Seeing Black (21 page)

“Yes, I remember.” She looked up. “I don’t remember
a lot, but I remember you, and I remember hitting you?” She looked
up and reached forward to run her fingers through his hair, feeling
for the lump where the brush made contact with his head.

He winced when she found it. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Jill said, tucking her hand back around her
sheet. “Give me a second.” She pushed off the bed, the sheets
wrapped around her body, grabbed some clothes from a drawer, and
went to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she was back wearing
navy-blue silk pajama pants and a button-down pajama shirt. Paul
still sat in the same spot. This time, she sat a little closer.

“Can you please explain, again?”

“What do you want to know?”

“God, that’s a loaded question, Paul. Everything. I
want to know everything. I think you told me everything yesterday,
but I don’t seem to remember it all.”

“Read it. Your notes will help you remember more
than I ever would. You need to make an effort to remember on your
own. Otherwise, you’ll never get out of here.”

“I don’t understand. Get out of here? It said in the
journal I’ve been here almost six months, but that can’t be.”

“It’s true You’ve been here for six months.
Imprisoned.”

“Imprisoned?”

“He’s giving you pills every day, Jillian. You must
stop taking any medicine he gives you. Even if he says they’re pain
relievers, vitamins, anything, they are for the purpose of whatever
it is he’s using to keep you here. You’re both psychic—”

“You knew that?”

“Yes. You, Rocco, and his brother Josef. Because of
your genetic link. I’m also fairly certain that he can alter your
mood somehow. You must have noticed?”

She shook her head. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her
teeth worried her bottom lip. Paul reached forward and pinched her
bottom lip and gently pulled it out of the grips of her teeth then
continued to speak.

“When he’s around, you’re not worried or scared,
when you have so many reasons to be, Jillian. You’ve been here for
six months, and you haven’t tried to escape. Every morning you wake
up confused and scared, and then you see him and all the fears melt
away. Then, to add insult to injury, he tells you that you are free
to leave at any time. He gains your trust: he’s just your father
who wants to spend quality time with his daughter. He wants to
teach you these wonderful things that will help you rein in your
psychic spells. That’s what he tells you every single day. You
wander out of the house, resolved to leave. With every fiber of
your being, you are determined to leave, then . . .” Paul stopped
for a moment and looked at Jillian, who held her breath. “Then,
Jillian, you just don’t. You don’t leave.” She let out the breath.
“For some reason I can’t explain, you wander to the garden, see a
wayward butterfly or a flower, get distracted, and that’s it—your
thoughts about leaving disappear into thin air. Of course it has
something to do with Rocco or Josef. You get distracted by anything
that moves—the ocean breeze, the horses—it’s not just the pretty
flowers. One day turns into another, and suddenly, it’s been six
months.”

Jillian’s heart began to race, and her eyes teared
up. She placed an arm out to Paul’s chest to stop him from getting
any closer, and her body folded over, trying to control her gagging
reflex. She couldn’t fathom what he’d just told her. It was too
much. Paul didn’t move. He was allowing her to have her moment. How
many of these moments had he witnessed? Her sweaty palms were
shaking against his chest. She stood up, suddenly, her spine
straight. She needed to get out of there while she still
remembered. “I . . . Oh, my God. I need to get out here. I need to
find Alexander.” She jerked up to her feet and released her grip on
Paul. “Or, no. I don’t. He’s moved on.” She slumped forward as she
remembered her vision.

Paul held her by her upper arms, blocking her
escape. “No,” he said, sternly. “You can’t leave. I’m so sorry
about Alexander. If your vision is right, I am truly sorry, but you
can’t leave here, not yet. You aren’t ready. If you walk out of
this room with the information I just gave you, they will drug you
and really hold you captive, and I don’t mean this bullshit mind
manipulation. I mean chains, handcuffs, and dungeons. You need to
be smart. I have a plan, but you can’t leave today.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“It’s all in the journal. Read it. I’ve explained it
to you a few times. Once you read it, you’ll understand that
everything I did, I did to protect you, not to hurt you.” He bent
down and kissed her gently on the forehead. “I should go. It’s
almost morning, they’ll come up to look for you.. Don’t forget to
read your journal and write in it.” Then Paul was gone.

Jill reached deep between her mattress and pulled
out her journal. She read all the previous pages of notes. The
notes went back over a few weeks; meaning, this was not her first
interaction with Paul. She noticed that besides the notes she kept
on the story Paul was telling her about Rocco and Josef, she also
wrote down a daily quote from Helen. It seemed to center her, bring
her back to the present, and keep her functional and lucid, but
tonight she was angry, and she took it one step further. She
couldn’t forget Rocco had imprisoned her, lied to her, hurt Paul,
and kept her from Alexander. She needed to remember this feeling,
so right after reading the last few pages of Helen’s saying, she
added something different, something that, ironically, she’d heard
Rocco say one time in passing, something to help prepare her for
battle:

If you know the enemy and know
yourself
, you need not fear the
results of a hundred battles.

-
Sun
Tzu

Alexander

You can close your eyes to things
you don't want to see, but you can't close your heart to the things
you don't want to feel.

-Helen

Wednesday, six months earlier . .
.

Alexander parked his motorcycle and tucked his helmet
under his arm. He wore his mirrored sunglasses, dark blue jeans,
and a tight black Henley. Two women walked by him, and he noticed
that one looked up and smiled at him. It was a smile full of
promise. It was the kind of smile that a few months ago would have
caused him to approach said girl, make small talk, and head back to
his apartment, or hers, and have some quick no-commitment fun. But
he didn’t smile back. The only smile he wanted was the one that
waited for him inside that coffee shop. Although, Firecracker Jill
would probably not be smiling today. He could picture her now:
stomping out of the coffee shop, tapping her feet, with red cheeks
and narrowed eyes. Her fiery red hair would be tucked behind her
ears as a curl irritatingly escaped and tickled her eye—which she
would then fight with by tucking it back behind her ear, only to
have it break free again. She’d then poke him in the chest while
arguing about Miriam and/or the ultimatum he had given her. She’d
still hop right on his bike and wrap her delicious thighs and arms
around him all the way back to his apartment, where they’d argue
some more, and then he’d ultimately apologize and show her how
great make-up sex was. He was getting hard just thinking about
it.

Alexander leaned back against his bike, arms
crossed. Jill could be a giant pain in his ass, but so could he. He
knew he had been a total dick on Monday. It had just caught him by
surprise. How could she think, for one second, that he’d cheat on
her? He waited for Jill at their usual meeting place, outside her
favorite coffee shop. This was a ritual of theirs. They never
planned it. It was never talked about. It was understood. Every
Wednesday, she’d finish class earlier than he did, she’d walk the
half block to the coffee shop, and she’d wait for him while she
sipped coffee. He would see her through the big front window, and
she would flash him a big heart-stopping smile and make her way to
him, oblivious to any and all men checking her out. Her eyes would
be only on him—his on her.

She may have still been mad, but hell if he wasn’t
going to pick her up and make it better. He wasn’t used to dealing
with jealous girlfriends, but Jill wasn’t just any girl. She was
the girl,
and she wasn’t a liar. If Jill said that Miriam
had told her she was his girlfriend, he should have believed Jill.
What was he thinking defending Miriam? Why would Jill lie? And
detoxing-Miriam could be an evil vindictive bitch. What the hell
had he been thinking?
Dumb ass!

But, in his defense, didn’t Jill know he’d fuck up a
few times during their relationship? It was inevitable. It was par
for the course with him. He wouldn’t hurt her on purpose, but screw
up—yep, that was bound to happen. As soon as Jill hopped on the
back of his bike, he would explain the way things would work from
here on out. He loved her, always had, always would, but at times,
he could be a total idiot, and she would have to forgive him for
his frequent stupidity. No need to get all bent out of shape and
linger on a fight that at the end they both knew was his fault.
They’d be making up soon.
Oh. Making up equals make-up sex.
Nice.
His mind went elsewhere for a few moments.

Another ten minutes went by. The make-up sex
thoughts had gotten him all worked up, and he was anxious to begin
the groveling and move on to the make-up sex. Was she being
stubborn? He pushed himself off the bike and walked into the coffee
shop. It was small, only four tables and a few chairs. He made a
quick scan of the room and saw she wasn’t there. A woman he didn’t
know was walking out of the bathroom, so he knew she wasn’t there
either.
Stubborn woman!
She wasn’t there. He pulled out his
phone and dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Jill, I’m waiting for you. Where are you?”

Another ten minutes passed. He called her again, and
again it went to voicemail. “Are you screening my calls? Babe, call
me. Where are you?”

Another fifteen minutes passed.

Damn it. “Stubborn-ass woman,” he swore out loud as
he put his helmet back on and revved up his motorcycle. If she was
going to be stubborn, he was too. He went home. He knew that he
should’ve gone to her apartment, but if space was what she wanted,
space was what she would get.

He sent her a quick text as soon as he parked in
front of his apartment.

Alexander: Waited forty-five
minutes. Call me when you’re ready to talk. I’ll give you some time
to cool off. Ball’s in your court.

Even he knew he was being ornery. One minute his
thoughts lingered on all sorts of fun sexy things, and now he was
going home like a stubborn ass.

One day turned into four. A long, torturous,
agonizing, frustrating, punch-the-wall-and-do-stupid-things, four
days. It was now Sunday night. He had left message after message,
text after text. He had hounded Heather, who had been out of town
during spring break and who was obviously covering for Jill’s
whereabouts.

Sunday night, his phone rang right before he was
about to go to bed. He’d see Jill tomorrow at school, and if she
thought they’d been arguing, that week—she had no idea what arguing
was. Now,
he
was pissed. They couldn’t have a real
relationship based on her ignoring him for a week.

“Alex?”

“Heather?”

“Yeah it’s me,” Heather replied. “I’m worried about
Jill. After you called on Thursday and told me what happened
between the two of you, I thought that maybe she needed to cool off
for a few days, so it didn’t surprise me when she didn’t return my
calls, but I’ve been back in town all day, and she isn’t here, and
her phone goes straight to voicemail.”

“What? I thought you’d been trying to cover for her.
I didn’t really think she was missing.”

“Well, I was covering for her, or at least I thought
I was, the first few days. When she didn’t return my calls, I just
thought she was mad at you, and being that you were a jerk, I
didn’t pay much attention. Since I was out of town, I just . . . I
didn’t . . . You two tend to fight, like all the time, so I kind of
didn’t pay it much attention, but now I’m back and she’s not here.
The weird thing is that all her things are here. Her car’s even
parked outside. No matter how mad she may be at you, she would’ve
at least called
me
back.”

“Shit. I’m calling Oliver to—”

“I called him already. He hasn’t heard from her
either. He was just boarding to leave for Japan but is going to try
to call her again when he arrives.”

“Fuck,” he said in a drawled-out whisper then
louder, “FUCK!”

“I think we need to call the police,” Heather
said.

“Call them. I’ll be right over. I can’t believe I
wasted a week. Fuck! I’m calling Rocco.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a little while,” Heather
said, frantically.

He hung up and dialed Rocco. “Taylor? It’s
Alexander.”

“Hello, Alex.”

“Where’s Jill?” he asked straight to the point.

“Jill? I have no idea. I haven’t seen her.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Rocco. Where the hell is
she?”

“I am serious, Alex. She hasn’t been by. I haven’t
seen her.”

“Since when?”

“Since we had brunch.”

“That was over a week ago.”

“Yes,” Rocco agreed. “When was the last time you saw
her?”

“This past Monday. We had a seminar at school, and
that was the last time I saw her.”

“And now is when you’re calling? That’s almost a
week ago, son.”

“I’m not your son. Don’t call me that,” Alexander
barked. “I’m aware that it was almost a week ago. She was mad at
me, and when she gets mad, she tends to retreat and ignore me. I
just figured she needed time to cool off. Damn it! I’m calling the
police.”