Basil Page #2

• Short story
• Horror

								


“His soul is eternal now. You have now seen death, in the presence of abundant life. Cherish this moment, knowing that he will spend eternity abundant,” Lyle said softly, as if spoken any louder, his words would scare Liam back to life.

I remember Loretta’s weeping. I remember mine too.

……………

Aneurysm. The coughing had set it off. That was the only explanation Dr. Lloyd could muster. Only now do I know that it makes some sort of sense, and only now do I know that I was choosing a knowing death over something so sudden, and terrifying. Ten years later, and we were all to join Liam willingly in the eternal, in the neverending surplus of existence. We would exist among each other, and Liam, hand in hand. No fear or malice, no pain and suffering, no bloody noses or empty lungs. When I was alone at night, I hoped I would spend forever looking at the pink edges of Loretta’s thick, black hair, painted by the cotton candy sunset, orange, pink and purple sherbet skies forever. I wished on every star, and eyelash, and 11:11 that I would hear her laughter, in symphony with all of The Followers of Lyle, soft and pink forever, and learn to appreciate the herbaceous scent of fresh basil once again, without seeing Liam’s cloudy eyes rolling into nothingness.

Loretta took the thick wood box from Landon with a perfect grin, placing it on the cool metal counter in front of us. Her eyes went deep for just a moment, and as I studied her face, something I happened to do often. She was nine years old again, moments before death was curled up next to her tiny feet. I saw her nostrils twitch, and uncertainty peek through the mask she wore like orange sunshine through a cracked window. Only for a moment, and only once. The mask melted back into her skin for good after that, and I thanked my stars that it did.

“Can you help me with the sauce?” she said, pouring olive oil into a large pot, little glugging sounds echoing through the kitchen.

“Why else would I be here if it weren’t to help you?” I said as slickly as I possibly could, without the words catching in my throat. 

She smiled that perfect smile, and chucked a head of garlic at my face.

“Chop,” she said, her nose scrunching up in faux annoyance. 

I caught it, smiling wide myself, and drew my blade, slicing and chopping garlic to the best of my ability. I occasionally glanced shyly at Loretta, searching for some kind of expression on her face that indicated she was impressed by my garlic chopping prowess. What a silly thing to care about on a day like today. She had already finished chopping a whole head when I heard her yelp, a thin line of thick red forming on her index finger. 

………

The room we celebrated Liam’s life in smelled of lavender and steadily burning wood, which filled the space with much needed warmth. Loretta sat dead eyed by my side. Her tiny razor sharp fingernails dug into the soft skin of my hands, as if frantically searching for a ledge to grab onto, to not fall into an empty blackness, hot and wet like tears. 

Liam’s body was in a simple degradable box of some kind of wood I would now say was unvarnished elm. Only one day after we were all sat in a field together, young and unafraid of living, Liam was cold, and decomposing with only elm to shield the horrors from everyone’s eyes. Once full of childish wonder, Loretta and I’s eyes had aged multitudes. It’s so bizarre how much can change in such little time. Time will steal everything from you if you allow it to.

Lyle stood before us all, and through soft background weeping, and shuffling, he began to speak, in a voice one slight step away from the strong, calm voice we all loved to lead us.

“Liam was a- he was… Liam was… I’m sorry. You all knew him. I don’t have to explain anything about him to any of you, my family. He was our brother, our son. You all knew the lining of his soul. Let’s just take this time to cherish him. I won’t cloud the room with empty words. You may all pay your respects.” 

I felt a tear drip down my face, and stinging pain in my hand from how hard Loretta gripped me. I’m shocked to this day that there are no Loretta’s nails shaped scars on the top of my right hand. 

We sat in silence for a while, as people we knew and loved went up to that elm box, whispering and weeping as if he would hear it, and soon enough, us two were the only ones left. The pressure in my hand was relieved, leaving red ghosts in the place of those small fingers, as Loretta stood up, walking towards Liam’s corpse in that small box, her eyes empty with pain, fingers and knees shaking like leaves.  She stood before the box until her knees gave out, shaking so hard she fell to them, unable to hold herself up any longer. I don’t think I've ever moved faster in my entire life as I did that day, running like a wild animal to her side. 

“Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, WHY!” 

And then the why’s were replaced by bangs, as Loretta threw her head into the wood, smashing it repeatedly as she screamed. It was more like howling than screaming, guttural and almost inhuman. I quickly pulled her by the hair back, throwing myself in the space between her face and that box, panting heavily, eyes crazed and teary. Lyle stood in disbelief, as if frozen in a block of cold, black, nothing.

………

I ran to Loretta’s side as she stuck her bleeding finger into her mouth with a little grunt. 

“You don’t have to save me from a little cut,” she said with a giggle, her words a bit garbled. 

I smiled, a bit embarrassed at how quick I was to rush to her side. I would always rush to her side though, no matter how many times I did so and knew it was silly afterwards. 

“This is why we wear gloves,” I said cheekily, snapping the plastic glove against my hand. 

She rolled her eyes and gently pushed me out of the way, continuing to add chopped garlic, and pine nuts to the hot oil. It smelled great, as it always did. 

“A cut won’t kill me,” she said.

I laughed so genuinely that she had to laugh along. What an absurd joke to make. I thought it would be the last one I’d ever hear. My heart felt twenty pounds heavier. 

“This will.” 

I bent down, straining my knees as I pulled a splintered wooden crate from under the kitchen counter. Loretta looked down into it, staring at the jug of deep brown liquid. It could almost be mistaken for syrup, if looked at with a certain stillness. It had no legs that would grasp the walls of the jug, only thin, brown fluid. It was almost time to add it to our bubbling pot. For the first time, I felt a stabbing pain in my chest, dragging down to my stomach at the thought of pouring it into the giant fragrant pot of sauce. It would be me who did it. It would be my hands that squeezed the life out of my family’s soft bodies, making them cold, and hard, like Liam. I was going to kill Loretta. I was going to kill myself. My spiraling thoughts, and stabbing guilt were soon halted.

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