Water Under The Bridge

He had always found the Thames in December to be a terribly depressing and dangerous vision to his eyes, with its frigid waters creeping along under bridge after bridge and bidding him to enter.
Just for a little swim, whisper the icy waters. You can end it all here. Stand on that bridge there in your best winter clothes, do, and then just take a little plunge. We’ll catch you. We’ll catch you and we’ll pull you all the way down to the bottom where you won’t ever have to face the miseries of the world again.
He let out a great ghostly breath and pulled his overcoat tight about himself, his scarf wrapped warmly round his neck. She wasn’t saying anything again. She became that way at times, falling silent and simply regarding everyone about her with her big black eyes. He didn’t know why, but he hated when she did that––and he wished she was wearing her scarf now.
“Elizabeth...”
From where she sat on the bench beside him, looking pale and somewhat ghastly in the failing light, she turned her whole body to face him. Her hands were folded limply in her lap.
“Yes, dear?”
Templeton worked his fingers inside his scarf and scratched his neck nervously. His long black hair came down in tangles over his wandering eyes.
The London Eye, he thought to himself sadly. I had promised Elizabeth we would ride it together one of these nights. Shame, shame. That’s all over now.
“I’m so sorry, deary, but it’s all over between us. We’re finished. Curtains.”
A wet, glistening bead rolled down her cheek, but he couldn’t tell if it was a tear or some part of the river seeping out of her body.
“Oh, let’s be honest with ourselves, really,” he continued. “Neither of us thought this could last. Not with the ways we both are. Not with the way I am...”
“We don’t have to end it here,” she pleaded. “Really. We still have time to try. We could still try to be like everyone else. To be happy. Couldn’t we?”
“No, Elizabeth. I’m sorry, but truly it’s all over between us. Truly it is. After the theatre closed last night, I had one of my visions again and this time I couldn’t quell it––the pains rising behind my temples. I chopped off your head with the fire axe.”
She started to shake her head in protest, but found it wouldn’t move very well.
“It’s true. Your hands, they’re all blue, from you being down in the Thames all night. And your face. Your neck... Just look at yourself. I did that to you.”
She reached up with frozen fingers and felt for the spongy rent where throat met collarbone.
“But I want you to know that it wasn’t you, Lizzy. It wasn’t anything you did. It was me. I have... issues. There’s things wrong with my head, you know. I see things. Hear things...”
“You mean like me just now?”
“Yes, yes, that includes you just now, too.”
He fell silent then and they sat there together on the bench for awhile, watching the sun disappear from the bleak winter sky.
“What is it like?” Templeton asked finally. “What is it like being dead?”
“It’s very cold,” she whispered. “Very cold and very lonely. I don’t much like it down there at the bottom of the river.” She turned to gaze into his eyes, the purple vessels twisting visibly inside. “I would much rather be up here with you. Together. Forever.”
The word echoed in his head.
He giggled nervously and fumbled about in his coat pocket for his little capsule of pills.
“Right then,” he chuckled. “That’s a lovely thought, innit?”
“Excuse me, sir.”
Templeton turned about where he sat and found himself looking into the face of a horse, then looking higher, that of a policeman sitting on top.
“Excuse me, is everything alright here? I thought I heard you talking to someone.”
Templeton turned and looked to the empty bench beside him.
“No, no,” he said. “I suppose I was only talking to myself. That’s all.”
“Alright, well, you enjoy the rest of your evening then.”
The officer and his horse trotted off down the stone walkway.
Templeton looked forlornly toward the frigid waters once more, the sun nearly gone now, and rocked himself gently there, pills clutched in one fist and the lapel of his overcoat in the other. The empty space of bench was still wet beside him.
He whispered into the night, “Forever.”