Horror Story: Memories Along a Fault Line (Conclusion).

This is the second and final part. Part One can be found HERE

This vision however, was just that, although it was actually retroactive in nature; just her dreaming mind adding its bizarre touch on an already bizarre real occurrence. The skull and ring of fire were just the horrific embellishments of the dream state. The first transition during wakefulness, and the accompanied change in lovemaking behaviour, however, were not. Neither were the cackle and the wink, and these, in conjunction with the crazed look on his face and the sudden change, were so horrifying, that the fire skull would have added little to her terror.


Now her dreaming mind took her to early March, 1995.

Bonnie awakening in the night. Lying on her left side, facing Bobby's side of the bed, she opened her eyes and saw.....nothing. No sign of Bobby. Turning over so that she was in the Supine position, she sat up, and was met with a frightening sight that stopped her cold. Bobby was standing at the foot of the bed, only it wasn't Bobby. Whatever it was that was inside of him was standing at the foot of the bed, and it was brandishing a knife, and it was grinning maliciously.


Eyes wide, she surveyed the situation. He was standing about three feet in front of the bed. The doorway, and only exit, was behind him and to the right. She contemplated jumping off of the side of the bed and running for it, but she knew that he would easily be able to get to her, if of course that was his goal. Which, of course, judging by the knife in his hand and the malevolent look on his face, it was.

Get moving then, her mind, always the pragmatist, insisted, And do it now!

Bonnie, feeling her fear manifest itself as a lump in her throat and a cold sweat on her back, quickly slid off the left side of the bed and groped for the dresser, realizing that her best shot was distraction. She groped for something she could throw at him, and she knew she needed to be quick about it. Keeping her gaze fixed on what used to be her husband, she blindly reached until she got ahold of something. It was her jewellery box.

It'll have to do, she thought.

And so, she wound up and threw the wooden box directly at his (it's?) face, and at the same time, dove across the bed, jumped off and ran for the door. She reached the doorway and came to a dead stop, uttering a bloodcurdling scream.


Bobby/it had hold of her and he was cutting into the back of her neck with the knife.


Feeling more pain and terror than she had ever thought possible, she, acting on complete instinct, threw her head forward and simultaneously kicked backwards as hard as she could. Amazingly, she managed to slip free of his grasp and took of running down the stairs, with him bellowing after her.

And then her dream shifted to mid March.

Bobby in custody. Bonnie, having decided that she would ignore her rational mind and just give it a try out of desperation, ignored the psychologists and had approached the local Catholic priest, telling a tale that was met not with incredulity, but a solemn seriousness that both unsettled and oddly reassured her, despite her intellectual and critical objections.


And so here she was. Bonnie and Father Belham, thanks to a favour granted by their lawyer, in a room with a chained up Bobby, who was, much to her relief, in one of what Bonnie referred to as his refractory periods. This struck her as doubly fortuitous, as these periods were growing more and more infrequent.

Flash forward through the introductions, explanations, demurring, pleading, solemn warnings, and eventual reluctant acceptance, and her dream finds her at the moment of truth.

Father Belham bent over Bobby, head on his forehead, reading from the Bible. Bobby sat, eyes closed, playing his part. And, contrary to Bonnie's expectations, her terrified eyes were met not with the grandiose stuff of film and literature, but a calm, quiet proceeding that was over in minutes and featured no climax whatsoever. Father Belham continued as he was for a few minutes, stood, pulled Bobby's eyelids both downwards and upwards, and said a few words to him, and then, seemingly satisfied, he walked towards Bonnie, and, escorting her out of the interrogation room, explained to her that things should turn out alright.

Bonnie awoke, the dreams resonating with her, lingering, reminding her of the events of that year long period in their lives. Steadying her breathing, she reminded herself that those events were long over. Bobby had, after much bureaucracy, testimony, and psychiatric care (unnecessary but impossible to get anyone to believe that) returned home, although home was now Cleveland. They had left Pittsburgh, and the events there, far behind them.

(or did you?)

Bonnie ignored the thought. There was no reason to think otherwise. Bobby had been his normal self ever since.

(had he really Bonnie?)

Sure, there were little lapses in his usual demeanour at times, but after what he'd been through, who would expect otherwise?

(what about two nights ago, Bonnie?)

Bonnie shuddered. Images tried to penetrate her consciousness but she did not let them. Realizing that she had been unconsciously rubbing at the scar Bobby had left on the back of her neck, a constant reminder of that dark time, she stopped and rolled over, wanting to wrap her arms around Bobby and assuage the discomfort that she was now feeling.

Except Bobby wasn't there.

Bonnie looked out to the hallway, and saw a dim light. Listening, she heard the faint sound of slightly running water, and the occasional curious metallic clinking sound.

Sounds like something hitting porcelain, she thought. What the fuck? Is he shaving?

Perturbed, she climbed out of bed and left the bedroom. She walked down the hall, her nightgown billowing out around her, and as she approached the open door of the bathroom, she, just by sound, ascertained that he was indeed shaving. She was filled with unease.

Why is he shaving in the middle of the night?


(ah, a part of you knows already, Bonnie, a part of you knows)

Bonnie's arms broke out in gooseflesh, and she pulled her nightgown tight around her, and, with her arms crossed tight against her chest, and her breath held, she entered the bathroom, and when she was met with the scene inside she screamed the scream of the mad.

Inside the bathroom, Bobby, or whatever it was that was inside of his body, was standing at the sink, shaving, a malevolent gleam in his/its eye. The water ran red with blood.

Bobby, or whatever it was that was in his place, was slowly shaving off pieces of his/its face. He/it looked up, and, meeting Bonnie's horrified gaze in the mirror, shook bloody chunks of skin off of the straight razor and, realigning it, started to take a strip off of his/its right cheek.

Bonnie fainted, and Bobby/it went right on shaving.