Red taillights lit up the distance ahead of Jim’s car.  Rain pelted the windshield.  The constant drone of the vehicle and the rain held Jim in a trance.  His eyes were glazed and his mind hollow.  In the passenger seat next to him lay a bouquet of flowers.  He reached over to gently touch the petals.  A tear trickled down his face and he sniffed, wiping his nose with his arm.  9 days, 3 hours and 43 minutes had passed since the moment.  That moment.  When…No, don’t go there…don’t go…but the images flooded his mind.  Sarah shuffled into the lobby, escorted by an assistant.  She held her stomach and looked dazed, confused, a mess; but it was over.  No questions, no accusing glances, the responsibility and future were free of it.  Of h— Jim cut the thought off.  Sarah went home, slept, took a long weekend and went to work on Tuesday.  Life was normal; back to the routine they had established years ago.  Work, movies and dinner at local restaurants.  Except there were no movies and no dinner.  When had that stopped?  It didn’t matter, nothing mattered anymore.  Sarah hadn’t answered a single phone call since he dropped her off.  Oddly, Jim didn’t care.  In fact, a strange loathing towards Sarah had developed within him.  Her long, curly black hair, slight smile and brown eyes had once drawn him in; but now, her face mirrored the hollow void of his own existence.

A loud honk from the car behind him jolted Jim into the present.  A three-car gap had opened ahead of him.  Jim let the car roll forward to another stop.  The sign ahead read “1/2 mile to Cherry Street.”  That was his exit—the exit.  Every second felt like an eternity.  Moving was a chore and Jim was on autopilot throughout his work week.  Giant puddles of water gathered on the interstate as he sat there.  He turned the radio on to his favorite station, oldie but goodies.  Boston’s More Than A Feeling was playing.  It wasn’t right; it didn’t fit the timing.  Jim flipped through radio channels looking for something, not sure what exactly.  A few talk shows discussed recent politics; the stance of the President of the U.S., Hollywood scandals, local government squabbles with businesses and a few religious activities in a neighboring town.  Jim listened for a few seconds to each before moving on to another channel.  Classical music, rock, country, rap; Jim turned the radio off.  What did the movements of the world matter when his own life was crumbling around him?  His world died 9 days, 4 hours and 3 minutes ago.

The exit ramp appeared ahead, and Jim took the exit.  Take this right.  Take the next left.  Enter parking lot behind the c—the cemetery.  He repeated the directions to himself to block the overwhelming questions that poked at his sanity.  The roads were clear and a heartbeat later Jim sat in the parking lot.  He stopped the car; his breathing stopped.  Rain blurred his windows and windshield.  Jim slowly released his breathe and realized he was clutching the steering wheel and his jaw was clenched.  He felt it.  The presence of his guilt and shame staring at him from across the parking lot.  Keeping his eyes down, Jim reached for the bouquet.  A moment of weakness broke his resolve and he glimpsed the…the spot.  The graveyard that crippled his life, his mind and his heart.  Jim cursed and crushed the flowers in his grip.  The tears swelled in his eyes and his fist crashed down on the steering wheel.  A deep groan escaped his lips and Jim frantically turned his head to find a distraction.  Anything.  Any sight to hold his gaze.  A few people rushed to their cars to escape the rain.  Jim snatched the bouquet and left his car.

The rain soaked his shirt in seconds.  He had been too distracted to bring a jacket.  Turning his back on the cemetery, Jim walked down the sidewalk.  How many years had it been since they met here?  The local coffee shop, DeLatte, where Sarah and Jim went after their first date.  That night they went back to her place after the movie, Godzilla, which wasn’t all that great, but it didn’t matter.  They were too busy making out in the theater to notice the movie.  Nostalgia insisted their first night had been pure fantasy enacted; but nostalgia was fading, and the facts of reality were penetrating his memories.  Was their meeting a divine dance or hell-bound damnation?  Jim wasn’t sure.  With each step towards the coffee shop, dread and loathing shrouded Jim’s heart.  It seemed the later rang true.

The bell jingled on the door as Jim stepped inside DeLatte.  The baristas shouted a greeting.  Half a dozen people sat inside, scattered among the tiny tables.  Jim ordered a black coffee.  Not his normal, but today it was necessary.  Sitting down at a table, Jim pulled a small bottle of courage from his pocket; a 50ml of Jack Daniel’s whiskey.  He quickly dumped it into his coffee.  His eyes caught his watch; Sarah was late.  9 days, 4 hours and 19 minutes.  Did the clock ever stop running?  The door jingled as a middle-aged woman came in, grabbed her pre-ordered beverage and walked out again.  Jim’s gaze followed the woman.  The rain was heavy, and she dashed to her car.  A car pulled in next to hers and Jim saw a young man at the wheel.  Jim groaned and pulled another 50ml whiskey from his pocket and chugged it.  He cursed under his breath and went outside.  The young man was looking down in distress.  His black hair was styled in the popular teen-emo fashion, nearly covering his eyes and bangs swooping across his forehead.  Jim walked up to the driver window.  The kid looked up; his brown eyes portrayed a mixed emotion, fear leaning towards the brink of rage.  The window rolled part way down.

“Where is she, Dan?” asked Jim.

The kid, Dan, turned the car off and got out.  “Sarah said she didn’t want to see you and asked me to come,” said Dan.  His eyes darted from side to side, avoiding Jim’s searching gaze.

“Why?  We needed to talk about…to talk…”  The moment they decided bull rushed Jim’s memory.  Sarah sat on the far side of the sofa.  Stress tears rolled down her face.  How many days had gone like this?  It seemed like every day since they found out.  Sarah held the ul—the picture, the paper in her hand.  They weren’t ready.  They couldn’t have…

“Hey.  Jim.  Dude.”  Jim snapped back to the present.  Dan was starring at him.  “Sarah doesn’t want to see you anymore.  She…she said its over.  I’m scared for her.  I’ve never seen her this way before.”

“We had to do it,” said Jim quietly.  He gripped his sopping wet hair and paced the sidewalk.  “There was no other way.  What were we supposed to do?  We weren’t ready.  We couldn’t have…we couldn’t keep…how?  How?  She blames me, doesn’t she?”  Jim turned on Dan.  “She says its my fault!  I swear that bitch-“

A fist smashed into Jim’s jaw.  “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”  Jim stood stunned; scrawny Dan packed a punch.  Dan’s normal timid posture changed to defiant and defensive.  “It is your fault.  It’s her fault too.  She doesn’t want to see you ever again.”

“I brought her flowers.”  Jim held up the bouquet.  Several stems were broken, and pedals had fallen off.  They floated in a puddle by their feet.

“She doesn’t want them,” said Dan.  “Don’t bother coming by either.  Sarah is terminating her lease and moving home.  Sarah told me you were against having it all along.  Well, you got your way and screwed Sarah bad.”

Dan got back in his car and locked the doors before Jim could react.  The wheels turned in his mind, incapacitating Jim.  That was it?  Over like that?  Sarah was gone, too?  Dan backed out and drove off leaving Jim standing in the rain.  This couldn’t be real.  It just couldn’t be happening.  9 days, 4 hours and 58 minutes ago hell had begun and living ended.  Though his feet stepped forward and his fingers gripped the flowers, Jim felt like a zombie wandering the sidewalks.  People dashed around Jim as they went from parked cars to shops and offices to escape the rain. 

This wasn’t right.  It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.  Jim expected to propose to Sarah in the next year or so, once he had saved up enough money for the ring.  Now, even she was gone.  Left him over this; over it.  Why did it matter so much?  Why did it hurt so much?  Why did the rain feel like blood dripping off his hands?  It wasn’t alive.  She wasn’t a—no, no, no! It.  IT! Not she.  Jim clenched his teeth and his hands shook.  That’s what everyone told him.  His friends, his parents, his co-workers.  Everyone knew it wasn’t alive.  Not until it could sustain itself.  That was the argument; that was the truth.  Then why did it feel like a piece of him died?  Like the world had suddenly forsaken him in darkness.  Why did agony torment his soul?  Why couldn’t he get it out of his mind?  It was Sarah’s body.  It was Sarah’s choice for her own mental and physical health.  The mess it caused her the past several months and the changes it would cause ahead.  They couldn’t handle it.  Sarah had wanted to keep it, but Jim had eventually convinced her.  It wasn’t logical.  They had young careers, college debt to pay, didn’t live together; it would have added to the expenses.  It was another line in the checkbook.  Another bill in the mail.  It wasn’t a person.  It wasn’t alive…it wasn’t alive…anymore.

Rounding the corner of a building, Jim saw his car ahead.  To his right the graveyard beckoned him.  A thousand tiny voices rising from the heap of waste; unheard and unwanted.  Despite the screaming protests in his mind, Jim walked towards the grave.  It stood, lonely and cold and devoid of life.  The metallic cage for thousands of defenseless potentials.  The flowers slipped from Jim’s hand.  A scream broke the haunting silence and Jim pounded his forehead against the metal plaque.  The guilt!  How could he escape it?  The floodgate of horror broke through and Jim wept.  Falling to his knees, Jim reached for the flowers.  They lay in a puddle.  Blood dripped from his forehead into the water.  His blood?  Or its blood?  Trembling, Jim held the battered flowers out towards the grave.

“I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

He set the flowers down on a dry patch in the asphalt.  Then reaching into his pocket, he pulled a picture out.  Scribbled on the top of the image was a name.  Her name.  The rain quickly soaked the picture and it began to shrivel in his hands.  Still, Jim was able make her out.  He saw the little nose, the little fingers, puckered lips and tiny body.  When they had gone to see the doctor, Jim remembered watching her squirm in the monitor against the fingers poking and prodding Sarah’s stomach.  Sarah had laughed and giggled at the sight.  The little one was fighting the intrusion, voluntarily.  The first signs of the little character, the little life.  Jim caught his breathe.  The life he had stolen.  It wasn’t a life yet…she wasn’t a…she was dead.  Dead.  Jim leaned forward and put his head against the metal casket.  Blood dripped from his forehead and landed on the flowers.  He placed the picture with the roses and watched it stain red.  The little hands so small and precious were spotted with blood.

Jim wiped his forehead and looked at his blood-stained hands.  His heart skipped a beat and plunged his hands into the puddle.  His hands shook as he scrapped at the blood.  His blood.  Her blood.  How could he have done this?  He was guilty for condemning her to death!  It was his beliefs, his perspective that killed her.  His own self-ambition and selfish concern stole another’s chance at life.  How could he?  How could he?  The water turned a faded red black on the asphalt.  Pulling his hands out, they were clean but dripping with condemning evidence.  It wasn’t enough to clear the guilt.  More, he had to do more.

Fumbling through his pockets Jim revealed a knife.  Frantically he started stabbing at the empty tomb plague.  No name, no memory, no dates.  A forgotten and forsaken death to be buried in hidden shame.  She couldn’t go this way.  He wouldn’t forget her; he couldn’t forget her.  The knife scratched at the metal; forcing a memory upon it.  The knife slipped and sliced Jim’s thumb.  Blood dripped and Jim’s mind snapped.  He screamed.  In a frenzy Jim jabbed and chipped at the metal.  His hands quaked in panic.  The blood made the knife slippery and he dropped it half a dozen times in his madness.  Between scratches Jim bashed his head against the metal plaque as the tears raced down his cheeks.  It wasn’t enough to wash the damnation.  Nothing could bring her back.  She would never hold his hand.  Never call out his name.  Never cry from a broken heart.  Never squeal in joy.  She would never be.

It was over.  Dropping the knife, Jim rose.  His clothes were soaked from rain and blood.  It was done; all that could be done in her memory.  Turning and walking away, Jim left the graveyard.  There behind him was the clinic dumpster with a bouquet of roses and an ultrasound image leaning against it.  On the side of the dumpster a mess of scratches read:

Ashley Henderson

May 9, 2019

9 days, 5 hours and 24 minutes ago I killed my daughter

She was never given a chance at life

Can I ever be forgiven?