“Good girl,” Paul said. “Now, think hard. Remember this journal? Hold it. Think about it.” She opened her eyes and reached for the journal. She squinted down in an attempt to make out the embossed letters on the corner of the leather cover in the dark. PB.
“PB. Paul Black,” she whispered. “This is yours?” She shook her head side to side as if that would help put things into perspective. “Why is it under my mattress? I don’t . . .”
For the third time that night, Paul cautiously reached towards Jillian and grabbed her hand. This time he pulled her softly towards the bed, and she followed. He sat down first and then patted the space right next to him. Jill warily sat, but not where he had indicated. She sat as far away as the small space would allow, still wrapped in sheets and acutely aware of her nudity. “Open it. Read it. It will explain a lot, but not everything. You need to fill in the gaps, but it should set your mind at ease. Well, at least that’s what I hoped when I gave it to you last week.”
Jill was looking down at the journal and abruptly met his gaze. “This is my handwriting?” He didn’t answer, and she continued to read. “I saw you yesterday?”
He nodded and gestured to the journal. He reached across the bed and turned on the lamp.
Her heart began to pound when she saw her handwriting and she couldn’t remember having written it. It was a letter to herself. It explained, in summary, about the island. Suddenly she looked up, her hand on her throat. “Six months!” She gasped, her hand tightening around her neck. “Oh my God!”
Paul reached forward and unwound one finger at a time. Her mouth was still open at the revelation. “Try to keep your voice down, Jill. Keep reading,” he instructed. Jill looked down and kept reading. When she got to the part that said Paul was a decent man, she looked up at him, as if searching for the decency, the goodness, but without any expression, she looked back down and continued reading. She turned the page and saw one of Helen’s quotes. A lump formed in her throat, and tears threatened to seep out. She closed her eyes and tried to focus. She needed to understand. Was this all a lie? She wasn’t sure whether to trust Paul, but the journals were in her handwriting, and if she could just remember . . .
“Jillian. Think hard. Focus. I was here. We talked. I explained everything. Can you remember?” She shook her head, eyes still closed. “Can you at least remember me giving you this?” He pointed at the journal. She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then flashes of some memory played in her mind: Paul sneaking into her room. Jill completely startled. Jill hurling her hairbrush at his head. Jill hugging Paul. Paul explaining something to Jill. Paul handing her the journal. It was like snippets of flashbacks that alone meant nothing. She needed to put all those snippets together, but it hurt. Physically, her chest pained from all that she seemed to have forgotten and wanted—no needed—to remember. One by one each flashback made itself known until it made sense.
“Yes, I remember.” She looked up. “I don’t remember a lot, but I remember you, and I remember hitting you?” She looked up and reached forward to run her fingers through his hair, feeling for the lump where the brush made contact with his head.
He winced when she found it. “Ow.”
“Sorry,” Jill said, tucking her hand back around her sheet. “Give me a second.” She pushed off the bed, the sheets wrapped around her body, grabbed some clothes from a drawer, and went to the bathroom. A few minutes later, she was back wearing navy-blue silk pajama pants and a button-down pajama shirt. Paul still sat in the same spot. This time, she sat a little closer.
“Can you please explain, again?”
“What do you want to know?”
“God, that’s a loaded question, Paul. Everything. I want to know everything. I think you told me everything yesterday, but I don’t seem to remember it all.”
“Read it. Your notes will help you remember more than I ever would. You need to make an effort to remember on your own. Otherwise, you’ll never get out of here.”
“I don’t understand. Get out of here? It said in the journal I’ve been here almost six months, but that can’t be.”
“It’s true You’ve been here for six months. Imprisoned.”
“Imprisoned?”
“He’s giving you pills every day, Jillian. You must stop taking any medicine he gives you. Even if he says they’re pain relievers, vitamins, anything, they are for the purpose of whatever it is he’s using to keep you here. You’re both psychic—”
“You knew that?”
“Yes. You, Rocco, and his brother Josef. Because of your genetic link. I’m also fairly certain that he can alter your mood somehow. You must have noticed?”
She shook her head. Her eyebrows furrowed, and her teeth worried her bottom lip. Paul reached forward and pinched her bottom lip and gently pulled it out of the grips of her teeth then continued to speak.
“When he’s around, you’re not worried or scared, when you have so many reasons to be, Jillian. You’ve been here for six months, and you haven’t tried to escape. Every morning you wake up confused and scared, and then you see him and all the fears melt away. Then, to add insult to injury, he tells you that you are free to leave at any time. He gains your trust: he’s just your father who wants to spend quality time with his daughter. He wants to teach you these wonderful things that will help you rein in your psychic spells. That’s what he tells you every single day. You wander out of the house, resolved to leave. With every fiber of your being, you are determined to leave, then . . .” Paul stopped for a moment and looked at Jillian, who held her breath. “Then, Jillian, you just don’t. You don’t leave.” She let out the breath. “For some reason I can’t explain, you wander to the garden, see a wayward butterfly or a flower, get distracted, and that’s it—your thoughts about leaving disappear into thin air. Of course it has something to do with Rocco or Josef. You get distracted by anything that moves—the ocean breeze, the horses—it’s not just the pretty flowers. One day turns into another, and suddenly, it’s been six months.”
Jillian’s heart began to race, and her eyes teared up. She placed an arm out to Paul’s chest to stop him from getting any closer, and her body folded over, trying to control her gagging reflex. She couldn’t fathom what he’d just told her. It was too much. Paul didn’t move. He was allowing her to have her moment. How many of these moments had he witnessed? Her sweaty palms were shaking against his chest. She stood up, suddenly, her spine straight. She needed to get out of there while she still remembered. “I . . . Oh, my God. I need to get out here. I need to find Alexander.” She jerked up to her feet and released her grip on Paul. “Or, no. I don’t. He’s moved on.” She slumped forward as she remembered her vision.
Paul held her by her upper arms, blocking her escape. “No,” he said, sternly. “You can’t leave. I’m so sorry about Alexander. If your vision is right, I am truly sorry, but you can’t leave here, not yet. You aren’t ready. If you walk out of this room with the information I just gave you, they will drug you and really hold you captive, and I don’t mean this bullshit mind manipulation. I mean chains, handcuffs, and dungeons. You need to be smart. I have a plan, but you can’t leave today.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“It’s all in the journal. Read it. I’ve explained it to you a few times. Once you read it, you’ll understand that everything I did, I did to protect you, not to hurt you.” He bent down and kissed her gently on the forehead. “I should go. It’s almost morning, they’ll come up to look for you.. Don’t forget to read your journal and write in it.” Then Paul was gone.
Jill reached deep between her mattress and pulled out her journal. She read all the previous pages of notes. The notes went back over a few weeks; meaning, this was not her first interaction with Paul. She noticed that besides the notes she kept on the story Paul was telling her about Rocco and Josef, she also wrote down a daily quote from Helen. It seemed to center her, bring her back to the present, and keep her functional and lucid, but tonight she was angry, and sh
e took it one step further. She couldn’t forget Rocco had imprisoned her, lied to her, hurt Paul, and kept her from Alexander. She needed to remember this feeling, so right after reading the last few pages of Helen’s saying, she added something different, something that, ironically, she’d heard Rocco say one time in passing, something to help prepare her for battle:
If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the results of a hundred battles.
-Sun Tzu
Chapter 9
Alexander
You can close your eyes to things you don't want to see, but you can't close your heart to the things you don't want to feel.
-Helen
Wednesday, six months earlier . . .
Alexander parked his motorcycle and tucked his helmet under his arm. He wore his mirrored sunglasses, dark blue jeans, and a tight black Henley. Two women walked by him, and he noticed that one looked up and smiled at him. It was a smile full of promise. It was the kind of smile that a few months ago would have caused him to approach said girl, make small talk, and head back to his apartment, or hers, and have some quick no-commitment fun. But he didn’t smile back. The only smile he wanted was the one that waited for him inside that coffee shop. Although, Firecracker Jill would probably not be smiling today. He could picture her now: stomping out of the coffee shop, tapping her feet, with red cheeks and narrowed eyes. Her fiery red hair would be tucked behind her ears as a curl irritatingly escaped and tickled her eye—which she would then fight with by tucking it back behind her ear, only to have it break free again. She’d then poke him in the chest while arguing about Miriam and/or the ultimatum he had given her. She’d still hop right on his bike and wrap her delicious thighs and arms around him all the way back to his apartment, where they’d argue some more, and then he’d ultimately apologize and show her how great make-up sex was. He was getting hard just thinking about it.
Alexander leaned back against his bike, arms crossed. Jill could be a giant pain in his ass, but so could he. He knew he had been a total dick on Monday. It had just caught him by surprise. How could she think, for one second, that he’d cheat on her? He waited for Jill at their usual meeting place, outside her favorite coffee shop. This was a ritual of theirs. They never planned it. It was never talked about. It was understood. Every Wednesday, she’d finish class earlier than he did, she’d walk the half block to the coffee shop, and she’d wait for him while she sipped coffee. He would see her through the big front window, and she would flash him a big heart-stopping smile and make her way to him, oblivious to any and all men checking her out. Her eyes would be only on him—his on her.
She may have still been mad, but hell if he wasn’t going to pick her up and make it better. He wasn’t used to dealing with jealous girlfriends, but Jill wasn’t just any girl. She was the girl, and she wasn’t a liar. If Jill said that Miriam had told her she was his girlfriend, he should have believed Jill. What was he thinking defending Miriam? Why would Jill lie? And detoxing-Miriam could be an evil vindictive bitch. What the hell had he been thinking? Dumb ass!
But, in his defense, didn’t Jill know he’d fuck up a few times during their relationship? It was inevitable. It was par for the course with him. He wouldn’t hurt her on purpose, but screw up—yep, that was bound to happen. As soon as Jill hopped on the back of his bike, he would explain the way things would work from here on out. He loved her, always had, always would, but at times, he could be a total idiot, and she would have to forgive him for his frequent stupidity. No need to get all bent out of shape and linger on a fight that at the end they both knew was his fault. They’d be making up soon. Oh. Making up equals make-up sex. Nice. His mind went elsewhere for a few moments.
Another ten minutes went by. The make-up sex thoughts had gotten him all worked up, and he was anxious to begin the groveling and move on to the make-up sex. Was she being stubborn? He pushed himself off the bike and walked into the coffee shop. It was small, only four tables and a few chairs. He made a quick scan of the room and saw she wasn’t there. A woman he didn’t know was walking out of the bathroom, so he knew she wasn’t there either. Stubborn woman! She wasn’t there. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail.
“Jill, I’m waiting for you. Where are you?”
Another ten minutes passed. He called her again, and again it went to voicemail. “Are you screening my calls? Babe, call me. Where are you?”
Another fifteen minutes passed.
Damn it. “Stubborn-ass woman,” he swore out loud as he put his helmet back on and revved up his motorcycle. If she was going to be stubborn, he was too. He went home. He knew that he should’ve gone to her apartment, but if space was what she wanted, space was what she would get.
He sent her a quick text as soon as he parked in front of his apartment.
Alexander: Waited forty-five minutes. Call me when you’re ready to talk. I’ll give you some time to cool off. Ball’s in your court.
Even he knew he was being ornery. One minute his thoughts lingered on all sorts of fun sexy things, and now he was going home like a stubborn ass.
One day turned into four. A long, torturous, agonizing, frustrating, punch-the-wall-and-do-stupid-things, four days. It was now Sunday night. He had left message after message, text after text. He had hounded Heather, who had been out of town during spring break and who was obviously covering for Jill’s whereabouts.
Sunday night, his phone rang right before he was about to go to bed. He’d see Jill tomorrow at school, and if she thought they’d been arguing, that week—she had no idea what arguing was. Now, he was pissed. They couldn’t have a real relationship based on her ignoring him for a week.
“Alex?”
“Heather?”
“Yeah it’s me,” Heather replied. “I’m worried about Jill. After you called on Thursday and told me what happened between the two of you, I thought that maybe she needed to cool off for a few days, so it didn’t surprise me when she didn’t return my calls, but I’ve been back in town all day, and she isn’t here, and her phone goes straight to voicemail.”
“What? I thought you’d been trying to cover for her. I didn’t really think she was missing.”
“Well, I was covering for her, or at least I thought I was, the first few days. When she didn’t return my calls, I just thought she was mad at you, and being that you were a jerk, I didn’t pay much attention. Since I was out of town, I just . . . I didn’t . . . You two tend to fight, like all the time, so I kind of didn’t pay it much attention, but now I’m back and she’s not here. The weird thing is that all her things are here. Her car’s even parked outside. No matter how mad she may be at you, she would’ve at least called me back.”
“Shit. I’m calling Oliver to—”
“I called him already. He hasn’t heard from her either. He was just boarding to leave for Japan but is going to try to call her again when he arrives.”
“Fuck,” he said in a drawled-out whisper then louder, “FUCK!”
“I think we need to call the police,” Heather said.
“Call them. I’ll be right over. I can’t believe I wasted a week. Fuck! I’m calling Rocco.”
“Okay. I’ll see you in a little while,” Heather said, frantically.
He hung up and dialed Rocco. “Taylor? It’s Alexander.”
“Hello, Alex.”
“Where’s Jill?” he asked straight to the point.
“Jill? I have no idea. I haven’t seen her.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Rocco. Where the hell is she?”
“I am serious, Alex. She hasn’t been by. I haven’t seen her.”
“Since when?”
“Since we had brunch.”
“That was over a week ago.”
“Yes,” Rocco agreed. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“This past Monday. We had a seminar at school, and that was the last time I saw her.”
“And now is when you’re calling? That’s almost
a week ago, son.”
“I’m not your son. Don’t call me that,” Alexander barked. “I’m aware that it was almost a week ago. She was mad at me, and when she gets mad, she tends to retreat and ignore me. I just figured she needed time to cool off. Damn it! I’m calling the police.”
“I have a lot of resources. Let me make some calls—”
“Let me make it clear, just in case I haven’t been. I don’t trust you. I don’t like you. You better not be lying. If one hair on her head is out of place and I find out you had anything, anything at all, to do with it, I will find you myself and make you pay.” Rocco said something, but Alexander had already hung up the phone.
He raced over to meet Heather. The door was open, and Heather stood by the frame, her arms crossed, worry marring her face.
“Well?” she said as she gave him a quick hello hug.
“Rocco says he hasn’t seen or heard from her and offered all his resources to help find her. I think he’s lying. I don’t trust him.”
“I don’t either.”
“He denied having seen her, but I’m sure he has something to do with it.”
“Maybe he’s covering for her. Maybe she’s just hiding out there for a few days to get over . . .”
“To get over me? To get over our fight?” Alexander asked, annoyed.
Heather nodded, sheepishly.
“No. No way. She wouldn’t be so mad that she’d bail on school. She’d at least call you or Oliver and let you guys know where she was. She may be stubborn, but she would never want you guys worrying about her.”
“I guess that’s true,” Heather agreed.
Heather had already called the police, so by the time Alexander arrived, the police were already there. A tall slender man asked a number of questions and requested a recent photo of Jill. He told them that a detective would likely be assigned. He also explained that in many cases of missing adults the person wasn’t missing. The person left of his/her own volition. After Heather and Alexander explained over and over that Jill wouldn’t do that, the officer finished his report and left.
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