Personal Demons

by Rachel A. Collett

  “Sure.” I turned back around and went in the direction that I was told to go. After heating the meals, I carefully balanced them on my right arm and pinched the two cups of water together at the top with my other hand. On the way back I nearly rammed straight into Benjamin’s nurse, spilling water all over the floor and almost dropping the food.

  “Sarah, I’d rather not have to treat you for burns resulting from a lasagna spill,” she teased, grabbing the plates from my arm and calling to a nearby custodian to help with the mess.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling foolish as the custodian mopped the water. “Thank you for your help.”

  “No problem, honey. You go get some more water, and I’ll take this in to Cheryl for you.” I nodded and returned into the breakroom.

  “Well, hello Jonathan.”

  I stopped dead in my tracks at the mention of his name.

  “Hello, beautiful. Can I help you with that?”

  Peeking past the door, I saw a man standing only yards away.

  “You’re so sweet, Jonathan,” Nurse Lori answered, “but I think I have it covered.”

  Jonathan looked like a men’s fashion model, his hands in the pockets of his faded blue jeans. He leaned casually against the wall next to a window overlooking the parking lot.

  His voice lowered into a deep caress. “Well, you let me know if you think of anything. I am always willing…”

  Jealousy stabbed, quick and deadly, as I felt the seductive longing in his words. But why would I be jealous? I shook my head as a chill of revulsion went up my spine.

  “Hmm,” Lori said softly. “I may be able to find something for you to do.” I blushed at the double meaning behind her reply.

  Jonathan’s smile twisted at the corner, one eyebrow rose slightly before he gazed back out the window. He was neither surprised nor ignorant of the effect he had on Lori.

  Water pattered on the floor around me. My hands were shaking. I set down the cups on the closest counter and went for the paper towels to clean up my second spill.

  Something was wrong with Jonathan. There were too many sides to him. I realized that, as foolish as it sounded, I had to see him again. I had to look at him in the eyes and see…

  What would you need to see? Again my dad’s voice came into my head, allowing me to process my feelings better.

  Frustrated, I threw away the wet towels and grabbed the cups, waiting just in front of the door. A small part of me needed to see his reaction to me, needed to see if there was anything that could connect my dream to reality.

  Could that be possible?

  Squaring my shoulders, I forcefully strolled out of the breakroom, taking the route that would bring me as close to Jonathan as possible. I looked over at him and saw him watching. In an effort to taunt, I lifted a brow as if oblivious to his observation, but there was no flicker of recognition, no supernatural connection as he politely nodded and looked away. Filled with frustration, I fought the urge to confront him.

  And confront him about what? A dream?

  Cheryl ate her lasagna and related the events of her morning with Benjamin. Being with him was really helping her; she seemed more at peace. I sat quietly listening as best as I could, but my mind continued to fume. Why didn’t Jonathan just go home? Why did he have to be here? Didn’t he have a job?

  The rest of the week went on in a similar fashion. Every day after school I spent my half-day with Benjamin; sometimes Jonathan would be there, sometimes not. But every single night, he peered into my dreams, and every single morning I would wake looking for his eyes.

  5

  Building A Bridge

  The aroma of shoes and dirty carpet assaulted my senses. A man collided with my shoulder, knocking my purse to the ground. Without as much as an excuse me, he continued on his way, talking on his cell phone. I muttered a silent curse.

  I hated airports. My father had instilled in me a strong loathing from the time I was young. Crowds made my dad uncomfortable. Crowds fostered confusion, and combined together they governed the terminal. I didn’t tell Cheryl about my misgivings. It was nonsensical. She needed my support, and as we walked into the hoarding mass of the day’s commuters, I tried to appear calm. Besides, did my dad’s fear have to be my own?

  “I don’t know why, but I’m nervous,” Cheryl admitted, breaking the tension. “Silly, right? But you know, this is good. It will give us a little break and some time to spend together.” She playfully nudged me with her elbow and smiled, but it was only a surface emotion.

  I glimpsed a clock. We were right on time, and even better, so was the plane. My nerves wouldn’t handle the anxiety much longer. What would Benjamin’s mother be like, and more importantly, would she be the end of our time together?

  A red-haired woman walked my direction, deadly in her stiletto heels. Her high fashion jewelry and expensive bag drew green-eyed attention from gawkers. Please don’t be Judi. Please don’t be Judi. I breathed a sigh of relief when she blew past.

  “Cheryl. How do we find—?” I stopped as she pulled a folded poster from her bag.

  While she held the printed name BRADSHAWS over her head, I clamped my mouth shut, trying not to laugh.

  “You’re not embarrassed, are you?” One brow lifted, daring me to make fun.

  I shook my head. “Never.”

  “Cheryl!” A woman with bleached blonde hair pulled in a messy bun waved as she pushed her way through the crowd. She walked to Cheryl, grabbing her into a hug.

  Cheryl returned her embrace with an awkward pat to the back.

  “And this must be Sarah,” Judi said and snatched me into her arms. My breath flew out in an audible whoosh. Was there such a thing as too much affection? If so, I was coming dangerously close to my limit.

  “You sweet, wonderful girl.” Judi released me, smoothing her disheveled hair. “Alright. I need to see my son.

  After dropping Judi at the hospital, there was nothing to do but go home. It felt strange, the both of us entering Cheryl’s house together. Our routine had been broken, and now we didn’t know what to do with ourselves.

  Two days passed without a single word from Ben’s mother. No courtesy call to inform us of Benjamin’s condition or give us updates from the doctors. Cheryl had told me to give her space, but what defined space? Were we to stay away until she left? Was that entirely fair?

  I clicked off whatever TV show I happened not to be viewing and launched the remote to the side. Ignoring Cheryl’s advice, I drove to the hospital.

  When I arrived, Judy was draped in her chair with her head tipping awkwardly on the back and her mouth hanging open. One foot extended towards the end of Benjamin’s bed and the other draped over the side of the arm rest. I gently laid my hand on her shoulder, waking her.

  “Sarah. How long have you been here?” she asked, wincing as she sat up.

  “I just arrived.”

  She peered over at Benjamin, her expression clouded. “I don’t know what I expected when I got here, but I guess I hoped I would be able to…” She stopped, lost for words.

  “Help him come out of it?”

  Her mouth lifted into a sad smile. “Is that silly?”

  “No. It’s what I thought before I saw Ian die.”

  Her head jerked my direction. “I’m so sorry, Sarah.”

  I only nodded.

  A few minutes later Judi left to rest at her hotel. A wave of ease washed over me as I listened to the soft rhythm of my patient’s heart and felt the warmth of his skin. I removed Rebecca from my bag and located the spot where we left off.

  We were almost to the end when my cell phone interrupted. I hesitated before answering the unknown number.

  “Sarah, I’m outside in front of the parking lot. Come talk to me.” Even though I recognized the voice as my father’s, it didn’t make sense that it would really be him. Aside from the promised nightly text messages, I hadn’t spoken to him in weeks.

  “You’re here?” I asked, but he had already hung up. />
  My dad sat waiting on an outside bench, arms resting on his knees, hands clasped together again as if in prayer. His salt-and-pepper hair was unusually uncombed, and his face had at least a week’s worth of stubble.

  “You failed to mention this in your text messages.” His hands pushed off his knees, and he leaned back, waiting for an explanation.

  My mouth clamped down in anger. Is this what he had come for? To yell at me again?

  Dad cocked his head to the side, considering me. “I went to see you at Cheryl’s house. When she told me where you were and what you have been doing here, I was upset—angry that you would put yourself out there like that. Expose yourself to harm.”

  “Are you serious?” I cracked my neck, readying myself for the upcoming fight. More often than not, I preferred to fight; it made things easier. “It’s a hospital, Dad. Not a—”

  “But I realize now,” he spoke loudly over me, “that I was wrong.”

  I huffed a bitter laugh. Taking my hand, he guided me to the bench next to him. I sat at the edge of the seat, unwilling to meet his gaze.

  “This person was someone’s son, someone’s brother, someone’s future. If it were you…” Again he adjusted his position. “When your mother was dying I never left her side.”

  My hand clasped the chain around my neck to feel my mother’s charm warm against my chest. I waited, breathless for more. I hoped that this would be the moment I would be told about my mother, but after a long moment of silence, I realized with growing annoyance that he was finished. I cursed underneath my breath.

  “And?” I finally turned to him. He seemed confused. “What do you want, Dad?”

  “Cheryl has told me how you’ve been suffering from Ian’s death, that you’ve been having trouble sleeping. Have you been having bad dreams again?”

  It was upsetting to hear that Cheryl had known and had told my dad about my sleeping troubles. “Please stop acting as if you care,” I said, more harshly than intended.

  A couple walked past, observing us uncomfortably. Dad waited until they had entered the hospital before continuing. “I came here to support you. I love you. When Ian died, I was scared. I’m your father, your guardian. It’s my job, but I couldn’t handle the pain you would experience losing your… your boyfriend,” he cringed on the last word. “But I’m here. Well, at least for today.” He smiled sheepishly. “I’m leaving for work, but I’ll be back in a week.”

  I didn’t want to forgive him again, but I could tell I was fighting a losing battle. I dropped my head in frustration.

  “Dad, who am I?”

  He shook his head, a blank expression on his face. “I don’t understand.”

  “Who am I?” I repeated with emphasis. “Who was my mother, and why won’t you talk to me about her?” His face turned pale.

  All my life I had accepted that talking about my mom was incredibly painful for my dad. When I was twelve, and after a particularly painful fight over this same topic, he gave me a gift. A picture. It was the best present he had ever given me. I later realized it was a tactic to satisfy my need and stop my questions, but it had worked.

  Shot from above her left shoulder, the image was mostly of a tiny, bright-eyed little babe, but what caught my attention most was the strong profile of my mother. She was amazing, with creamy skin and brownish-red hair swept up into a high, loose bun. Soft tendrils escaped the band and fell just above the collarbone where a small shimmer of a necklace appeared. Just before the photo cut off, was the top of a black pendant.

  “I need to know, Dad. And if you still can’t tell me, then—”

  “You’re a lot like her, did you know? Your mother had a gift for knowing who needed help and how to take care of them. She was an angel that way, and was much loved because of it.” His lips lifted in the corners, even though sadness pooled in his eyes. “There were many men who thought they were madly in love with her, and often that attraction would grow to obsession. That was the case with her first husband.”

  I choked on my next breath. “Her first husband?”

  “He became obsessed. Controlling.”

  “Dad.” My voice came out strained. “Why didn’t you tell me mom was married before?”

  His brows pinched together, one eye twitched. “Why would I? It had nothing to do with you. He passed away years ago, before you were born. You are my daughter. Not his. And your mother, as beautiful and good as she was, men would confuse her attentions as attraction—but she was mine. She chose me. I was her guardian, her protector.”

  “But Dad, why did she need a protector? Why do you feel like you have to protect me?”

  “Men will think they’re in love with you, Sarah—but they’re not. They’re attracted to your calling. Your goodness. Your strength. Don’t get confused taking care of Ben. You have no future with him.”

  “Future? What are we talking about? Dad—”

  “I can’t,” he broke me off suddenly. “I can’t answer all of your questions. I just can’t. But you, Sarah, are my little girl. Your mother died, and I was not there to protect her as I should have. But I will protect you. Keep you safe.”

  I took a deep breath, allowing the silence between us to stretch a few seconds longer. “Did they have any kids together?” I finally was able to ask. “Do I have a brother or a sister out there?” Despite my usual caution, a well of hope rose in my heart. I had always wanted a family, and if my mother was previously married, then maybe… but when my father shook his head, he smashed that hope and I remembered why I always guarded my heart.

  “They never had children,” he said. “I’m sorry, Sarah, but you’re stuck with just me.”

  When I started to beg for more information, my dad kissed me on the forehead and got up from the bench. He turned from me, and without a backward glance, he climbed into his old Chevy pickup and drove away.

  My mother had been married before?

  Knowing I would never find out the whole story from my father, I discarded the new piece of information—the new glance into my mother’s unknown life. Dad was right after all. Her first marriage really didn’t have anything to do with me.

  Frustrated, I pulled the silver chain from under my shirt and admired my two treasures: Ian’s ring and my mother’s stone. I had found the pendant just after receiving the photo of my mom. Dad never intended on giving the necklace to me. I wasn’t even sure he had it, but from the moment I saw it in the photo I knew it was meant for me. It took me weeks to get enough time away from him to search then eventually find my mother’s necklace. I had hardly removed it since. Dad never asked me about it, but I was sure he knew what I wore. He was too aware of everything else in my life to be completely oblivious about the pendant.

  After checking on Benjamin, I grabbed an extra pillow from the nurses. I opted for the nice couch in the waiting room and curled up into a ball.

  Who am I? Would I ever find out? Exhaustion consumed me, but rest didn’t come easy.

  As I waded through my darkened dreams, I wrestled against the terrifying sensation of the air being pressed out of my lungs. Struggling to free myself from whatever constrained me, I yelled through my subconscious. Soft laughter sounded in the black recesses, followed by a release of pressure. Air came into my chest. Through the murkiness that surrounded, I squinted until I was able to make out an image—then a form. As the mass took shape, I recognized my audience. Jonathan sat directly across from me, his right ankle propped up on his left knee.

  I waited, but Jonathan didn’t move. His stationary form mocked me. Balling my fists, I imagined breaking my knuckles on his beautiful, stone-cold face. If he was going to appear in my dreams every night, haunting my thoughts, at least he could explain his reasons.

  “Why are you here, Jonathan?” I growled.

  The statue came to life with an incredible smile that ignited his features. He beamed at me from across the small distance that separated us, then gave his neck a gentle roll.

  “I was wondering when you w
ould choose to acknowledge me. I’ve been waiting.” He relaxed his arms along the side of his chair and tipped his head. “As to why I am here, I have no clue. This is your dream.”

  My spine stiffened, barely aware that I sat upon the hospital couch I had fallen asleep on. The muscles in my forehead contracted, and my right eye twitched. “I don’t understand.”

  “Understand?” His head shifted to the other side.

  “You’re different again.”

  “Different?” His lips twisted into a smile.

  “Yes, different! And you know why you’re here. What do you want?”

  He clapped, laughing his response. “You are so perceptive and such a fighter! I’ve never had anyone fight me the way you do. I love it.” He rubbed the palms of his hands together. “Very well. Let’s have things your way. I’m making a gateway.”

  I had no idea how the change in his eyes told me, but he was telling the truth.

  “A gateway?” I repeated.

  My pendant turned cold against my skin. I placed my palm over the stone and he zeroed in on the gesture. I dropped my hand, realizing my mistake. For an additional moment Jonathan’s gaze remained fixed, curious as to what was concealed, until he noticed something that drew his attention even more. My breath quickened as his expression changed into desire.

  “Yes,” he breathed finally. “I am trying to bridge a gap.”

  I felt like an animal about to be devoured by a predator. Yes, Jonathan was a predator of the worst kind. His voice was as intoxicating in my dreams as it was in person; every syllable struck painfully against my heart. His gaze sent goose bumps down my arms, and I realized that his face, sculpted body, the very words he spoke, excited me past anything I could ever imagine. It wasn’t an attraction I understood. Wrong, unnatural, and yet I couldn’t keep from enjoying it.

  “Bridging what gap?” I asked, trying to regain control of the conversation—and his eyes.

  Jonathan rubbed his chin, fighting a smile. “If I were to choose a reason to be here, I would say that it might have something to do with wanting to get to know you. I still don’t even know your name.” He laughed quietly. “But that’s not the only reason.”