Bits and Pieces, page 23
I say a prayer, hoping that I’m the last one…Matthew’s last victim.
Chapter 24
I wake up in the hospital covered in tubes and wires. My whole body aches. My eyes are so heavy, it’s hard to open them. I finally do and squint against the bright fluorescent lights.
“Let me turn those off,” a voice says. As my vision comes into focus, I see Ophelia flipping the lights off.
I try to speak but nothing will come out other than a raspy whisper. “Don’t try to talk. You’ve had some damage to your throat and it’s best if you don’t strain at all,” Ophelia says and hands a notepad and pencil to me. “You can use this, though.”
I have so many things I want to ask but don’t know where to begin. I’m too tired to write complete sentences…I write five questions. Where? How? Matthew? Cyle? How long? Those should cover the burning questions.
“You’re back in Chandlersville Memorial. You’ve been here for four days now. I went to your apartment for our meeting and could tell something was wrong because your front door was open a crack. I let myself in and I could see there had been a struggle. I called Chaundra and we figured out that either Jonas or Matthew had you. Later that night, Lily told Chaundra that you were in the woods and hurt. We got together a small search party and started looking immediately. At Chaundra’s urging the police joined the search the next day. One of the searchers, a man named Carl, found you.”
Carl. His fatherly face fills my mind. I point to Matthew’s name. “His body was found in the Holcomb River two days after we found you. The police believe he jumped off a bridge. That it was suicide.”
I point to Cyle’s name.
“Do you see him here?” Ophelia asks.
What a strange question. I look around the room and shake my head. I raise my eyebrows to indicate that I need her to further explain.
“You need to get some rest. We’ll talk about Cyle later. He’s not here right now, though,” she says. “Chaundra and the kids and Jonas have been by to visit. We’ve been taking shifts to make sure someone’s always with you. I called your parents to let them know you’re here. I’m not sure if they’re coming or not.” My mouth falls open in disbelief. She called my parents? “Tessa, we weren’t sure you were going to pull through or I wouldn’t have called them. You were severely dehydrated and have several areas of frostbite. Along with the laryngeal trauma, a couple of broken ribs, and a concussion…you were in bad shape. They did a lot of testing to make sure you didn’t have any other internal damage.”
My eyes fill with tears. The fact that she called my parents feels like such a betrayal. I hope they don’t show up. I can’t deal with all of the emotions of seeing them right now. I hand the paper and pen back to her and lay back against the bed. I’m so tired. And I feel so empty. I remember bits and pieces of the struggle with Matthew. The thing that’s most ingrained in my memory is the lightning flash, feeling parts of me pour into him. I will figure all of that out later. Right now, I need to sleep.
#
I wake up sometime later to Lily’s voice. A smile spreads across my face before I even open my eyes. Chaundra, Liam, and Lily are here.
“Hi there, sleepyhead,” Chaundra says. “It’s good to see those eyes of yours.” I start to talk…again, a raspy whisper is all I can muster.
“Ahhh…no talking,” she says and hands me a notepad. Lily comes over to the side of my bed and stands on her tiptoes to see me. I rub her head and tears fill my eyes. Were it not for her and her vision, I’d be dead.
“Look mama, colors bye bye,” Lily says. “Just shiny.”
“I know sweetie. Just silver,” Chaundra says.
I scribble Huh? across the paper.
“Your aura has changed. It’s no longer a rainbow. It’s all silver.”
What does that mean? I write.
“It means something happened out there in the woods with Matthew to change your colors.”
I nod and write So much happened. Have to tell you.
“You can tell me later. I don’t want to wear you out right now, so we can just entertain you with stories. Can’t we kids?”
Liam tells me about his holiday party at school and lists off one by one all of the items he’s hoping Santa brings. Lily shows me her princess coloring book and all of the pictures she’s colored. Chaundra tells stories, as only she can, about the kids and their antics over the past couple of days. It’s all lighthearted and I let out a raspy laugh several times. Finally, I grab the paper and write Where’s Aiden?
Chaundra looks at me and tears fill her eyes. “You don’t see him?” What is it with these people asking me such stupid questions? I look around and shake my head.
“He’s…he’s gone, honey. He died about a year ago. He was hit by a car while riding his bike down the street.” Chaundra says in a whisper, as tears fill her eyes.
He’s gone? Died a year ago? What the hell? No, he didn’t. He was here just a few days ago, painting, cuddling with me, letting Lily follow behind him.
“Right there. Aiden right there,” Lily says pointing. “See him?”
I look to where she’s pointing and see nothing other than a light gray wall. I shake my head. What in the world is going on?
Chaundra must see my confusion. “I know you’re confused. How about we pick this discussion back up when you feel better?”
I write NOW! on the paper.
Chaundra takes a deep breath, seemingly trying to compose herself. “Since Aiden died, two people have been able to see him. You and Lily. I never said anything because I know that he was very real to both of you, could talk, cuddle, laugh. To be honest, I like that he’s still around even if I can’t see him. It makes it hurt a little less.”
Why can’t I see him now? I ask even though there are a million other questions swarming around in my head.
“I’m not sure. Lily, honey. Is Aiden here?” Chaundra says.
“Yes, silly Mommy. Right here,” she says and puts her arm out around air. “Aiden loves Lily. And Mommy. And Liam.”
I start writing out some of the questions because it feels like my head is going to explode. What about the day Cyle and I came over? Aiden let us in. We both talked to him, not just me.
Chaundra clears her throat and takes my hand. “Can we please talk about all of this later? You’ve been through so much. I don’t know that you can take anymore right now. Please.”
No NOW! I write.
Her eyes plead with me and she wraps her arms around herself. She really doesn’t want to have this discussion. She turns on the TV to Disney channel and tells both kids to watch so we can talk. She scoots her chair close to the bed and takes my hand again. I brace myself for a flash, but there is none.
“Yes, Cyle could see Aiden, too. You’re right. What I saw when I came downstairs, though, is you sitting alone on my couch, talking to yourself or someone I couldn’t see. I was a bit bothered by the fact that you let yourself in until Lily said Aiden opened the door. It was then that I knew you shared Lily’s gift…you see people that aren’t still with us in the physical form.”
I need to be able to talk. I can’t comprehend what she’s saying. She saw me alone on the couch talking to myself? I was talking to Cyle. Why couldn’t she see Cyle? And I can see dead people? What the hell? What does that even mean?
I pick up the pencil to write more and then the truth hits me like a barreling freight train cutting straight through me. The truth that I have denied, buried, explained away.
I flash back to a day a little over five years ago, one of the worst days of my life. The day I lost the only person in the world that truly believed in me…my brother. The day Cyle died.
I knew ahead of time that he was going to die. A yellow flash, I saw into his future. My dad chartered a fishing boat and took the boys out to the open sea for a day-long expedition. I begged my dad and mom to please change the date of the trip, to not let Cyle go with them. I knew a storm would blow up and catch them off guard. I saw the rough waves, the boat rocking uncontrollably, Cyle going overboard. I knew that trip would kill him. Like always, my parents thought I was being dramatic and crazy so of course they didn’t listen. I talked to Cyle about it, too. I pleaded with him to stay home. He said that if it was his time to go, it was his time to go.
I think he knew he couldn’t change his destiny. But, I believe he would have changed his fate had the trip been cancelled, had he just decided to stay home instead. No one would listen to me. Not Chris, not Cory, not Dad, not Mom. Cyle listened, but didn’t alter his choice to go, believing firmly that our time to die is pre-destined. He believed that he would’ve been hit by a car or something else if he didn’t die on the fishing trip. I think he knew that my flash was correct. He left a long letter for Tasha, Hunter, and his unborn daughter, Harper.
My heart breaks anew at the realization that he never got to hold his baby girl. His beautiful daughter. He left a letter for me saying how much he loved me and that he believed in me. Now, I remember his funeral. Me crying, inconsolable, standing next to his white casket with flowers everywhere—the casket that Chaundra referenced in her vision when we touched. I had assumed she was talking about Mallory. But, it was Cyle. I remember packing up whatever I could fit in my car and leaving my parent’s home as soon as the graveside service was over. I blamed them all for Cyle’s death. For not believing me. For not doing everything in their power to make sure the one person I truly loved in this world was safe and protected.
I drove with no destination in mind. I knew this was where I was supposed to be when I drove through the center of town and saw Cyle standing on a sidewalk, leaning against a lamp post, waving at me. He was gone by the time I could park and get to him. That was the first time I saw him after he died. Somehow, my brain convinced me that he was still alive. That I really had some kind of mental breakdown, convincing me that he’d died. I called his cell phone and he answered. I talked to my supposedly dead brother that day and convinced myself that he was alive. Any other possibility was out of the question. It was never considered. I’ve heard through my years of counseling that DENIAL stands for Don’t Even kNow I Am Lying. I guess that my denial served me well. Throughout the years, I clung to the truth that I could still see Cyle, talk to him, hear about his family. To me, he was alive. The accident, the funeral, my heartbreak was buried deep within…so deep, I couldn’t even see it any more.
Ophelia always pressed me to talk about why I finally decided to leave my parent’s home. I could never pinpoint my exact breaking point, only talking in non-specifics about how my parents never believed me, thought I was a freak, wanted to lock me away…all the usual. Never once did I talk about Cyle’s death. I did talk about Cyle as a living, breathing human being that I assumed had met and spoken with Ophelia. Did she know I could still see him, or did she think I was insane with hallucinations of my dead brother?
My head throbs, like it might burst. My heart shatters into a million tiny slivers. Cyle is dead. Why can’t I see him anymore? Where did he go? I can’t take it anymore and shout, in the loudest voice I can muster. “Cyle!” I tremble as tears stream down my cheeks. I am lost in the sea of my memories until I feel Lily crawl into bed with me. She curls up next to me. I wrap my arm around her and pull her close.
“Tessa no sad,” she says. “Cyle here.”
Chaundra speaks for me. “Where, Lily? Where’s Cyle?”
Lily points to the other side of my bed. “There. Holding Tessa’s hand. He says no be sad.”
I look over to where she’s pointing. I only see the bed rail with the cool gray wall behind it. No Cyle. I close my eyes and try to feel his hand holding mine. I feel nothing. I try to muster up the strength to imagine it, to feel his presence but instead all I feel is air. No Cyle. I’ve lost him somehow. Lost him forever.
Chapter 25
Ophelia comes in later in the afternoon to relieve Chaundra from her “shift” with me. Chaundra ended up calling the nurse and having them give me something to calm me down because I was hysterical. My head was swarming with memories of all of the interactions I’d had with Cyle over the past six years. He was alive to me. I saw him. I touched him. I talked to him. He talked to me. Was the ability to see dead people, like Cyle and Aiden, something I picked up in a flash along the way? If so, where did my ability go? Is anyone else in my life not really alive when I thought they are?
I rouse when I hear Ophelia and Chaundra whispering, about my meltdown I’m sure. Chaundra and the kids give me a hug and tell me they’ll see me later. Again, all that touching and no flashes. Ophelia takes a seat next to the bed.
“So, I heard you’ve had a rough couple of hours,” she says.
I nod, and tears fill my eyes. I write on the pad of paper Did you know about Cyle? Why didn’t you tell me?
“It took me a while to figure it out, but yes, I knew. I did some research and found his obituary, so I pieced it all together,” she says. “I didn’t tell you because he was alive to you. That’s all that matters. He was still there for you when you needed him.”
Where did he go? Why can’t I see him?
“Now that, I’m not sure about. Chaundra said Lily can still see him, so my guess is that he’s right here. Why you can no longer see him, I can’t explain,” Ophelia says.
Another lightning flash with Matthew. I need to tell you about it. I think that’s why.
“Maybe we should wait on that until you can talk,” she suggests.
I need to now. I can’t wait.
“If you’re up to it, you can write it. I know your voice isn’t going to hold out long enough to process everything that happened to you with Matthew. That was quite an ordeal with lots to tell, I’m sure.”
I’ll write. And for the next hour, that’s what I do. I press through the cramp in my hand and fill page after page after page of my experience with Matthew in the woods, ending with the lightning flash. I describe to the best of my ability what I felt happening when I touched him—parts of me leaving, going into him. I write about the images that filled my mind, the colors, the memories. As I write, everything clicks into place. I end my writing with my conclusion: I dumped all the parts of me that I’ve gained through flashes into Matthew. All of them, including my ability to see Cyle.
As I write the last sentence, everything that I remember about that night with Matthew, after the flash, makes sense. He wasn’t talking to me when he was yelling about me being dead. I gave him my ability to see dead people. The “air” I saw him swatting was them. The women he murdered were surrounding him.
I finish and hand the papers to Ophelia, slumping back against the bed and closing my eyes. The exhaustion is almost painful. I know that what I wrote is the truth. Maybe I even dumped the ability to have flashes into him since I’ve had none since the incident. I don’t know how it worked, or why, but for some reason it did. I don’t know what any of this means for me, for my identity, for my future. I’ve wanted to get rid of the flashes my entire life, for as long as I can remember. I’ve struggled to figure out who I am without all of the pieces I’ve acquired from others. I’ve questioned who I really am. I guess, if my theory is correct, I’ll have the chance to find out.
I feel so alone, so broken, now that I don’t have Cyle. It helps to know that Lily still sees him. But as hard as I try to feel his presence, I feel nothing. Just alone and empty. A tear slides past my still closed eyelid down my cheek, leaving a trail of hotness as it falls. I want to disappear. Perhaps, the person I thought I was, already has.
Papers rustle and Ophelia clears her throat. “Tessa?” She says. I open my eyes and look towards her. “There’s so much here we need to talk about. First, let me say, I’m so sorry you had to go through all of that. That must have been one of the scariest experiences of your life.”
I want to tell her she’s wrong. That position would be taken by the way I’m feeling now. Losing Cyle…again. Feeling so alone in this world.
She continues. “We’ll work through all of this in our sessions, I promise, but I kind of want to jump to the end. To what you think happened. You say you feel like you dumped all of the parts into him that you’ve gained from the flashes over the years. Can we test that theory?”
I nod. The first thing she does is reaches out and grabs my hand, holding it tightly.
“Anything?” She asks.
By anything, I assume she means a flash. I shake my head.
“Have you had any flashes since the incident?” Another shake of my head.
“Okay,” she says and hands me the pad of paper and pencil. “I want you to write the following sentence for me in French…I can’t wait to get out of this hospital and be able to sleep in my own bed.”
I pick up the pencil. I write Je but then freeze. This was a task I could’ve completed with ease before. Now, beyond knowing how to write I, I’m drawing a complete blank. I no longer know French.
I can’t, I write instead.
“Interesting. What about smoking? Any desire for a cigarette?”
The thought of a cigarette sounds repulsive to me and actually turns my stomach. I emphatically shake my head.
“Last one. I want you to close your eyes and think about the women as I say their names. First, Mallory,” she says and goes silent giving me time to process. She then says the names of the other four with a long pause after each.
When I open my eyes, tears fall freely down my cheeks. I grab the paper and pencil.
I only feel sad. For them. For their families. No heartbreak over losing Mallory. No desire to have them see me. No desire to kill. No pleasure at the memories of their deaths.
Those feelings all seem so distant. I write.
Ophelia sits back and smiles. “Well, I’d say this is an answered prayer. I think your theory about what happened is correct. You’re fully and only you, for the first time in maybe forever.”
