Seeing Black (23 page)

Helen

“I really think that we need to find Esther’s
diaries. Maybe that will help find Jill,” Oliver said. Alexander
was at the breaking point. Jill had been missing now for months,
and he knew exactly where she was or at the very least, who was
involved—fucking Rocco. But the police had been no help. They had
questioned Rocco repeatedly and found no reason to suspect he knew
of her whereabouts.

“I’ve read these journals back and forth, and so
have you two.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Where
could Esther’s journals be?”

“Bob said he searched the house and there are no
other journals,” Oliver said.

“Bob?” Heather asked.

“Bob was Helen’s husband. I called him and asked if
he could search for more journals, but he says that these were it.
These are the ones that Helen left for Jill.”

“How about the Island? Could they be there?” Heather
asked.

“The way I see it is that Esther left quickly. She
packed up her shit to get away from Taylor,” Alexander said.

“So maybe they were on her when the plane crashed?”
Heather asked.

“Maybe,” Alexander said.

“Why don’t we talk to the curator on the island.
Remember that there is that museum with all the crap they found.
Maybe they found something.” Oliver said.

“I’ve thought about that, but don’t you think that
if they found journals on Rocco’s island,” Alexander accentuated
Rocco’s name, “Rocco would have those. They wouldn’t be in a
museum. Those journals probably incriminate him.

“Damn. That’s true.” Oliver admitted. “Well, I’m
going to try that curator anyway.”

“By all means, brother. Knock yourself out,”
Alexander said.

***

A week later, Heather was lying on the couch nuzzled
next to Oliver, whose legs were resting on the coffee table.
Heather’s head was on Oliver’s lap, and with his free hand, he was
absently twirling a lock of her hair. Alexander was sprawled out on
the floor, a beer in his hand. All three had a one of Helen’s
journals in their hand and were quietly reading. All three were
lost in their thoughts.

“Holy shit!” Heather yelped and jackknifed up, which
caused her head to slam right into Oliver’s chin. “Oh, honey, sorry
’bout that. You okay?”

“I don’t know if I’m more shocked by the cursing or
the head butt,” Oliver said as he rubbed his chin.

“You two are always cursing, so when it’s important
and deserves a cuss word, it doesn’t have the same effect. Me, on
the other hand, I say ‘shit’ and y’all listen.”

“Guess she has a point,” Alexander replied.

“Why are we talking about cussing? Forget that. I
think I found something. Something huge!” She planted both feet on
the floor and sat forward, reading out loud a passage from a ripped
page of one of Helen’s journals. It was a loose paper. The boxes
were full of them.

June 1, 1989

I cannot believe Esther! I’m shocked, horrified. Did
I mention shocked? What was she thinking? She’s gone crazy. At
least now I understand the urgency of leaving. This is the
abbreviated version of her story, and this is exactly how she began
her story. Drug trafficking, yes, drug trafficking is huge right
now, especially in Miami! Yes, my sister, the woman with a Masters
in English basically told me that drug trafficking is the new fad!
The new “it” thing to do. But even as she continues, I can see that
she is beginning to get nervous, and the words start coming out a
little stammered. I’m glad. I don’t like to see her nervous, but
someone who is about to give me a huge blow to the chest with
information involving DRUG TRAFFICKING better be nervous. Affected,
somehow. I don’t live under a rock. I know what goes on, for the
most part. I see the news about the latest plane or yacht bust.
There’s even a television show about it. Esther says that it is
very similar to the television show. Speedboats and planes of all
sizes run back and forth between Columbia and Panama with money
and/or drugs. Rocco and Josef have the ability to see the future.
I’m still finding this very peculiar and hard to believe, but she’s
mentioned it time and time again. They were able to see a huge
speed boat that was leaving Miami and heading to Panama, carrying
millions upon millions of dollar in cash late last year. It was the
biggest drug transaction to date. They weren’t going to risk so
much for anything less than a huge payday, an amount in the
neighborhood of a hundred million dollars. She was shaking as she
told me the story. Esther admitted to me she had helped them with
some small things here and there. This shocked me. I never imagined
my sister getting into any kind of trouble, and this is trouble of
another magnitude. She says that, in this case, she had one job and
one job only: distract the man who was in charge of the boat. She
told me that Rocco knew exactly where and at what time the boat
would be completely empty, and, therefore, it would be an easy job
for her. They knew this information to the second, so it was all
supposed to go very smoothly. Esther would distract the man while
the three other men were in a nearby bar getting drunk, and Rocco,
Josef, and two other men that they’d hired would take the money.
Simple as that. In and out. But, like most movies, things didn’t go
smoothly. The men who Rocco and his brother Josef hired were
apprehended by one of the cocaine cowboys and shot dead. Rocco
killed one of the other men, and Josef shot and maimed the other
two. Luckily, Esther says she managed to play it cool, and it
wasn’t suspected she was connected with Rocco and Josef, who, at
the end of a bloody night in a seedy marina in Key West, escaped
with all the money and their lives. But now, they had enemies,
Esther says. Enemies who wouldn’t hesitate in killing them. It was
all over the news for months and months, but no one ever found out
what happened or why, but five men died that night. Now, Esther
wants to get the hell out of Texas away from Rocco. She is still
shell shocked over the murder. I think there is something else
bothering her, but that’s all she told me. I don’t want to push her
for more, yet, especially not in her current condition. She is
about to pop any moment, and I don’t want the stress of reliving
such a horrible experience—one she got herself into, by the way—or
having to hear my judgment, which I have plenty of. I’ll leave all
those questions and my opinions until after the birth of the
baby.

-Helen

“Holy shit!” Alexander and Oliver both said
simultaneously.

“Told ya!” Heather grinned.

They found a few more entries about the drug deal,
but most of it involved how scared Esther was of Josef and Rocco
and also about the men whose money was stolen. Alexander went back
to the journal that would should’ve contained this particular page.
It took them over an hour to find it.

June 2, 1989

I will never forget what my sister told me and how
she looked as she told me, but this morning, I completely panicked.
I shouldn’t have written it down. It shouldn’t be on paper for
everyone’s safety, including my own. I couldn’t help but rip up the
page first thing this morning. I’m glad she confided in me, but I’m
not even sure what to do with this information. I’m going to have
to put some thought into it.

-Helen

That
which does not kill us makes us stronger.

-
Friedrich Nietzche

Present . . .

“Listen, she just vanished! You have to do
something!” Alexander yelled into the phone at Officer Flynn, the
police officer assigned to the missing person’s case.

“Son, we’re doing everything we can. There are no
signs of her. We’ve looked everywhere for her.”

“I’m telling you that son of a bitch, Rocco Taylor,
has her.”

“Listen, Alex, I’ve already explained to you that I
can’t just barge into the home of a man like Taylor and accuse him
of abducting your girlfriend, his daughter. He’s Rocco Taylor, he
has more money than God, and she’s his daughter, for Christ’s
sake.”

“Why the fuck not? If he were anyone else, you’d
have questioned him already. It’s been six goddamn months!”

“You need to calm down. We have questioned him. He’s
clean. He’s even helped with the investigation, hired a PI and
everything.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! In all these months,
there has been absolutely no trace of her. You don’t know her; she
wouldn’t have just disappeared without telling a single soul. She
wouldn’t drop out of school and leave all her belongings. Her car
is still parked outside her apartment. That morning, she walked to
class. Some of her classmates saw her. She went to class and then
what? She just fell off the face of the Earth?” Alexander pounded
his fists against the coffee table at his apartment. “You haven’t
questioned him enough. Of course he’s going to help. Isn’t it
obvious? He’s covering up that he fucking took her! What better way
of covering up than to hire a PI and pretend you’re concerned!”

“Okay Alex, I’ll speak with the Chief again and see
how we can approach Taylor. It won’t be easy, and I can’t make any
promises. He’s rich. He’s powerful. Every goddamn attorney in Texas
will be pissing their pants to represent him if word gets out that
the Austin Police Department even so much as suggested he may have
his daughter imprisoned or abducted or whatever the hell you think
he did. I’m going to be honest with you, son; it’s farfetched and
ridiculous, and I don’t think it’ll fly. But I like you. I know
you’re hurting. And, truth be told, I don’t like that son of a
bitch much either. I’ll see what I can do to help you. Give me a
week, okay?”

“Thank you, Officer. My brother and I really
appreciate it. She’s all we have. Please, anything you find let me
know.”

“I will.” There was a click, and the line
disconnected.

Alexander turned off the phone and hurled it across
the room. He ran his fingers through his long hair and then rubbed
his face with his hand. He hadn’t bothered to shave or cut his hair
in months. He closed his eyes and prayed for the tenth time that
day, as he’d been doing every day, that Jillian would call or that
he would somehow hear something from the police.

He shuffled to his room. The damn room still smelled
of Jillian, even six months later. That damn lavender scent
permeated his senses. The picture frame of the two of them in the
park, a few days after they arrived from the Island, a little over
six months ago, when she insisted the day was beautiful and they
just had to have a picnic, served as a constant reminder of
Jill.

He wasn’t a picnic kind of guy, but Jill had
insisted. She had whined. “Please. I have a basket and everything.
We can feed the ducks. I’ve always wanted to do that with someone
special. The ducklings by the lake are so cute and sweet. Please,
Xander.” How could he deny her? So they had sat on a blanket by a
small lake in a nearby park while Jill fed the ducks crackers.
Alexander had leaned back on his elbows and had watched. She’d worn
a long cotton casual navy blue dress and flat silver sandals. Her
hair had been held off her face by a thin silver headband, but the
long red curls had fallen free down her back. She had been crouched
down, throwing crumbs of crackers, surrounded by ducks. In one of
the funniest things he had ever witnessed, the cute sweet picnic
she had wanted, turned into a duck feeding frenzy, and the cute
sweet ducklings were followed by their not-so-cute and not-so-sweet
protective duck parents, who began to get closer and closer to her,
along with some geese that made honking noises in protest. She’d
completely flipped out when the angry ducks and angry geese looked
as if they were going to start pecking at her arm when she ran out
of crackers. She had shrieked and begun to run, and the ducks and
geese had followed—quacking and honking. Alexander had been sitting
on the blanket, laughing so hard that tears had formed in his eyes.
When he couldn’t take it anymore, he’d shooed the ducks and geese
away, yanked her by the arm to the blanket, and began to tickle
her. It was a great moment. Beautiful. Extraordinary. They both had
lain on the blanket, spent from the fit of laughter, then she’d
said: “Xander, next time, remind me that I hate ducks!” That caused
another fit of laughter from both of them. She hadn’t been able to
resist taking a picture. Both heads had been together, her arm
outstretched when she’d snapped the photo. Her eyes had been red
and watery from laughter, she’d worn no makeup, and her hair framed
her face in a big curly mess. And now, that beautiful moment was
staring him right in the face. Every. Single. Day. The photo sat on
his night table and served as a constant reminder of how the life
they were just about to start together was cut short.

He stared at the photo. That had been a good day. He
slid down to the floor and brought his knees up to his chin. He ran
his fingers through his long tousled hair and then rubbed his face
with his hand. He let his head fall back and it bumped against the
wall.

Knock, knock.

Alexander kept his eyes locked on the ceiling fan.
Round and round and round . . .

He heard the front door open first and then the door
to his room.

“Hey,” Oliver sat down on the floor next to
Alexander.

“I heard you yelling at Flynn from outside,” Oliver
said. Alexander didn’t reply. Oliver settled more comfortably on
the floor next to Alexander; neither spoke for a long time.

“She’s not dead,” Alexander said, unconvincingly,
still looking up at the fan. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to
convince Oliver or himself.

Oliver didn’t reply.

“Did you hear me, Oliver?” Alexander turned his face
towards his brother. “She is not dead!” Oliver and Alexander looked
at each other; Oliver still did not reply.