The Night of the World and the Lightning Flash

    The clouds moved toward him. The rain was now imminent. He was keenly aware that he hadn’t yet gathered firewood for the day. Normally, gathering wood was one of the routine parts of his day — a routine that was now 42 (no, 43) days established. His morning routine in particular was strictly regimented as a matter of habit: get up, feed his faithful floppy-eared companion, Japhy, make a small pot of coffee, cook a little breakfast, watch the sunrise, and write down whatever came out for about 20 minutes. After all of those tasks were completed, he could begin the rest of his day, including gathering the supplies he’d need for the day, like wood. Except today. 
    Years ago, long before he had left the university abruptly to come out to this wilderness, he met the girl he knew he would marry. Like most of his life choices, that realization was imbued with the certainty of a man whose decision-making process was not complicated by mechanisms of doubt. Now, as he sat alone in the cabin, spared complete isolation by the presence of Japhy, feeling the cold permeate through his skin and into his bones, he wondered if he had been wrong. The ever-faithful Japhy, his last remaining confidant, never left his side through any of the final stages of the marriage and the fallout that occurred afterward. It was as if the negativity wasn’t able to permeate his thick coat of brown and white fur. 
    ----
    It had been a few weeks since he had arrived at the cabin just outside the small mountain town of Three Rocks. His one old, black, 48-liter Osprey hiking bag was filled with enough clothes to keep the laundry cycle limited to once a week, perhaps requiring the occasional double-wear of a pair of pants. It was all he wanted to bring. Everything else he owned reminded him of her. 
    Bartlet stood looking at himself in the mirror that was illuminated by a small hanging bulb connected to a too-short metal chain. The lines in his face had grown deeper after she left, and more so in the time since. He looked hard at himself, staring intensely into his reflected eyes. Where had he gone wrong?
    He turned to face the rest of the room. Japhy was, as usual, quietly curled up on the rug, his favorite stuffed toy (which the family had named “Stuffy”) nestled inside of the oval his long, sleeping body created. Bartlet scanned the room slowly. A small lamp with a round black base and a conical off-white shade sat atop the nightstand which barely gave off enough light to illuminate half the room. Next to the lamp was an old beat up copy of Kerouac’s “The Dharma Bums”, perhaps the fifth or sixth copy he’d owned in the past forty years.  
    In the small kitchenette to the right of his bed a medium sized frying pan sat atop one of the two burners of the small but effective stovetop range. The college dorm-sized mini-fridge held just the most vital of necessities: milk for his coffee and the leftovers of last night’s dinner. In the small cupboard over the stove was his seemingly-endless supply of peanut butter. It had taken a while for him and Japhy to find a brand that they could agree on as a favorite. He was pleased when he discovered it was the brand stocked in the mountain town’s only general store. He was finishing his look around the room when his eyes stopped on the door. He could see the royal blue Jeep Wrangler through the small window at the top of the door. 
    Just over a month ago, before he had pointed the Jeep up the winding mountain trail, Bartlet had stopped at the general store in the hamlet of Three Rocks at the bottom of the hill. The small mountain town was barely a town at all. The single stoplight had been installed just a few years back, after a clerk from the county government was injured while re-assessing the tax valuations for the few buildings that weren’t considered “out of town” spaces. When he saw what constituted the main area of Three Rocks, Bartlet marveled at the simple and efficient way the town was set up: a few buildings stood on each corner of the now-regulated central intersection and within each of these buildings were at least two functional spaces, except the building containing the general store. There was only one brick building, which held a small bank on the first floor and the town’s barber on the second floor. He wasn’t sure if he had ever seen a barber pole attached to a bank before but he was positive he’d never seen a bar and a police station occupying the same building. Maybe it’s convenient to just shuffle the drunks from the bar to the drunk tank, he thought to himself with a wry smile.
    Because he had started his trip in a hurry, it was necessary to stock up on instant coffee, peanut butter, and other basic necessities like toilet paper and cleaning supplies before heading up the mountain pass into the wilderness. He didn’t want to have to worry about coming back down the hill too often. Once a week at most. The point of being here was the seclusion, right? Getting away from it all — everything that had brought him here needed to go away. He hoped that maybe, just maybe, he could the necessary clarity to figure out what to do next. The cabin he chose had the best views of the sunsets that helped build Three Rocks’ local reputation as a haven for those seeking solace and healing from its natural beauty. Bartlet needed that. 
    The same group of townies who praised his choice of cabin had also warned him about the infamous mountain storms that occasionally torment the entire valley. They told him that the storms weren’t very common but were even less predictable. The clouds would move in quickly from the west, over the peaks of the normally placid mountains. After that, the rain would be there within an hour tops. “Best you get inside once that starts,” warned the old-timer named Cy, who sat in his usual place on the last stool at the end of the store’s ample counter. 
    The counter section of the store was only ever occupied by locals who had grown accustomed to the intense flavor of the overly-strong cups of mud that were rapidly refilled by Evie, the shopkeeper and waitress who had been slinging coffee here for thirty years and had only a few years ago taken over running the store upon her father’s death. In her twenties, the flirtations from customers were welcomed; in her thirties, after marrying the town’s sheriff, they bordered on perfunctory; now in her mid-fifties, they were a nearly-forgotten memory. Unaware of her progression from one of the mountain’s most eligible bachelorettes to the queen of the townies, and after spending maybe thirty minutes in the general store, Bartlet had caught himself thinking there was something quaint, romantic even, about the way in which Evie and everyone else in this mountain village were unaffected by the tides of change that permeated everything back in civilization. 
    ---
    Now, he watched the clouds moving in and blocking out what was left of the dwindling sunlight. He took a sip of his lukewarm coffee and looked southeast off the porch toward the mountain which he hoped would give him the inspiration he so desperately sought. He let out a muted sigh and turned toward the cabin’s rear door to head back inside. Hearing the handle jiggle, Japhy's tail wagged slightly as his eyes opened briefly before closing as he returned to his nap. Bartlet grinned lightly before quietly mumbling, “Good to see you too boy.”
    Of all of the dogs the Bartlet family ever had, he considered Japhy one of the best. When he was a puppy, he learned the basics quickly: sit and stay had been no problem at all, though “leave it” took some practice. He was never jumpy or much of a barker and Bartlet always loved that about him. He was loyal and quiet, two qualities Bartlet often sought in his human companions. Japhy loved to run, had a favorite spot in every room in the house for sleeping, and never caused any problems on the trail during the increasingly longer hikes and other treks. By two years old, he was perfectly trained on and off the leash. Now nine, he was wearing the eleventh in a sequence of green bandannas around his neck, which had become something of a signature look for him.
    Bartlet walked slowly into the room, admiring the canine companion who had been by his side through nearly all the ups and downs of the past five years. As he stood there admiring his four-legged friend, he saw the last of the night’s firewood stacked neatly next to the fireplace in which sat the smoldering charred logs that would hopefully keep the nighttime chill at bay. 
    The first raindrops pinged the cabin’s roof around nine. He was distraught by the memory of the nightmare from last night—a nightmare unlike any he’d had previously. He had had bad dreams before, scary dreams that he could always clear away from his mind once morning came. They were, after all, only dreams. Yet last night was different. It was visceral and shook him to his core. When he awoke, his usual coolness and rationality did nothing to calm him, which only heightened his awareness of not being in control. Where had this come from? he asked himself anxiously. 
    He didn’t recognize the face that appeared in the dream—and now he couldn’t forget it. He always prided himself on never forgetting a face and always being able to connect it to a name stored in his deep, cavernous memory. In some circles, he was renowned for this gift. Yet last night this skill failed him and was continuing to fail him as the rain grew stronger and the winds picked up, blowing the porch swing metronomically into the side of the cabin. Outside, he could hear the sounds of the tarp covering the cabin owner’s broken-down shell of an old muscle car. The billowing and rippling would get worse as the wind whipped harder or simply stop when the cheap old tarp finally gave up its fight and tore away from its moorings, allowing the menacing wind to blow unobstructed through the car’s metal frame. 
    As the wind howled outside, Japhy calmly walked from the rug which had been his favorite napping spot to the area between the main room and the small kitchenette. He didn’t react to storms at home and that wasn’t going to change simply because he was in a new place. Long ago, he learned that barking at the loud noises and flashing lights wouldn’t make them stop. At home, if the noise was too loud, he simply got up and delicately pinched his favorite toy between his still-healthy teeth and moseyed his light brown body to the other side of the room or across the house altogether. 
    After one particularly cacophonous crash of thunder shook the mountain cabin, Japhy took Stuffy and headed to the bed that he and Bartlet had been occupying these past weeks. Following the ordeal of being crate trained for the nighttime, he quickly became a bed dog, occupying the foot of the bed and never wanting any more bedspace than just the amount he needed to fit his curled-up frame. The addition of Stuffy around his fifth birthday didn’t change his needs either as the little stuffed bear was always in the same place, tucked right up next to him. 
    He jumped onto the bed, still spritely enough to make it in a single leap, but definitely showing signs of his age. He circled a spot twice—not once, not three times, but twice—before curling up with his neck and shoulder up against the footboard and Stuffy just in front of his nose. A final look back toward Bartlet told him that his owner hadn’t moved and probably wasn’t going to anytime soon. As the rain pelted down, Japhy drifted off to sleep, just as the dying embers of the fire gave off their last flickers of light. 
    Bartlet watched his beloved Japhy go through his bedtime routine. Seeing his dog was the only thing making this decision hard. But like all of his decisions, he was going to stick to his convictions and follow through. His marriage was over, as was his career. She had made sure of the former and his torturous grief-fueled breakdown at school had ensured the latter.
    He got up and walked quietly over to the nightstand. The sealed envelope sat where he had left it. Juliet’s name was written in his neat handwriting in bold black ink. He moved purposefully to the fire place and put three more logs on the fire, giving it enough fuel to last a good while longer. He shifted his attention to the back door. He checked the lock, which remained locked since he had come inside two hours ago. He tapped the doggy door with his foot, ensuring it would open for Japhy when he needed it. 
    Satisfied with his efforts, he sat back down on the beige chair he had left moments ago opposite the bed. He slowly picked up the revolver that sat on the coffee table in front of him and placing it against his left temple, closed his eyes and said to himself “this won’t hurt” as he squeezed the trigger.