Seeing Red (5 page)

“Sorry, Jill, I gotta go. I know when I’m not
wanted,” he said, glaring at Oliver. “I’ll call you when I know
where I’m going to stay, and you can come visit me there. As for
you, Brother, don’t bother.” He gave Jillian a quick kiss on the
cheek and slammed the door to the bedroom, leaving Oliver and Jill
staring at each other, speechless. They heard the front door slam
and the cough of the motorcycle roaring away.

“How did it escalate to him storming out? I was
trying to have a civilized conversation. He is impossible!”

“I’m sure he’ll call in an hour or so when he’s
settled in a hotel or wherever he’s going. Give him some time to
cool off.” In an effort to change the subject, she said, “You want
to go through more of the journals?”

“Sure, Jillian. I’m sorry about all this. I’ll get
them out of the car for you.” Oliver looked defeated as he walked
to the car to bring in the boxes of journals.

They sat on the floor of the living room and began
skimming through papers.

May 5, 1999

Xander and Oly have been playing for three days
without me. Xander is mad because I threw a rock at his head (point
for me!). Oliver is just being Oliver—quiet and boring. He says hi
to me, but he doesn’t want to go climbing with me. I see them
playing hide and go seek, but they won’t let me play. Today while
we were all having lunch, I saw Xander walking along the beach,
looking down. I wonder if he’s okay. It was very weird, but he’s
weird. When he saw me looking at him, he stopped and jumped in for
a swim. I think he was looking for seashells, but that’s strange
because he always makes fun of me for collecting shells.

Everyone on the island confuses Xander and Oly,
except me and Helen. Oliver is serious and thin and a little bit
taller than Xander. He has dimples and Xander doesn’t. Xander is
also thin, but not as thin. Their personalities are so different.
When Matthew died a few months ago, Oliver didn’t cry, but Xander
did; although, he tried to pretend to be strong and hid behind a
tree. Poor Helen! Matthew was so nice to all us kids. He was like
our dad. He taught us so much. The morning that he died, I told him
about the boat and the rain. He told me that there was no boat or
rain, but he didn’t laugh at me and promised to keep it a secret so
that no one else would laugh at me. He even promised to take me to
the other side, past the mangroves, to show me that there was no
boat or rain. When I think about the boat and the rain, I lose a
time. It will be daytime and I’ll be sitting peeling an onion, and
then all of a sudden the moon’s out and the sun’s gone and all I
remember is seeing the boat and the rain. Mike says that we need to
start keeping track of when I lose time and that I need to start
telling Helen and him when it happens.

It has been eight months since Matthew died, but
we’re all still sad about it—especially Xander—and Helen, of
course.

Anyway, I hate when the twins try to trick me and
pretend to be the other one. I hate Xander. Since they won’t play
with me, I have been searching for shells up and down the
beach.

-J.

June 5, 1999

I found a shell necklace on my bed today. It looked
like it was placed there because it was too heavy to be blown onto
my bed. It’s the most beautiful shell I’ve ever seen—even more
beautiful than the one that Xander tossed in the ocean. It looks
like a small conch and is iridescent. I learned that word
today—iridescent. Helen taught it to me when she saw the seashell.
Sometimes it looks black like the tar that sticks to our feet by
the ocean, but when the sun hits it, it looks deep blue. I bet it
was Xander who left it for me. That’s so nice. I love Xander. He’s
been acting like a little baby all day since it’s my birthday today
and I’m now a big girl. I bet this was his birthday gift to me. Ten
years old means you’re not little anymore and they’re jealous that
they’re only nine.

Xander and Oly have both noticed that I lose time
sometimes. All the adults tell them to let Helen or another adult
know when it happens. When I woke up today from losing time, Oliver
was holding my hand and Helen was sitting next to me. They always
ask me what happened, and it’s usually the same thing—I was
dreaming about the boat and the rain. Xander rolled his eyes and
went running after a seagull. Helen hugged me and Oly brought me
some water.

-J

“I had forgotten about Mike.” Oliver said, still
leafing through a notebook.

“And, I still have that seashell. It brings me so
many good memories.” Jill added.

“The one that Alexander left you?” Oliver rolled his
eyes, his jaw set tight. He looked angry as if he wanted to say
something but didn’t.

“Yep, I still have it. Anyway, I can’t read anymore.
It’s too depressing.” Jill packed up the journals into the boxes
and headed to the bathroom.

She decided to take a shower and get settled in
while they waited to hear from the runaway brother. She hadn’t
really known how volatile he was until she saw the look in his
eyes. It was a hazy look: a mixture of a perpetual hangover or
drunkenness, mixed with anger, sadness, and, worst of all, apathy.
This was the carefree boy that kept her on her toes day in and day
out for twelve years. How had it come to this? She felt a pang of
guilt for not knowing the depth of his turmoil. Helen had hinted at
the fact that he was going through a rebellious period, and Oliver
had mentioned some of his escapades, but Jillian was oblivious to
how really screwed up he was. There was so much going on in his
eyes, yet they were empty and cold.

Jillian’s clothes lay in a puddle on the floor while
the bathroom filled with steam, immediately causing her straight
hair to frizz up into curls. She stepped into the shower for a
long, time-killing bath. The almost-scorching hot water was
invigorating, and she began to feel her muscles loosen and the
tension of the day slide down her body. Jillian hoped that
Alexander would have called by the time she was finished. About an
hour had passed since he had stormed out. She would give him two
hours, and then she would call him. Maybe he just needed some
space.

Oliver was sitting on his couch absently changing
the channels of the television. She sat on the recliner next to him
and watched him flip from channel to channel, knowing that he was
not at all focused on the television. He was worried about his
brother. Jillian had always heard there was a special connection
between twins, but, growing up on the island alone with them, she
didn’t see anything special between them, until now. The look of
angst on Oliver’s face told her all she needed to know. He was
frighteningly worried. It was not a worry from the fight of this
day but a worry that he had been carrying on his shoulders for some
time now.

“He’s going to be okay, you know?” She grabbed the
remote from his hand to force him to focus on her words.

“I don’t know, Jillian. I don’t think it’s just a
beer here and there anymore. I think we’re up to some major
drinking and some hardcore drugs. He’s been coming home worse and
worse. He doesn’t care about anyone, not even about himself. He was
very close to Helen. You remember, don’t you? I think this is
affecting him more than he knows how to handle. I shouldn’t have
said anything, especially today. What if something were to happen?
I couldn’t live with myself.” He sounded as if he could hardly get
the words out.

“It’s not your fault, Oliver. You’re not his mother
or father. You’re barely even an adult for Christ’s sake. You’re
just his brother. You’re living on your own with a guy who’s gone
all the time. And I don’t mean gone as in
not presently
here
, I mean gone as in
not mentally here
.

Oliver winced. “I know you’re right. He’s out of
control, but what can I really do about it? As you saw, I can’t
even talk to him anymore.”

“Someone needs to shake him out of this rut or
whatever it is because you’re going to have to get on with your
life and I can’t stay more than a week. Where does that leave him?
He has to grow up, Oliver. We’ve all had to grow up faster than
most, but our childhood wasn’t hell. It was . . . It was
different.”

“At least we had each other and Helen. You really
didn’t have anyone, Jillian.”

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t like pity. And
I wasn’t completely alone. You and Helen were always there for me,
even if not in person. You will never know what that means to me,
Oly. But I do have to admit I have always been a little jealous of
you two. You had each other. What’s he so upset about? It could
have been so much worse. You were absolutely right in talking to
him, and you are absolutely right in moving on with your life. I’m
proud of you. You are strong and smart and goodhearted. He’ll come
around; you’ll see.” She reached over and squeezed his sinewy
forearm. She could tell that her little speech had done little to
ease the tension. Introspectively, they were mostly silent for the
next two hours.

Jill was starting to get apprehensive, but she
didn’t want to worry Oliver. The familiar feelings of worry were
starting to shroud over her, and she knew she was about to have a
vision any moment. The concern started at the pit of her stomach
and spread through her veins and out to her skin, until she could
feel goose bumps all over. Nausea was already beginning to settle
inside her stomach. She didn’t always know when a vision would
overtake her body, but sometimes, like right now, she could sense
it coming. Augmenting her worry was that she would frighten Oliver;
it had been many years since he’d seen her transform into a statue
while the visions invaded her body, and she was not sure how he’d
react. The visions were always clairvoyant in nature. Sometimes
they came and went without warning, and it was clear what they
meant. Other times, they were just feelings that meant nothing to
her at that precise moment. Regardless, they always left her
drained and confused, and nothing good ever came out of her
visions. She never, for example, envisioned the winning numbers of
the lottery or anything like that.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Talk about
bad timing!

Knowing full well that the vision would be
assaulting her soon, she gathered all her strength and went to the
bathroom and called Alexander, but he didn’t answer. She called him
three more times . . . nothing. She left him a message, bile
starting to creep its way up her esophagus.
Think positive Jill.
Maybe this will be a repeat of this morning’s naughty
visions.

“Damn it, Xander, pick up your fu . . . darn phone.
We’re worried. I just want to know you’re okay. I’m only going to
be here for another week. Do you want to go another seven years
without hearing from me again? Call me back.”

Another hour passed by. Her anxiety was growing. The
tension in her neck was becoming unbearable. The worry felt as if
it were surrounding her like a bubble, ebbing and flowing around
her.

“You hungry?” Jill asked, trying to keep herself
busy. Oliver nodded, distracted by his own thoughts. She went to
the kitchen and started looking around until she found something
edible that she could scrape together. She decided on omelets,
since there was really nothing else fit for human consumption in
the refrigerator.
Men,
she thought, shaking her head and
sighing. She walked the two plates to the living room where Oliver
sat. Then, it happened.

***

Oliver

The plates came crashing down. Jillian was frozen.
Immediately, Oliver was by her side, grabbing her shoulders.
“Jillian. Jillian, what’s wrong?” He had forgotten about her
spells. It had been so many years since he’d seen that faraway
stare. There was nothing behind her eyes, just loaded silence. When
she didn’t answer or even blink, he grabbed her wrists and pulled
her gently to the closest chair. He knelt by her feet, gently
stroking her arm. “Baby, can you hear me? Jillian?” He was afraid
to leave, but she was burning up. He ran to the bathroom and
grabbed a few hand towels, wet them, and ran back to her. He ran
the wet towel across her forehead and the back of her neck. She
didn’t even flinch at the cold water. He was about to call for help
when, moments later, the phone rang. He jumped at the abrupt noise,
but before the first ring finished, she grabbed his forearm, “It’s
about Alexander,” she whispered.

Quickly, he grabbed the phone. The hairs on the back
of his neck stood up at the eeriness of her whisper. The look on
her face said everything. Something had happened. Something bad . .
.

A brother is
someone to lean on, someone to count on, and someone to tell
on!

-Helen

Jillian

Jillian sat shaking; the freezing towel dripped
melted ice down her back. The feeling of nausea that had enveloped
her body began to subside. She didn’t remember much except
seeing
Alexander. She had somehow been transported into a
hospital and could see that he was alive, and having an argument,
but the details were fuzzy. Oddly enough, she also felt very hazy
as if she were drug induced. Jillian didn’t have visions
frequently, and they were never just about a random unknown. Her
spells were always connected to someone she knew. When they were
very clear, she could actually feel what the person felt.

Jillian didn’t like the vernacular
psychic
because she felt like a quack, but she knew what she was, and for
lack of a better word, she was psychic. She had seen a few doctors
about her symptoms, but they always blew her off and made her feel
as if she were either a liar or crazy. After enduring a series of
psychiatric evaluations between the ages of fourteen and sixteen at
the demand of some of the nuns at St. Mary’s, she decided never to
speak of her condition again and to always hide when she felt one
coming. She didn’t need a doctor to tell her what she was, because
what she saw during that loss of time eventually happened. Thus,
psychic, clairvoyant, supernatural, occult, mystic, loon, nut, and
crazy all accurately depicted what she was, even if it seemed kind
of hocus pocus-ish.