The Most Important Thing I'll Ever Do (3 of 3)

 

*Author's note: This story will dive into some fairly sensitive topics including untreated mental health, murder and suicide. This is part 3 of 3! Click here to read part one and here to read part two!

I strongly considered just letting the call go to voicemail, but the hope for answers drove me to answer.

"Hello...?"

"Hello! This is Dr. Fitzpatrick. I'm calling for our scheduled telehealth check-in."

"Hey, doc." I tried my best to sound casual.

"How are you feeling today?"

"As good as I could be, doc."

"I'm glad to hear that. You mentioned last week you were going to take the week off from work?"

"Y-yeah, I got the time off." I checked the time, 12:32. I sure hope I had the time off, otherwise I was probably late.

"That's good. Working a high-stress job like yours during a time like this would be detrimental to your mental health."

"That's...that's what I thought too."

"How are you holding up? Really? Sorry, but I don't believe you'd be doing good on today of all days. You scheduled a telehealth call for a reason."

"Well...uh...Doc...it's all just kind of overwhelming to think about," I said shakily. I doubted he had any idea what I was actually going through at the moment, but clearly, something else had happened in the preceding ten years.

"Well, that's not abnormal. You went through the type of trauma and loss that is completely unimaginable to a normal person. It is the type of stuff we only ever hear about or see on TV, and it's only been four years. It's just important not to blame yourself."

"T-thanks, doc," I stuttered out. Trauma? Loss? Had...had I still shot Nick? That did seem like the type of thing that would require therapy after. Was I still in prison and this was some kind of weird fever dream?

"You've made so much progress already. You take care of yourself. Would you like to schedule another fifteen-minute telehealth check-in?"

"Sure."

"I can fit you in Tuesday next week? Same time?"

"Yeah, doc. Thanks." I hung up the phone, my hands shaking. The call had left me with more questions than answers.

What had he said? It had only been four years? That ruled out shooting Nick. I'd been in prison for ten years for that and should still be in prison. And a high-stress job? That sounded like the call center, but the paycheck didn't match up to what appeared to be my current lifestyle.

I looked around the lavish room again, trying to piece together the fragments of my scattered memories. How had my life changed so drastically? And why couldn't I remember any of it?

Deep down, I knew there were probably answers in the house. Pieces of this life I could use to figure out what happened. There was a lot more to go through here than there was in the prison cell. The fastest route to quick, if not detailed, answers was in the palm of my hand.

It took every ounce of willpower I had, but I finally opened the contact list on my phone. There were hundreds of contacts. Many I didn't recognize, but more important were the contacts not there. I didn't have a number for Trixie or Nick. Had my best friend run off with my now wife? Is that what happened?

More odd than that, I still had the phone number for Trixie's mom saved.

"Should I call her?" I wondered. I almost hit the button to dial her number. Almost. Instead, I chose to lock the phone. I was panicking enough, and she had never been anything but kind to me. I didn't need to open up whatever wounds might still be healing for that woman.

I began to slowly go through the house. I found bills, paperwork, invitations to conferences, and medication. I was on antidepressants, apparently. Computer magazines with some articles I had written, which felt kind of nice. Strangely, I had a different copy of the same science fiction novel I had found in the prison: When Points Diverge. I must have really developed a love for that book.

My eyes kept drifting back to the wedding photo of myself and Trixie during my search. Why was the photo face down? Could I not bear to look at it?

The end table it sat on had a drawer. I hadn't searched there yet. My hands felt clammy as I pulled the drawer out. It was filled to the brim with photos of Trixie. I started to go through them. Some I recognized from early in our relationship, but a lot of them I didn't. Wedding photos, trips, photos with her family, photos with mine. I had an entire life with her I'd missed out on somehow.

As I was going to put the photos back in the drawer, I noticed a newspaper clipping. It had been underneath all the photos sitting on the bottom. I picked it up and as I read it, I felt my entire body run cold, and tears started to stream from my eyes uncontrollably. It was Trixie's obituary. Her date of death was four years ago today.

It took me a few minutes to read the obituary through the tears. It didn't mention a cause of death, only that she had died unexpectedly. The part that scared me more than that...she was predeceased by her sister, Sarah, and her nieces and nephews. Trixie. Sarah. The kids. All of them. Gone.

I put the obituary back into the drawer and pulled the smartphone from my pocket again as I sat back down. My fingers shook as I typed Sarah's full name into a search engine. It didn't take long to find her obituary. The same date of death. Whatever had happened to Trixie also happened to Sarah. If the kids were listed, then they must have been caught in the crossfire.

But what about Nick? I punched in his name. The first thing that came up wasn't his obituary.

It was a news article. As I read the headline, my phone slipped from my hand, and I could feel the blood draining from my face.

"Man Slays Wife, Sister-in-Law, and Children in Ghastly Murder-Suicide."

I don't know for sure how long I sat there in silence, too shocked even to cry or feel anything beyond numbness. Nick had what? No. Not my friend. This has to be some kind of mistake. I opened the article, and the more I read, the more my heart sank. The article was dated several days after the shooting.

There was no mistake about it. It was Nick.

Our city has never seen such a tragedy and hopefully never will again. Approximately four days ago, at the strongest request of the husband of one of the victims, a wellness check was delivered to a local home. The scene inside was one of gruesome horror. They discovered the bodies of two women, covered in blood. One had received a gunshot wound to the head, and the other had received one shot to the chest and one to the head.

Further investigation led to the discovery of the remains of four children. Each had received one gunshot to the head, and law enforcement believes, based on their positioning, they were asleep at the time.

The remains of the shooter were found in his bedroom. A note was left but police have not released the contents--

I stopped reading there. I couldn't keep going. The shock had finally passed, and now I was angry—no, I was livid. How could he do such a thing? How dare he take Trixie from me? And to shoot his own wife and child—that monster! To think I called him my friend! If I had known... I would... I would...

"I would shoot him..." I vocalized the thought as realization dawned on me slowly.

My mind flashed back to the letters I had written to Trixie in prison, filled with apologies, saying I had to do it and that I hoped one day she would understand. Dave saying the only thing I would tell him about why I had done it was that I had to and it was "very important."

None of this made sense. If I had shot Nick ten years ago, how was he alive six years later to...to do this? Was that day I spent in prison some twisted guilt-induced delusion? Or was this some kind of delusion? Had I convinced myself Nick was a blood thirsty murder so that I could justify shooting him?

I stumbled into the kitchen, driven by a desperate need for reassurance. My hand shook as I pulled a knife from the drawer. I hesitated only for a moment before pricking my finger. A sharp jolt of pain shot up my arm, evidence that this had to be real...at least I think it was.

I needed more information. The pieces were all here, but they didn't fit together. I backed away from the article and began searching for others. There were countless articles about the slaying. Many shared the same facts, but every once in a while, I'd find one with a new detail. I discovered that Trixie was pregnant at the time of her death. That detail stung.

As the day outside began to fade, I pieced together a portion of what had happened over the last ten years. I had left the call center, but Nick had not. He and Sarah at some point managed to move out of their apartment but were were deeply in debt. They were facing foreclosure. On the day of the shooting, Nick was fired from the call center. When I knew him, he already struggled with severe mental health problems. The perfect storm of these circumstances drove him to get out of it the only way he saw how.

That explained why Nick did what he did, but it didn't explain how. The events were just not lining up.

One day, I woke up in prison for shooting my best friend, having been there for ten years. As a consequence, I had lost the love of my life, but at least she was alive.

Then, the next day, I woke up to find that my best friend had stolen her, her sister, and the children I considered my nieces and nephews from me permanently, before taking his own life.

But if one scenario happened, the other should not have. As I sat on the couch, considering whether I had lost my mind, my gaze fell on the science fiction novel: "When Points Diverge." I had that book both in prison and now. It was the only thing that stayed constant.

I picked it up and began to skim through the pages. Much of it was standard science fiction: aliens, lasers, the hero gets the girl. But one portion started to make things click. The hero in the book traveled back in time to change the future. The result was the future that was irrevocably altered. This wasn’t just a book I liked; it was a key to understanding the chaos of the reality I was living.

The me that lived in this house had left all the pieces I needed to understand what Nick had done. On the day of the shooting, he had called the police for a wellness check, perhaps hoping to prevent the crime.

The me in prison had warned Dave that one day I would wake up with no memories of the last ten years and needed his help. He must have seen this timeline and shot Nick to prevent it. In doing so, he had condemned himself to a life in prison and lost Trixie, Sarah, and the kids forever, but at least they were alive.

Somehow, I had lived the same day in two different timelines. The book was a clue left by my parallel selves to help me understand what was happening.

“So what am I supposed to do now?” I wondered, stifling a yawn. It was almost 11:30. I had spent the last ten hours reading through news articles, skimming through the book, and studying clues. I could feel the exhaustion in every cell in my body. My head was throbbing, and the room was spinning a bit. I laid down on the couch, my thoughts a tangled mess, as I fought to keep my eyes from closing as best I could, out of fear for where I would wake up next, but slowly sleep overcame me.

*******

As I faded back into consciousness, I became aware of a weight on my chest, rising and falling with my breathing. The pressure startled me, causing me to shoot up in bed with a yelp. My sudden movement elicited a cry of surprise from whatever had been causing the pressure.

“Hey! What was that for?” Trixie asked, looking at me with a blended mix of annoyance and concern. It took me a moment to register that it was her voice as I looked around the room bewildered. It was my bed. It was my room. I was home. At least I seemed to be.

"Just... bad dream..."

"What was it about?"

"I don't remember..." I lied, panting. My entire body was coated in a cold sweat. There was no way that had been a dream. It felt too real, too vivid. I grabbed my phone and checked the time: 6:47 a.m.

"Must have been pretty bad for you to wake up screaming. Maybe not remembering it is a blessing," Trixie said, patting my back lovingly before yawning. She coaxed me back down and grabbed my arm, snuggling against it. Within seconds, her light snoring filled the room. I lay there for a few hours, unable to fall back asleep, as I pondered the situation.

My eyes occasionally drifted toward Trixie as she peacefully slept. I would die for her, but could I kill for her? Could I kill my best friend?

"Of course I could. I did it once, and I would do it again," I thought softly, recalling the letters my prison self had written. She would never understand, and I’d lose her forever, but she would have a future. She would have a life.

And if not for her... I'd do it for the kids.

The room was filled with the buzzing of our 10:30 alarm. I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep as Trixie stirred awake. I felt her weight as she crawled over me to snooze or turn off the alarm.

"Hey, I'm gonna go get ready for work," she whispered into my ear. "You don't have to get up if you don't want to." I felt her kiss my cheek, and I knew what I had to do.

As she went into the bathroom, I reached for my phone and texted Nick, asking if he had taken the overtime today and if he wanted to hang out, knowing he'd be awake either way.

I hadn’t even had a chance to get out of bed and get dressed when Nick responded.

"Nope didn't get out till after midnight too tired for ot I can drop by around noon?"

"Sounds good!" I replied. I climbed out of bed and walked over to my desk, opening the drawer. My pistol lay at the bottom, its silvery metal glinting. The last time I'd fired it was when I'd gone shooting with Nick. I lifted it, my hand shaking. It felt heavier than I remembered.

******

I sat quietly in my living room, waiting for Nick to arrive. I tried hard to steady my breathing, knowing that the decision I had made was the right one. Trixie was still getting ready in our bedroom; from the sound of it, she was blow-drying her hair. She would probably be ready to leave just as Nick showed up.

I closed my eyes, trying to imagine how I was going to handle this. My heart was pounding because it would go one of two ways, and no matter what, everything was going to change.

I heard the front door knob start to jiggle, the sound echoing ominously in my mind. My heart started to pound faster. I took several deep breaths trying to settle the anxiety. I hadn’t bother to unlock it; both Nick and Sarah had keys anyway. I stood up as the lock clicked. Trixie was walking out of our bedroom just as Nick walked in.

"Hey, man!" Nick greeted me. It felt surreal seeing him. As far as he was concerned, I'd just seen him yesterday, but to me, it might have well been twenty years. His face was warm, and he didn’t look like a murderer. He looked like the same guy I’d always known. I wondered what he must have gone through in that timeline to turn him into what he became.

"Hey!" I said softly. "I’m glad you came. I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Oh? Sounds serious," Nick said, raising an eyebrow.

"Kind of," I replied, motioning for Nick to sit down.

"What's up?" he asked. I held my breath for a moment as Trixie walked in.

"‘If we stay at the call center, it’s going to kill us both,’ I said, my voice wavering slightly. "I want you to start studying for IT certs with me, so we can both quit." My heart pounded as I spoke. Nicked looked at me with shock, and Trixie let out a little clap. I could almost feel time bending and changing around me in that moment.

***************

Nick initially tried to argue that he didn’t have time because of the kids, but that allowed me to transition into a more difficult conversation.

We both needed therapy because our mental health was in shambles. The discussion was heated and challenging, but Trixie, god bless her, stayed to help me navigate it. She was late to work but I don't know if I could have done it without her. Thankfully, I had heard of a therapist who might be able to help—a kind man named Dr. Fitzpatrick.

So far, things have been looking up.

Later that week, I found a local prison pen pal program online. It took some time, but eventually, I found Dave and began writing to him. The universe had given Nick and me another chance, so I figured Dave deserved one too.

I’m rewriting the future for the better.

One day at a time.

It’s the most important thing I’ll ever do.

Thanks for making it this far! If you enjoyed this check out some of my other stories! I always dreamt of making my own Twilight Zone episode so that's the vibe I was aiming for. I hope I matched that feel at least a little. More stories to come. Subscribe and stay tuned.