Seeing Black (20 page)

“Wait, but I still don’t—”

“I know you don’t understand, and I haven’t told you
anything that would make you understand I mean you no harm. But for
today, that’s all I have time for. You have to be downstairs for
breakfast in the next five minutes. You missed it yesterday, and if
you don’t go today, they’ll come up for you.”

“He leaned forward and ran the back of his knuckles
over her cheek. Jill’s eyes widened. She was still trying to
process all the information she had learned. Then he gave her a
chaste kiss on the cheek. “No more pills from them, okay?”

There was a knock on the door. Jill was nervous; she
didn’t know who to trust. Paul put a finger to his lips to quiet
her then signaled towards the door.

“Um, I overslept. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Everything okay, Ms. Stone?”

“Yes, Mr. Robins.”

“Okay, I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Do you even know who Mr. Robins is?”

“Of course, he’s the—” She didn’t know! Why would
she know his name and not know who he is?

“Exactly. It is as if you’re in a daze. I need you
to stop taking any medicine they give you—vitamins, pills,
anything—and write that down in the journal. Remember not to take
anything from anyone. I have to figure out how to get you out of
here. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, starting to make his
way out the window.

Jill looked around, and it all seemed to crash down
on her at once. She had tried to leave a few times but, for
whatever reason, never made it out the front door. Rocco was
helping her with her meditation, and he did tell her she could
leave anytime. Why couldn’t she just leave? What about Alexander?
Oliver? Heather? School? Her life in general?

“Wait!” She ran towards the window and grabbed his
shirt. “Paul. I don’t . . . I just . . . I’m scared,” she
hesitantly admitted. At one point, he may not have been her
favorite person or trustworthy, for that matter, but he was the
only person she knew at the moment.

Paul turned, walked back into the room, and pulled
her into his arms. She felt safe for the first time in God only
knows how long. She wasn’t sure exactly what was happening or why
she was in Rocco’s home, but the tightness in her chest was a sign
that something wasn’t right, and Paul’s embrace loosened the vise
grip in her chest, even if only for a moment.

“I know, baby.” He cradled her head and ran his
fingers through her hair. “I’ll get you out of here. I
promise.”

“I love my father. He’s a good person,” Jillian
said, almost as if reading from a script.

“Jillian, you’re wrong, so very wrong. He is a very
evil man. You have to be strong. He’s making you believe that you
love him. It’s only an illusion.”

“You made me fall in love with you, and it was a
lie, all of it. I’m confused about a lot of things, but that I
remember. I also remember that Rocco has been helping me. He isn’t
evil. There must be some explanation. He’s just a father trying to
connect with a daughter he lost to an island. That’s all.” But even
as the words came out of her mouth, she knew it wasn’t right.

“No. There’s more to it than that.” There was
another knock on the door. “Tomorrow, I promise.” He made his way
out the window, and before leaving, he whispered, “Be brave. I’ll
be back.” Then he was gone.

Jill ran to the window towards Paul. “No. I’ll see
you outside the gate after breakfast. You’re wrong. You’ll see. I
can leave whenever I want,” she whispered, unsure if he heard but
fairly sure that even if had, she wouldn’t be meeting him. Not
today and possibly not ever.

***

Immediately upon awaking, even before she’d had a
chance to look around the room, a bout of nausea enveloped her. She
was about to make a mad dash to the bathroom to throw up when a
warm sensation that began at her toes started rising upwards to her
chest, arms, and face.

Her heart began to pulse faster and faster. She
barely made it to the bathroom. She gripped the edge of the
sink.

Chiseled abs.

Bare thighs.

Blue eyes.

Naked.

Alexander.

A familiar woman, hands on his bare shoulders.

Miriam.

A cold sweat erupted against her neck. Her clammy
hands clenched her chest. It hurt. Her heart was breaking in tiny
little pieces. Jill woke from her trance as she never had before.
It could have very well been the fastest spell she’d ever had, but
it was also the most painful. She shuffled to the bathroom, the
exhaustion overwhelming. Immediately, she began to throw up and
cry. Her overheated body couldn’t take it. Her eyes stung and her
ears rang. Frantically, she discarded her clothes and jumped into
the shower, leaving it on the coldest possible temperature. The
cold water cooled her sizzling skin and helped clear her mind. Once
she was back to normal, or at least Jillian-normal, the intensity
of vision began to take hold. Her knees were jelly, and she didn’t
know how she’d make it from the shower back to bed. Her heart still
pounded, but her limbs were not on the same page as her mind. She
wanted to reach for a towel, but couldn’t find the strength. Now
that her body was back to normal temperature, the cold water was
making her shiver. She struggled to move her legs. One heavy leg
moved forward then another. Repeat. Iron weights held her feet
down. The fatigue was too much. She just needed to reach the towel
then open the door and make it to the bed. Such a small task seemed
to be as colossal as climbing Mt. Everest. Her lips quivered. She
managed to wrap the towel around her body, but her legs gave way,
and she fell on the cold marble floor of the bathroom. Her lids
were heavy, her eyes barely slits. Had it not been for the coldness
of the marble floor making her shiver, she would have fallen asleep
right there, but she managed to crawl slowly out of her en-suite
bathroom into her room. One elbow and one knee forward then
another, her torso was getting closer and closer to the carpet that
lined the floor to her bedroom. She could see the bed from her
peripheral vision. The goal. One elbow and one knee forward then
another, but even her elbows gave way. The exhaustion was too
great. Suddenly, the bottom fell and she was floating.

When she opened her eyes slowly, because it was the
only way she could currently do anything, a familiar intoxicating
smell woke her senses. Eyes as black as a moonless night, eyelashes
that could make women weep with envy, and concern that made her
heart shatter, stared back at her. She let out a small gasp.
“Paul?” she managed to whisper.

“It’s okay. Just sleep, baby.” Permission or not,
she was asleep in his arms before he had laid her on the bed.

***

Had she just dreamed that Alexander was carrying on
an affair with Miriam? He’d forgotten all about her. Then Paul had
carried her to bed? That had been by far the most intense and
heartbreaking vision of her life. In an effort to get her bearings,
Jill sat up slowly. Her blinds were slightly open, and the only
light coming through was the glow of the moon. It took her eyes a
moment to adjust to the darkness in the room. She moved her back
closer to the headboard, and the bedcovers fell down a little,
causing her to shiver. She looked down and noticed she was naked
and that the cold air from the room gave her goose bumps. Odd. She
never slept in the nude. She lifted the covers up to her neck and
recollected the events of a few hours prior. Or days. Or minutes.
At this moment, who the hell knew? She was living in a complete
state of confusion. The vision. Paul carrying her.

“Paul?” she whispered to herself.

“Are you okay?” A deep husky voice said from a
corner of the room. She shuffled higher on the bed and pulled the
sheets up to her neck. She had called for him, but hadn’t expected
him to be there. All that was visible from the light shining
through the slits between the curtains was a tall figure. The man
pushed himself up from the wing-backed chair at the far corner of
the room. He moved towards her like a predator, slow and
calculating. She tightened the covers around her neck and inched
back even further. Once he was close enough, she was able to see
him clearly. The perfectly intense face was still intense but far
from perfect. The dark circles under his eyes made his dark pupils
obsidian. The slicked black hair she was accustomed to seeing was a
disheveled mess. His usual up-tight wardrobe of designer suits or
slacks and crisp shirt had been replaced by black jeans and a black
t-shirt, which, had it not been by the worry-lines marring his
beautifully ominous face, would have made him look younger than
ever. He normally carried himself with an air of confidence and
mystery that made him look much older than his thirty-three years.
If she’d ever thought him creepy, today he was just disturbing.

He reached forward to touch her arm, as if he were
approaching a scared and dangerous animal. The gesture was clearly
his effort to set her at ease. She scooted back even further. He
winced at her rejection, ran a hand over his face, and took a seat
the edge of the bed.

Disturbing, indeed.

“Paul?” It was the second time she’d whispered his
name.

“Jillian? Sweetheart? Are you okay? When I came in,
you were on the floor. Your lips were blue and trembling. I was so
scared. I thought I was too late.”

“Too late?”

“Are you okay?” he whispered again.

“Um, yes, I think so.” She really wasn’t sure of
anything at the moment. “What are you doing here?” She looked
around. “Wait. Where am I?” She clenched the sheets even tighter
around her naked body and jumped out of bed, moving back, towards
the far wall. A scared animal, indeed. Paul walked towards her
slowly, as if she would attack at any sudden movement.

“Jill, I’m not going to hurt you. We need to talk.
Keep your voice down, please.” He took another step forward, and
she took one back until her back was against the wall and there was
no place else to go. He carefully touched her shoulder. When she
didn’t scream or run away, he slid his hand down her arm until he
held the tip of two of her fingers. “Let me explain.”

“No. No.” She wanted to yell. She was confused and
overwhelmed. And naked. Why the hell was she naked?

“Okay,” he said looking as if he was considering
what to do next. “How about this. You can explain it to yourself?”
He put both hands up in a sign of surrender and slowly moved
towards her bed. He lifted her mattress and pulled out her journal
and held it out for her.

“What’s that?” she asked, her eyebrow arched.

“Your journal.”

“My journal?” she looked around, still confused.
“Why do I have a journal here in . . .” She looked around some
more. “Wait. Where the hell am I?”

“Think, Jillian.” He took a cautious step towards
her, still holding out the journal. “Close your eyes and focus.
Tell me. Where are you?”

Hesitantly, Jillian closed her eyes. Yesterday,
after class she was picked up and brought to Rocco’s home for
dinner. She must have dozed off and stayed over, since she couldn’t
remember anything that happened after dinner. Eyes still closed,
she brought one hand against her temple, as a headache began to
form. “I’m at Rocco’s house?” she asked, although already knowing
the answer.

“Good girl,” Paul said. “Now, think hard. Remember
this journal? Hold it. Think about it.” She opened her eyes and
reached for the journal. She squinted down in an attempt to make
out the embossed letters on the corner of the leather cover in the
dark. PB.

“PB. Paul Black,” she whispered. “This is yours?”
She shook her head side to side as if that would help put things
into perspective. “Why is it under my mattress? I don’t . . .”

For the third time that night, Paul cautiously
reached towards Jillian and grabbed her hand. This time he pulled
her softly towards the bed, and she followed. He sat down first and
then patted the space right next to him. Jill warily sat, but not
where he had indicated. She sat as far away as the small space
would allow, still wrapped in sheets and acutely aware of her
nudity. “Open it. Read it. It will explain a lot, but not
everything. You need to fill in the gaps, but it should set your
mind at ease. Well, at least that’s what I hoped when I gave it to
you last week.”

Jill was looking down at the journal and abruptly
met his gaze. “This is my handwriting?” He didn’t answer, and she
continued to read. “I saw you yesterday?”

He nodded and gestured to the journal. He reached
across the bed and turned on the lamp.

Her heart began to pound when she saw her
handwriting and she couldn’t remember having written it. It was a
letter to herself. It explained, in summary, about the island.
Suddenly she looked up, her hand on her throat. “Six months!” She
gasped, her hand tightening around her neck. “Oh my God!”

Paul reached forward and unwound one finger at a
time. Her mouth was still open at the revelation. “Try to keep your
voice down, Jill. Keep reading,” he instructed. Jill looked down
and kept reading. When she got to the part that said Paul was a
decent man, she looked up at him, as if searching for the decency,
the goodness, but without any expression, she looked back down and
continued reading. She turned the page and saw one of Helen’s
quotes. A lump formed in her throat, and tears threatened to seep
out. She closed her eyes and tried to focus. She needed to
understand. Was this all a lie? She wasn’t sure whether to trust
Paul, but the journals were in her handwriting, and if she could
just remember . . .

“Jillian. Think hard. Focus. I was here. We talked.
I explained everything. Can you remember?” She shook her head, eyes
still closed. “Can you at least remember me giving you this?” He
pointed at the journal. She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then
flashes of some memory played in her mind:
Paul
sneaking into her room. Jill completely startled. Jill hurling her
hairbrush at his head. Jill hugging Paul. Paul explaining something
to Jill. Paul handing her the journal.
It was like snippets
of flashbacks that alone meant nothing. She needed to put all those
snippets together, but it hurt. Physically, her chest pained from
all that she seemed to have forgotten and wanted—no needed—to
remember. One by one each flashback made itself known until it made
sense.