1 The Bank of the River by Michael Richan Read Free Book Online Page B

difficulty
seeing his father distinctly; only his outline was visible from where he was
sitting. His arms were suspended out to his sides, palms down, hanging as if
they’d been raised by a puppeteer. He was breathing heavily with a raspy,
grating breath as though he had just finished a marathon. With every exhale
something vocal came out, but it was a short, guttural rumbling of his vocal
chords, not a word or anything intelligible.
    Steven
remembered Roy’s instruction to not talk to him or disturb the trance. But
something was wrong, he felt it. There was a heaviness to the air in the
hallway, it was thicker and more dense. He stood, and it felt like trying to
stand from the bottom of a swimming pool. He felt a need to check on his
father, to ensure he was OK. I can at least get closer, watch him breathing, he thought. I won’t interrupt him.
    Taking a
step was like trying to move through sand. Steven was so jarred by the
sensation he looked down at his lifted leg, trying to mentally will it to move.
It was moving, but incredibly slowly. He felt exhausted at the effort it had
taken to move a single step.
    Roy
continued to wheeze and grunt while Steven approached. His arms were
outstretched to the sides, within inches of the hallway’s walls, his fingers
hanging. His head was thrown back, and Steven could see his Adam’s apple rise
and fall as the sounds emerged from his throat. He looked down, checking his
father’s body. To his horror he found the chair missing. His father was
suspended, floating in the hallway.
    Still, he
did not say anything or attempt to touch him, to awaken him. Maybe it was the
kid in him, but he felt he’d be in more trouble for violating his father’s
instructions than for letting this scene play out.
    Looking up from
the space below his father, he noticed something on the front of Roy’s shirt.
It was dark, and looked as though it had been dripped upon him. Roy slowly raised
his head back into a normal position and Steven could see dark stains behind
the blindfold, where his eyes would be. It was too dark to identify as blood
for sure, but Steven didn’t need the confirmation. He’d had enough. He was
going to find out what had happened to his father, regardless of the trance. He
moved his arm to reach for the blindfold, but found it to be moving at the
glacial pace of his legs.
    As his
fingers reached it and began to pull it down from his father’s forehead, he
called out to him, but nothing came out. He felt his lips move, but no sound
emerged. He felt the cold, dense air move into his mouth and lungs, blocking
him. As the blindfold began to fall he could see his father’s eyes – they had
been gouged out, and were bleeding down his face and onto his shirt.
    All at once,
Steven felt the force of the air he had just inhaled move him. It rapidly
pushed him, standing, back down the hallway he had just traversed. Steven
flailed his arms to the side, trying to grab onto something to stop the
movement, but couldn’t reach anything, and he suspected that even if he had, he
wouldn’t have been able to stop himself – the force pushing him back was far
too powerful. He felt his back hit the doorframe to his bedroom and he felt
himself being forced back into his bed, face up. He had never felt anything
like this before. It felt as though he was being assaulted, forced against his
will, and he strained to raise his head or arms from the bed but could not.
Something incredibly heavy was pressing down on him, on all parts of him,
keeping him from moving. He had never felt stopped before. He felt
violated and humiliated. In frustration he felt a tear escape his right eye and
drip down his face to his ear and the pillow below. God knows what was
happening to his father out in the hallway, but if it was anything like this,
he was doomed.
    The air
darkened around him and he could no longer make out anything in his room. He
felt consciousness leave him, and his last thoughts were: breathe.