Secret Worlds (368 page)

Lash saw the look on her face as she turned away from Chuy and walked down the street to the bus stop. He caught a glimpse of her face as she passed underneath a streetlight, and he was overwhelmed with trepidation. Most of the time, he went to his own place when she settled in for the night. This time he had a feeling that he should stay near her apartment—just in case.

***

The pounding of the drums and the screeching of the electric guitar reverberated throughout the dark room and into Naomi’s chest, a daily ritual since she had lost hope she could ever find justice for her father. The fire within her was dead. Who would ever listen to or even believe someone like her? She wasn’t rich or powerful. She was nobody. She turned up the bass as far as it would go.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She immersed herself into the wall of sound, desperate to shake off the numbness, hoping the pulsations of the music would substitute for the lively heartbeat that should be beating inside a girl who just graduated from college and starting out in life. Instead, her heart and soul were slowly dying.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The music, the woman’s voice crying, pleading to be brought back to life, it had helped before. Maybe it would again. Naomi waited, not knowing if she could snap herself out of it this time. She tried. Every day, she tried to live the life her parents had wanted for her. And after they died, only her grandmother and Chuy could lift the darkness from her. After a while, even that stopped working.

She knew it would.

She hoped the music would help her to feel something, anything but the overwhelming numbness. It wasn’t enough.

Naomi sighed as she pulled out a notepad and pen from her desk drawer. She clicked the pen and paused, thinking about what she wanted to say to Chuy. There wasn’t much she needed to tell him. He and Welita would know why she did it, but she wanted to make sure that they understood that there was nothing they could do about it. She had tried. She really did try to find a little bit of the happiness she once had. Even the job that she was so excited to have, connecting impoverished families in the community with resources, couldn’t fill the emptiness in her heart.

She scribbled on the pad, the words flowing out of her, about how much she loved them. She left her bike to Chuy. He loved that bike as much as she did. He took so much pride in fixing it up for her.

“Please don’t think it was your fault because you took it away from me,” Naomi said to the empty room. He was right to take it away. Welita read her like an open book. Nothing got past that woman. The rush of adrenaline Naomi got when she came close to skidding out of control was the only thing that made her feel alive anymore, and even that was fading. She’d been pushing herself closer and closer to the point of losing control and finding herself splattered on the road, as Chuy had put it.

She had thought about getting a gun. Given the bad neighborhood they lived in, she could’ve used the excuse that she was getting it to protect herself. If it weren’t for Chuy’s following her every move, she would have. Ever since the day of her father’s funeral, she could feel someone’s eyes on her. She knew it was him. Who else was insane enough to follow her, especially when she went down the most crime-ridden streets in Houston?

She folded up the notes and placed them in two envelopes. She laid them on the coffee table. There was one more thing she had to do. Naomi grabbed her laptop and sat on the floor. Clicking on the keys, she logged into her bank account. Whatever happened, she had to make sure that Welita was taken care of. Chuy would watch over her and be there for her but, financially, things were tight for them. Welita could stretch out what little money Naomi left to her. With a click of a button, she transferred all of her savings to her grandmother’s account. She then shut the computer off and pushed it aside.

One more thing to do and she was set. She brushed her hair to the side to take off the crucifix necklace her father had given her. As she took it off, she recalled the look on his face as he gave it to her, and a wave of guilt hit her.

“I’m so sorry.”

Sorry she couldn’t live the future her parents had dreamed for her. Sorry that she didn’t have the power to make things right for her family. She was tired of fighting. Why bother when there was always someone bigger, stronger, and more powerful to knock you down every time you try to pull yourself up?

She picked up the razor, her fingers gliding over the cool blade. A simple trip to the local drug store was all it took to acquire the instrument that she prayed would be a release for her frozen soul.

One. Two. Three vibrant red slashes appeared as she slid the blade across her wrist. Tears pricked her eyes as the pain ran up her arm. She rocked back and forth as she watched the blood drip onto the floor.

As much as it hurt, it felt good to finally feel something—anything. Pain. It was the only thing that made her feel like she was still alive. For a moment, she thought of Welita and she questioned what she was about to do. It wasn’t too late. The cuts weren’t deep. But the pain faded, leaving her cold and empty again. There was nothing left. Not for her.

Wiping her hand on her jeans, she gripped the blade, flipped her left hand over, and touched the tip to the darkest point of the blue vein.

“Forgive me.”

Gritting her teeth, she slid the blade downward. She cried out, and the razor clinked on the ground as it fell out of her hand.

Blood streamed down her arm, and she watched as it splashed on the floor. There was more pain now, but there was also a sense of peace. This would be over soon.

As the room began to spin, she let herself collapse to the floor, pressing her cheek against the coolness of it. “It’s almost over.” She prayed that she’d go quickly.

Time ticked by, and her hands slowly began to numb. Her vision blurring, a heavy wave of exhaustion washed over her, and Naomi closed her eyes. From a distance, she could hear knocking on her door.

“Naomi, open up!” The doorknob rattled when she didn’t respond. “Damn it, Naomi!”

Through a haze of white noise, Naomi heard a loud crash and the splintering of wood.

“Open.”

Bam.

“The.”

Bam.

“Door!”

A shadow loomed over her as Naomi slipped into the darkness, and strong hands lifted her.

“No,” she murmured and passed out.

Naomi opened her eyes to white mist. Her legs felt heavy, and she tried to move them. Nothing. She pressed her palms on a damp hard surface and pushed herself into a sitting position.

What is this?
She brushed her hand against the wood’s bleached texture. She expected to find herself in a bed or still on the floor of her apartment. She looked around and blinked, trying to see through the thick mist.
Where am I?

A tingling sensation spread through her legs as she slapped them awake. A cool breeze sent a shiver through her. She was outside, somewhere. The mist slowly began to dissipate, and she heard seagulls flying overhead. She looked up as one bird spread its white wings and soared through the sky. The tips of its wings were black as if dipped in ink. The sky began to spin, and she gripped the wooden floor to keep her balance. When the dizzy spell passed, she noticed that she sat on the bottom step of a platform facing what looked like an ocean of water.

Waves tossed the grey waters, and seagulls dove in, catching their early morning meal. That is, she thought it was morning. It was hard to tell with the thick fog. She eased herself up and shuffled across the wooden platform, her legs still feeling wobbly. There was something oddly familiar about this place.

To her right, a flash of red caught her attention, and she blinked several times with disbelief.
That’s the Golden Gate Bridge!

She pressed her hands against her temples. Her head felt like it wanted to explode.
What’s going on?

She tried to remember the last thing she had done: the music, the letters, the razor blade . . .

“I guess I did it. I’m dead. So is San Francisco Heaven or Hell?”

“That would depend on you.”

She spun around and yelped when she saw a tall figure glide toward her as if it were as weightless as the mist that surrounded them. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for something to protect herself with, even though logic told her that if she were in Hell, it would be useless even to try. As the figure grew closer, she felt a strange sense of calm fill her. Cornflower-blue eyes held on to hers as he approached her cautiously. His porcelain skin was flawless, yet the way he carried himself made him seem older than his appearance let on.

She tore her eyes away from his unearthly face and mentally slapped herself. Her father had taught her that looks could be deceiving, that she should always be on guard with strangers, especially men. Her fight-or-flight response came into full gear. She clenched her fist and straightened up her back. Growing up in Houston, if you didn’t look like you could take care of yourself, you were toast.

“Who the fuck are you?” Naomi tilted her head up, hoping she sounded tough.

The man flinched. “Please do not use that type of language in my presence.”

This was a first. Naomi looked at him suspiciously. Normally, she would have been offended by having someone scold her about her colorful language. No one except Welita and her parents could get away with that. For some reason, though, this stranger’s reprimand made her feel extremely guilty.

“Uh, sorry. You caught me by surprise. Who are you?”

“My name is Raphael. I’m here to help you.”

“Well, you can help me by telling me how I got here.”

“I believe you have the answer to that.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be asking.” This man was strange. Beautiful, but strange. There had to be something wrong with him.

He frowned at her. It was the type of frown that made her feel guilty again. What was it with this guy and guilt?

“A little help would be nice … please.” She added when he looked at her expectantly. It was the same look Welita gave her when she didn’t remember her manners.

He smiled and approached her, extending his hand. “May I?”

She nodded slowly. He looked harmless, but she still went over the few self-defense moves Chuy had taught her, just in case. She knew she should have crashed Chuy’s class.

He placed a hand on her head. She felt a jolt and then heard a humming sound. A series of images flashed through her mind: her parents, smiling, and posing underneath the Pier 39 sign; her ten year-old self tugging on her mother’s hand and pointing to the sea lions sunbathing on the platforms across the pier; her father kissing her mother as the sun melted into the ocean.

She jerked away, the pain of the memory hurting more than the physical pain in her head. “What was that?”

“You didn’t recognize it? They are your memories, are they not?” His voice was low and gentle.

“Well, yeah. That was me with my mom and dad.” Her parents didn’t have much money, so they rarely went on vacations outside of Texas. Somehow, her mother was able to save enough money one year for them to visit San Francisco. It had been a dream come true for her father, a big football fan and a die-hard Niner.

Naomi walked down the steps of the platform and looked at the empty docks. “This is Pier 39.” She turned to him. “How did I get here? And how did you do that head thing that you did?”

“There’s little time to explain. I ask that you search deep inside yourself and find your strength again. Your life is precious, Naomi. Have faith, and you will find happiness again.”

“I’m still alive? Am I dreaming?”

Instead of answering, Raphael looked off into the distance for a moment, as if hearing something. Naomi gazed in the direction he was looking, but saw nothing. “I apologize for my abruptness, but I have information that is of vital importance to you. Quickly, come here.” He rushed to her, his hands extended.

Naomi took a step back and ducked her head. “Keep away from me.” Her head was pounding and she feared that, if he touched her again, it would get worse.

“Forgive me, Naomi. There is no time.” Raphael took hold of Naomi and placed his hands along the sides of her temples. He leaned down and gazed intently into her eyes. “Remember,” he breathed.

For a moment, Naomi saw nothing except for his clear blue eyes, then a brief flash of an image. She was on a hilltop looking down at sheep, and a slender young man stood in the center of the herd. Although his back was to her, a sea of emotions washed over her at the sight of him. Who was he? Did she know him?

The sound of a bird caught his attention, and he turned to look at it as it soared overhead. Naomi’s breath hitched as she caught sight of his profile. There was something about his square jaw and aquiline nose that was familiar. She felt a strange pull to him.

As if he could sense her, he turned. When she was about to see his full face, a bird swooped down and the vision vanished. She fell to the ground, scraping her palms on the wooden deck.

“Remember, Naomi. Remember.” Raphael repeated the word as his body faded into the mist. “Remember, iiiit’s—”

Naomi woke with a start as the word “time” echoed in her ears. Across the room, the TV blared as the announcer introduced two athletes, who glared at each other from across the circular cage.

She fingered the thin white sheet and felt something clinging to her arm. Attached to it was a small tube that led to a bag hanging on a pole next to the bed. To her left, the sound of a loud chainsaw came from an entity known as Chuy. She sighed. She was in the hospital. He had fallen asleep before the UFC match had even started. He must’ve been really tired.

She tried to sit up but fell back into the pillow when the room spun. She closed her eyes and waited for the dizziness to pass as she recalled what happened. She’d wanted to die. Now she was having crazy dreams, probably a side effect of some drugs they had pumped into her veins. Why did Chuy have to come looking for her?

She grabbed her pillow and threw it at him. “Wake up.”