The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets) (25 page)

“Mom...she isn’t like that,” I snapped and grabbed the magazine from her hands. “You can’t tell me who to be friends with.”

“Brielle...let it go,” she said then turned to Tara. “I am sorry that you have to hear our family quarrel.” Lately, my mother was always apologizing to everyone for my behavior.

Tara waved her hand into the air. “No worries. Don’t stop on my account.” Why didn’t Tara leave us alone? Rather than leaving us to our fight, she just sat there like an audience. How nosy was that?

“Please, Brielle. You cannot hang out with someone who is that much older than you. Period! Don’t you agree, Tara?”

Why is she asking Tara?

“It’s none of my business,” Tara said, smiling coyly.

Then why are you listening?
I thought.

I opened my mouth to argue but figured, what was the point? My mother had obviously made up her mind and now Tara was on her side. Two against one. I had no chance.

I dug into my pocket and retrieved the photo of Jude and me. It was slightly crumpled. Quickly, I checked my other front pocket and it was empty. My eyes scanned the ground around my feet.

“Oh no, her card…she gave me her card, and now it’s gone.” I panicked. Amanda’s card…I must have dropped it somewhere.

“It’s for the best,” my mother said, pushing up to stand and then entered into the bed and breakfast. “Mitchell, I need to talk to you,” she called out.

“Great, now I’m going to be in trouble with my dad.”

“Don’t worry dear...” Tara chimed in, “If your connection was as real as you claim, the strings that were tied between you two in those moments can not be untied, not by anyone.” She smiled pointedly. For a fraction of a second, she reminded me of my grandmother. I couldn’t wait to share all this with
her
when I got home. Maybe Tara wasn’t so awful after all. I appreciated her profound words of hope that I would see Amanda again one day.

The good news, my flu-like symptoms had completely disappeared. I didn’t suffer any more painful knots in my stomach or any sudden heat flashes that weighed down my limbs. I
felt like I could breathe again. I fell hard and fast for my first love and fell out of it just as quickly. Just like a typical teenager.



Sibling rivalry is a common force between sisters and brothers. By the time we arrived back home, my ghost story grew into a big fish story. I told everyone that the ghost materialized right before my eyes. Of course, I had to embellish my story to top Brett’s ghost story. He now knew how it felt to compete for our parents’ attention.

Granted, I never saw a ghost—nothing tangible anyway, but I certainly felt the presence of one in that old schoolhouse.

This validated to me the fact that Storm was definitely no ghost! I never felt any fear when he spoke to me as I did that day in the schoolhouse. Now, show me a ghost or a hobgoblin and I will freak out, pack my bags and call a priest to exorcise me just in case one happened to seep in and was lying dormant in my body.

The voices had never scared me. I knew they were not evil deities like demons. I supposed not all ghosts are evil, but seriously, who wants to come face to face with someone who has died—I did not see the point. I didn’t necessarily think Storm was an angel either. But, after the trip and my ghost experience, things were a lot clearer. I choose to stick to Grandmother’s theory, especially if Storm was going to be around for a while.

-27-

Closing a Window

As the memories changed gears, I fought to retain them all. Suddenly, they were speeding by like on coming headlights on the Audubon, racing by fast then disappearing just as quickly. The illumination from the halos shed light on a time I will never forget. No one can take this memory from me, not the gods, a brain injury, or Dr. Tagorski.



On the inside of my grandmother’s old farmhouse, looking out onto a cold November day, the warm rays of the sun diffused through the mudroom’s antiqued seedy glass of the wood-paned door. An early snow blanketed the long blades of grass outside and a st
ream of dried autumn leaves blew across the lawn. It had not been manicured in months. My eyes captured the obscurity of my father’s shadow against the nearby woodshed. He was struggling in the cold to cut some fresh logs to make a fire.

My eyes darted to an array of withered flowers, dying in crystal vases on the old wooden butcher-block table. A petal fell from one of the stems. I could almost hear it hitting the floor; the silence in the kitchen was unbearable.

“Are you okay?”
Storm asked.

Within a millisecond of hearing Storm’s deep, low-pitched voice, I released the pent up tears that I had been holding in for months. Knowing that he was here with me felt comforting. The fact that he cared for me so much caused an overwhelming feeling of emotions to release. I didn’t realize how much I really needed him. When I opened my mouth to speak, I tasted the tears on my lips.

“Oh Storm...you’re here. It’s so hard. I feel like I am falling apart,” I softly whimpered, wiping away the tears that streamed down my cheeks. It had been a while since I had heard from Storm. Nothing too unusual.

“I am here...let yourself cry, Brielle. Quit trying to be so strong. It’s normal to cry and to grieve.”

“Why are you so sweet to me? I treated you so terribly since—since—she—” My voice trembled I couldn’t finish my thought.

“It’s okay Brielle...I am here when you need me.”



I recalculated in those moments that Storm had to be an angel—my angel. No human would be able to forgive anyone the way he had forgiven me so many times. The last time we spoke, I had said such deplorable things to him, and I was sure our friendship wa
s gone forever. But, here he was for me when I needed him the most. He knew how to forgive and forget when it came to me.

Almost a year earlier our relationship had taken a turn for the worse. Suddenly, I didn’t care about his stories any longer. I didn’t care about anything. I was a rebel without a cause. All I wanted to do was hang out with my friends and go to parties, drown my teenage growing pains in crowds of people that didn’t know me.

He didn’t like this much, claiming he wanted to keep me out of mischief.
Mischief?
The words he used were so dated. I wondered how old he was, and where on earth was he from? His choice of words was so colloquial at times. Why didn’t he just say trouble?

I begged him to stay out of my personal business, claiming I didn’t need his protection anymore. Now it was Storm tuning me out, and my request fell upon deaf ears. He flat out refused to leave me alone and completely disregarded my pleas. He replied by saying that he was not going anywhere and that he would be with me forever.

“How dare he. This was my choice, not his.” I was the host of his existence. Without me, he was nothing. I had read that angels are not allowed to take over your life and instead they are there only to guide us humans. Therefore, I decided that Storm’s strong-will should not and would not come before mine. I was determined that my will would prevail. It would be my way or Heaven’s highway for his lilly white ass, assuming he was white.

Still, he always had something to say about everything I did. He didn’t like my choice of music, my lingo or any of my friends, especially the boys. Storm was so green—I don’t mean green as in preserving the earth’s resources. When I returned that spring break from St. Augustine and started wanting to date boys, he would act as if he was my dad...or even worse, a very jealous boyfriend!

I needed to discuss Storm’s constant interference in my life with someone. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anyone that could help me. I knew that a conversation with my mother was long overdue, but I couldn’t burden her with my dilemma—she had too many other things to worry about aside from me.

Perhaps our priest could help; my thoughts, he could do an exorcism to get rid of Storm. But then again I was sure he would tell my parents—despite his oath of silence. I had no one to talk to. My friends would not understand. Storm was my secret. I was determined to keep the promise that I made to my grandmother to never tell anyone about him—which I kept.

I never told anyone, not even my grandmother that I had actually been conversing with Storm for decades, or so it seemed that long. My Grandmother tried to warn me. She told me to just listen to the voices and warned me not to interact with them. It was my own fault for not yielding to her warnings.

When I had the chance, I should have shared my dilemma with my grandmother. She would have known how to get rid of Storm’s pestering voice. Unfortunately, my grandmother fell ill to a Godspeed case of dementia. Her condition was heartbreaking to our family.

My parents didn’t allow my brother and me to see Grandmother once she had taken ill. They wanted us to remember her as she was before the illness. Besides, she no longer remembered who Brett and I were. Half the time she thought my mother was her sister, and the other half of the time she would talk to herself. This scared me to death. I assumed my grandmother was talking to the voices. Of course, my mother never confirmed if she was or not—she avoided any and all spiritual topics as if they were the plague. To her, anything spiritual was nothing more than New Age crap!

I tried once to tell my mother that God himself was a spiritual being. She adamantly remarked, “No, he’s my religion.” This confirmed that there was no going to my mother for advice about Storm. How could I have told her that I’d disobeyed her all those years? It would have crushed her—first grandmother’s debilitating condition and someday mine would soon arrive.

My fate would be that I would forget every human being in my life as my grandmother had, leaving me to suffer alone with no one but the voices. Everyone would be erased from my memory bank…that is everyone but Storm. It was obvious I had the curse. Now I understood my mother’s fair warnings.

Why didn’t I listen to my mother? I felt a sinking hollowness in my soul, knowing that I would lose everyone—every person that I had ever loved. I would forget them all. This rattled me for days, weeks and months. Why should I even bother to love anyone—ever?

I refused to let Storm know the extent of what was bothering me. He assumed it was the news of my grandmother’s illness and, to be honest, most of it was. Still, he sensed something was wrong between us. How could I tell him I feared one day I would lose my memory as my grandmother had? Her memory loss happened because she’d talked to the voices. Storm did not know anything about this. His presence in my life weighed on my shoulders. The voices were the curse that plagued our family. I no longer considered hearing them a gift. Thank God, Storm could only hear words that were spoken out loud—both my words and anyone else’s who were around me. If he could have heard my inner thoughts, he would have known that I was planning his demise.

I was so conflicted about what I should do. He lay low during that painful time in my life this was good for both our sakes.

It’s true, Storm was steadfast and one of the most stable elements in my life. I can admit this. Yes, there were challenging moments with him, and he irked me to the core, but then again, I am sure I got on his nerves as well.
Touché
—I am sure he would agree. But, I liked him, too. Maybe, I even loved Storm in a friendly kind of way. However, if I were going to lose my memory one day because of him—I would eventually have to tell him it was time to go.

The problem here was that I was extremely sentimental. I couldn’t even throw away an old Christmas card from a great aunt that I had never met. So, how in the world could I do this to Storm? After all, he had been my best friend for so long.
When I didn’t have anyone, Storm was always there for me. I had a tough decision to make. I didn’t know when I would cut the apron strings from Storm, but I realized the time was near.



Grandmother’s condition worsened with each day that passed. Not only was her state of mind suffering, her health was waning rapidly too. The voices were the only ones that she spoke to in the end. I was angry and needed to blame someone—anyone.

Naturally, I blamed the angels. It was their fault this was happening. Storm’s fault! It was time. He had to leave my head. I didn’t care what it took, psychotherapy drugs, hypnotism, or even electric shock treatment—wait—scratch anything to do with electricity plummeting through my brain. I felt that I would end up living my life out in a padded room. I wondered if I could cut Storm out of my head. A small incision that was nothing extreme. Most likely, this would not work either. This was his fault,
no
, my fault for dabbling in things I was warned not to.

I had felt like I had to get rid of him. I would miss Storm greatly, but the reasons to let him go were insurmountable now. I could not be tied to this inevitable curse anymore; I had to get rid of him!

I prayed for the first time in years. “Lord, have mercy on me.” I did not want to end up in a nursing home like my sweet grandmother had. What could I do? It was all too devastating to think about.