Night Visions by Thomas Fahy Read Free Book Online

Circle.”
    Feeling the need to say more but afraid to ask the question on all of their minds ( What if it doesn’t work? ), Samantha opens her mouth. “Why did you choose that name?” Unsteady and faint, she sounds like a high school student who gets called on in class when she hasn’t done her homework.
    â€œOh.” He points to the painting. “That is Nicolas Poussin’s Selene and Endymion. According to Greek mythology, Selene—the personification of the moon—fell madly in love with Endymion, a carefree, handsome young shepherd. And on her behalf, Zeus granted him one wish. With all the possibilities in the world—love, happiness, power, wealth—Endymion asked for the same thing you all want.” Dr. Clay looks around the incomplete circle. “Sleep. Of course, for him it was a way to preserve his beauty and youth for all time. That’s what he wanted more than anything else, and Zeus gave him the gift of eternal sleep.” He looks at Samantha. “That’s why I chose the name.”
    â€œSo, does that make you Zeus?”
    She can’t tell if he resents the question or not, but for the first time he seems unsure of what to say.
    â€œWe’ll see.”
    She looks back at the painting, then notices the empty chair once again. For some reason, the break in their circle makes her anxious, as if something is about to go horribly wrong.

6
Martyrdom
    S lightly winded from running up three flights of stairs, Frank pauses in front of Sam’s door. He still has a copy of the key in his wallet and wonders, after all this time, if he should return it. He rings the bell, following with two quick knocks.
    She opens the door. Her eyes widen with surprise.
    â€œI wasn’t sure if you’d be home,” he says, standing with his hands in his pockets.
    â€œI took the day off. I didn’t know how long my appointment would be.”
    Frank enters tentatively, looking for all the changes she’s made since his move to Washington. It’s like his first visit home after college; everything appears the same yet different. Rooms feel smaller. New picture frames hang on the walls. The artifacts of the past—picture albums, forgotten trinkets—have been boxed up and placed in a closet. Even the smallest change is a reminder of the way life has moved on without him. There is no history of their love.
    The way she stands now, arms dangling at her sides, heightens his sense of loss. That is how she stood in their last weeks together. Away from him, without desire or passion. Always occupying other rooms, making conversation about furniture, the weather, television, food. About anything but them.
    It was her gradual indifference, her silent detachment without words, that left him gasping for air. They could still be together, he pleaded. He wasn’t choosing his job over her. He loved her. But no explanation worked. Something in her changed, as if she had decided overnight that loving him came at too high a price. Their sex became desperate. Physical without tenderness, rough without play. She left their bed quickly in the half-awake hours of morning. By sunrise the sheets were colder than the empty room.
    He never believed that it was about his job. Another man? Doubtful. They were still spending too much time together. About the man who assaulted her in the law library over two years ago? The man who threw her to the floor and cut her? He didn’t think so. She survived. They survived—staying together long after that night. He remembers sitting beside her bed in the hospital, holding her hand and trying not to look at the bandages taped across her stomach. But despite their history together, it was all ending, not with a bang but with a whimper. They didn’t yell or say hurtful things. No dishes were broken or chairs knocked over. Just Sam and her goddamn silence.
    He felt more relief than sadness on the day he left. She drove him