Archer

A story about a man who conjures up his own friend.

It’s been three days since I killed Cassie. Her loving smile haunts my every thought- I see her in everything. Never had I experienced love like she gave me, visible through her seeking, blue eyes. Now I sit in front of a different pair of eyes, these ones cold as ice, meant to numb the pain, but realistically burning the places that had no physical injury. Before me sits my therapist. He had noticed my change�"of course he did, he’s getting paid for that sort of thing�"and hasn’t stopped trying to... figure me out. 

“And what caused you to conjure this... hallucination?” 

His tone is commanding, set like stone. 

“I... It wasn’t that, I couldn’t see her”�"his glare showed no sign up loosening�"”I just...” I expected more of the same emotionless questioning, but I was struck strange when he took in a sharp, uncomfortable breath. In a... different voice, he asked: 

“Do you love her?” 

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Did I love her? Or, do I? Of course I do, but... 

“I�"I don’t know.” I refrained myself from shifting in the soft, blue armchair. As much as my body ached, I felt too uncomfortable to move. The man scratched at the stubble on his chin. I watched the round wall clock move the its red hand, counting off the seconds. As soon as it would hit four pm, the man would close the conversation, and I would get to leave. After all, he’s paid by the hour, and I already told him I don’t have the money for anything extra. 

“Love is a strange thing, Archer,” he began, “Often it leaves us craving strange things. Often it blinds us and draws us into... well, as I said, strange things.” 

This is strange. I’ve never heard a single clunky sentence out of this man- his speech is always so perfect and exact. 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

What? 

“I don’t know how you keep yourself alive, Archer. You’re a strong man.” 

This is... weird. It certainly has been hard, living a life without a single friend or relationship, but I’ve managed. I’ve never wanted to, well, end it, but I certainly contemplated death often. 

Like with Cassie.  

I shook the thought out of my head as soon as it came. I can still vividly remember, staring into her eyes, hearing�"but not hearing�"those three, calming words. I remember sinking back into my bed, finally at rest. 

Then feeling the cold metal under my pillow. 

Wow. I just realized I haven’t said anything. 

“I, uh,” but the words won’t leave my mouth. I want to tell him everything, yet at the same time, I want to keep it close, like a secret I can save until someone important comes around. I’ve been doing this a long time, putting every fault in a little bottle and storing it in the back of my closet, that way if I invite someone over and they open that closet, everything will fall out. I wouldn’t ever tell anyone what happened, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want anyone to know. If someone is finding out, that’s because they’re actively searching and asking. If anyone is finding out, it’s going to be someone who genuinely cares enough to put in the effort to open every bottle. 

“You killed her, didn’t you?” 

Tears threatened my eyes. Of course he guessed. Calm down, you shouldn’t be surprised. 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I didn’t deserve her. Don’t deserve her.” I found those words coming out of my mouth on someone else’s command. I never once thought this, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized it must be true. For what other reason would I have done it? 

“But if she didn’t exist, then who’s to say whether you deserve her or not?” 

Because, obviously there’s a reason I’ve never had a friend. As to what that reason is, I don’t know, but if it’s held true so far, I can trust that it’ll always be true. I feel the left side of my face grow cool, the ceiling fan blowing onto the small line of water that was just drawn across my face. I shiver, although it’s not cold in here at all. 

“I don’t know.” 

“How did you do it?” 

“I had a knife under my pillow.” 

“How did it get there?” 

Oh, well, 

“It�"well, I�" I’m not sure.” 

“So it was real?” 

I guess it was. I nod my head. 

“What did you do with her?” 

What kind of freaking question is that? She wasn’t even real. What does he want, to torture me? 

“I pushed her off my bed,” I said, coldly. “I couldn’t get myself to look at her.” 

I finally convince myself to actually look at my questioner. 

His eyes are wide and bloodshot. 

My heart rate spikes. 

I look at the clock: 4:14. That was a surprise. I wipe my face and grab my phone, refusing to look at the man again. He says nothing as I walk out the door, slamming it behind me. 

I can’t remember the drive home, all I remember is looking down and seeing the blood over the left side of my chest. I had run a red light and stumbled into my apartment, hyperventilating. I knew there was nothing there, there couldn’t be. There wasn’t. There can’t. 

But those thoughts give me no reassurance as I lay in bed, staring at the navy-blue shirt that I had been wearing. It’s soaked in blood. I find myself frozen- terrified to look at my chest. There’s a numb pain over it, over where my heart would be. 

The same place I stabbed Cassie. 

What’s happening to me. 

My mind is screaming at me, Please, end this now! and I can’t help but listen to it. But there’s nothing in my room that could possibly do it. I have a huge pill bottle full of prescribed anti-depressants, but I accidentally found out from my doctor that they’re placebos, and I never bothered mentioning it to him that that knowledge had found me. 

The only thing could be�" 

The knife. 

I reached down between my bed and the wall, feeling around, until I feel a sharp pain hit my pinkie finger. There it is. I grab it and drag it out. 

It’s covered in something red, dry and flaking off. 

It’s not possible. 

Tears stream down my face as I peel the dried blood off, bit by bit. It’s Cassie’s blood. It has to be. 

I don’t get it.

But I don’t have to. 

Relief washes over my body as I raise the knife, now pointed back at me. I knew exactly where to hit. I would end the same way I ended her. 

“Archer.” 

The voice is soft, smooth, yet commanding. I turn to see a slim girl with light brown hair. 

“C-Cass? Cassie?” 

“Archer,” she stares in terror at the knife; her face is as pale as the moon. I drop it onto the bed, tears flooding my vision. She comes and sits beside me. I can see dry blood on her shirt where I had done it to her, a small tear in it, too. She takes me into a hug, her slim shoulders shaking violently. Mine are too, I’m sure. 

“I forgive you... I forgive you...” I heard her whisper between shaky breaths as she squeezed me tighter. 

“I’m so sorry,” I moaned. 

“Archer... I love you... it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” 

Eventually we both calmed down, still wrapped tightly around each other- eyes shut in fear that more tears would stream out. I began to drift off, my mind catching up with the fact that I haven’t slept a minute since what I did to her. 

But when I finally got a hold of myself and forced myself awake, she was gone. 

The blood was gone, the flakes I had torn off the knife were gone. My chest was fine, no proof that anything had happened to me. 

But the knife was still there. 

The knife was still freaking there. 

Author's Note

Ignore grammar problems lol. This was a very free write based off a random shower thought that I wrote within an hour and immediately uploaded upon finishing.

Reviews

[QuietOptimism]

Oh wait, I actually really liked that story! Excellent job at creating an expectation for the reader and then gradually subverting it, then the plot twist at the end. I didn't really realize what was supposed to surprise me so much about it at first to be honest, so if the detail that the knife was there was really supposed to catch the reader off guard I'd consider changing the role the knife plays in the story a bit so we actually think the knife isn't real (maybe put a bit more emphasis on the MC not knowing where it came from?)...
However the last line did feel pretty hard-hitting, a bit less from a 'reading a fictional story' perspective and more from a mental health lens. This character is realizing that even though their hallucinations weren't real, the danger they were in was, and I think that's impactful.
I hope this review made sense lol!

[Eammon Ferringer]

Thank you for taking the time to write this! It was helpful getting someone else's view on it :)