My Personal Demon

17:00

"I know how this story is going to end."

Jesper looked up from Charles's pages, blue pen in hand. "It's quite obvious after you read through every version of his draft what his intent was."

I frowned. "And what would that be?"

"At the center of his story, there is one question that many writers have asked. What does it mean to be a man? The main character, who I'm going to assume is based on your dead husband, wonders if he is a proper man or even a real human after living his entire existence in his father's shadow. He feels emasculated, becoming a Freudian monster. A good ending for the tale would be the resolution of his insecurities, his own answer to the question of manhood. But I sense those are not the kinds of stories he writes."

I pointed to the shelves of books in the living room. He could crack open any of my late husband's works to see the stuff he wrote. But he had guessed right. Charles didn't write happy stories.

In fact, one of the endings he drafted for the story involved the main character committing suicide as a result of being consumed by his unworthiness. He does this after destroying his father's legacy, effectively destroying himself with his father's shadow. In another ending, he simply kills his father and frames the crime on his mother, finally free of the shadow after eliminating his creators.

Those were the kinds of stories he wrote. Making up these violent scenarios was cathartic for him. It certainly wasn't to please the general public. If I made the ending what Jesper suggested, it would be betraying my husband's vision.

I may have scattered his ashes in Spain, but I was truly parting with him this time by surrendering his final book to be published posthumously. He was his writing, after all. He may be physically dirt, but the rest of him was ink and paper.

Something didn't feel right about giving him the ending he wanted. It wasn't the blood or cruelty of what the main character would have to do. I was used to that. No, what really bothered me was making the last living part of him suffer for his freedom.

"Would a good ending make the story better?"

What he would want more than a violent story is fame. As much as he would never admit it to me, he craved recognition for his talent. He would try to hide it, but I could feel the hunger and resentment in his eyes whenever he accompanied me to fairs where I sold my paintings. The way that I would get compliments and sales where I stood was unbelievable to him. He would be proud of me, but I could feel his envy in the way that he would grip my arm a little harder than normal.

"I don't know if it would make the story better," Jesper replied. "A good story is subjective. But if you want my personal opinion, I think it would improve it."

I nodded thoughtfully. "Did you see the other endings that he drafted?"

"They remind me a bit of the sinners I used to look after. Such tragic fates. Do you think they made sense to the story?"

"It's something he would write," I admitted.

"But does it make sense?"

I paused for a moment. "I think what matters more is if it's entertaining. Sure it needs to make sense, but it also has to be worth reading."

"So murder or suicide?"

"Excuse me?"

"That's the choice you're making for the character if you're picking between the endings he drafted. Unfortunately, he's not here to write another ending so you have to decide."

Charles often contemplated suicide. He told me many times that he wished the world would put him out of his misery. I wonder if he was happier now, having left life earlier than he expected.

"Murder would be more interesting," I said. "Wouldn't you agree?"

"It is ... dynamic," he offered. "I would probably have the mother die as well if you want to add to the shock value. She's the character constantly bothering him about being more than his father. Arguably, she is the one who sowed these seeds of discontentment."

"But will he be without both of them? If one of them survives, he can have closure," I argued.

"It's not that kind of story. If he gets closure, the world lets him live a happy life despite the crime he's committed. Some readers might think that's unfair."

I sigh, not expecting the conversation about my husband's novel to turn into a debate. "Good things happen to bad people all the time."

"Was Charles a bad person?"

My brows furrowed in confusion. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"He's based the main character on himself. It has everything to do with it. The protagonist is stunted, frozen in adolescence because his family can't recognize him as a man. We've decided that he gets to grow up through blood. Closure wouldn't make sense."

But neither of us wrote the book. Who were we to say what his character deserved? I had half the mind to ask Jesper for a way to resurrect my husband at that moment just so we could figure the whole thing out. That was, until something else occurred to me.

If I was the one that died in the car crash, would he have done the same for me?

I imagine him alone in this house, haunted by my memory and forced to live out the rest of his days with a demon. What would he have done with my paintings and my shop? Naturally, he would've sold them when his royalties ran out. But not after writing about my death. A dead wife was still a muse.

He wouldn't have given me the same respect. I knew that. He wouldn't have wanted to be upstaged even when I was six feet under. But he would never go against my wishes. He knew me better than that, I'm certain.

Well, Jesper's suggestions weren't going against anything. He was only magnifying what was already there. If Charles had stayed alive, would our marriage have survived our differences? How many years of jealousy could I have endured from him before I filed for divorce? And how many days would it take for him to crawl back to me when he was left with nowhere else to go?

"I can't say whether or not my husband was a good or bad person," I said. "I don't make those judgments. That's left to the afterlife. But what you say makes sense. It's how his story should end."

He gives me a wicked grin. "I'm glad you could see my side. Should I type up the new ending using his typewriter? I think it'll put me in the mood for writing."

"Using a typewriter would be perfect."

Jesper quickly went hammering at the keys while I assembled the rest of Charles's pages. Once he finished, I stuffed them all into a large envelope for first-class mail. He accompanied me to the post office, holding the stack of papers for me.

"You shouldn't have to carry that burden alone."

He was right as usual. My life shouldn't be heavier than it already was. If my demon lover wanted to lighten the load, I should let him. I finally had someone that could take care of me, someone who I didn't have to privately call a burden in the darker parts of my head.

"You're free," he said as I finally mailed the manuscript to his publisher.

I raised my eyes to the cloudy sky, not feeling the usual gloom. The pure white blanket of clouds reminded me of an empty canvas, a fresh start. If I was owed anything, it was this.

"I suppose I am."