And So Vanished a Noble Man

“For all the good men that have lost themselves and their soul to the brutal and unjust reality known as life. I pray God have mercy on you, for ye, were the victims of circumstance.” - T.L. Golemon

He sat in the far corner of the room, knees tucked into his chest, hugging his legs, and rocking back and forth. The darkness engulfed the room. Only the light creeping out from under the wall length drapes breached it.

Her silhouette glistened like a meadow on a spring morning. He could not break the hold that her dead pan eyes had on him. “How dare she pass judgment on me. She has some nerve,” he thought. His shock and dismay no longer imprisoned him, but rather now, he was consumed with wrath. The audacity of not only her, but all of them. They had all treated him as if he was weak or foolish, but no more, not after tonight.

His resolve was to no longer play by their rules.

“RRWACUK,” blood spewed from her mouth and onto the sheets.

He sprung from the corner, pouncing on her, and grabbed the back of her head by the hair. SWAT! The backside of his hand kissed her mouth, splitting open her lip. “HMPH, HMPH, HMPH,” his breaths were deep and nasally. He slammed her head back into the mattress, pushing off it as he leapt from the bed. Never did he mean for it to go this far. His initial intent was simply not to accept, “No”. He had blotted it from his vocabulary. It no longer possessed any meaning. When it was uttered, it was incomprehensible.

They had labeled him as untouchable, undesirable, but yet wanted to maintain sole ownership of his attention and time. It had always been that way, and she had been no different. He had been there through the bankruptcy, the abusive men she would not leave, through the miscarriage, and yet, it had all been taken for granted.

The blood trailed behind him as it dripped from his fingertips. He ran his hand across his face spreading it from his forehead to his chin.

He turned back and found her motionless. This fact caused a chagrin to run across his face, for he knew familiarization was the key to her comprehension. The pain he had administered had truly been a transferal of knowledge. She had known suffering, but prior to this night it had all been self-inflicted. Now she understood what it meant to be the unwilling victim of misery.

“PWUK,” again the crimson gelatin leapt from her oral orifice and onto the once white sheets.

Slithering up her body, across her cushiony curves, he positioned himself behind her. He pulled her head against his shoulder, as if his presence were to comfort her. As his fingers passed through her hair, they streaked it candy apple red, making it shimmer, even in the darkness.

“She has betrayed me as all the others. Why? Why?”, this lone thought consumed him. He had given all of himself to her, but it was all for naught. She, like all the others before her, had used him for all he was worth and on this night, she had had full intention of sending him packing. He though, had no intention of leaving quietly ever again. No rather, from here forward, he would dictate how and when his relationships would end. He would be seen, he would be heard, and his presence would be felt.

Thump… thump…. thump….. Her heart faintly beat as he laid his hand across her breast and placed his cheek against hers. “Hauha,” she inhaled fighting for her life.

He had been so certain that she was different. He had convinced himself that she had seen him for who he truly was, rather than the societal perception that had been painted of him. On more than one occasion, she had made comments that supported his belief.

“You would make a wonderful husband… You’re the man that mothers tell their daughters to marry… I never met anyone like you, I did not know that men like you existed… or I have never had any man treat me this way before. It is all foreign to me,” were some of what she had proclaimed. Empty mendacity is what it had been. She was as eager an opportunist as those who preceded her. Parasites whose façades were those of emotional symbionts. The illusion of the symbiosis was always terminated at their expediency. Unease was usually the rationalization they would provide. He knew their justification to be a ruse meant to divert responsibility. Their displacement for such shame was always thrust upon him. Well, no longer was he to be the doormat upon which these immoral lasses wiped their emotional treads.

“Hauha,” as she prolonged her fight.

He glided over her torso and came to rest face to face with her. Even now as she lied before him grasping for life, he had to admit she was naturally exquisite. Her full locks, those mysterious orbs, high cheeks, pouty lips, ample breast, curvaceous hips, and elongated elegant legs made her the embodiment of physical perfection, but that is where her beauty ceased.

The darkness of her soul was undetermined, but through inquiry, he had become privy to the reality that it dwelled in shadows. It was through a mutual friend he had discovered that she would brag to other acquaintances of how, “She had him wrapped around her finger,” and referred to him as, “My bitch”. It was said that she and her gaggle would mock him and vent of how she found his presence to be repugnant.

“Caucaucagh,” she was choking.

Again, he had become engulfed with rage and was compressing her windpipe with his unforgiving clasp. Pop! Pwhata. Pop! Pwhata. He had knotted his other hand into a crude sphere, drawn back, and clouted her square in the mouth twice. The spray of blood had covered both of their faces. Still enraged he launched himself from the bed to the floor, and began to traipse across the carpet. He clutched his mane in anguish. He could hear their cackles in his head. It was maddening. The image of she and her comrades seated on her couch, taunting him, lingered in his mind. This whole time she had him duped. He had been delusional about her possessing genuine concern for him. She cared not for him, never did. Now in this hour of austereness, he knew her name had never even been, "Friend". The focus of his retinas began to meander back to her. Even now in her feeble state she held him hostage. Exasperated by this thought, he leapt back on the bed, hovering over her like a bulldog does a leftover steak. “You dare taunt me? I that have been at your beckon call. I who lifted you up. You did not know I knew, did you? Bitch! Is that not what they call me? THEY CALL ME YOUR BITCH! THE ONLY TIME YOU WANT YOUR BITCH AROUND IS WHEN YOUR IN TOO DEEP, CORRECT? ONCE AGAIN, THAT WAS WHERE YOU FOUND YOURSELF, AND SO YOUR BITCH WAS SUMMONED!” he barked in her ear.

“HMPH… HMPH…. HMPH….. ,” he inhaled trying to regulate his breathing, as he rolled to the foot of the bed. He sat on the corner of the mattress pondering the pickle he had put himself in, and speculating the what if's of had he not responded to her I.M.. “Wait,” he thought, “I did not respond. I shutdown my computer and drove here." "Ohhahaha,” he chortled, as if suddenly he had obtained clarity. All was not lost, for she was not very computer savvy and knew not how to archive.

He crossed to the table where the laptop sat. Rurhrhrhrhrh, the processor gently hummed. By the lack of the icon in the lower right corner, he knew she had signed out upon his arrival. Outside of its drone, the notebook was silent and revealed nothing at the moment. He thought it best not to tamper with it.

Now where was the other conspirator that contributed to the collapse of human communication? There it was on the nightstand. He despised them and refused to possess one. They were deities to which the whole world bowed when they sang. How poetic would it be if this mobile’s final role was of servant rather than deity? He strolled to the bathroom and drew a couple of sheets from the roll of toilet paper. Doubling over the tissue with anal preciseness, he sauntered to the cell phone. Thumbing through its history, he saw that her newfound beau had called shortly before his arrival. Perfect, a lamb for slaughter, but with a tinge of justice. Truth was that some of her bruises were preexisting to his appearance. They had been courtesy of her latest tyrannical companion. How fortunate, he had never anticipated for things to unfold as they had, but it appeared they were as a jigsaw puzzle, that when pieced together would form for him a practically undetected exit.

She often used such quaint isolated motels as a refuge in time of tribulation. “It is ironic, but after the storm is always when I am closest to serenity. Perhaps, it is, because you are the lighthouse that guides me to shore? My shelter from the tempest.” she would make such suggestions as she snuggled up beside him. As she would doze off, he would wonder of what she fantasized. He knew she dreamt. She told him of dreams she had, but never of the visions she would have on such nights. She granted him access to most all else, but those she had kept as her own.

Pressing all his weight against the pillow, he could feel her writhing under him. The squirming was minimal though, as most of the life had fled her already. He hoped her life had been as she desired, and it was with this thought her struggling ceased.

It was certain that he would have to take all the bedding and the attire in which she had been dressed.

He reached under the bed and produced a large size travel bag. As he suspected, it was empty. “If your staying, you might as well make it home,” she would say. The unpacking was merely the misapprehension needed to persuade herself and others that the cycle of abusive relationships were being stricken from her life. The truth was that these roadside havens would only serve briefly as tranquil abodes before the next welcomed oppressor.

He placed her in the tub and let the basin begin to fill.

Turning his focus to the bed, he stripped it of its linens. These too he folded with the same assiduousness that he had the tissue. As to their placement within the suitcase, his method was tactical.

At this juncture he took a detour to the bath to shutoff the tap.

He gathered the garments that she had been wearing. Handling them with the same preciseness that he used with the bedding, he managed to contain them within the single piece of luggage.

Hesitation clung to him as he approached the bathtub. Even now in endless sleep she watched. He knew not why she always felt validated to pass verdicts on him, but not so the maulers. “STOP IT! YOU DAMN WELL STOP JUDGING ME!” he demanded. With the rolling of the tips of his fingers over her eyelids, her gaze ceased.

He placed a towel on the ground, grabbed a washcloth from the same rack that loomed over the toilet, and slid in behind her.

The softness of her skin was exhilarating. For her to welcome his touch is all he had ever wanted, but no, she had shunned him as if he were leper; yet, those infectious cesspools that she mistook for men, she allowed them to infiltrate her. This reality had always baffled and disgusted him.

The strokes that he made with the cloth were gentle, yet not perverse. His cleansing of her was done with meticulousness rather than as if it were some deviant exploration. When he had cleansed them both, he stepped from the tub to the floor. He toweled himself off, and then removed her from the bath. He laid her on the floor, and then reached over and opened the valve. DRGWAAGHGH, the water spiraled down into the abyss of the drain.

At this point he had finished dressing and made his way to the door. He closed it behind him and double checked that it was locked. There was a bit of a nip in the air and it chilled even him to the bone. Her craving for seclusion in such situations had placed her room at the edge of the building, and thus, he had parked around the corner. He rounded the corner, climbed into his car, and started up the engine. Pulling away from where he parked, he took the most direct route to exit the parking lot. As he traveled across it he noticed that it was practically empty.

“That must explain why no one acknowledged the minimal amount of commotion,” he assumed. His presumption was accurate. No one was aware as to what had taken place, for her feeble attempt at resistances he had overpowered. Thus, he had extinguished her cries for help before anyone was alarmed.

He turned out of the lot and onto the road. Coasting at reasonable rate he surveyed the surrounding area in search of a county road. En route to the motel he noticed that he had passed more than one. CR 246 the sign read. The dust gracefully waltzed along the winds as the Newport drifted down the path.

He shot a glance towards the odometer. A mile and a half was what the Chrysler had covered thus far.

“Distance is the key,” was his cogent belief. To walk too far would put him at risk of being witnessed, but not far enough linked him immediately to her. He knew that eventually the connection would be made, but the objective was to acquire some time, place some space between he and them. At most he would only be granted a couple of days advantage, but his faith in his intelligence led him to believe that was all he needed to vanish.

Bdup, Bdup, Bdup, Bdup, as the vehicle transitioned between roadway and wayside. Coming to a stop, he killed the ignition and reached into the glove compartment. Drawing from it a pressure gauge, he exited the car, and made his way to the passenger side rear tire. Pssssssssssss, pronounced the rubber wheel as he compressed the nozzle with the backside release of the measuring apparatus. When the tire was depleted enough that it appeared that he had journeyed to the shoulder to salvage it, he pocketed the tool and started back to the motel. It had been the most logical option seeing as, he had taken the spare out a little over week ago and had yet to put it back. Abandonment was common place along these pathways.

Timing was now dictator. Before daybreak he had to return to the roadside inn, but yet, he could not chase time as if essential to existence, for in case of a chance encounter, he knew he need not be transmitting anxiety. Time flew, for as he traveled, he reminisced of the hours they had spent together. Bliss had been their norm rather than heartache. In retrospect, it was clear now that he had valued this shared treasure more than she.

Fortune had been his guardian this evening, as he had made his passage back undetected.

Keying into the room he went to her. The towel beneath her drenched, he lifted her from it and positioned her on the toilet. Taking hold of yet another, he completed what time and atmosphere had not.

Laying her on the bed, he located her make-up bag, and began application. It had been his area of expertise and the focal point of his studies; his skill in this and costuming had allowed him to freelance.

When he was satisfied that the coverage had veiled the assault, he began to dress her. He picked what he felt to be most casual. The rest would be left behind.

Leaving her lying on the bed he made his way back to the bathroom. He wiped out the tub and placed both the used bath linens and make-up in separate piece of luggage. This bag he had discovered under the bed as well. She had always been as a poorly crafted story, predictable.

He had decided it best to leave no evidence of outside communication behind, so, he packed the computer into its case and the cell into her purse. Then with luggage, case, and purse in hand he proceeded to her sedan. He threw all the bags into the trunk, with exception of the purse, that he placed on the passenger side floorboard.

Upon reentry, he swept the room once through and grab one last item. He placed it the front passenger seat and secured it with the belt. He closed the door and drifted once more to the room. After turning out all the lights, he sealed the tomb behind him and lumbered once more to her automobile.

Encasing himself within the two-door coach, he fired up its engine, and took flight into the darkness. Peering into the rearview he watched as the motel and its surrounding faded into the distance.

“I promised you,” he whispered as his focus shifted to the road, “I would never abandon you. I swore I would be there until the end. I assured you that at your side I could always be found”. He leaned towards the passenger seat and planted a kiss on her temple. “I am a man of my word. You need not fear, for I shall be with you always,” he proclaimed as they and the sedan melded into the darkness.