Seeing Red (6 page)

It never surprised her when she would feel a sense
of déjà vu a few hours or even days after a spell. It was as if she
had already experienced the occurrence during her vision. So she
was not surprised at the conversation Oliver was having right now
on the phone.

“It’ll take me all night to get there. Please keep
me posted. Thank you for calling me, Miriam, but you and I need to
have a serious conversation when this is all over.” He hung up, his
jaw set tightly and his knuckles white from clenching the phone. As
if instinctively, he grabbed Jillian and pulled her close to stop
her from trembling.

“What happened?” Jillian asked.

“I think you already know?” He looked at her
questioningly. He held her and rubbed her arms for warmth.

“Not exactly, no. Please, tell me.” She asked.

“Alexander overdosed on . . . who the hell knows
what. We have to go. Are you okay? I want to talk to you about what
just happened, but we have to talk in the car, okay, baby?” He let
go of her and pulled a blanket around her shoulders as he threw
some clothes into a small duffel bag. Then he went into Alexander’s
room and did the same thing. “Where are your clothes, Jillian?”

“Right here.” She pointed at her suitcase, still
shaking and confused over the endearment
baby?

“Grab a few things and stuff them in here.” He was
holding the bag open, and she complied as fast as she could.

“What happened? Who’s Miriam?” She threw clothes
inside the bag while Oliver grabbed some of Alexander’s things. He
worked in hyper-speed. “Slow down, Oliver! Is he okay? Oh my God.”
She was about to hyperventilate. Normally, she would have a few
hours to recover from the toll the visions took on her. She shook
her head and rambled to herself. “Of course, he is. I saw him
alive. He’s in the hospital, but he’s okay.” She was used to
soothing herself when she was worried, because there had never been
anyone around to comfort her. He grabbed her arm, locked the door
to the apartment, and helped her into his car.

“I knew this would happen. Miriam is bad news. I bet
Jake was with him too.” He mumbled to himself.

He took a few deep breaths as he quickly drove off.
“He’s fine. He’s fine,” he said as if he was assuring himself.
“Miriam is a girl that he’s known for about a year now, and I’m
pretty sure she gets him his drugs. She always looks strung out,
and I’ve noticed track marks on her arms before. Jake is a big
troublemaker that is always goading him into something. I think
Miriam has a big crush on Alexander, but he doesn’t seem to feel
the same way, so she tries to get on his good side by getting him
his drugs.” He took another deep breath. “They had to airlift him
to El Paso General, which is about seven hours away. He was
crossing the border to Mexico when he had a seizure and crashed his
bike. They had to pump his stomach, but Miriam said that he’s
conscious and doing well. He’s fine.”

“Fine! Oliver, he’s not fine. They had to airlift
him and pump his stomach. Oh my God! This is bad—so bad.”

“I mean he’s fine as in not dead!” he yelled, his
brows drawn together. “What do you want me to say, Jillian? He’s a
goddamn mess. I made it worse by arguing with him. I can’t handcuff
him to my wrist and lug him around.” He slammed the palms of his
hands against the steering wheel.

Jillian didn’t know what to say. She’d never seen
him this upset. Oliver was always so controlled. She sat in
silence. Moments later, lost in their thoughts, she heard Oliver
loudly exhale and reach for her hand, interlocking his fingers with
hers. She hadn’t noticed that her pulse had been racing until she
felt the heat from his hand on hers; even if unintentionally, he
was comforting her with his touch, and her pulse began to
normalize.

Jillian knew it was time to deal with the big purple
elephant in the room. So, when Oliver opened his mouth to speak,
she wasn’t surprised by the question. “Jillian, what happened to
you? Do you even remember? I haven’t seen you like that since the
day we got off the island. I had forgotten about your
seizures.”

She laughed nervously. “Seizures?”

“That’s what Helen always called them. She made it
seem like you were epileptic or something. I can’t believe I had
forgotten.”

“I’m not epileptic, Oliver. That wasn’t a
seizure.”

“So, what was it then?”

“Well,” this time she took a deep breath, “I’ve
never said this out loud. Actually, I’ve never told anyone. I can’t
believe you thought I was having seizures. The fact is I’m
clairvoyant.”

“Huh?”

“Clairvoyant. That’s my word of choice. Psychic,
second-sighted, whatever term you want to use—it’s all the same
thing. Although, try not to use the term crazy. Even though that’s
how I normally feel—crazy. I can’t help it. I can’t control it. It
really only happens occasionally and only involves people I know or
care about. It’s been happening for as long as I can remember.
Don’t you remember that I knew the boat would come and rescue
us?”

Oliver didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Then
shaking his head side to side as if he were trying to get something
out of his mind, he said, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“You heard me. I’m sure you think I’m full of shit,
and trust me, I wish I were, but I’m not. Usually, it starts with
an overwhelming feeling of nausea and my pulse starts to race.
Unfortunately, I don’t always have the nausea as a warning. Then I
get these feelings, and I zone out, and I see what is about to
happen. Sometimes I see it days before it occurs, and sometimes I
see it only a few minutes before, and sometimes I don’t even know
what I’m seeing.”

“So you knew Alexander would overdose?”

“No! If I had known, I would have done something to
stop it!” His accusatory tone angered her. “I knew he was in the
hospital and was okay. I also felt some sort of argument, and I
felt the drugs.”

“You felt?”

“Yes, I felt him. I guess, since I had been so
worried about him those last few hours and I was in your apartment
and so acutely aware of him, I actually felt him during my vision.
It rarely happens, but sometimes I can feel what the person is
feeling. It’s called being empathic or sentient.”

“You lost me there? Emphatic?”

“No, Oliver. Not emphatic, empathic.” She said it
slowly as if she were speaking to a toddler: almost mockingly.
“Okay, so as it is, these visions are rare. I’ve gone years without
having one, and then there are times that I have a vision every
week for a few months. To make matters worse, from time to time, I
can feel what another person is feeling. It’s as if it’s happening
to me. Thank God it rarely occurs. I’ve researched that true
empaths are constantly tortured because of their hypersensitivity
to the feelings and energies of everyone around them. They wind up
secluding themselves in order to avoid constantly feeling
everyone’s emotions. Luckily, I can count with one hand how many
times this has happened to me, and this episode tonight would join
that count. I know there were drugs involved or something foreign
because of the haziness I’m feeling.”

“So you can feel what Alexander is feeling? This is
kind of—”

“Nuts. Yes. It’s kind of nuts. I can barely keep my
eyes open, Oliver. When I have a vision, I get exhausted, but when
I
feel
the occurrence, well, I’m drained, and then when the
feelings are mixed with the drugs, I’m on the verge of passing
out.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She had been fighting fatigue
since the phone call. “You’re also yawning too much, Oliver. I
think you’re also exhausted. ” She whispered with her eyes still
shut.

The strain of the day was taking its toll—physically
and emotionally. “At least pull over. It’s almost 4 a.m. You’ve
been driving for hours. You’re tired. I’m tired. It’s been a
grueling day. I’m scared of you dozing off.”

“I’d never put you in harm’s way. Don’t be scared.
Let’s call Miriam, and if Alexander has improved, then we’ll find
somewhere to sleep for the rest of the night, and then we’ll be
refreshed for the remainder of the drive tomorrow. Okay?”

“’kay.”

He pulled out his phone and dialed. “How’s he doing,
Miriam?” He asked dryly. “Oh, I’m so sorry that I woke you up.
Would it be more convenient if I had called you tomorrow morning, I
don’t know, around noon-ish?” His tone was soft but full of angry
sarcasm. “No! Wait! Miriam, don’t hang up. I was being sarcastic. I
don’t give a fuck that you’re tired. I’m tired too. I’m driving
seven hours to get there. I’m so tired that I am swerving off the
road. I want to know how he’s doing. Okay. Thanks. Go back to
sleep.”

He hung up and stared out the windshield for a
moment. “He’s out of intensive care and is sleeping. He was
transferred to a room. He’ll probably be there for a day or two.
Let’s find you somewhere to crash.” He yawned again, making Jill
yawn too.

“Thanks, Oly.” She knew he was tired too, but if he
wanted to cover it up as a favor for her, that was fine—whatever it
took to avoid a car accident.

They got off the highway at the first exit they
found. It was a very busy town, and there were many hotels and
motels on the street.

“Anything is fine with me. Let’s not get too far off
the highway so we can get right back on when we wake up in a few
hours,” Jill said.

The first hotel was a big flashy hotel chain. “Stay
in the car; let me check us in. I’ll get us each a room,” Oliver
said.

“Okay.” She murmured, half asleep.

Twenty minutes later, he was back. “No vacancies.”
They tried three more hotels and two motels. All were full.

He pulled into a big hotel with lots of neon lights
outside—it looked like a big, old, dilapidated castle. “Oly, if
this one also has no vacancies, let’s just sleep in the car. I’m so
tired,” she yawned, “and we’re getting too far into town and away
from the freeway.”

“Okay. Fingers crossed.”

It could have been thirty seconds or two hours,
because Jill was sound asleep when he returned to the car. Without
waking her, he drove around the back of the hotel to park as per
the instructions from the front desk clerk. He opened Jill’s door
and gently caressed her arms, trying to wake her. “We’re here. They
only had one room available. Come on.”

She stirred into consciousness and reached for
Oliver’s hand for support getting out of the car. “What is this?
Where are we?” She looked up at the tower and down at the fake moat
and bridge.

“It’s a castle, obviously.” He said, mockingly. “I
know it’s weird, but it’s all I found in this entire town. Let’s
go, princess. You’re exhausted and your castle awaits.”

“Oly, you’re exhausted too.” She rolled her eyes.
Men and their egos.

“Maybe.” He said with an uncontrollable yawn,
completely breaking his macho resolve.

He grabbed her purse, and she followed him into the
door that would lead to . . . a castle? Bedroom? Moat? Dungeon?
Oliver used the key card to open the door. He slid the card, and
when the light turned green, he turned the handle and opened the
door. His mouth fell open. He immediately closed the door and
turned around.

“Jill, um, okay, listen. This is the only room
available in all of Texas. If you don’t want to stay here, I
understand. We can sleep in the car.” He seemed nervous but let out
a laugh and had a big grin on his face.

“What are you talking about? What’s so funny?” She
pushed him aside and opened the door.

“Oh!” She gasped. “Oh my . . .” She put her hand on
her mouth. “So this is, what? A motel that you rent by the hour? I
guess the castle theme isn’t popular in Texas tonight, being that
it was the only place available. I thought it would be worse. You
know—a cheap motel that you rent by the hour—I thought it’d be
worse.” She giggled and grabbed his hand and pulled him inside.

“Oly, don’t be such a prude. You’re tired and so am
I. Okay, so there is a huge, red, heart-shaped tub in the middle of
the room, and yes, there is a . . . What the hell is this?” She
looked at the contraption in the middle of the room. “A sex chair?
And mirrors everywhere? My goodness . . . so many mirrors. Let’s
just ignore the weirdness and go to sleep.”

“Or we can turn on the disco ball and use the
stripper pole and have some fun.” He smiled and wiggled his
eyebrows up and down.

“Oliver Jacobs!” But even as she said that, she knew
that this was just too funny of a moment. They laughed so hard they
gasped for air.

“Okay, Jillian. I want to take a quick shower. Do
you want to go first?”

“Thanks. I’ll be super quick. Be careful with that
thing.” She pointed to the weird chair.

When she got out of the shower, Oliver was fast
asleep on a zebra-printed couch. The room was the epitome of tacky
and exactly what a sex motel would look like.
Yuck. The things
that probably happened on that couch. Gross.
She felt bad
waking him but couldn’t let him sleep there after the long and
exhausting day they just had. And the disgustingness that was that
couch . . .

“Oly honey, wake up.” She whispered into his ear.
Not a single flinch. “Oliver, wake up.” She nudged his shoulders
gently. “Oliver, sweetie, you’re going to regret sleeping on that
disgusting and uncomfortable couch. Wake up.” This time she was
louder and poked him more forcefully. He abruptly stood up, looking
confused. He quickly looked around, trying to assess where he was:
first looking at Jillian then at the heart-shaped tub then at the
stripper pole. “Weird,” he mumbled. “Sorry, I must’ve dozed off.
Are you finished in the bathroom?”

“Yeah.” Suddenly, she felt very aware of her choice
of clothing. She was wearing a thin camisole and short boy
shorts—very short.

He walked into the bathroom, but stopped and looked
back at Jillian, and for a second their eyes met and her heart
pounded. But, he turned back around, taking off his shirt as he
closed the door behind him. She caught a glimpse of his bare chest
and was surprised at the effect it had on her. He was certainly
attractive. Okay, not attractive, that word didn’t do him justice.
He was gorgeous—gorgeous with a capital G. He wasn’t bulky. He was
lean, and every muscle in his chest and arms was well-defined. All
the
scrawniness
of adolescence was gone and replaced with
the bulk that only came with age. He didn’t look like a typical
eighteen-year-old. He looked like a man: a young man, but a man,
nonetheless.