The Simpleton

By Barbara Avon

Jonathan Peters once held a prestigious position at Tribeck Advertising. He was well-loved in his neighbourhood. A newlywed, he and his beautiful wife Andrea, were looking forward to being parents. Now he lives a solitary life, and works in a flower shop. Now, they call him the "simpleton". It wasn't his fault, really. He found her in the bathtub. "An accident", they called it. Or was it? When the haunting begins to steal Jon's identity, he changes into a different man. He recognizes the ghost, though. It's someone he once vowed to spend his entire life with, and there's something she wants to say.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbara Avon
• Release date: Feb 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781984264015

Book preview

Chapter One

The soles of her feet stuck to the floor tiles. Even in the early morning, everything was wet and sticky from the heat. A mosquito buzzed around her ear. She swatted at it. It was unrelenting and driving her crazy. She told him eight goddamn times to fix the holes in the window screens. The bugs made their way in as if being invited.

Opening the cupboard, his words spoke to her: Good morning, beautiful. She smiled and shook her head. Pulling the note down, she left it on the kitchen counter and pulled the coffee down next, adding an extra spoonful to the coffee maker to make it strong and dark. Her long blonde hair was pasted to the nape of her neck. She pulled it into a bun, winding the strands of gold around each other. His white shirt was open to her navel, showing off the scar that she's carried with her since she was a teenager. They removed her gallbladder when she was fourteen, causing a new kind of teenage angst. When Jon saw it for the first time, he told her that scars are what tell the stories of our lives and kissed the softness of her skin there. It was then that she fell in love with him.

She wanted the heat to dissipate and for the cool Autumn air to return from its sojourn, from somewhere far away, untouchable, and yet ever-present; simply hiding. The coffee dripped and the aroma tickled her senses bringing with it a memory of when she would wake to see her mother in the kitchen, already dressed, primped, and baking. She died last year and took a piece of Andrea's heart with her. Jon was all she had left.

She poured herself a cup of brew and plucking an ice cube from the freezer, plopped it in her mug. It melted almost instantly and left behind a creamy effect that she loved. Leaving the mug on the counter, she walked down the hallway decorating the floor with her footprints. Their bedroom was oblivious to the morning rays. They both liked it dark and purchased black curtains to dress the windows, allowing little light to penetrate the room. The smell of stale cigarette smoke greeted her as it clung to his clothes. The smell was made worse by the humidity lingering on the air like an invisible blanket.

She switched the light on and went over to him. Leaning over, she kissed him in his dark, wavy hair, the same way she did every morning.

Wake up, sunshine, she whispered in his ear.

She gathered the clothes that sat in a pile on the floor to wash them. She planned to paint the shed today if she could stand the heat. She liked painting. It was satisfying to see the transformation that was born through the strokes of her brush. Even her husband of five years was impressed with her handy work.

Jon, wake up, she repeated, poking him.

He had an early meeting at the office, where he worked in sales. The day the sign went up on his office door, he bought her a bouquet of flowers and purchased a very expensive bottle of Bordeaux.

They even gave me a title, baby. Jonathan Peters, Head of Sales. What do you think of me, now?

You'll do, she teased him, kissing him at length.

She couldn't see his face. He rested on his right side, facing her side of the bed, with one arm thrust out so it occupied her pillow.

She sighed hard. Jon, I'm serious. Time to get up.

She shook him hard. She hated these games he played with her. She wasn't in the mood – not with the sweat trickling down her back like a rivulet.

Fine. Be late, see if I care.

Stopping at the threshold of the door, she went to him once more and tore the sheet off him. Dammit, Jon!

There was no sound in the room other than that of her voice. She stared at his body. He was still. Not even the natural rise and fall of his chest could be seen. The light was still on, but the room suddenly grew as black as tar. He wasn't breathing.

Jon!

Her echo died. The room remained black. A mosquito buzzed around his head. In the kitchen, the cup of cold coffee sat waiting.

Chapter Two

I'll just get these wrapped up for you ma'am.

Thank you.

The woman waited impatiently, staring at her wristwatch. It was a quarter to one and her lunch break was almost over. Her business suit felt suffocating. Her boss insisted she wear a jacket in the Summer. It was his way of asserting his authority over her since he couldn't run his business without getting sued by a client every other week. His air of superiority was as big as his ugly, bald, head, and she smiled internally every time he was summoned to court.

The overhead fans whizzed, overpowering Stevie Wonder that was playing on the radio. The fans did little to comfort her. The only reprieve from the heat came when she was allowed access to the refrigerator, choosing various flowers for her grandmother. She was headed to Whispering Heights after work to pay her a visit. Gerbera Daisies were her favourite and Trina chose white, orange, and red ones, along with baby's breath.

Her grandmother rarely received visitors. Trina's parents were gone, having died in a cruise ship accident nearly a decade ago, and she was an only child. Her love life was non-existent. Her visits with her grandmother were the only social visits circled on her calendar these days. They would sit for hours while her Nonna told stories of the old country and Caterina listened respectfully, waiting only until the end to ask questions. The stories grew repetitive over time. The ramblings of an old woman, she heard one of the nurses say when she didn't see Trina behind the huge cart that held the residents’ dinners. Trina had stepped out from behind the cart and reminded the nurse that without the old woman, she'd be out of a job. The heavy-set nurse reddened, resembling the very Jello she was serving, and Trina almost reported her to the manager of the home.

The man that was wrapping her flowers was taking a painfully long time to tie a ribbon around them. He was tall, and thin, and looked to be in his thirties. He would have been attractive, except for the dark circles underneath his eyes that looked like they were painted there. The purplish hue reminded her of the homeless people she once served at the shelter to gain extra credit in high school. She wondered if he was on drugs.

The ticking of her wristwatch rattled her nerves and the heat that surrounded her like a shroud made her lose her temper.

Excuse me? Is there any way you can hurry it up?

The shop owner, a short man with a pointy beard, looked up from where he was reviewing paperwork. His name's Jonathan. He's the resident clown around here. But you're not laughing, are you, boy?

Trina shot the man a look to discredit his would-be joke. I just need to get back to work.

The man named Jonathan gained speed like a wind-up toy, quickly finished tying the ribbon, and pushed the bouquet across the counter at her.

Thank you, she told him.

He didn't answer her and disappeared through a door. What's the matter with him?

The shop owner stroked his beard that was tinged yellow from cigarette smoke. He wore a bowtie to advertise his position at the store. Without it, he looked like he should be hunting bears.

He's a simpleton.

A simpleton?

Yes, ma'am. You know, ain't got no sense to him. You have a nice day, now.

Trina paused briefly, looking behind her at the door marked Employees Only. She was running out of time and couldn't afford for Mr. Stafford to keep her late tonight. She opened the door to the street where she was greeted with a humidity so thick, the buildings looked like they were swaying. Her flowers wilted instantly.

Chapter Three

Ha-ha! Give a grin! Here he comes, the simpleton! Ha-ha! Give a grin! Here he comes, the simpleton!

Jonathan covered his ears and increased his stride as he made his way home, eyes scanning the asphalt. His routine was always the same. He would cut through the schoolyard where the petulant children mocked him by repeating the gossip they hear while their fat, ignorant, parents play poker. He would walk around the perimeter of the fire house, desperate to see the men in their panic to board the truck on their way to a call but he never does. Across the playground, where mothers sit, he will ignore their sympathetic glances and the shouts of children who will one day chant at him like the older kids in the schoolyard.

On the porch, he would stomp his feet three times, even in the dead of Summer, causing his neighbour, Mrs. Tyler, to shake her head in pity as she sits and knits socks and bonnets for her new grandchild. Inside, he will flick the hallway light thrice, remove his shoes and position the laces so that they resemble cat whiskers. On the couch, he will lean his head back, close his tired eyes, and begin the daunting task of trying to convince himself that, this time, it will be different. He will open his eyes and look left and right without moving his head, to challenge the shadows that aren't really there.

He will force himself to stand and walk to the other room with the dread of a convicted man. The kitchen is spotless, void of a single bread crumb. He crouches next to the counter so that he's at eye level with the mug, reaches his finger out and touches it gently. It doesn't move. The coffee is unevaporated. It's as fresh as the day it was made – one year ago – when he found his wife, Andrea, naked in the shower. She had slipped forward, impinging her beautiful blue eye on the diverter lever of the faucet, pushing her eyeball far back into her skull. The tub was coloured red, like Santa's sleigh, void of presents, holding only the lifeless body of his wife. One young police officer who came on the scene succumbed to his lurching stomach right there in Jon's bathroom, adding insult to