Bottled Abyss by Benjamin Kane Ethridge Page B

feeling this communication to me .
    Sleep beckoned. That was more important than stirring this strange soup in her mind any further. The bottle though, she resolved, had to be taken away from Lester. He could step on it, break it and really hurt himself. This should have been done already.
    With awful thoughts of a dog tearing open a major artery while she selfishly slept, Janet knew it couldn’t wait for a more convenient moment. She’d be up all night if she didn’t get the bottle now.
    She grabbed Faye’s small moss colored jacket draped over a chair. The jacket didn’t button up over Janet’s chest, but it would do for the short trip across the backyard. Soaking her slippers in wet grass was more on her mind, but she knew if she returned to her room she’d just talk herself out of going back.
    The sliding glass door made no sound, which she was grateful for, but outside a rhythmic knocking came from the far side of the yard. The gate was banging against the fence—the wind must have forced it open again. Janet looked down on the porch. Lester’s food had been messily eaten and his water reduced by more than half. That made her feel somewhat better and she took to the yard.
    The grass was moist but not terribly wet. Janet stepped carefully, afraid of squishing any canine landmines under her slippers. As she neared the dog house, Lester’s head sprung up. He was awake and as alert as ever.
    “Hey Les,” she said, to remind him who approached.
    The dog’s panting made her feel slightly more at ease. He wasn’t acting nuts like earlier today. Gradually, she pushed out her fist, letting him run his cold wet, sniffing nose over her knuckles. From there, she glided her hand over his face and petted his head, told him he was a good boy, then scratched him behind the ears, grabbed the bottle by its neck with her other hand, rubbed under his chin, patted him on the head, called him a nice doggy again.
    Which she’d always believed he was.
    Lester looked up in the darkness and whined. He lowered his head to his paws, but continued to stare at her and the bottle.
    The bottle felt empty but fluid sloshed around inside.
    Janet returned to the house, relieved to be done with her task. She went straight to bed and put the bottle on her nightstand. She didn’t want to throw her treasure away just yet, not after winning it as she had.
    As soon as dawn broke, she planned to call the police. Seeing cops in her home again would not be easy, but Herman’s absence had gone beyond even her thin reasoning about him running off.
    Something had happened to him.
    If he never came back, what then? What next?
    She needed a drink, she decided. Or maybe a strong rope.
    After a moment her eyes drifted over to stare at the bottle’s shape: beautiful, painful, useful. Janet was so glad it was here.
         

7

    Janet tapped her teeth to the point of irritating her gums. How long ago had Faye left to go check the gym for Herman? Five minutes? Ten? That still gave her enough time to throw on a coat and shoes, jump in the car and grab a couple Jim Beam travelers from the college liquor store. Just traveler size, nothing bigger. Whiskey didn’t sound very good at the moment but if any bad news came about Herman, she would need it.
    She promised Faye she’d call the police if Herman didn’t turn up at the gym, but that possibility still terrified Janet. If the cops got involved, this thing became more real, more in-your-face.
    But she couldn’t wait another day without doing something. Herman hadn’t taken anything from the house, not even his toothbrush, and he was damn picky about having the electric GE model he’d had to buy on the internet—yet, maybe this had finally been his clean break for his awful wife. It just didn’t sound like him; Herman liked to hide under a rock sometimes but he’d always come back out at some point to prove he was unhurt. If he did come walking back through that door, he would focus on how she’d