The Crevasse, Page 3
Jim flipped the tv on with the remote control and watched it alone for the first time during the six months the couple had lived in the apartment. It felt odd, like sitting in a stranger's living room with the self-consciousness of knowing you are using another man's possessions. Letterman was on, and the viewer turned the volume low so as not to disturb the ghosts floating about him.
Ghosts. They were all about him, all the time. He didn't feel their presence during the days, the days filled with briefs and contracts and power lunches. Yet at night he felt them fleet in and out and about his world when his mind was alive enough to notice them. He was a man haunted by ghosts that would not die, ghosts that would never die.
The Crevasse, that was what he faced. A big, gaping Crevasse that threatened to rip his world apart if he did not jump. To one side or the other, he knew he would have to jump sooner or later. Or perhaps the jump had already been made for him.