Steel Sarcophagus

Mark Sybill felt another drop of perspiration drip down his face as he tightened the final bolt on his machine. It was a tall, silver chamber that would not have looked to out of place in a kitchen as a refrigerator, or a bedroom as a chest-of-drawers painted silver. Mark couldn’t decided which comparison was more apt. Perhaps the last iteration of his creation was more like a chest-of-drawers and this new re-imagining would appear to an outsider as a refrigerator. Outsiders. They were probably the greatest hindrance to Mark’s progress. Fortunately, he could escape most of it here in the garage.

Six years. It had taken six years to construct this friendly monstrosity–this hospitable holding cell. Now, in this stormy night, as thunder boomed in applause and rain pattered in soothing congratulations, the wait was over.

Six years in his garage, drawing blueprints when he should have been watching Avery become a woman. Six years tearing apart his work in bitter frustration, smashing with a wrench what the day before he had lauded as the final necessary step. Mark stepped away from his work. It was finished. If he hadn’t had the distractions and all those goddamn intrusions, he would have been done at least five months before. But no matter. That was immaterial now.

Mark examined the flat, smooth silver fridge-adjacent creation. It was slightly taller than him and would open up to a small room inside, just wide enough for him to fit. That’s it! It was like a steel sarcophagus. He liked the sound of that. He might explain that to Addie when the ordeal had ended–when he finally found victory.

With unkempt fingernails, Mark ripped off the yellow tape obscuring the control panel. It was about halfway up the heighth of the sarcophagus. Five buttons, each distinguished by color, held the control over his victory. Mark pressed the blue one and the machine started to hum. Just a couple of minutes left. He hummed an old Williams Brothers single to calm his nerves. Another thunder clap. Mark started to intertwine his fingers and then instantly shoved them in his pockets. Marvin always made fun of him for it–he said it made him look like a spy movie villain. Mark chuckled to himself about the last time Marvin had chided him for that.

“Last time you were gone, I saw another guy doing that–had his fingers, you know–he was holding on to his beer like that. I walk over and I start telling him the Patriots didn’t make the playoffs after all. The guy–he looks up at me, says in the thickest southern accent I’ve ever heard, ‘Real tough shit.’”

With a wan smile, Mark pressed the bright green button. Now, the sarcophagus started to overpower the storm outside, outclassing it in volume. Mark opened the door to the chamber and then–the garage lights shut off without warning. His glorious machine no longer hummed with joy. While he wanted to shout, slam his fists against the sarcophagus, or simply fall on his knees and weep, he stood unmoved. Delays had happened before. This was nothing new. It did hurt, though; to know that he had finally done everything right, but a storm, an unalterable force of nature, had cut off his chance of victory.

The door that connected the garage to the rest of the house thrust itself open. From the shadows, a feminine voice called out to him. A woman in her early forties stood in the doorway, glowing from the light of a candle.

“Honey! Are you ok in there?

“Fine. Just–just, uh, working on my projects.”

“Come inside. Melvin and Annie should be here any minute.”

“What about the storm?”

“They’ve already left home.”

“I wouldn’t want–”

“They’re already almost here. Power or no, we need to be good hosts.”

“I said I didn’t want anything big this year.”

“It’s not.”

Mark had promised his parents not to get married until he got through college–at least undergrad. He had a gift, they told him, and he wasn’t going to waste it on the first girl that caught his eye. Halfway through junior year, Mark met Addie, an education major who had a passion for children. To his parents’ infinite disappointment, Mark deferred his enrollment in graduate school to save up for the wedding. How wonderful it was at first! But after a few years of marriage, Mark’s job started to keep him away from home–sometimes for months on end.

Mark blew out his candles in the dark that year. Well, maybe he always did, but this time felt different because he knew they couldn’t simply turn the lights on when the birthday song was through. He, Maddie, Melvin, and Annie sat around the kitchen table, making use of Maddie’s candles and their phone flashlights. Soon, they began to slice up pieces of cake and enjoy the fruits of another year of Mark’s life.

“...And on the way back, Mark and I were just driving through the worst traffic. The worst I’ve ever seen. And guess what? We’re stuck right behind a minivan the whole time, just blasting the Wilson Brothers. These two kids are just staring me down. They will not look away. Sometimes they’re making faces–”

Melvin laughed. “For three hours?”

Mark looked up slowly from his cake, “One and a half. At the most.”

He interjected once in a while with a dry correction or monosyllabic response. But all Mark could think about was the steel chamber that awaited him when the power turned back on. Sure, he could have powered it with batteries–that would render this current delay nonexistent–but electricity had seemed more reasonable at the time. As he debated a few of his design decisions, he heard the Maddie and the intruders laugh too loudly at a joke that likely had no comedic value. Mark stared at them as he heard Melvin attempt to give a laugh-ridden explanation:

“Oh my god! Oh my…Mark…your wife…god, Maddie!”

They burst into laughter once more. Mark stared at them. Faintly, he could hear creeping tiptoes. Mark’s head spun around.

“What?” the intruder asked.

“Ava, come and join us!” Maddie called up to the fourteen year old girl on the stairs. “You’re just in time for presents.”

“I didn’t get Mark anything.”

“You didn’t get Dad anything.”

Mark massaged his neck. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I didn’t get anything for her birthday. Let’s just–do you know when we might get the power back?”

“You mean you don’t like this? I thought it was pretty nice,” remarked Annie.

“I know!” Maddie cried. “We’ve got to do this more often!”

Mark stood up suddenly, “You did this?!” he shouted.

Ava turned around to escape upstairs. She chuckled bitterly.

Melvin laughed, too, but in a different way, “It’s the storm, Mark. Just the storm. Maddie had–”

“Whatever,” Mark sighed.

The room sat in silence except for the sound of Melvin setting down his fork on the plate in front of him. Ava had disappeared.

The day Addie went into labor with their Avery, Mark had been scheduled for another work trip. For the last time in his life, Mark told the office, “No.” He wouldn’t dared be anywhere else. Years later, Avery gave him the happiest day of his life: she asked him to have a tea party with her, only there was no tea, just empty cups and animal crackers–

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Maddie stood up with a huff and walked to the door. She unlocked it, opened it, and nearly screamed, except no sound would come out.

The voice sounded eerily familiar: “Maddie, I know I haven’t been the husband you needed. Shit, I took everything you had and spent it beer. I wish–I wish I could say that–”

“Who are you?” Maddie asked in a whisper.

Mark stood up and saw the man in the doorway. He had a new, cheap suit on and a bundle of flowers in his hand. Most of the petals were wilting. The man had lines of grief etched into his face and an expression of genuine remorse.

The stranger lifted his eyes to Maddie’s: “I’m Mark. Mark Sybill.”

Maddie couldn’t return this imposter’s gaze for long. The outsider glanced at the birthday cake still on the table and then the presents on the fireplace mantle.

“You always knew I’d come back!” the fake Mark laughed with joy.

“What’s your real name?” asked Melvin.

“Melvin! It’s been–it’s been so long. I’ve got–”

“Get away from him,” barked Annie.

This imposter Mark stared at Melvin with such a look of penance, and then started to choke out a few words:

“I would’ve come back sooner–I swear to God I wanted to. But after the accident, I…I changed. I couldn’t stop…all I ask is that…”

Right at that moment, the facsimile Mark, the drunkard, the bum, looked up at the real Mark. Unlike the others, the real Mark was not shocked into a fascinated silence. He stared straight at this intruder with calculating logic. That complete lack of detachment and superiority is probably what pushed the outsider over the precipice and into a frenzy.

“Isaac, you can’t just…she was my wife!”

Melvin tried to hold the imposter back: “Isaac died years ago!”

“Then who’s that fucking my wife!”

The fake Mark charged at his real counterpart, with a desperate look in his eyes. With years of practiced patience and restraint, the real Mark stepped to the side at the last possible moment, tripped the imposter, and let him crash into the wall behind them both. The murderous phony crashed headfirst into the hard brick and slumped to the ground.

“I thought your brother passed away when you were kids,” asked Annie.

Isaac had always been Mark’s biggest advocate. Isaac was the sort of man who asked little for himself–probably too little. Mark was going to apply for a small teaching position before Isaac announced over lunch that he had already sent Mark’s resume to Jodie Redding’s private research lab. Shocked and somewhat embarrassed, Mark begged Isaac to tell them it was only a mistake. Isaac refused, and in the the end, Mark landed the job.

“Don’t call the cops,” Mark commanded calmly, seeing Maddie’s fingers reaching for her phone.

“What?” she asked, incredulous. “Mark–”

“He’s family. I don’t want him in jail. One thing you can do is check when this storm’s going to end.”

“Anybody still want to open presents?” joked Melvin.

Ava crept down the stairs. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” answered Mark calmly.

“Holy shit! Oh my…what did you do?”

Ava’s eyes were fixed on the imposter’s body.

“Help me carry him to the couch, Marvin” ordered Mark.

“Melvin,” corrected Maddie. “Melvin, honey.”

“Are you going to help or not?” asked Mark.

“Maybe your brother would get my name right,” Melvin remarked as he walked over the outsider’s unconscious body. “Why didn’t you ever tell us about him?”

“You killed him,” accused Ava, pointing to the imposter.

“He’s fine!” Mark shouted at her. “He’s fine.”

Mark glanced over at Melvin, intending to restate his request for help. As he did, he noticed Maddie dialing on her phone.

Annie examined the unconscious intruder. “Why aren’t there any marks on his face? I thought he hit the wall.”

He took a step toward her, then his face shifted, and he made wide steps for the garage.

Maddie spoke into the phone: “Hello…yes, I’d like to report…”

Back in the garage, Mark hugged his sleek chamber. He held it tight. Although it was completely dark in that poorly circulated room, the sarcophagus seemed to anchor him like the sun. Perhaps it was impulsive to take refuge with his construction now, but those people…fortunately, they wouldn’t follow him. No, it would all be over soon. Let them call the police! It was better that Maddie didn’t force her to hang up; they would have hastened their arrival. And no cop would rush to help someone who has already helped themselves…right?

The door opened and a phone flashlight shone a beam onto Mark’s body. “He’s waking up. Come on.” Ava called, almost with a scowl.

“...doesn’t like anyone to bother him while he’s in there. He’s just–he’s been distant for the past few years. Not that I minded him becoming more responsible, it’s just–” Maddie broke off suddenly.

“Hi, Mark. So you and your brother have the same name?” asked Annie.

The fake Mark was now hoisted on the couch, groaning. His real counterpart approached him, sighing.

“What do you want me to say to him? You’ve already called the police.”

“He’s your brother!” snapped Maddie. “Let me guess, you couldn’t leave the garage long enough to get to know him either!”

“I tried. I tried, but it only hurt me worse,” Mark said as he stared at Maddie. “I tried with you! I tried with all of you!” After a pause, he continued quietly: “I didn’t ask for your birthday presents.”

Mark took a step toward the imposter. “You’re right; there aren’t any marks on his–”

The imposter leapt at Mark, pushing him to the ground while laughing devilishly. Melvin rushed forward to help, but the Fake Mark kicked him in the crotch. With a smile, he tightened his grip on his mirror image’s throat. Holding a kitchen knife, Maddie ran over to help. Seeing her poised to attack, the disheveled imposter’s expression changed instantly to one of pure remorse.

“Annie, I’m doing this for you!”

Annie hesitated, even backed off. Something inside of her felt sick and disgusting. She knew this man–she had loved this man, the same one she was prepared to murder. The imposter took the opportunity to show her his ultimate affection. Staring straight at her, his hands squeezed and squeezed his twin’s throat and then–the lights came on. With the boost of pent-up excitement, the real Mark threw the imposter off of him, and before catching his breath, ran to the garage.

Inside, he pressed the blue button. Leaning against the chamber, Mark breathed overwhelming, desperate breaths. Caught up in the rush of adrenaline and lack of oxygen, Mark barely realized that he was now on the floor, with his double once again reaching for the throat. Mark heard the humming of the machine. He took a deep breath and kneed the imposter in the chin. Mark struggled to his feet, but felt his attacker pull him down once more.

Meanwhile, Officer Jimenez rushed to the garage, gun drawn. Maddie guided him into Mark’s sanctuary, but he bid her to stand behind him. Her husband would be safe soon, he assured her.

Finally free of the imposter’s grip, Mark pressed the green button. Now, the sound of his creation roared. So close!

“Freeze!” Officer Jimenez shouted from the entrance to the garage.

Jimenez had his pistol cocked and alternated his aim between the two men. Fake Mark had been in this situation before. He put his hands behind his head. The real Mark slowly wrapped his fingers around the handle that would open the steel sarcophagus.

“I said, ‘Don’t move!’” After a pause: “Sir!”

“I’m late, officer. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Freeze!”

Mark sighed, and finally complied. Then, Maddie crept in slowly. Officer Jimenez turned to her:

“Ma’am, would you please identify your husband?”

Maddie stared at both men. “Neither,” she decided. “Neither of them.”

With that, the imposter Mark broke out into tears, “Maddie, it’s me! Maddie, I’m home.”

Officer Jimenez heard a clicking noise. Mark had slipped into his chamber. The noise intensified to a deafening volume.

“Ma’am–”

“I have no idea what–”

Without warning, the whirring stopped. Mark and his creation were gone.

Mark’s nickname for the machine had, perhaps, been too fitting. His sarcophagus was on fire and the door jammed shut. Coughing violently, he pushed on the door. Too hot! He kicked against it with the soles of his shoe. Fortunately, the smoke would likely render him unconscious before he had to worry about being roasted alive. The smoke formed a thick cloud around his face. As he ducked down to try and get below it, he was reminded of the ever-increasing heat.

Just as he was beginning to black out, Mark heard a soft sound–like that of shaving cream. Mark closed his eyes just as the door was yanked open. When he awoke, a few second later, he was on the floor, staring into a mirror…no, it was himself. Had the device not worked at all? No. This Mark was so unlike the last; he had no cheap suit on, only work clothes. The garage was certainly similar, but also quite different. The New Mark smiled kindly at his visitor:

“Lost?”

Mark, still on the floor, glanced at the stranger’s creation: a chamber not so varied from his own.

“This world’s Mark Sybill died in a car crash two years ago, I’m sorry to disappoint you. But here’s an idea–we pool our resources. I get to figure out why your machine didn’t send you home, and when it’s finished, I’ll let you take a trip in mine.”

Tears formed in the defeated Mark’s eyes: “I was so close…”