Vision (7 page)

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

The relief from confiding in my friends was
catatonic, cleansing. No more watching words or side-stepping
conversations. Best of all, they didn’t think I was a freak. “This
explains so much!” Sienna exclaimed, reveling in the news.

“How so?” I asked.

“Because…you’re just very – observant. Aside
from that first day, I’ve noticed how you whip your head around
when we pass people, and those dreams of yours…I assumed you were a
little off, not that we cared or anything…it was part of your
eccentric charm,” Sienna winked.

She was right. Having visions for so long, I
probably wasn’t aware how I came across to people. But it stood to
reason if others were paying attention, my behavior would seem –
strange sometimes.

I shrugged. “Sorry for not sharing sooner.
This isn’t the type of thing you blurt out to people you just meet,
and I was afraid you would freak and run. No one else knows of my
strangeness by the way, so don’t go blabbing.”

“No one?” Sienna was surprised.

“Like I said, it’s a big deal being the only
two who know, so keep it close. If anyone else finds out, I’ll know
the source. I don’t, you know, intrude on either of your – thoughts
by the way. I try to practice respect, unless it’s obvious.
Thoughts coincide with feelings too, and feelings are a no brainer
to pick up on for me…except – you Stuart. I, it’s hard to – I
can’t…”

But he didn’t acknowledge me, instead just
continued staring into his cup, miles away.

The correspondence from Abbey Grace was
increasingly difficult to push from my mind. Associations between
my nightmares and the letter grew together in juxtapose, interwoven
in their relevance to each other – the how was the mystery, and it
was obvious there was only one way to resolve the issue.

On November eleventh, my sixteenth birthday
(no particular significance), I dialed the phone number of Abbey
Grace in Colonsay, Scotland, this time letting it ring until
someone answered.

She was a cheery sounding woman who had been
immersed in gardening, refusing my apologies for interrupting,
apparently ecstatic for the call. Abbey remained vague about the
discovery on her property, saying it was something to see to
believe. I asked if it required my Mom accompanying me, since we
were on separate continents, and it would be easier for just me to
visit. No one needed the tragic details behind the non-existent
mother daughter relationship we held.

Abbey said she would be home the first two
weeks of December, and would love to have me as a guest for a day
or two with or without Mom. With plenty of room, she insisted I
stay in her newly added on guest suite. The time coincided with the
school holiday, so I booked a round-trip flight for a two day-one
night journey. Second thoughts about travelling there, especially
alone, crept over me, but I pushed them aside as nonsense and
looked forward to the trip.

News travels quickly in the espionage
network, because within a few hours Liz called. I almost didn’t
answer, and then decided that was always an unwise choice.
Emergencies could happen, and who was I to screen calls.
“Yeah?”

“Hi Mom, is the correct greeting.” My stomach
dropped to the floor. Her voice was curt, as usual, and void of
warmth toward her only child. On the other hand, answering with a
“yeah” didn’t serve to nurture our relationship. Eventually, one of
us would need to give in and be the adult.

“Sorry,” I responded with dry emotion.
“What’s up?”

“Be careful in Colonsay, and happy
birthday.”

She hung up quickly and my jaw tightened. I
sat in stunned silence before attacking the innocent goose down bed
pillows strewn across my bed with my fists.

When there was nothing left to beat up, it
all came crashing down.

Between exams, nightly visits from the spirit
world, the mysterious note left on Stuart’s windshield, the
perplexing charm delivery with no name, and the impending trip to
Colonsay, I developed one big agonizing headache that was resilient
to all drug store pain relief. Convinced my brain was going to
implode and that I would be better off, I spent many days to follow
after classes in my room with a cold rag on my head.

Everyone was worried, and I could barely
move. It took every ounce of anything to function. When the break
came, I had never been so relieved, praying I passed exams, but
more happy to be finished. Everything was collapsing beneath me,
fragmented parts of my life scattering like shrapnel. Nothing made
sense.

It was as if I existed in an alternate
universe with nothing in my control. Charms and mysterious notes
and phone calls from Liz.

The cerebral noise of those around me
intensified, causing unbearable sensory overload. Even Sienna was
too chatty. My ability to tune people out at will was gone, and
pieces of my humanity slid off my skin layer by layer until I grew
silent and irritable.

The nightmares intensified. So much blood and
violence and slicing and burning. Some days it was difficult to
tell reality from the dream world, and there were moments the
memories from the night visions became tangible. Sometimes I was
caught while falling; sometimes I was caught then released, hearing
laughter as I fell. Some nights I was floating in the water
surrounded by total darkness, alone, knowing I was dead with so
much to loose. I saw, or thought I saw, glimpses of the dream
characters around Cambridge, sending my heart racing.

Sleep only came by way of shear exhaustion,
because more than anything I feared the inevitable and incessant
horror that I would fight until my eyelids shut without
permission.

When I thought it was unbearable and
considered canceling the trip, Liz sent me a text – The headaches
will go away. Don’t cancel but be careful –

Yep. Life had gone from strange to crazy, and
Liz was clearly working in covert ops.

The black town car with deep tinted windows
was conspicuous, cruising slowly past the parking lot when we were
about to climb in Stuart’s Saab. Without moving a muscle, I worked
hard to mentally penetrate the thick window glass, hoping to learn
the identity of the driver or passenger, or the person responsible
for stalking. But my head pounded ruthlessly, suddenly bearing too
much weight to hold.

And I read nothing.

Maybe I was overreacting. The car could have
been anyone. Perhaps stress was wearing me down. I’ve read that
extreme fatigue can cause hallucinations. Yes, it was probably
nothing. A coincidence.

I didn’t believe it was nothing, but
dismissing it was easier.

Then on the last day of exams, another note
appeared on Stuart’s car in the same handwriting. You will all
perish. You are doomed. You will pay.

Okay, my bad, there were no coincidences.

Something, or someone, was definitely after
me.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

New message from Unknown Sender via email.
Subject: Scotland Witch Trials
.

Sarah was accused of witchcraft to cover a
murder; a murder based on jealously and uncontrolled lust. You are
very connected to her. Go to Colonsay and learn the truth. Learn
who you are, where you came from – the answers wait for you. Abbey
is not crazy – she is a good person and old family friend. Your
dreams are about Sarah. Records show she died of natural causes in
1731. This is a lie. Witchcraft executions were all but passé at
that time. She was killed by early Bane, unsophisticated in
knowledge, but that has all changed. Bane are evil beings,
extremely drawn to us, but they are the enemy nonetheless and want
us dead. It is not safe, so you must be careful. We are working to
resolve the issue and provide protection.

Resolve the issue? Was this some sort of
joke? Obviously someone wanted me to know something. Anonymously.
And who the hell is Sarah? And what is a Bane? Of course the
definition for bane was evil, but capitalizing into a noun made it
a person, place or thing. It was too exhausting. Soon, I would meet
Abbey and resolve the mystery – I hoped. Maybe then life would make
sense again.

My head spun, and a deep longing for Stuart’s
company caressed me in stillness, craving his presence, his mouth.
He had been giving me ‘space’ through finals, sensing I was
overwhelmed and not feeling well, but lying for hours only made me
worry about whether our chance had come and gone. He had every
reason to have second thoughts – after all, I was a certified
lunatic with mental and physical illness.

And then as if on cue, flowers arrived. The
most spectacular, fragrant bouquet and a note letting me know he
was thinking of me, and nothing had changed. Relief swept over me,
but the nagging tug of his absence persisted.

I wanted him badly but couldn’t stand
anyone’s company.

I drifted off thinking I was still awake.
Stuart sat on the edge of the bed, smiling at me with the crooked
grin that always interrupted the steady rhythm of my heart. I
opened my arms to him and he moved closer, accepting the invitation
to lie with me. “Layla,” he whispered. We were still for a moment,
until he pulled me to a sitting position, rocking me in his
arms.

“Please?” I begged.

“No. Not now. Not yet,” he said without
moving his lips.

“Stuart! I can read you! That’s never
happened!”

He smiled, and then rose from the bed,
leaving our embrace, leaving me chilled and empty. Moving toward
the window, he stared unblinking into the distance.

I was sad now, feeling like he was going away
forever. “Stuart, come back.”

The window was open, and without turning
around to acknowledge me, he stepped over the frame and floated
into the night, disappearing like vapor. A sinking feeling gripped
my entrails, knowing he was lost forever.

All I wanted was Stuart.

But he wouldn’t stay, even in a dream.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“You are bloody stubborn and bloody
maddening.” He ran his fingers through his thick mane of hair,
furrows of anxiety deepening between his eyes.

“That’s pretty bloody!” He didn’t appreciate
the humor. “Stop scowling, Fairchild. Scotland isn’t far, and this
is something I need to do alone, even if we had never met.”
Snuggling close, my arm linked through his while we strolled around
London, half sightseeing and holiday shopping. Touring the city was
his idea, and I was content and finally headache free again.
Whoever sent the email said the headaches would leave, but I didn’t
know why I had them in the first place. Someone knew, and left me
in the dark, as always.

Stuart insisted on proving Christmas in
London is magical, and nowhere on earth was better for holiday
lights. We walked Bond Street, Marylebone High Street, Oxford
Street, Carnaby Street, and Convent Garden. We also hit Harrods in
Knightsbridge, scanning the overpriced goods for sale. He told me
to pick out anything I wanted, and it was mine. I responded by
singing, “All I want for Christmas is you,” a line from one of my
favorite movies, Love, Actually, and then immediately felt stupid
he may not catch the playful pop culture reference.

But he got it, grinned, and pulled me out of
the store to his car without speaking. We rode in silence for about
ten minutes with nothing but his signature smile, one of many that
weakened my knees. When I looked around, we were pulling up near
the Waterloo Bridge.

“Going for a swim, Fairchild?”

He kissed me before getting out of the car. I
knew him well enough to know I was to sit until he came around and
opened my side.

We strolled to the center of the bridge where
we could view the entire light show. He turned me toward him,
wrapping me up in his coat and pulling us impossibly close. The
heat of our bodies was enough armor against the cold, night air,
and I knew then I wanted to spend my life right here, with him. It
was true there was so much I didn’t know about Stuart Fairchild. It
was true we just recently met, blah, blah. But none of that seemed
relevant somehow. He felt like home, a lost love found,
rediscovered. He was too perfect for words, and sometimes I was
unsure why he would like me so much.

We held each other, my ear against his
heartbeat, and I knew I wanted more, more of him, more of us, more
of life.

And as if to respond, another silent voice
broke the calm night to say, I am deeply, irrevocably in love with
you.

The following day was my flight to Glasgow,
where I would taxi to the ferry port in Oban headed for Colonsay.
Abbey would pick me up at the dock.

“Yes, alone. So you’ve said,” he
grumbled.

He wasn’t happy, that much I knew without
mind reading. It made me sad to disappoint him, but I needed to do
this myself. It was too early in our relationship for him to be
pulled into Zombieland, and I was worried about what the letter
meant. Besides, he held plenty back from me about his life,
although the means didn’t justify the end.

“It’s two days total. She shows me what’s up,
I leave, and that’s it. And maybe I get some connection or closure
to these god awful dreams.” I squeezed his arm playfully. “I just
think you’re going to miss me and won’t say it.”

“Perhaps…” His serious eyes stared straight
ahead, but the half smile surfaced, making life sweet again.

The morning I left, another charm
arrived.

Similar box, no name.

A Celtic knot – the symbol for eternal
life.

My bracelet now had three charms; two of
which had no identified sender.

Abbey’s house brimmed with charm. One of the
larger homes on the island, the white washed exterior was bright in
the afternoon sunlight. Surrounded by trees bearing peaches, figs
and apples, it seemed plucked from the middle of a storybook,
beckoning, hospitable and safe. The island homes were few and far
between, so Abbey appeared to have ample space. The sky was made up
of sedentary gray clouds, a colorless blanket stretching over all
of Scotland.