It had been a long day. The worst dregs crawled out of the woodwork on Friday afternoons. A drunken hobo had been the star of today's show. He finished up throwing a can of super lager at the perspex barrier that protected the public servants from the public's wrath
He got out of the car anticipating the smell of a hot roast. He walked up the path hoping for a night of lazing, watching TV and reading the paper. He turned the knob thinking of a warm welcome from Jane, and a solemn grunt from Keiran.
As the door swung aside, he knew today nothing was to be as expected. Many years had passed since he settled into his routine, and now it was torn from him, leaving only a visceral emptiness behind.
He crouched beside the two bodies, praying for a sign of life. The stillness held for a moment, mocking him. Then he heard a faint whisper.
"Keiran..." Jane croaked more than spoke.
"He's right here." Aaron looked at his son's broken form. "Don't worry. He'll be fine. You'll both be fine."
He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialled those familiar numbers for the first time.
"Hello...yes....I need an ambulance," his eyes flashed back to his family. "As soon as possible. They're really hurt." The last phrase lowered to a whisper. "55 Holly Tree Avenue. Be quick, please."
He hung up, and turned to look at Jane.
Her eyes were different, empty. He knew she was gone.
Sobs racked his body. The world disappeared into a wall of grief. He didn't hear the sirens. He didn't react when the police broke the door in. Only when they tried to pry him away from his family did he come to, screaming and swinging wild fists. The paramedics sedated him, and the ambulance he called for his family found a different purpose.
He awoke in the hospital, groggy and disoriented. He saw took in the part of his family that stood around his bed, searching for something unseen, unknown. It took him a while to remember the events that brought him there. The memory burst like a dam, flooding his mind and leaking out through every facial orifice.
It took days for Aaron to speak again. When he did, all he would ask was:
"What happened?"
No one could answer. The coroner's report said blood spatters indicated they fell slightly apart, Jane first. That was all they had. He assumed they had been fighting, Jane lost balance, and Keiran either followed straight after, off balance, or couldn't live with the event and threw himself after his mother. Accidental death, both counts.
A few weeks later, Aaron returned to his old house, and his old job. His workmates could tell he never really came back, though. Aaron was never a particularly happy man, dry wit carrying him through the working day. The wit left with his family. He seemed to be carrying on, unthinking, a lifeless shell repeating actions out of habit.
Outside work, he went from a social drinker into a victim, submerging the grief and constant questions in a sea of hard liquor. The official story never sat right with Aaron. He knew there was more, and the agony of that tore him apart.
Six months after the accident, Aaron pulled into the carpark on a Monday morning, 7:00am prompt as usual. The only thing unusual was the entrance he made. Tyres screeching, the back end of the car slid out, clipping three other cars, including the manager's. He stopped, popped the door, inspected the damage and walked into work, whistling.
"Are....are you ok, Aaron?" asked Nikki, the receptionist.
"Absolutely fine, my dear," said Aaron. His arms swung vigorously, and his voice held a manic happiness. "Where is Mr Crocker? I have something to tell him."
"I....I uh....think he's in his office," she looked at Aaron, a familiar face, now changed into something entirely alien. "I'll call through, make sure he isn't busy."
"No, no. He'll be happy to see me." Aaron strolled towards the big office, oblivious to Nikki's cries.
He stood in front of the door for a moment, admiring the elegant gold lettering picked out on the opaque glazed panel. He wondered how many times he had dreamed of having that office. Those dreams seemed like a different life.
He took hold of the handle, and turned.
Mr Crocker was sitting on the phone. His eyes snapped towards the sound as Aaron entered the room. His face blazed in anger, but he held together, winding up the conversation.
"Yes....quite....yes. We'll discuss it next week. Yes....you too. Give Rebecca all my best. Goodbye."
He set the receiver down, then turned his attention to the intruder.
"To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr Chattle." Aaron's passive joy reflected his piercing gaze. "I hope you realise that was a very important phone call you just cut short."
"It certainly sounded vital," said Aaron, a twinkle in his eye. "I just wanted to let you know I won't be in today."
Mr Crocker looked at Aaron in disbelief. "As far as I can tell, you are already here. Unless you have access to technologies us mere mortals only dream of."
Aaron laughed. "Oh yes, sorry. I meant I won't be working today."
"I see. You look to be in rude health, and usually people telephone when they are ill. Might I ask what your reason is for requiring leave today?"
"I'm quitting. I've got more important things to do, I'm afraid."
"Really? Well that is quite a shock," Mr Crocker's sarcasm was blunted slightly, "your contract requires four weeks notice."
"No....not enough time," said Aaron, his tone firm. "I have so much to do."
"Well..." Mr Crocker spluttered. "Well, you'll forfeit your last month's pay."
Aarons face contorted, his plan crumbling. "I need that money. It's essential."
"Work another month and it is all yours. We can part on happy terms."
Mr Crocker's voice softened.
"Now, Aaron, I know you've had fimaily troubles, and it can be hard to adjust. I'm terribly sorry for that. You need this job, not just keep your roof. Stewing doesn't help, you need to stay active."
Aaron shook his head, disconcerted. He moved over to look out the window.
"I just can't forget it, you know?" he said. His voice sounded different, a lilting vagueness betraying its owner's distance. "It's too much, I just have to know."
He looked down, four floors until steel met asphalt. He backed away from the window.
"Listen, Chattel...." Mr Crocker began. The look on Aaron's face cut him short. He'd never seen a focus like that before. It seemed almost diabolical.
"I....I have to know," he muttered.
He looked back to the window, and dug his feet into the oak floor.
This was right. He'd never been so sure of anything before.
Mr Crocker's surprise stopped his first thought from forming into words until a moment too late.
"Toughened glass," he said, as Aaron bounced off the transparent barrier. Aaron fell backwards, head impacting the floor. A trickle of blood ran from his nose.
"You just can't get the staff these days," Mr Crocker grumbled as he picked up the phone. He dialled Nikki, and an ambulance was dispatched to collect Aaron.
When he awoke this time, it was to a different kind of hospital. More homely, yet somehow more sinister. He found no family at his bedside this time, only a stocky, bearded man with glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He looked like a particularly scholarly dwarf.
"Good morning, Mr Chattel," he began, "or do you mind if I call you Aaron?"
"What? Where...where am I?" Aaron asked, struggling against the straps holding his arms and legs.
"I'm terribly sorry about those," the Doctor continued. "You were a little unruly when you arrived."
"Arrived where?"
"You are in Fawkes Asylum," the doctor answered. "You had a psychotic break. We are treating you."
Aaron tensed against the straps, fighting the flood of memories. He heard a high-pitched scream, a horrifying sound. Then he realised he was the source. Orderlies rushed in, and a cold prick on his arm signalled the beginning of the descent to darkness.
Months passed, and Aaron's sessions failed to bring any progress. He retreated into himself. The doctor's questions were gradually overcome by other, more insistent voices.
Aaron stayed in his room, refusing to leave even for meals. He stayed stock still on the bed, his mind gradually seperating from reality.
One day, the doctor entered for a session to find Aaron unresponsive. He was breathing, but his pupils were unreactive.
He rubbed his eyes, and stepped into the hallway.
"Nurse! Chattel's catatonic. Bring a gurney." He turned back to look at Aaron's blank eyes, the sorrow of failure creeping over him.
Aaron's mind was far from blank, though.
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