by Simone Kelly
Trying to dig up intel on a death that was more than twenty-six years old wasn’t going to be easy, but I was up for the challenge. Even though it wasn’t an official case of Like a Fly on the Wall, I thought Vince would be up for bartering. I was sure we could use Jacques’s “Spidey” senses on some of our cases.
It was a quiet evening and I was alone at the office. I was grooving to an old Zhané album while doing research for our latest case. I was reviewing some of the emails Vince had given me for a client’s cheating husband. I felt like I was reading a soap opera.
I was feeling very proud of my progress, picking things up at the agency so fast. The fellas trusted me and it felt good to actually love my new job, not to mention I’d finally gotten Macy’s off my back by catching up with my bill.
A loud ring shook me out of my snooping fun. Jacques’s name showed on the caller ID. I was anxious to hear what he had to say about the latest on his family mystery. To think that I thought I had family drama!
“Hey, Kylie! I can speak freely now. Hicham left and he is actually out to dinner with his . . . his dad. Wow, I can’t believe I just said that.”
“My goodness, so it’s all out. It’s official! Did Benny admit it?”
“Yes, sort of, just not really like we hoped. Hicham nearly punched it out of him. Thank God I was there.”
“Jacques . . . Hicham really sounds like trouble. He might need some serious therapy.” I didn’t think he was wrapped too tight. It’s amazing how opposite he and Jacques were.
“I think we all will need therapy after this ordeal. My mom is gone and my brother’s finding out more than he bargained for. I just have a good feeling about them meeting now, though. I know Hicham is probably going to grill Benny, but I saw him break down and drop his guard. He never does that. They had a big argument and it came out just how much Benny was helping him out behind the scenes all these years. It was some deep shit.”
“Wow, really?”
“Yes, like paying for things—clothes, college, his car. I mean, lots of things! I just thought he was my mom’s favorite and a spoiled brat. Really threw me for a loop to know just how much deceit was going on all these years. My poor dad. I really wonder if he knew when he was alive.”
“Yeah, that’s a lot.” I sighed.
Jacques continued, “I know he definitely knew something after he passed. For years I had visions of him asking me to tell my mom that he forgives her. I never knew what he was talking about. Now I’m wondering is it for the cheating, creating Hicham, or worse?”
“That’s crazy, he was sending you messages from the other side.” I was fascinated.
He said dryly, “For years. I wish I knew sooner.”
I could feel his anger through the phone. What’s worse is, now his mother is no longer alive to explain herself. She can’t defend herself and clean up the story if needed. What a mess! I guess I’m not the only one with a dysfunctional family.
He went on, “Anyway, so sorry to just start rambling about my family drama.”
“Oh no . . . I need to know this stuff. It’s not rambling at all. I’m on the case, remember? I got a few things actually, just a small step in the right direction. Vince knows someone in the NYPD who can help. He’s retired, but well connected. My only problem is that your father’s death was more than twenty years ago, so we’re hoping all the records are still intact. We can get records from the hospital, the death certificate, autopsy report, any police reports, and doctors records that can show any possible medications he was on. From what I understand, a drowning death usually means an autopsy if it was suspicious.”
Jacques said, “Well, after going through my mom’s things, I found his death certificate. It said drowning accident, but also kidney failure.”
“Kidney failure? Maybe he was sick from that and it led to drowning?”
“I don’t know. I never heard my mom mention kidney problems, which I thought was very odd. I definitely want to see if we can get any other records. And you know my girl is a cop, right? She used to work in the Bronx, so I am sure she can help us out, too, with her connections in New York.”
“Well good! Can you text me her number or make the introduction? I know it’s a really tough time for you, Jacques. You are already dealing with one loss and then having to relive another.”
“Yes, it’s definitely the hardest thing I have ever had to deal with. I’ll get you Vicky’s info. And it’s crazy, because in my line of work, I know death is not the end, it’s just a new beginning. However . . . it’s my mom.” His voice cracked. “It was so sudden, so unexpected. She was healthy, nothing was wrong with her. I just saw her. There is so much peace and happiness I feel when I talk to people who have crossed over but . . .”
“But what?”
“I’m really worried about my mom.” He paused. “I haven’t told anyone this. I haven’t had one dream about her yet. I don’t feel her presence. I haven’t heard her yet.”
I urged him on. “What does that mean?” I began to wonder if maybe she was in hell or something and he didn’t want to say it.
“It could mean that her soul hasn’t crossed over. I thought it had, but I keep trying to connect with her and I hear nothing, I feel nothing.”
“Damn . . . so she might be stuck somewhere, you’re saying? Lost?”
“Worst case, I will go see my friend Melissa. She’s a high-level medium. She talks to dead people all day long.”
“Aren’t you a medium?”
“Well, yes and no. I just don’t do it all day. If people ask me or if I see someone—a spirit, that is—trying to talk to my client then I’ll let them know, but that is her specialty and I just think I need someone else to see for me. This is just too hard. I’m going to call her today.” He sighed. I’d never heard Jacques like this before. My heart felt for him.
“Good, I hope she can help you,” I said. I was even thinking maybe someday this Melissa could talk to my dad, too. Who knows? The idea of talking to the dead used to freak me out. Now, after meeting Jacques, not so much.
Seeming to put on a forced chipper voice, he said, “Sooooo, how are you doing, Miss Kylie?”
“Well, I’m glad you asked! When you come back to the M.I.A. I need a reading for sure. I am feeling so confused in the relationship department.”
“Too many men, too little time?” He chuckled, sounding like his old self again.
“Oh, come on! I wouldn’t put it that way. Only two . . . well, three . . . no, really two.”
“Right, see, I know you too well, already! If only all my clients had your troubles. You at least have options.”
“This is true. This is true.” I smiled.
We booked my session for next week. He was coming home in a few days and we were going to meet up and dig deeper on his dad’s case. I couldn’t wait to get some clarity on Breeze and to see if he really had turned over a new leaf.
Chapter 26
Jacques
I don’t know why I trust her so much, but I feel like Kylie is definitely one of my soul mates—not in a lover kind of way, but as a friend. I’m quite sure we’ve had a few past lives together and fate has reconnected us. Having her in my corner feels good. I’m hoping Vicky won’t mind when I bring Kylie in to help with research.
My energy was completely drained. I felt like a day after five readings, which I rarely ever do. Hicham and I had been up for hours packing things in boxes, shredding important docs, and throwing out piles of papers, magazines, paint, pamphlets, and just plain junk. My mother was a “neat” pack rat with things in organized piles. She’d hid a lot in her closets or under the bed, so you couldn’t see it, but she was a hoarder nonetheless.
Going through everything bit by bit was challenging, not just because it was a chore, but because everything had a memory. Everything made me remember her and miss her. It had been only a couple of weeks and I’d been holding it together better than I thought. The sudden loss of a loved one is jarring to one’s soul. I kept
hoping I’d wake up from this nightmare. I kept wondering what really happened. In all this time . . . still nothing. No visions, no dreams, no messages, no visits from her, which was very odd to me.
I was in my mom’s bedroom and as I made more piles of things to give away or trash, I thought about Hicham and Benny at dinner. I was a bit nervous about how Hicham was going to handle it all. A part of me knew it was going to be the beginning of a new friendship. It was the first step of healing a heavy betrayal. Benny definitely let my mom control him. I now believed he’d wanted to claim Hicham as his own all this time. There was no denying it.
I was going through the last box I planned to tackle for the night when Hicham texted me.
HICHAM: We at Benihana. He’s spending bread. Drinks on Daddy. LMAO I’ll see what else I can get him to tell me.
JACQUES: lol Okay, just be easy on him and don’t drink too much.
HICHAM: Whatever. I know how to handle my liquor.
JACQUES: Yeah right, so you say. Okay, I’m about to take a nap. Exhausted. Talk soon.
HICHAM: I’ll holla.
I lay down on the couch; it felt so good to take a break. My body sank deep into the cozy couch and before long visions started flooding in. I was in a dark room at first, until I turned around. I saw books, soooo many books. Piles and piles. Long columns of books. It was as if I had been teleported into the middle of an ancient library of an abandoned city. Only there were no shelves. Just tiny towers of dusty books. I walked gently around them in awe, looking up.
It felt as if I were inside of a Jenga puzzle that might topple over if I just sneezed. I saw books on art, plants, gardening, Paris, recipes. Some titles looked familiar and they were. It hit me! These were my mother’s books. Then I saw some black-and-white composition notebooks like the ones we used in school. I started to walk down an aisle and I must have stepped too hard. One tower began to sway like a tree in the wind. It was at least twenty feet tall. I backed up and tried to turn around to make my escape before it toppled down. Then suddenly the large library shrank. I was now in a small shed. One tower fell rapidly, the books like bombs dropping. The others started to fall down in my direction like dominos; I ran to the gate and tried to lift it to escape, but that made it worse. The loud metal grating sound shattered throughout the room and then all of the books tumbled on top of me. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! It was as if I had been hit with mini torpedoes. I screamed, hoping someone could get me out. I shielded myself as books continued to fall.
“You forgot something, son! You are not done! You’re not done, Jacques.” It was my father’s voice. I was curled up on the floor with books on top of me. I caught a sliver of light through the pile. My father’s hand reached in to pull me out. As he lifted me forward, I felt my body sit up halfway and I was back home on the couch. My eyes opened and I took a gasp of air as if I had been truly buried alive.
I was dazed for a minute and could still feel the pain from the pounding of hardcover books on my body. Then I realized why that had happened. “Books. Mom’s books. I got it. I got it. Mom’s storage unit!” Shit! How could we forget that? My dad was truly incredible. Although he was gone, his soul was so alive.
The next morning, I felt a bit mischievous, like a little boy peeking into places he shouldn’t. It was warm and stuffy inside the storage unit, like it hadn’t been opened in months. I wondered how often Mom actually came here.
I’d gotten there in the nick of time, too. In ten more days everything she had in storage would have been sold in auction. The rent was already three weeks past due and they had strict rules.
After that dream, I started to look through Mom’s receipts, bills, and mail. I couldn’t remember where her unit was, but I vaguely remembered her complaining about how expensive it was. She’d downsized when moving into her last place, as well as closing down her gallery on Bleecker Street. Many things she couldn’t throw out or donate. Being the slight hoarder that she was, she found it painful to part with things.
I planned to see what was in there before I said anything to Hicham. My intuition gave me the urge to investigate but to keep it to myself. When my dad sent me a message, I listened now more than ever. The way the hairs stood up on my arms when I put her key into the lock was my confirmation. I knew. To my surprise there was not as much junk and clutter as in the house. It was about a 5 x 10 space, not too big at all.
There were two Moroccan rugs rolled up in a corner. I remembered seeing them in her old art studio. There were a lot of vinyl albums in open boxes with a light layer of dust over them. To the right were some lamps and random office decor on the shelves, along with some gardening tools, a shovel, and then—there it was. A pile of boxes. About five of them. They were marked PERSONAL/OFFICE/BOOKS. Jackpot!
I used my key to tear through the packing tape on one box to see what was inside. It was full of journals and black-and-white composition notebooks, just like in my vision.
I opened a journal with faded blue ink and crinkled pages. I turned to a random page and read . . .
May 13th
He’s starting it again. This morning Jacques said to me in soft whisper, “The people were playing with me again, Mommy.” He said they are always in the house and asked me if I saw “the people” too. At first I thought it was adorable. Looking into his big brown eyes, I almost wanted to laugh. I thought he was going through that imaginary friend stage they say children go through. But now I do believe he is seeing something. I fear that there are truly ghosts in this place. A young girl who lived here before us died here, we learned from a neighbor. I wish we had known before we moved in!
Olivier mentioned the other night he felt a presence in the kitchen. He thought it was me, then realized I wasn’t home from church yet. I thought he was just trying to frighten me, since he is such a prankster, but now I believe it. I will have to call Father O’Malley to come bless the house, since I don’t want to risk anything happening to any of us, especially Jacques.
Even though he’s only three, he speaks as if he’s much older. Each day he amazes me with his observations of things. He’s wise beyond his years and people constantly say he’s an old soul, or he’s been here before. I don’t believe in that past life rubbish, but Olivier seems to agree with those who do.
Last week, Jacques was resting on my belly and rubbing it, as if he were my husband. It was very odd. He turned to me and held my face with both hands and said, “He will be my best friend again. Just like before.” With his little hand, he patted my belly, kissed it, and started to walk away.
We don’t even know if this baby is a boy or a girl. I asked him what he meant by “before.” He said, “You know, before he got in your belly.” He pointed at my stomach matter-of-factly. Then looked at me as if I was asking him a silly question. It was very strange. He is such a strange child. I never know what to expect from him.
My knees actually softened and I had to find a seat on a crate. The memory put a lump in my throat, because I remembered saying that to her and I remembered exactly what I meant. It knocked me down like a tidal wave. How could I have forgotten? Yes, I was only three. I remembered my little brother was a girl in a past life. He was my best friend and my playmate and I was excited he was coming back in this life as my brother. It made perfect sense to me. All her doubting me forced me to doubt myself. My memories, my visions, were all my imagination—that was what she convinced me to believe.
I looked at another journal—this one bound in black leather. It was dated before Hicham was born. We’d just moved from Morocco to New York.
January 22
I can’t stand the smell of him. I can’t stand his touch. He always smells of cigarettes, cigars, and coffee. Not just in the morning but all of the time. He scared me the last time we made love. He knows. He said to me it felt different, that I was different. He was especially rough with me that evening. I just wanted it to be over and done with. He was holding me harder, more aggressively, and it scared me. He just looked into my eyes as if h
e knew, but he couldn’t prove it. I want out. I can’t bear the guilt for much longer. I don’t know how much longer I can live this lie. I even have to hide my books in the studio so I can have some privacy.
Benny . . . I love. I adore him. I can’t stand one day without speaking to him. It kills me inside knowing he touches Emily every night. That he kisses her and makes love to her. It disgusts me. I am very jealous of her, as much as I hate to admit it.
Just recently, Olivier has been talking about moving us back to Morocco for his family business. That they need him. He can go, but I am not going anywhere and I’m not letting him take Jacques.
Aug 2
I can’t believe we let it happen. I’m pregnant again. I am sure who the father is. I barely let him touch me. Olivier has been so cold to me and rightfully so. I don’t want him near me. His hands are clammy, his stinking breath, I hate how he keeps putting guilt on me about Jacques, since I am at work a lot. He keeps trying to make me stay home.
Last week, he locked me out of my own house! That was the last straw. I’m actually happy to be pregnant now. He locked me out because I came home too late from a church theater performance. We did lose track of time and stayed for a long while in the car after the show. I was so scared when I got home. I was banging and banging and he finally came to the door. He’s become an asshole!
I folded the page back to save my place and picked up another journal. I was taking it all in and I didn’t want to stop. This one almost looked like another person’s writing. The handwriting was fast, intense, and hard as if she was pressing forcefully into the paper.
This entry was about two years after Hicham was born.
October 16th
My art is becoming dark. That’s what one of my customers told me. They seemed to love the depth of it. Sadly, the worse I feel and the more I drink, the better my art has become. There is no permanent relief of sadness, I’m finding. Even the time I escape with Benny is only temporary fleeting moments. One might say that sadness is part of human nature. Leaving would be the solution, but I can’t leave. Not yet. Having Olivier leave me would be ideal. It would be easier.
