Forgiveness

He first had the dream the night before the funeral. She was standing there, looking at him, her eyes sad but with puzzlement in the lines of her mouth.

Cheating bitch, he thought. You’re dead; stop bothering me.

“Forgive me,” she said.

“Not likely.”

From somewhere behind her, black hands appeared and closed around her ankles. She looked down, her face distorted with terror. The background was out of focus, and he couldn’t see the owner of the hands, but they pulled on her, and she went down on her stomach. Her fingers clawed at the floor, fighting whatever was dragging her, but it was futile. She slid slowly and inexorably back anyway. Her legs disappeared into the blurry background, and she looked up at him, pleading with her eyes.

“Forgive me,” she begged. But he watched as she was swallowed up, first her legs, then her torso, then her shoulders. Finally, just before her head disappeared, she looked at him once more. Then she was gone.

He woke up, feeling horrified, but with an undertone of satisfaction. “Serves her right,” he mumbled. “She belongs in hell.”

People stared at him throughout the funeral. He said nothing unless addressed, and then he replied in gruff monosyllables. People might have thought that his grim expression was because of his sorrow. If so, they were wrong. He only wished to get the farce over with so that he could go home and open the bottle of single malt scotch he had saved for the occasion. He was tempted to look around the chapel to wonder if she had slept with any of the men attending. Perhaps a faint smile on someone’s lips would have betrayed the culprit. But he didn’t look. He didn’t care. He only wanted it to be over soon.

That night, the dream came again. She stood there with the same expression on her face. This time, he noticed she was wearing the nightgown he had given her on their tenth anniversary. It was black and clingy, and he had thought she looked very sexy in it. She had said it was special and only wore it for special occasions such as his birthday and St. Valentine’s Day. He wondered if she had worn it when she had been with some other man.

“Forgive me, please,” she said. Then the black hands were back, pulling her away. “No, wait,” she screamed. She looked at him. “You have to forgive me. Please!”

Then she was gone again. He woke, troubled but not as horrified as the first time. The satisfaction was still there, though.

At first, he had visitors, some bringing food, all bringing condolences and kind words about her. He tried to be cordial, but he knew he wasn’t very successful. His friends were realizing that the stony face at the funeral wasn’t that way because he mourned. The visits became less and less frequent. And every night, he had the dream.

After a while, the only friend he still saw was John, his best friend since high school. Two weeks after the funeral, John dropped in unannounced. “Thought you’d need some cheering up,” he said at the open door. He walked in without an invitation and took a seat in the living room.

“I would offer you a beer, but I’m all out. I wasn’t expecting anyone.” That was a lie, but maybe John would take the hint and not stay.

“Don’t worry about it,” John answered. “I just thought we could talk.”

“What about?”

“Whatever you would like to talk about. You’ve been pretty down since your wife’s funeral.”

 John was trying hard to cheer him up, but John still assumed he missed her, and his misconceptions doomed his efforts to failure. “I wonder where she is now,” he said. “Heaven or hell?”

John laughed. “If you believe in that sort of thing. Someone once told me that heaven and hell are the same place; you get full knowledge of what you’ve done in life and what the results were.” John shook his head. “Not sure I like that. There are some things I’ve done…”

If she is living with what she did, it’s no wonder she’s in hell. He looked at John. “I’ve got some work I have to do. Maybe we can get together again soon.”

John looked a little hurt, but he stood, and they shook hands. “Take care,” he said. “I know it’s rough, but things will get better.”

He wondered if John was one of the men she had slept with. The thought tore at him, and John must have felt it because he left without speaking again. After that day, even John stopped coming.

Only the dreams came to him now.

“Please, you have to forgive me,” she pleaded. She looked behind her as if she knew now that the black hands were coming. Then she turned back to him. “You must forgive me before it’s too late.” Then the hands came, and the dream ended as it always did.

“It’s already too late,” he snarled. This time, he didn’t even wake up.

There had been a time when they had walked through the park together, usually hand in hand. That had ended, of course, when she confessed she had cheated on him. He hadn’t been in the park since then, but it was a warm spring day. He wouldn’t allow her to deprive him of the pleasure of a walk on such a day.

Somehow, though, the bright sunlight, singing birds, and blossoming flowers didn’t have the effect he had expected. He walked briskly along, his thoughts confused. He missed not having her at his side, but, at the same time, was glad he didn’t have to deal with the devious slut. In that state, he hardly noticed the beauty around him or the stares of the other people enjoying the day.

Eventually, he gave up and went back to the empty house. The scotch was gone, but there was half a bottle of vodka in a kitchen cabinet. He poured himself a glass and took it into the living room. He was still sitting there, brooding, when the sun set and the room darkened.

“Please, please. Forgive me. You have every right to hate me, but you must let go of your anger. It’s almost too late.”

He stared at her until the black hands came again. “I hope that means that soon I won’t have this dream anymore.” He woke then and couldn’t get back to sleep. Grumbling, he got up and poured the rest of the vodka into a glass.

The next day, he decided to try a walk in the park again. It was early in the morning, and fog still hung over the street in front of his house. He thought about going back, but the gray morning seemed to fit his mood, so he walked down the steps to the sidewalk. He liked the silence that seemed to go with the fog.

The park was across the street, and he stepped into the road. He never saw the Prius moving too fast for the foggy conditions.

He was standing in a room, and for a moment, he didn’t know where he was. Then he recognized the same room as in the dream, but he hardly noticed that. A sudden epiphany sent shock waves through his mind. His wife hadn’t been pleading for forgiveness for her sake. It was too late for her to be saved. The forgiveness she had begged for had been for his salvation!

He felt the black hands close around his ankles.