The Bright Park of the Sky #1

The Bright Part of the Sky

Chapter #2 // Savannah Was Here

Chapter #1 // Circular Logic

Crash!

His square-rimmed, reading glasses impact against the steel top table; the sound reverberates in the tomb like atmosphere of the room.

Hands reach out comforting to a shoulder. The movement rehearsed as if it is the only conclusion this Sunday had to offer.

He ignores the warm hands; they feel so out of place against the cold clutching at his heart. And the warmth feels like mockery and farce as if nothing at all real anymore.

He fixates on the pair of glasses, and memories that he cannot suppress engulf him.

They made him look goofy. She said they made him look goofy. He yearned to hear her say that again: “Daddy, you look so goofy like that.”

At the time, he was sure that the glasses were the ultimate indictment of growing old, but he couldn’t seem to care. They were together and laughing with cake icing smeared all over their face and fingers. She was so young, at an age where coming to a father for advice wasn’t at all uncool.

Suddenly, he can’t breathe, as if he is drowning. His throat constricts and his pulse races. He knows, logically, he should fight. But, fighting is confusing, and he can’t seem to get his body to work.

The world has broken, there lies the jagged abyss, and Raymond Kyte has fallen in.

He hears the words, but not the meaning, just the sound; and he hates what he hears. He hates the sounds, because they are not hers. And, he feels so angry, like his head is a raging fire, and he thinks he is dead, and this all-consuming inferno is what hell is, but he still can detect the beat of his heart, and he hates that too.

“Ray, Ray,” someone is calling his name, a familiar voice cutting through the fire, the outside elbowing in, and when he focuses his attention on it suddenly the rage subsides.

His reading glasses are still on the table in front of him, he opens his mouth, and attempts speech. To his ears, his voice sounds calmer than he expected it to be, “Yes.”

The same voice, that one that called his name, speaks again. It seems, though the fire in his head still flickers, his body still protests movement, and he does not twist or turn or look towards the voice. Ray feels alone; it is just him and the voice.

“Ray, someone has to come down and identify Savannah.”

Ray nods and lets the hand that rests on his shoulder guide him.

Ray has some of his control back when Detective John Abraham leads him into the morgue; or at least his limbs seem to be taking direction well. Each step seems like an eternity, and things appear to be moving around him while he remains still. He is thankful John has deemed speech unnecessary, Ray doesn’t think he can carry on a conversation with all the rage and fire and darkness that has filled up his hollow insides.

The room he is brought to is too bright, and Ray blinks and tries to adjust to the light, but his eyes still sting each time he opens them. There is a TV mounted against a wall, and no windows. His heart races with hope; maybe, this is all a dream and he’ll wake up in his own bed, Savannah safe in hers. Or, an April’s Fools Prank six days late.

Words reach his ears again, people are speaking. Ray has not noticed the diminutive, olive-skinner Medical’s Examiner enter the room. She turns her big brown bush-baby eyes on him, and gestures toward the TV. “Mr. Kyte, I am going to put her up on remote viewing. You’ll see her face on the screen, right here.”

Ray just stared at the screen, and counted his own heartbeats. A hand belonging to John Abraham still rested against his shoulder blade. His eyes still sting.

The screen crackled to life, blue static evolving into a greenish face.

His eyes were closed, and her lips sewn shut, each fiber and muscle in her face still. There was a scar above her left eyebrow; that was new. He traced over its formation on the screen. The TV crackling as he smoothed finger flesh across it.

“Ray.” The hand on his shoulder squeezes tightly.

Again, without knowing if his mouth would work he found himself responding. “John, I know, it’s Savannah.”

The last thing he remembers is his daughter’s green face, and a voice in his ear, proud and dark, “We’ll find the bastard…”

When Ray wakes from whatever state of existence his body and mind have been vacationing in, he finds himself spread across a couch he doesn’t know. It smells too much of lemony dish soap, and Ray rights himself trying to get the smell out of his head. He is not sure whether it is the artificial citrus tang or that he sat up to fast, but he feels like he is going to puke.

He sits for a few minutes with his hands on his knees and his head between his thighs hoping his brain will fill in the blanks, mostly concerning the couch he is sitting on, and the fact he is not at home, and not at work.

A door opens, and Ray fights the urge to flinch as it shuts. The sound of approaching feet has Ray looking up. Wearing a wrinkled grey suit is Detective John Abraham. He forces a smile for his friend. There are dark smudges around his baby blue eyes and his dark blond hair is a mess.

Ray finds his mouth dry and swallows. “What happened?”

“You passed out. Not really a surprise. Body can’t go on for long without sleep.”

“Oh." There was hope. "And, Savannah…”

“Savannah is dead, Ray.”

Ray feels his world lurch. “I need a drink.”

Suddenly that is all he wants to do, all he ever wants to do for the foreseeable future. Get a bottle, or two, or five, or six, or ten. Crawl into the liquor until the worm eats a giant hole in his head, so he never has to remember waking up and finding Savannah gone, no note, no nothing, spending frantic days hoping for some word anything, and in the end, her pale greenish face illuminated on a TV screen, like in some made for TV cop drama.

Ray feels John’s gaze on him, and looks up to meet stern but tired eyes. Ray wonders how John got to look this beat-up, this ruffled, like he spent a few too many nights on a tilt-a-whirl. Ray tries to look away and bury himself in the dark fury and confusion of yesterday that is just within reach, but John speaks and Ray finds it too hard to focus on more than one thing.

John hands him his reading glasses, the lenses are scratched.

“You need to tell me everything.”

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Read Chapter #2 // Savannah Was Here