Whispering Minds

by A. T. O'Connor

  Collin had said something about two sites, yet I didn’t have time to search for a second one. Due to his frantic need for the flash drives, I suspected everything online was also on the drives I’d stolen. I started with the file of the OCD boy. I rechecked the table of contents, this time keeping Collin’s comments in the forefront of my mind—what was it he’d said? That I had more security guards on the inside than Fort Knox?

  As much as I’d like to, I couldn’t cross something off my list because I didn’t want to have it. A quick review of the disorders took out bipolar and schizophrenia. My traumatic childhood, with the loss of my brother, alcoholic parents and domestic abuse pointed toward Borderline or Multiple personalities.

  The yellow room flickered across my vision. The Baker’s Dozen. Personal Guards. Inner self.

  JayJay crooned—whispering minds, whispering minds—

  I clicked on the Multiple Personality link.

  A case study popped up: the Schoolgirl and the Slut.

  The same gray marbled table from the obsessive-compulsive video filled the screen.

  I walked in wearing a black t-shirt and heavy makeup. A jagged cut slashed across my wrist. My own stitches itched in response.

  I introduced myself as Luna, a member of the Baker’s Dozen who had met online for a psychology project.

  In and of itself, nothing abnormal appeared during the interview. A depressed teen, crying out for help in an unjust world. They were as common as mosquitoes in July.

  After the interview I left. A small clock in the corner of the video counted out the seconds and minutes. The date was December twenty-ninth.

  I returned, this time wearing a gray sweatshirt from PFU.

  The introduction would have been laughable if it wasn’t so painful.

  “My name is Brutus.”

  The Dozen paraded across the screen.

  Pious Angel.

  School Girl Daisy.

  JayJay—immature and boisterous.

  Indie in her leather, excited about videotaping a commercial. The Slut.

  My skin crawled at the possibility.

  I could not be thirteen different people. It defied logic. The texts from Luna. Our online community.

  We were never on at the same time. Brutus.

  You always came late to the party, Angel said apologetically.

  Luna called me.

  Before I could think that through, Rae came on with her knitting needles telling the camera that Fell didn’t have time to attend the dream interview.

  So that’s how he got them—me—there, by hiding behind my psych experiment.

  But how did he know about my multiple personalities in the first place?

  Easy. We spent nearly a week with him.

  For one week, we’d been held prisoner by Collin’s booze so he could tear apart our world and our minds. We’d cowered together—multiple fragments of one whole—listening to Collin pound on the door of our yellow room. Fell had stood guard, flinching with each blow, yet refusing to let him in. The door handle had rattled repeatedly, and the curtain had stirred in the stillness. We’d held our collective breath for fear that it would blow the drapes open and let the outside in.

  Despite our best efforts, it had. And the outside shone a light on our imperfections, highlighting the split within ourselves and the bond that held us together. One body, thirteen minds.

  A fact Collin had captured for the whole world to see.

  I watched myself walk up to the table and sit down. I was poised, normal. Me. I opened my mouth and the screen went blank. Unable to watch more, I’d pulled the flash drive.

  Who else knew? Granny? Travis? Who only guessed?

  I wiped my hands on my jeans to dry the dampness.

  Who else thought I was a freak?

  Nobody.

  That’s why we’re here.

  “I don’t want you.” I shouted in the quiet room. Chrissy still didn’t stir. “I never asked you to come here.”

  Oh, but you did.

  You needed us. Made us. Molded us.

  We protected you.

  You called us.

  I shook my head. “How long have you been here?”

  Forever

  “…and always?”

  Exactly.

  We are you and you are us.

  The spider coming home to rest.

  The pieces didn’t come together. I needed to see them, talk to them. Know them. “Can we go to the yellow room?”

  The yellow room is gone.

  “No it’s not. Not any more than before I knew it was real.”

  We can try.

  “You do that.”

  I went to my room and curled up on the bed, cuddling Fluff Bunny under my arm. The blue and red curtains fluttered in my memory. I tried to focus on the train tracks or the rocking chair, but could get no solid image. The knowledge of my disorder had brought to light my sanctuary and now it was stripped from me. I heard voices, but couldn’t see the Dozen.

  “Luna?”

  She’s not here.

  “What do you mean she’s not there? If she’s me and I’m her, shouldn’t she always be there?”

  Maybe.

  It doesn’t always work that way.

  “Who else is missing?”

  Fell and James.

  “Is he ever there?”

  No. James never comes out. Luna sometimes, but never James.”

  We just feel him the same way you do.

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  Does it have to?

  I laughed, a nervous sound in the quiet room. “I guess not. Who’s in charge?”

  JayJay sang in the background of my mind. A quiet verse against the silence of the Dozen.

  “Well?”

  Fell, I guess.

  She…manages us.

  Even if we get away from her sometimes.

  “Explain that, please.”

  She’s our gatekeeper. But sometimes Indie slips out, you know, for fun.

  She’s naughty.

  Hey, I’m right here. Sheesh, nothing like talking about someone like they don’t exist.

  “Do you exist?” My question was aimed toward Indie and her comment.

  Einstein answered. Do you?

  I nodded.

  How do you know?

  “Because I just am. I can see, feel, taste, hear. Do things. I’m real.”

  So are we.

  “But I have a body.”

  And so do we, when Fell lets us.

  When you let us.

  My head ached. It was so loud in the room, and yet when I opened my eyes to the night-light gray, I was the only one in there. Reality threatened to consume me. As impossible as it seemed, I could no longer avoid the facts. Within me, resided more entities than I dreamed possible.

  But is that such a bad thing?

  Obviously. It made me a freak. According to Collin, it put my face, or rather, the many faces of me, on a website for the whole world to see. I imagined coeds across the country riveted to the screen. Dirty old men in their lounge chairs and gaping women—moms, good clean wholesome women—shocked yet too fascinated to turn away. I was a train wreck.

  “No.” My voice was loud in the room. Louder than the voices inside me. “I’m not a wreck. I’m a survivor.

  “And I’m in control.” I closed my eyes and pulled the blanket up to my chin. “Did you hear that, Fell? I’m in control. Not you. Not Luna. Me. Just me. Bach, music, please.”

  Chapter 34

  The soothing sounds of a lullaby filled my mind. It was comforting, yet underneath it the quiet sounds of crying grated on my nerves like a metal fork scraping against teeth. My dreams were a replay of all I had learned. The circumstances of my birth. My carefree childhood with Jimmy and Travis before the terrible accident that tore Jimmy from my life. As the truck careened toward the tree, I tried to change the outcome, willing a tire to blow and slow the vehicle before the fatal crash. I failed and startled awake with the sound
of Jimmy’s cries ringing in my ears.

  Exhausted though I was from a mere three hours of sleep, morning brought determination. I was not going to let this destroy me. I was not going to be the victim. Most of all, I was not going to be a freak. I’d continue to piece together my past until I was whole again, and maybe, if I was lucky, I would earn back Trav’s love.

  I sat on the couch with a mug of vanilla chai and my treasure boxes. Nobody would save me from myself. Only I could do that. I slit the tape on the first box and opened the flaps. A seashell from a trip to the ocean, rocks from the garden, childhood trinkets, crayon pictures and birthday cards spilled out. My writing was wobbly, kindergarten or first grade. One picture drew my attention.

  A boy with dark hair and two long braids over his shoulders holding the hand of a girl with matching blonde braids. A rainbow arched over their heads. The words on the paper were bold and sure.

  To Gemi.

  By Travis.

  Tears trickled down my cheek and landed on the page. Our hands darkened and the spider-like legs of our fingers stretched out. I pushed aside the urge to call Travis and opened the next box. The crayon pictures turned to notebooks. Journals of sorts. The lone trinket was a miniature green feather. When I held it up to the light, it shimmered.

  A hummingbird feather.

  I closed my eyes and willed the memory to come to me. Encountered resistance. Opened my heart instead of my mind. I was ready to reclaim what was mine.

  * * *

  The same emerald shimmer lay on the ground in a puff of feathers. Mesmerized, I stepped closer, only to be pulled back by a hand.

  Don’t step on the tracks, Gemi. You’ll burn up just like the bird and die. Jimmy.

  Tears rolled down my cheeks.

  Travis—maybe seven or eight—stepped over the tracks. He was bigger than Jimmy. Way bigger than me. When he returned, he opened his hand and showed me the treasure. One tiny feather lay in his palm. I reached out to take it and watched his hand close over my own. Small and white against his tanned fingers. His heat traveled up my arm and into my heart.

  He leaned in close, plucked a leaf from my hair and whispered, “He’s wrong, Gem, hummingbirds never die. They fly to their new home at the bottom of Emerald Lake. Grandpa Clarence says that as long as we believe, it’s a magical place, kind of like heaven.”

  The memory of his breath against my neck was physical. My skin flushed where his words touched me, his promise seared into my skin. “I’ll take you there some day. I promise.”

  I closed the box. When I started digging, my search had been for Jimmy. Instead, I found Travis and a love so deep it stretched across a life I didn’t remember living. And it was Travis I longed for. Jimmy was gone forever. I refused to let the same thing happen to Travis.

  * * *

  From the back of the house, the toilet flushed. I slid the boxes under the end table and refilled my mug in the kitchen. I started a pot of coffee for Chrissy and got out the toaster. My mind wandered to Travis the morning after Granny died. I wished I could go back to that moment. That and thousands of others when I could have pulled him to me, really invited him in, and returned the love he had shared so easily with me.

  Footsteps padded down the hall and across the tile into the kitchen.

  I hadn’t decided how to play it with Chrissy this morning. I wasn’t sure how much of Collin’s burden Chrissy should bear. Other than bringing him here, she had done nothing to me. In the end, it was I who brought her here in the first place.

  “Gemini?” Her voice was surprisingly clear.

  I kept my face blank, and turned.

  “I’m sorry about your door.” She walked over and took the proffered cup of coffee.

  “I hope you don’t mind black because that’s all I have. I still haven’t gone shopping yet. Things just seem to get in the way.”

  She sank into a chair at the table. When she looked my way, she flashed a weak smile. “And I’m one of those things.”

  I took my mug to the table and sat across from her. For having consumed half a bottle of vodka, she looked pretty good. “I won’t deny that you’ve added a certain confusion to my life right now.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask where I went yesterday?”

  I blew into my tea and let the steam rise between us, buying me time. I shrugged. “You don’t owe me an explanation. In fact, I’m kind of surprised you came back. Why’d you do that?”

  “I wanted you to know that nothing happened between you and Collin.”

  My laugh came out dry despite the tea I just swallowed. The videos indicated otherwise. “I doubt that very much, but I appreciate you trying.”

  “Are you going to turn him in?”

  “For what? You told me yourself he was legal. Signed contracts and all with legally aged…uhm…models.” I sipped my tea, letting my gaze fall to her hands.

  Her fingernails were ragged and chewed to the quick. “Not you. I already told you that you were different.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. But why rat him out?”

  Chrissy sighed. “Because you deserve to know. And make your own choices.”

  “What about you? What choice do you have?”

  Her eyes roamed around the kitchen with a look of longing. It was one I recognized from Mom when she saw a new trinket at the antique shops. “Not many choices, just dreams.”

  “And?”

  She pulled herself up in her chair. “I want what you have.”

  Funny, everyone wanted Granny’s house lately. “It’s not mine. Not really.”

  Chrissy laughed. The sound was pure and a confirmation that she was sober. “Not your house. Or your family. Nothing material. You have a peace and self-assurance inside that I would give anything for.”

  I threw my napkin and snorted. “That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. Do you know anything about me?”

  “I know you said no to Collin. Nobody does that to him.”

  A shiver of fear slid down my back. “What happens now? Will he hunt me down?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. I bet he wouldn’t if you returned the flash drives, though. Do you have those?”

  The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I’d been waiting for her to betray me to save her brother. I measured my words and watched Chrissy carefully to gauge her reaction. “Yes.”

  She nodded. One slow bob. Her hair fell forward and covered her eyes. She pushed it back. Her eyes sought mine. “You might want to give them to the cops instead. It’s the only way he’ll stop.”

  I reached across the table and took her hand in my own. It was cold despite having been wrapped around the mug. “Will he come back?”

  Chrissy gave me a measured look. “If he thought they were still here, yes. But if he knew for sure they were gone…”

  I stood up. “Well, they will be. Today.”

  “Don’t be angry with me. I’m done with him, Gemini. Or at least I want to be.”

  “But?”

  “But I need help.”

  I sighed. “I can’t help you.”

  “You have to.”

  “No. I don’t. I have enough to worry about without you.”

  “You brought me here.”

  “My mistake.” I scribbled a phone number on a sheet of paper and handed it over. “Give Clarence a call.”

  Chrissy dropped her eyes to examine her coffee. After a pause, she jutted her chin up and locked eyes with me. “I heard that video this morning, your multiple personality one, and just want you to know that I had no idea about that. You do crazy well.”

  The mug slipped from my hands and crashed to the floor, sending pieces skittering across the tile. The blackness that consumed me in my kitchen with my dad returned. My voice came out low and threatening. “I am not crazy.”

  “It would be too bad if people found out about it.”

  I picked up a shard from the floor. If it’s in your way, remove it.

  Chapter 35

  My hand ti
ghtened into a fist. I fought with Brutus for control.

  You’re just a name. An emotion.

  He was the strength, the protector. He kept us safe through his anger at our situation. He kept us from getting bullied, even as he bullied. It’s why he was so big.

  The memories came to me as the Dozen opened up and shared their roles, rather than shielding me from what might otherwise be painful.

  Luna, fearful and hurt. She stood in front of my dad and took the abuse that was intended for me. The names. The degradation. The pain. Her sole existence was one of suffering.

  Bach’s soothing music to calm me. His fingers on my oboe, providing me with music awards that would hopefully turn into a scholarship. My fingers playing the piano at Granny’s funeral, releasing my inner turmoil at being left behind yet again.

  My straight A’s throughout school, thanks to Einstein who pushed everything aside and worked out physics problems when I had no clue what x or y meant.

  Rae, my voice of reason. Daisy, my optimism. JayJay, bringing me childish joy that had otherwise eluded me. The poetry that made sense of my frustration.

  Angel, sweet Angel, in her soothing voice praying to the triune God.

  Indie—cradling a bottle of booze in my lap—begging for love no matter who it came from.

  Names for different parts of me. Brought out, not in one fell swoop, but rather managed by Fell, my gatekeeper, to keep me sane.

  I dropped the broken shard into the trash and let go of my anger. There was nothing wrong with me. I was a whole person made up of separate parts. Psychologists called it the id, ego and super ego. They named emotions and called them Fear, Hate, Love and Compassion. I called them by different names.

  When I looked around the kitchen, I was alone. Chrissy had left. After cleaning the mess, I resumed my search of the third treasure box. In a notebook filled with drawings, poetry and journal entries, I found all of me. In them, my alters recounted forgotten moments of my middle school years. It had been a mostly happy time while I lived with Granny, but occasionally, an entry indicated that I had far more angst than I should have.