On a night like this, he would not have been out. But tonight it was different. Peter Keller could no way compromise with the task at hand.
December 2007.Sitting by his bed, he was thinking of all those wonderful moments he had spent with his wife that like an appliqué had transformed his life. Those were the only things he remembered of his life. Hands in hands, deep down in contemplation, his abrupt thoughts were interrupted by Maria’s words that seemed like her last.
“Peter, don’t lose heart. Peter”. Peter looked at her with desperate affection, terrified by the thought of losing her, and the emptiness that would ensue. He could feel the sudden spasms of her body. The sweet reminiscence of old memories juxtaposed with the pain of watching his wife suffer. His religious beliefs and faith in the Almighty was shattered. And he was helpless.
He wanted his wife, and this desire was driving him mad. The furious and turbulent waves of anxiety had literally drained out all reason off his smothered soul.
It was thirty past midnight. As the gusty winds slammed the window panes, the calendar dropped on the floor. Peter was baffled, as he picked it up. He couldn’t waste anymore time. Unkempt, with long beards, and curious-faced scars, Peter put on his overcoat, checked his knife and drove off. He had to do this.
The stormy winds were back and he could hardly see anything as he was speeding away. “Screech”, he applied the brakes and an appalled silence filled his face as he noticed blood dripping on his rearview mirror. He turned back, and ‘splat’, a tender hand just like his wife’s across the glass. Right then, the wipers started and car drove off all by itself. He tried his best to control it but couldn’t. All the while the mysterious events were boggling down on his mind. As the car sped, he noticed, as a sudden impulse, his wife before the car and zoom the car ran over her. Blood and mucous splat across the glass and it almost freezed his heart. Meanwhile the car veered off the road and hit a tree. The madness to cure his wife was so intense, he didn’t feel any pain and started running towards the Orland Cemetery across the churchyard. He fell on a grave with blood all across his face. He could see petrifying apparitions all around. He pulled his knife and a ceremonious cloth and cut his skin deep enough to drip in the cloth. An intense passion and belief in the supernatural or, may be, in his wife’s survival had eclipsed all his rationale and religious beliefs. A strange numbness had robbed his psyche of all physical acuities. Meanwhile, his chest continued to bleed as he tied the cloth around a creepy plant. He was struggling as he tried to spell strange chants.
‘If God can’t, I can and I will’.
With these words he fell over the gravestone and dropped his knife, and a name shone on the stone in the glint of his knife.
Died – 10/08/2005 ”