II: Bleak Tomorrow

Five days have passed since Peter’s spoke with Jack. It is now Saturday afternoon and he is on his way to meet his new—suicidal prone—friend in person, Heather. She has repeatedly called him at work in constant need of reassurance and guidance from mundane issues such as opening up to her co-workers to the more serious: telling her boyfriend about her self-destructive thoughts.

Peter couldn’t help but be slightly agitated and distracted by his fruitless work week: all his time felt sapped by a non-target, he hasn’t seen Jack since the night at the diner and—most unsettling of all—his weekly quota seems unsalvageable. Peter finally arrived at the address that Heather gave, 1016 Shakespeare Ave. He stood in front of the apartment door and rang the bell. A silvery voice answered, “I’ll be right there!” as the sound of light footsteps shuffled towards the door. As the door swung open, Peter sees Heather for the first time: a petite women hardly reaching his chest with shoulder-long brown hair, her face was a pale pink canvas stained only by a small mole that hung on her left cheek under her equally dark chestnut eyes.

“It’s nice to finally meet you in person Peter” she said sweetly, “please come in, sit down.”

Once inside Peter took in his surroundings; to his right, a small living room with two maroon couches facing one another. To his left, a hallway with two doors, the closest of which was wide open and revealed a small restroom while the door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar, hiding her bedroom. At the far end of the apartment, no more than 8 feet, was the kitchen. There were scented candles scattered throughout the apartment, culminating around the living room. Her walls were covered with frames and other decor that screamed live, laugh, love. The ceiling hung four inches above Peter’s head. Although Peter had never felt claustrophobic before, he imagines it must have felt how this apartment looked.

“Your place sure is cozy,” he remarked as he stepped toward the couches.

“Thank you, I’ve been trying to keep a positive atmosphere lately. Here let me just go get us something to drink.” As Heather retreated into the kitchen she continued, “You know what they say: ‘nourishing positivity starves negativity.’” In all of Peter’s 12 years working in suicide prevention, he had never heard anyone say that phrase before. Once seated he patted his knees while gently swaying back and forth trying to distract himself from his immediate discomfort.

“So how are you today? After your brief call yesterday you still sounded upset about how your boyfriend reacted. How did he react exactly?” Peter asked as Heather was returning with two glasses of lemonade.

“It was strange, he was concerned of course, but as we talked more about it he seemed to be getting frustrated. Like he couldn’t believe me and that I was just being ‘silly’ and to just ‘stop’ being depressed. He is very sweet though. He was upset that it took speaking with a suicide prevention specialist to convince me to talk to him about how I’ve been feeling; you were right, he thinks I should have come to him first. He’s also the reason why I had to cut my last call with you short. Sorry about that.”

Peter remarked, “Yes well, between you and me, it was best that you did call. A certain tact is needed when dealing with these sensitive issues.”

“This coming from the guy that offered to help me blow my brains out?” Heather laughed.

“Yes well, I’ve learned that dark humor is best answered with darker humor,” Peter said with a smile.

Heather had added the facetious comment to her laundry list of erroneous phrases. While taking a sip of her drink she asked, “Do a lot of people that call joke that way? I imagine it’s very hard to do what you do, I would think your job to be more… gloomy.”

“It is, sometimes—most times—it’s very disheartening when I can’t find the right words to say. The hardest part was getting used to the true weight of words.” In order to satisfy the puzzlement and yet consoling look Heather gave him, Peter continued, “I’ve realized early into this profession that whoever is on the other side of that phone call is drowning. At first it starts as no more than a nuisance, like walking in water ankle deep everywhere you go. What was only a nuisance becomes bothersome, then a pain, and once the abyss has risen over one’s head, they reflexively hold their breath and continue to sink further into despair. They then suffer in silence: at first it was from not wanting to ask for help—for one reason or another—but now it’s because they no longer can or remember how to. As they sink further and further the pressure builds and their suffering intensifies. Finally their lungs burst releasing a silent scream. Like an air bubble formed from a boiling pot, it raises to the top. It pops once it reaches the surface, but instead of a scream, I hear the phone on my desk begin to ring. I then have to find the words that will pull them back up. Sometimes I’m good at my job and the call ends with the person on the other end of the line able to breathe again. While other times a single word or phrase pulls them lower; like tying anvils to their feet, they disappear within the void.” Peter noticed Heather sitting transfixed while condensation from her glass of lemonade dripped onto the carpet. The room went silent. Peter added nonchalantly, “Then there are days when I’m simply in a foul mood—usually when I’m hungry or annoyed—so I tell whoever calls to off themselves.” Heather stared at Peter for a moment before bursting into laughter.

From that point the evening progressed swimmingly. Both told the other about their hobbies and quirks, they complained about their coworkers, talked about the shows they liked, and shared each other’s dark sense of humor.

Heather then bends forward in an overly serious manner and asked sarcastically, “So Peter, in your expert opinion, would you agree that I am a lost cause?”

Peter straightened out his smile and with a solemn stare and with unflinching eyes he says, “Yes.” They both begin to laugh again.

“In all seriousness though, have you ever felt like there are people that are just a ‘lost cause’?” Heather inquired, much to Peter’s surprise. Before he could answer there was a knock at the door. Heather shot up from her seat and darted to the door, “Oh my I must have lost track of time. That must be my boyfriend.” Heather swung the door open and greeted her sweetheart with open arms. At this instant Peter wondered if there was such a thing as fate, because the person that Heather embraced was the one person he was searching all over town for.

Jack saw Peter with a smug smile on his face and seated on his girlfriend’s couch; Jack’s brows narrowed as he appeared to mouth out the words, “Wart the fork.” Peter began scheming immediately. Heather began the introductions, “Jack, this is Peter. Peter, this is Jack.”

Peter rose to his feet with a frozen smile on his face, “Hello Jack, It’s nice to meet you.” He walked towards Jack as though reunited with an old friend, and enthusiastically shook Jack’s hand. Jack stood frozen, as though having doubts if this was the same man he threatened at the diner a few days ago.

Heather said with a pout, “Jack, get your head out of the clouds, you’ve wanted to meet Peter since I first mentioned him to you.” Finally breaking from his delirium, Jack’s confusion turned to a seething rage. He turned to Heather and without another word she left the living room, walked down the hall into her bedroom and closed the door behind her; Peter heard the click of a lock.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked more from curiosity than concern. Jack didn’t answer, he remained silent with fists clenched. He stared at the locked door. Suddenly, music began playing from the room, it was Flanagan and Allen’s Run Rabbit Run. Jack suddenly grabbed Peter by the collar and threw him against the entrance door. A slam reverberated throughout the apartment which knocked two candles to the floor. The song grew louder:

“Every Friday, on the farm, is Rabbit pie day!”

Jack lifted Peter with his bear arms, grimacing with animosity. Peter’s back ached from bruised muscles and rattled bones yet his face was placid, completely at ease and detached from the pain. Peter had a thousand yard stare but with a slight smile at the edge of his closed mouth. He was thinking; arguing with himself about what to do.

Both men stared at one another; Jack straight at Peter and Peter straight through Jack. The song continued:

“Run. Rabbit. Run. Rabbit. Run, run, run, run.”

Finally Jack spoke, “You really are one crazy psycho. I told you I’d kill you the next time I saw you, and now I find you in my girl’s place. How did you even find her?”

Peter didn’t respond, he was miles away. Part of him wanted to give in and let Jack kill him: finally his time has come, he can embrace the numbing oblivion he’s fantasied for so long. However, another part of him thought: if I’m truly fated to finally meet Death, why not play hard to get?

Jack pulled out a knife and pressed it against Peter’s throat. Peter’s eyes refocus to meet Jack’s fury. Peter final spoke, “That’s right Jack, and you should kill me. In fact, I’ll give you three reasons why you should and one reason why you won’t. The first—and most obvious—is because you really fucking want to. Second, you would actually be doing a public serves in killing a murderer far worse than yourself.” Jack pressed the knife deeper but Peter didn’t seem to notice. With a solemn stare and unflinching eyes Peter continued, “Finally, and most important of all, you’ll regret letting me go.” The two men stood affixed and even though Jack’s knife was pressing into Peter’s neck, Peter’s attention and his gaze turned towards the room where Heather hid in. He rose his index finger to Jack’s face gesturing for him to wait a moment and yelled, “Does she know what you’ve done?”

Jack instantly pressed the knife firmly against Peter’s throat, releasing a trickle of blood in order to silence him; nevertheless, Peter’s focus remained toward the room. The song grew louder:

“Run. Rabbit. Run. Rabbit. Run, run, run, run.”

“I thought you were going to give me three reasons not four,” Jack said agitated. That’s when Peter knew that Jack hasn’t told Heather that he’s a killer; moreover, it was apparent that Heather doesn’t want to know about Jack’s secrets. A painting began to form in Peter’s head, and he couldn’t help but grin.

Jack had never come across someone like Peter before. Normally, his experience has been that people would be intimidated by his mere presence. Now here he stood ready to kill a man almost half his weight, but that man didn’t show the slightest sign of fear nor any intention to struggle even with a knife carving into his throat. Rather than fear, this man radiated a calm delight. In Jack’s experience there was always a struggle, it was always a fight to make a kill, but not this time. This made him hesitate.

“You’re not going to kill me Jack. Heather is hanging by a thread. If you kill me then she’ll kill herself, maybe in a few weeks, I bet my life she’ll go within two months.” Not only was Peter actually betting his life, he was gambling on a bluff.

“What the fuck are you on about?” Jack said through clinched teeth.

“She told you that she was suicidal right? How she called the suicide hotline and found someone very helpful; Remember Jack, I work at the suicide hotline, and I’m very helpful.”

“So you’re the one she’s been speaking to.”

“By God, it can think!”

Jack ignored Peter’s taunt. “Wait, so you came here to kill her. That’s how you said you pick your victims,” Jack reasoned.

“Normally yes, but unfortunately for you Jack, you are my victim, not her. I didn’t even know she had anything to do with you; at least not until you flung me at against this door you came in through. Honestly, she was about to tell me that she thought she was a lost cause. I could have gotten through to her by now if you hadn’t shown up. But now she’s locked herself in her room with that ridiculous song playing at full volume. Who knows, maybe she already killed herself.”

Jack’s expression softened slightly, “So you want me to believe that you’re here to help her? You’re just trying to save your ass.”

“Here, I’ll make this easy for you. If you don’t believe me, then kill me right now.” Peter pushed his neck towards the knife. More fresh blood streamed down. “You can see for yourself as Heather slowly drowns in her depression and you’ll be helpless to do anything about it. On the other hand, if you believe me, I can pull her to safety and then you can kill me if you like.”

Jack realized now that this man had long since forfeited his life. “If you were truly fine with me killing you then why would you bother with helping her?”

“How many times do I have to remind you? I am going to be the one killing you Jack, I just need till tomorrow night. I will cure Heather by tomorrow and then I’ll kill you. If I fail at either one of these then you can go ahead and kill me.”

“You’re crazy”

“Don’t think I can do it? Wouldn’t you like to see me try? Imagine how exciting it would be Jack. Tomorrow I will give you the fight of your life. You said the real joy from making a kill was the excitement of the hunt. I told you my position on the matter, I say kill me right here. My only concern is will it be as good for you as it is for me?” Peter smiled wide.

Jack pulled the knife away from Peter’s neck, disgusted.

Both men stood silent as the song played uninterrupted:

“Run. Rabbit. Run. Rabbit. Run, run, run, run.

Don’t give the farmer his fun, fun, fun.

He’ll get by, without his rabbit pie.

So Run. Rabbit. Run. Rabbit. Run, run, run, run.”

Peter’s cool domineer suddenly changed to a disappointed boredom from Jack’s recoil. He cupped his throat to stop the bleeding. “It’s a deal then, I’ll see you here tomorrow after my session with Heather.” “You plan to fight me head on?” “Oh Jack, you really expect me to ruin the surprise? I’ll get you, don’t you worry.” Peter straightened out his jacket and walked to the door. Before opening the front door he turned back to Jack, still standing with the knife outstretched, “By the way, tell her that there was a misunderstanding about me owing you money for something dumb that would get you furious. I can’t help her if she doesn’t trust me, so you and I need to be on good terms.” Jack couldn’t help feel annoyed by Peter barking orders at him, “Just get the fuck out of here you damn sadist.” Peter grinned, “see you here tomorrow night pal!” and walked out the door. The song continued to play, “Run. Rabbit. Run. Rabbit. Run, run, run. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Goes the farmer’s gun.” As Peter walked home he could see it, the painting was fully formed.