Steven Nevets

    Using his fingers like teeth on a comb, Steven Nevets flattened his dirty brown hair. He wiped the glaze of moisture away from his brow and looked up at the peephole and the number 3663 on the door. He considered straightening the disheveled white dress shirt under his jacket as he stared back at the empty street. Winter winds urged him away from the front porch of his best friend’s home. The porch lamp livened. Steven turned to the door. The light died. The wind blew harder and smelled of neighborhood trash. The lamp flashed and the door swung open. 

    “I thought that might’ve been you,” Bobby Owen said. Dressed in blue jeans and a v-neck sweater, Bobby towered over Steven. He smiled and with his warm handshake, welcomed Steven into the living room of the two-story home.

    “Thanks.” Steven forced a smile and stepped over a toy dump truck. He maneuvered through the toys on the floor like they were landmines. The red, blue, and green lights of the Christmas tree pulsed and hurt Steven’s eyes. A four-year-old boy wearing blue pajamas covered with dragons zipped past him down the darkened hallway. Steven thought the dragons turned and smiled at him as the boy flew by.

    “Keep it down, Alexander!” Bobby yelled and Steven’s shoulders jerked involuntarily toward his ears. “I’m going to go help Deana in the kitchen. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

    Steven started to remove his jacket. His neck twisted when the jacket removed itself from behind. A pretty thirteen-year-old girl with wavy blonde hair held his jacket over her arm. She wore a solid pink t-shirt. White wire headphones dangled from her ears to the left pocket of her blue jeans.

    “Thanks Amanda,” Steven said.

    She said nothing but gave him an awkward smile as she disappeared with his jacket down the same cavernous hallway that swallowed her brother.

    Steven sat and breathed slowly in and out. His heart thumped. He imagined it slamming repeatedly against the wall of his chest as he watched his shirt pocket flinch.   

    In the kitchen, Deana rinsed a clear glass over the metallic sink. “He looks bad,” Bobby said to her. The two of them watched Steven through the bar area that adjoined the kitchen with the dining room.

    “Poor Steven,” Deana replied. “He was sensitive and frail before Maria left him. Now he’s a real mess. Looks more like forty-five, than thirty-five.”

    “His work is all he has and that’s not going too well,” Bobby said.

    “There’s only so much a guy can take. He looks like he is about to burst.”

    Steven rubbed his hand across the fabric of the couch, and nearly gagged. The normally pleasing material reminded him of someone scraping fingernails across a chalkboard. A chill bubbled on his neck and right arm. He thought about leaving and stared at the front door. He envisioned himself taking long, frantic strides into the chilly night. A sharp pain jabbed into the top of Steven’s skull and he put his head into his hands.

    “You o.k. Steven?” Bobby asked.

    Steven looked into Bobby’s concerned face. “I’m still not feeling well.”

    “Still having the anxiety?”

    Steven took a pill bottle out of his pocket. “I don’t know. The doctor prescribed these for anxiety, but they really don’t help with the headaches and fatigue. I appreciate you having me over. A part of me wants to stay, but another part feels like I should go.”

    “You’re here among friends. You need some time out of that damn apartment. What about taking some time off work?”

    “I asked Frank about it today. Despite my poor production recently, he said I was needed at work.”

    “He told you it would be the middle of this month.”

    “I know. Then he approved Andy Strom’s vacation later in the day. Frank’s just a jerk. He likes to bust my balls,” Steven said flatly.

    “I think you need to say something. That’s not fair and he needs hear it from you,” Bobby said.

    “If I say something, he could fire me, and then I would really be screwed.”

    “Sometimes you have to show others that they can’t have their way with you. You have to show them another side, even if it isn’t who you really are. If not, they are going to continue to run all over you and you’re going to build this up until you explode,” Bobby advised.

    Steven lowered his head.

    Bobby stood and rested his hand on Steven’s shoulder, “C’mon. Let’s eat.”

    Steven’s right hand shook. He switched his fork to his left hand and stabbed at the dark chicken, which rested on mashed potatoes. A thump to his shin followed by pain forced him to drop his fork. It made a loud clang against the porcelain plates. Alexander cackled from across the table. Steven picked the fork up and struck another piece of chicken. Just as he raised it to his mouth, the same pain caused him to twitch and nearly drop the fork again. Deana looked up but said nothing. Bobby announced Alexander’s name. “Whatever you are up to, you better stop it!” Bobby commanded.

    Steven reached for his glass of water and as he raised it to his mouth, he received another jolting kick from Alexander causing the water to spill. Alexander placed his hand over his mouth to muffle the laughter and Bobby told him to stop.

    Steven gritted his teeth and with a bowed head, peered at Bobby. Is that it? That’s all he’s going to say?

    Steven relaxed his jaw. Do I need Bobby to protect me from a four-year-old?

    Between bites of mash potatoes, Alexander stifled his laughter and then suddenly another kick.

    Bobby spoke up. “Alexander, do you want to go to bed early tonight?”

    “No Dad, I...” and before he could get out another word he had kicked Steven again. 

    Steven thought about all of the things he wanted to say. He ran his hand through his hair and tightened the grip on his fork. Bobby, you were the last one I thought would let me down. How would you feel if I waved this knife in your son’s face!

    An intense pain struck at all sides of his head and Steven sensed the chandelier above the dining room table was brighter. Steven wanted to close his eyes, but did not. The light blinded him temporarily. As his vision returned, he could only focus on what was in front of him. His periphery was masked by white light. Steven saw something appear as if it had come right through him.

    Steven could only see the dark back of the figure, but it moved fast. In one motion, the figure grabbed Steven’s steak knife and lunged forward, thrusting it into the laughing mouth of Alexander. Alexander’s eyes widened. Blood poured down the sides of the child’s mouth. The knife was jerked out and the momentum brought the boy’s head down hard. His forehead crashed against the edge of the table and he slithered to the floor. Steven heard screams. In another quick motion, the figure swiped with the knife and Steven’s head swiveled with the movement. He saw the slit in Deana’s throat. She gasped and gargled. Her face went pale as the crimson fountain drained from the opening in her neck down her blouse. The figure shoved the knife into the canal of Amanda’s left ear. Her earphone popped out of her other ear as she convulsed. Unable to move, Steven watched the knife pierce Bobby’s chest. Bobby mouthed, “What have you done?” Steven could only hear heavy breathing.

    The light flashed again and then everything went black as if Steven had closed his eyes. Just as quickly, the darkness disappeared and everyone at the table was staring at him. Steven looked frantically from side to side, noticing that the entire family was alive and well.

    “What happened?” Steven asked.

    “You don’t know?” Deana accused.

    “Are you serious?” Bobby asked.

    “What?” Steven replied.

    “You cursed at Alexander for kicking you and waved your knife at him,” Bobby replied.

    Steven looked around. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

    “Wait,” pleaded Bobby.

    Steven stood, and staggered as he rushed out the door to his car and drove away.

    Steven slammed the door to his apartment and made sure to flip both locks. His head still ached. He turned on the TV as he paced the wooden floor of his living room. He searched his pants pocket and found the empty pill bottle.

    Steven rushed to the bathroom. He looked into the mirror of the medicine cabinet. He did not like the pale and sad version of himself that stared back. His heart pounded like it never had before. He opened the medicine cabinet and found another bottle of pills. He swallowed a pill and ran the cold water, which he cupped in shaking hands.

    Tears ran down Steven’s face. Am I going crazy? What’s Bobby going to say the next time I see him? That little bastard deserved what he got, and more! Maybe I deserve to die!

    Steven focused as the anchorman began the nightly news from the other room. “A family of four on 3663 Newcombe St. was brutally murdered earlier this evening. The police have not released many details, but state that all were apparent victims of a brutal knife attack.”

    “Oh God!” Steven said aloud. “It couldn’t have been me, could it?” He again felt the sharp pain in his head and knew he needed to make it to the couch before he passed out. Steven closed the medicine cabinet door. In the mirror’s reflection, a light swarmed and a figure arose from behind. The face was his, but flushed, angry and misshapen. In the figure’s right hand was a bloody steak knife. Steven screamed. The figure leapt and came down as if raining over Steven. Darkness.