they need me to come in to work. I could use the money. Once again she became aware of the chill in her apartment, and wondered why she had forgotten to put on her robe and slippers. Ignoring the mess in the kitchen, she searched her living room for her phone which had quit ringing. The message indicator beep alerted her to the phone’s location. “There you are,” she stated as she bent down to pick up the phone from the carpet.

The stack of white printer paper and crayons caught her eye. She picked up one of the pieces of paper and admired the colorful drawing of three female stick figures. “Humm.” She wondered who they were, and who was the distinctively male figure in the background. The name Jolee was printed in a child’s haphazard handwriting in the corner. That’s what Daddy used to call me, she thought. For a moment, she was confused by the feelings immerging from within— helpless, puzzled feelings. She laid the papers down just as she had found them, and emptied her mind of thought. Joanna pressed the message button on her cell phone.

“Joanna, Joanna,” her mother’s voice was frantic, “he’s here Joanna. Eric is here! Joanna, what are you going to do? He said when he got out he would come for you. You should have never told on him. I know he hurt you baby, but he couldn’t help himself. He’ll do it again Joanna. He’ll kill you this time! Call me! Oh God, please call me back! Maybe you’re working; I’ll try the hospital.”

Joanna’s pulse quickened; her head began to swim. Her heart beat faster and faster until the pounding in her ears became unbearable. She was hearing the agonizing cries and terrified screams of a little girl. She could no longer be Joanna.

Margo could see what the child was seeing. Jolee’s crayon breaking in her tiny hand as Eric strolled into her bedroom locking the door behind him. “It’s time to play, little sister,” he whispered as he unbuttoned his shirt.

Margo answered the cries of the beautiful auburn-haired little girl. “Jolee,” she called out to her. “Jolee, my innocent, sweet girl, don’t cry Baby, he can’t hurt you now.”
Margo picked up the cell phone and slowly dialed her mother’s number. “It’s me mother.” Margo knew she sounded just like Joanna.

“Oh Joanna! Did you get my message? He’s here! He’s out! Eric is out! He got out three days ago!”

As if you cared what happened to your little girl, she thought. You never interfered… and you knew. Her voice held no emotion. “I know mother.”
Her mother’s anxiety level was out of control. “You knew… you knew, and you didn’t call me?”

The irrational clatter of her mother‘s voice began to fade until Margo was only aware of the quiet within. “Shhhh,” she whispered as she dropped the phone and put her arms around herself. “We’re safe now.” A slow smile began to appear on her face as she remembered the terrified look on Eric’s face before he died.

“He can’t hurt us anymore.”

THE END