SoC 3:1

Strathmore Bridge

 

"H  ave a good night, Dr. Strathmore!” The bartender called as Kevin opened the door and walked out.

Kevin ignored him. Maybe if someone would call him by his first name, acted as if he was a regular human being and not some superhuman doctor, Kevin would at least acknowledge him. But no, no one would do that. Not since his wife died.

Kevin sighed.

He limped down the dark street, scrunching up his face in pain when he lifted or set down his ravaged leg. Some people saw his leg as a symbol of Kevin’s remarkable genius. Others thought of it as Kevin’s noble and heroic sacrifice. But to Kevin, it was nothing but an injured leg. An injury that could have been avoided.

He’d always been modest. He didn’t like the fame his discovery had thrust upon him. It had been an accident, anyway, so he figured he didn’t deserve it.

Kevin had discovered the cure a virus that had struck North America, travelling rapidly and killing anyone in its path. The final death count was 200 million throughout Canada, United States and Mexico. When Kevin discovered the cure, it was in southern Mexico, and spreading southwards fast.

Now Kevin was heralded as the saviour of mankind. An exaggeration, obviously, only North America had been affected. They’d erected shrines in the States and Canada, and just finished building a bridge in his name. There were plans for a restaurant named after him, as well.

It disgusted Kevin, but he agreed to it because the people wanted it.

So here he was, walking down the street, hands in pockets, head down. He hated all this fame. All it did was remind him of the virus, of his wife, who’d succumbed to it only a week before he found the cure. He hated himself for not coming up with it sooner.

He was so lonely. He hated it. He could never live again. Never be happy. A thousand memories of him laughing and playing entered his head. Tears streamed down Kevin’s cheeks.

It was decided, right there. Kevin limped in the dark for a long time, knowing exactly where he was going.

A large man appeared out of the darkness of an alley, knife in hand. He grinned menacingly, but when he saw it was Kevin, the saviour of mankind, he burst into tears, hugged Kevin, and whispered “Thank you,”

Why can’t you just kill me? Kevin thought, that way I wouldn’t have to suffer all this pain walking to the bridge. But that was just the kind of effect Kevin had on people, and he hated it. He wanted to be forgotten, to be just another unknown guy like all the others in the world. He was still fairly young. He just wanted to start a new life.

But that wasn’t possible, so he’d just end this one.

Thomas ran into the bathroom, crying. Everyone just laughed harder.

“Way to go, Charlie! Showed that smartass a thing or two!” Came one voice.

More laughter.

“Yeah. That kid pisses me off. Hey, I wonder what he’s doing in the bathroom?”

More laughter. Thomas turned back to the bathroom mirror. His blue eyes were bloodshot, and his normally perfectly combed blond hair was tangled. He could hear footsteps coming closer. Probably that stupid Charlie.

Thomas pulled out a knife that was in his pocket. He’d been bringing it to school for a while now, but hadn’t taken it out yet.

The door opened, and Thomas braced himself for laughter and Charlie’s deep voice making fun of him. Instead, it was the principal.

Thomas cried silently as his mom drove him home. She hadn’t said a thing to him since she’d picked him up.

“Am I suspended?”

“Yes, Tommy. For two days. They said it would be much more, but they recognise the fact that Charlie was goading you. And it was your first time. You’re lucky.”

Thomas nodded, but said nothing.

They soon arrived at Thomas’ house. His mom parked the car, looked sadly at Thomas, and got out. Thomas sat there for a bit, not wanting to go inside and face his father’s angry face. He’d get a lecture, tonight. He’d probably get grounded.
Thomas opened the car door and got out. He walked slowly to the house, biding his time. Maybe he should kill himself now, than face his dad.

Thomas walked up the steps, took a deep sigh, and opened the door.

“What the Hell were you thinking?” His dad roared. “I don’t believe this! My God . . . Why, Thomas?” Thomas stood there, numb, just watching him.

“Dear, maybe you’re being too hard on—”

“Too hard? He brought a God damned knife to school! What else should I do?”

“He already feels terrible about it.”

“Needless to say, he’s grounded. For a month, if I had my way.”

“One week.” His mother said coldly.

“One week?” His dad yelled back. They’d practically forgotten he was there. “You’re joking.”

“No. He knows what he did was wrong. One week. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if he wasn’t grounded at all.”

Why did they even ground him in the first place? Thomas wondered. He had no friends to spend time with anyway, so it was pointless. Well, he had a few, but he didn’t actually like them. He didn’t want to spend time with them. All he liked to do was read.

“OK, Maria. Have it your way. Then it won’t be my fault when our boy becomes a murderer.”

“What the Hell are you talking about? He’s not a murderer! And he’s right there, for Heaven’s sake!” His mom screamed.

His dad just turned around and walked away.

“So Thomas,” His mom said sweetly, turning around and facing him. “I was thinking we could go look around town tomorrow. I have a break from work. You know, take advantage of your time off school. What do you think?”

Thomas nodded shortly, took a book from his backpack, and walked to his room.

“Thomas! Get down from there right this moment!”
Thomas sighed disappointedly, but obeyed his mother and jumped off the railings.

“Good Heavens, Tommy, don’t do that again! You could fall!”

“Thomas,” Thomas reminded her absent-mindedly.

“Sorry, sweetie.”

Thomas glanced around the bridge. “So why are we here?” He asked in a bored tone.

“Sight-seeing. They say this is where Dr. Strathmore committed suicide.”

“Who’s that?” Thomas asked, knowing full well who it was.
“You don’t know who Dr. Kevin Strathmore is? No, I suppose your generation wouldn’t care.”

Thomas yawned dramatically. “Nope.”

His mom led him to a statue placed on the sidewalk near the middle of the bridge. It wasn’t like those pathetic old statues, plain stone, no colour. This was an exact replica of a man sitting at a desk in a lab coat. The slightly tanned hand held an exact copy of a keyboard, and his infamous unruly blond hair was as tangled and knotty as the stories said. The intense green eyes looked to be staring at where a computer should be, although there was no computer, due to the budget. Instead, Thomas happened to be standing in the exact place for the eyes to be staring straight at him. His mom knelt down to read the plaque, and Thomas studied the statue’s face.

It winked.

Thomas started, shook his head and looked back at the statue. Nothing happened. What the Hell?

“Mom, can we go?” Thomas glanced nervously at the statue. Had it really winked? Yes, of course. Thomas didn’t just imagine things like that. He wasn’t crazy.

“Oh, fine, just let me finish reading this.”

“OK . . . Uh, I’ll be waiting by the car.” Thomas took one more glance at the statue and ran back to the car.

Waiting there, he replayed that wink in his mind over and over again. The peach-coloured eyelid of the statue had ducked down over the green eye, naturally. Like a person’s eyelid would. Had it been real? Yes, of course. But he couldn’t tell his mom. She’d say he was crazy. Everyone would.

He’d figure it all out tonight.

Thomas chewed his potato thoughtfully, staring blankly into space.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Tommy.” His mom said over spoonfuls of soup.

Maybe I have. Thomas didn’t answer.

“You’re so pale. Are you sure you’re all right?” His dad asked worriedly, sipping his wine and looking at Thomas.
Thomas nodded. No. He stared at the wall over his dad’s head.

“Pass the peas, Thomas.” Said Julia, his older sister.

Thomas didn’t hear her.

“Thomas!” She called out.

“Hmm? What?”

“The peas.” She said coldly.

“Oh.” He gave her the bowl.

They ate in silence for a bit.

“I’m not very hungry.” Thomas said, breaking the silence.

He picked up his plate and brought it to the sink.

Thomas went to the back door, put his shoes on and then grabbed the key to the shed from the its hook on the wall.

“Where are you going?” His mom asked, her head appearing into the hallway from the dining room.

“Out.” Thomas said shortly, and opened the door, ignoring his mom’s protests.

In the background he could hear his sister talking to his dad. “He’s such a drama queen! Gets suspended for two days and he acts like some depressed lunatic!”

He walked out the door as if in a dream. To the shed door. Unlocked the door and opened it.

Thomas re-emerged seconds later, pulling his bike behind him.

He walked it around the house and down the driveway, taking off down the street before his mom could remind him to wear a helmet.

Thomas had never been in this part of the city before. He had no idea how he’d found it, but he just knew where to turn. He had no idea how he was going to manage finding his way home, though.

That won’t matter. A voice in the back of his head said. Or was it his own head? Somehow, he didn’t know. Couldn’t tell the difference.

Up ahead, he could see the statue. He couldn’t quite make it out from so far away, but it looked to be staring at him. Or his way, at least.

As he got closer, he realized he was being stupid, though. What he’d thought to be a mouth was really the jaw line, and what he’d thought to be eyes was an ear. He was imagining things. That wink had probably been imagination too. But he couldn’t stop now. Couldn’t go back.

It was getting dark, but Thomas could still make out the statue’s face. He stared closely at it.

“Hello, Thomas.” Came a deep, rumbling voice.

Thomas looked around. He couldn’t see where the voice had come from.

“Down here.” The voice came from below the bridge this time. Thomas walked stiffly to the railing and peered over the edge.

It wasn’t how Thomas imagined a ghost to look. Not at all. But maybe it wasn’t a ghost? They were see-through, right? Transparent. This was just . . . A body.

It was floating in the water face up. The body was Dr. Strathmore, all right. The long blond hair seemed to, deceptively, form a halo around his skull, and the green eyes had lost their fire. Other than that, it resembled the statue perfectly, if you didn’t take into account the bloated body and the skin pale as snow. But the features were all the same.

The body rose, water dripping off and down into the river.
Thomas backed away from the railing and onto the street, horrified. Dr. Strathmore appeared, climbing over the railing and landing heavily on his feet. He looked up and smiled at Thomas.

“Hello, Thomas. It’s good to finally meet you.” The corpse said, water spurting from its mouth.

Thomas looked at him, speechless.

“I’ve been watching you, Thomas. You seem the perfect companion.”

“What? What do you mean by that?” Thomas asked, hardly able to control his voice.

“Well, you see, I killed myself because of loneliness. What I didn’t realize is that being dead is lonely, as well. For me, anyways. I don’t fully understand what happened, but it seems I didn’t completely die.” Dr. Strathmore paused, gazing thoughtfully at Thomas.

“This isn’t really happening, is it?”

“Yes, my boy. It sure is. Now. I’ve noticed you’re lonely, as well.”

“I’m not lonely!” Thomas exclaimed angrily.

“Yes you are. I’ve watched you nearly all your life. You have no friends; you’ve contemplated suicide numerous times. Come away with me. You’ll be happy.”

Thomas sighed. It was true. But he wasn’t going to kill himself so he could be some slave to this bloated corpse.

“No! I’m happy here!”

The corpse chuckled, a strange sound, coming from a waterlogged body. “Stop fooling yourself, Thomas, and think for a second! I know you better than you know yourself. You will come.”

The corpse began to limp forwards, arms outstretched.

Thomas ran across the bridge, and looked back.

“Stop resisting, you foolish boy! This is what you want!”

“No, it isn’t! I thought you were a saviour!” Thomas cried out, tears streaming down his face.

“I am.” Dr. Strathmore said, quietly. “I wasn’t before. That was an accident. But I’m saving you now. Trust me, Thomas. Come with me. You’ll be happy, in the land of the dead.”

“How do you know?”

“I know what you want. I know what you need. It’s all there for you. Ripe for the picking. If you come with me.” Dr. Strathmore had stopped chasing him, so Thomas stopped running.

“What about my family? They’ll miss me.”

“You don’t care about them, it won’t matter.” Dr. Strathmore snapped.

“No. You’re wrong. You’re right about everything else, but I do care about my family.”

“Thomas. Please. I’m begging you.” Dr. Strathmore’s voice lost its edge. “Let my soul get its rest. Let my body die like it’s supposed to. If you don’t come, none of that will happen. I’ll lie in the bottom of the river forever. Like you said, I’ve saved so many souls. Save mine.” Were those tears, or just beads of water dripping down his face?

Thomas felt a surge of compassion for this poor old man. Lying in the depths of the river for all those years. “How have you been watching me?”

“My soul is free from my body. I can go anywhere with it. But my soul is slowly slipping away from my control. Soon it will leave me. I’ll have nothing.”

Thomas considered it. It was true, all of it, except his family. He loved his family. But maybe it really was better for him. Who knew? Anything could be better than this life, he knew.

Suddenly, Dr. Strathmore’s corpse moved a lot more speed than he’d shown before. He tried to grab hold of Thomas’ arm, but Thomas reacted quickly and dodged away. He ran to his bike and rushed off. He didn’t know how he was going to get home, but he knew now that he had to.

For he’d realized something. He’d considered suicide so many times before, had been so close to doing it. But now he realized that it wasn’t worth it. Life was too precious to take it away. His family loved him. If that wasn’t enough reason to stay alive, nothing was.

He found his way home eventually. After all, he had his mom, his dad, and his sister. To be happy, he didn’t need much else.