Seeing Black (25 page)

“You don’t have to do that. Really, it’s fine.”

“No. I don’t mind. Really, I don’t. I want to help.
It’s the least I can do.”

“Okay. Thanks. I think I’ll order pizza. You up for
some food?”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

Miriam stood and walked back down the hall towards
the bedrooms, and Alexander stayed in the kitchen. He ordered the
pizza, and after he finished, he began to clean up the two weeks of
dishes that had piled up.

When the pizza arrived, Miriam served them on some
paper plates.

“I’m just going to run to the bathroom. Start
without me,” Alexander said.

Alexander looked at his freshly cleaned bathroom and
his heart started pumping faster. “What. The. Fuck?” he hissed. He
knew he was losing it again, but he couldn’t help it. He stomped to
the kitchen. His fists were tight against his sides. “Where’s her
stuff?”

“What?” Miriam grumbled, with a mouthful of food.
She stood up and moved back.

“Her. Fucking. Shit! Where is it?” Alexander stalked
towards Miriam. She took another step back.

“I . . . I don’t . . . What?” She held a glass of
water in her hand and put it down in order to control her shaky
hands.

“In the bathroom, there was a small bottle of hair
gel. There was a blow dryer, a lavender cream bottle, some shit
that said makeup remover, a lip stick, a ChapStick, and a small
oval perfume. Where the fuck is it?”

“I, um, I threw away the—”

“You what?” He took an intimidating step closer.

“The lotion bottle was empty. I put away the blow
dryer and some of the other things. I . . .”

Miriam’s back was against the refrigerator, and
Alexander took a final step closing the distance and slammed his
fists against the refrigerator, one fist on each side of her
temples, locking her in.

“God damn it!”

“Alex. I’m s-s-sorry. I was just trying to—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you were trying to do.
Don’t fucking touch any of her shit. You can’t touch any of her
stuff.” He just held her stare, not hearing or feeling anything
around him. Arms were suddenly around his biceps pulling.

“What are you doing, brother?” It was Oliver. He was
pulling. Miriam stood still, plastered against the
refrigerator.

“Bitch threw away Jill’s shit.”

“She what?” Oliver released Alexander’s arms and
looked at Miriam.

“No. I—I, uh, I just cleaned up the bathroom. I
threw away an empty bottle. I’m sorry. It wasn’t intentional.”

Oliver took a breath. “You’re losing it again, man.
She’s just trying to help.”

“Sugar, it’s okay to clean up.” Heather took a
cautious step forward, but Alexander’s face swung back to look at
her. He must have looked even angrier than he felt because Heather
flinched and Oliver took a step between him and Heather. “Calm the
fuck down, Alexander.” Oliver rumbled.

“Don’t tell me to calm down. This bitch . . .” He
pointed at Miriam. “It’s all her fucking fault. If she hadn’t been
weaseling her way into my life, I wouldn’t have had a fight with
Jill and—”

“And what? She wouldn’t have been abducted, or she
wouldn’t have run away or what exactly?”

Alexander didn’t say anything, so Oliver continued
to talk. Heather stayed behind Oliver, and Miriam stayed still,
back against the fridge, slightly trembling.

“You’re feeling guilty because you and Jill left
things on bad terms. But what happened, whatever it was, isn’t
Miriam’s fault. She fucked up—I’ll give you that—but Miriam isn’t
the reason Jill’s missing. She’s just trying to help. We,” he
pointed at himself and at Heather who was now standing closer to
Oliver, “are all just trying to help. I love her too, Alexander.
You know I do. It kills me that she’s missing, but we need to focus
in order to find her, not turn your house into a museum, and not
scare the shit out of Miriam.” Oliver took a step towards
Alexander, and Heather made her way to Miriam, pulled her away from
the refrigerator, and led her to the couch. When Oliver reached
Alexander, he cautiously put a hand on his shoulder. “We need clear
heads.”

Alexander nodded and then looked over at Miriam and
gave her an apologetic grin.

“I think it’s best if I go,” Miriam said.

“You okay to drive, sweetie?” Heather asked.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.”

“Alex?” Miriam took a cautious step towards
Alexander. “I came by today because I was worried that you didn’t
call me back. I’m so very truly sorry about any part I’ve played in
Jill’s disappearance or in your misery. I hope you know you can
call me if you need anything.”

He didn’t say anything. He just nodded, his arms
crossed in front of him.

“Love you, Alex, and I’m really sorry for all the
trouble I’ve caused. I hope you find her. I really do.” She reached
up on the tips of her toes, gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek,
said goodbye to Heather and Oliver, and then left.

***

A week of wallowing and moping was enough. He gave
himself a little pep talk:
Time to man-up. Get your head out of
your ass and do something productive. Stop being a pussy.
First
thing he did was put on a pair of gym shorts, a t-shirt, and
sneakers and went for a run. He needed to sweat off all the bad
energy. Of course, the run reminded him of jogging with Jill, of
competing with Jill, of how a simple jog with Jill would turn into
an all-out speed racing marathon. Every time she appeared in his
thoughts, he ran faster, pushed himself harder. When he finally saw
clearly again, when the thoughts were back to finding her instead
of pining for her, he ran back home. He was rejuvenated and more
determined than ever.

Alexander sat in the middle of his living room.
Notebooks and papers were everywhere. He heard the front door open
and close, but he didn’t look up. He just kept digging and
searching.

“What are you doing?” Oliver asked. Alexander
ignored him. Oliver took a few steps closer. Alexander knew he must
have looked like a madman to anyone around, but he needed answers.
Anything. Rocco was involved. He had to be, but without proof—a
reason, a motive, something—the walls around Rocco were ironclad
and no one, not even the captain of the police force, could
penetrate the wall.

A nearby cough startled him out of his stupor.
“Brother?” Alexander looked up to see a worried Oliver reaching
towards Alexander’s shoulder.

“What?”

“I’ve been talking to you for a few minutes, and you
haven’t answered. You okay? What are you doing?”

“Stop looking at me like that. You look as though
you’re talking to some deranged lunatic who’s going to break at the
first sign of stress.”

Oliver lifted a brow and tilted his head as if
confirming those exact thoughts.

“I’m not going to break. I have a plan. I know I was
lost, angry, confused, but I have clarity now. I remembered about
these. The answers are here,” he pointed to the boxes and notebooks
that surrounded him on the floor of his apartment.

“Aren’t those Jill’s notebooks?” Oliver reached down
and grabbed one.

“Yeah. Helen’s really, but yes, these are the
notebooks Helen gave Jill.”

“And you’re doing what exactly? We’ve gone through
them already.”

“We missed something. We must have. You may have
given up on her, but I sure as hell haven’t. I will not stop until
I find her. I need answers.”

“What if that never happens, Alexander?

From the floor, Alexander looked up at Oliver. “If
you ever say that shit again, I swear to God I’ll break your
fucking nose.”

Oliver shook his head and kneeled down. He grabbed
the closest notebook. “I’ve been giving you a lot of space and
letting you vent, but, if I haven’t told you, I’m telling you now.
You are being a dick, and if you continue to be this asshole,
you’re going to alienate everyone around you. Tone down the anger,
and you’ll probably have more people willing to help. Stop fighting
me on everything. You don’t realize it, but I’m hurting too. I
think that at some point—”

“At some point you just say, ‘I quit. Fuck it. She’s
gone.’ You throw in the towel. Move on to the next chick. At some
point? That’s what I’m supposed to say? That’s what I’m supposed to
do? Well, I can’t do that! I just . . . I can’t. I know it may seem
irrational, but I know she’s alive. She’s waiting for me to find
her. I will not give up, not now, not in another six months or six
years. Until I have my answers, I’ll continue to look for her, and
if you don’t understand that . . . If you tell me I should stop,
give up, then, brother, you’re not welcome in my house
anymore.”

“Okay, Xander. I understand.” Oliver took a deep
breath and leafed through the notebook. “What can I do to
help?”

“Just sit there and read. Anything that looks off,
tell me.”

Oliver nodded and began to read.

The big breakthrough happened a week later, in the
form of an unexpected visitor.

Adversity is a
good teacher.

-Helen

Alexander sat at his dining room table, reading all
of Helen’s journals again, still elated from the leverage he now
had. A written journal may not mean much in terms of incrimination,
but he’d bet his right arm it would mean a lot to Rocco and Josef
if they knew the information was out there for someone to read—to
investigate—especially if those
someones
were the people
they stole the money from. Oliver was online searching for a plane
ticket back to Onion Island—it was the only place they hadn’t
searched—when there was a knock at the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Black?” Alexander
took a step towards Paul Black, the last person he expected to see
when he opened the door, the last person he
wanted
to see.
Even though Paul was a tall man, Alexander was taller, much taller,
and angrier, much angrier. Alexander looked as if he towered over
Paul. To Paul’s credit, he didn’t waver at Alexander’s invasive
stance.

“I’m coming in, and you need to promise me you will
not go the police after I tell you what I’m about to tell you.”

Alexander took a final step forward, fists clenched.
“Promise you? Pfft! You’re a lying, deceitful sack of shit that
used Jill to try to get to her father. How do I even know that
you’re not the reason she’s missing? Why would I promise you
anything?”

“Because I know where Jillian is,” Paul deadpanned.
The mood in the room shifted, and the tension became palpable. The
silence, deafening. The words, a blow right to his chest.
Instinctively, Alexander reached for the lapel of Paul’s
pretentious suit and pulled Paul towards him and shook him
violently. Quickly, Oliver pulled Alexander back, almost ripping
one finger at a time from his death grip on Paul. When Oliver had a
handle on Alexander, Paul walked in, looking unfazed by the attack,
and closed the door behind him.

“What the hell are you doing, Oliver? Get the fuck
off me.” Alexander pushed his brother out of the way ready to
charge Paul, again.

“Wait!” Oliver grabbed Alexander’s arm. “He says he
knows where she is. We have to hear him out. You can kill him after
that.”

Alexander took a moment to think it through. He
hated, no loathed, Paul, but he had not one single lead on
Jillian’s whereabouts. Paul, who was somehow connected to Rocco,
had just claimed to know where Jill was. Nostrils flared, face
beat-red, Alexander took a small step back. “Talk. Now.”

Instead of talking, Paul slammed two large heavy
canvas bags on the table, flipped them over and a dozen or more
notebooks fell to the table. Oliver picked one up and flipped
through it. Alexander followed.

“Fuck. Me.” Oliver spoke first before plopping down
on the nearest chair.

“Esther’s journals,” Alexander said to no one in
particular. It seems Oliver wouldn’t be flying back to Onion Island
after all.

Paul sat at the nearby dining room chair and pointed
at Alexander. “I warned you. At my office, I warned you. I told you
not to let Jillian near her father. He is an evil man.” Paul took a
second before continuing. “He has her. Rocco has her. But you
already knew that, didn’t you?”

Even though Alexander heard the words that had come
out of Paul’s mouth, more importantly, he heard what did not come
out, that she was alive. Even though he knew—deep in his bones, he
had known all along—it was a relief to have it validated. Jill was
alive.

Blood rushed down Alexander’s body as he felt the
tightly wound rubber band of tension snap. He felt all the worry
drain, the vein on his neck throbbed, and his heart pumped faster.
He was still worried, unbelievably so. His worry would only end
when he had her in his arms, but the fact she was alive was huge.
Oliver placed his hands on Alexander’s shoulders, steadying him,
and pushed him down on the chair across the table from Paul.

“Explain,” Alexander managed to say. His jaw was set
so tight that he almost chipped a tooth.

“Look, I know you hate me and don’t trust me. I
understand that, but—”

“No, asshole, you don’t know. I know about—”

“About the text Heather found. Texts I sent to Brian
in order to keep him believing I didn’t know about Jill or, better
yet, I didn’t care about Jill? Yeah, I know you know, and I know
Jill knows.” Paul interrupted.

“How’d—?”

“Jill told me.”

“When?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“You saw her?” Oliver leaned closer to Paul, not in
a confrontational tone, but more as if he was in complete
disbelief.

Alexander, on the other hand, had jackknifed off the
chair and was mere inches from Paul’s face and repeated Oliver’s
question. “You’ve seen her?”

“Yes. But this is important, and you standing there,
eyes shooting daggers, ready to kill me, isn’t going to accomplish
anything. Nothing you tell me or threaten me with will make me feel
worse than I already do, so can you please take a damn step back
and sit the fuck down so that we can have a civilized
conversation?” Paul stood unwavering. He was toe to toe with
Alexander.