The Adventures of Jillian Spectre

by Nic Tatano

  “Green dress with an unobstructed view.”

  I try my best not to blush but my freckles light up a bit. “Nice to know I have a fan club. So, is said unobstructed view the reason for your piqued interest? I figured you for a leg man.”

  “I already knew you were well equipped in that department.”

  “You make it sound like you’re shopping for a car. And no, you can’t look under the hood.”

  “Anyway, regarding the green dress, it’s a different side of you that one doesn’t expect from the school genius. So, you and Pocket an item?”

  “Why do you care, Jake? Jealous?”

  “Nah, just curious.”

  “Maybe you should ask your network of spies. Or, here’s a wild concept, you could ask me directly.”

  “More fun to snoop around.”

  “Tell you what, Jake, unless you’ve got something more than mash notes you can send via paper airplanes, I suggest you head back to your desk.”

  He furrows his brow, obviously shocked that a girl would tell him to get lost. “Jeez, someone piss in your corn flakes?”

  I take a quick look at the sub, who’s still absorbed in his magazine. “I’ve got no more tolerance for your bullshit, Jake. This has been going on for a year. You want a date with the smokin’ hot girl in the green dress, ask. If not, beat your feet.”

  “Damn, girl, you’re like the head cheerleader and prom queen all rolled into one bitchy package.”

  I narrow my eyes and glare at him.

  “But I like it.”

  “Ask or move on, Jake. Tick tock. This girl’s not staying on the market for long. Your window of opportunity is closing.”

  “Fine. You wanna hang Friday night?”

  “Depends. What constitutes hanging?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “Sorry, not good enough. You want the pleasure of my company, it has to include dinner, and in a restaurant that does not have plastic utensils. Maybe a movie or a show or something fun afterwards. And you’ll show up dressed appropriately, not in the fall collection for Occupy Wall Street. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  ***

  “I’m a conduit?”

  Roxanne furrows her brow as Mom explains the theory. A morning conference call between my mother, Roxanne’s senior muse and Sebastien has resulted in the conclusion that somehow her powers had amplified mine.

  I’m still confused. “So, I’m not only seeing the future, I can interact with it?”

  Mom nods. “We think that when Roxanne taps into your subconscious she’s helping you take your powers as a seer to another level. One that’s never before been seen.”

  “But I’m supposed to simply inspire people,” says Roxanne. “How is my power affecting hers?”

  “We’re not sure why this happened, only that it bears exploration,” says Mom. “And don’t forget, Roxanne, this is taking your powers to another level as well. Your clients have never been able to interact with their own future.”

  Roxanne nods. “True, but I’ve never done a session with a seer before.”

  “Anyway,” says Mom, “Sebastien wants you both at The Summit this weekend. To do it again so he can observe it first hand.”

  ***

  Mom has been putting on a brave face the past few days since I told her I had a date with a hooligan. I know she’s trying to make up for spying on me last week, but I can tell she’s doing a slow burn inside. I can hear her voice the minute I head out the door, calling Roxanne’s mother on the phone. “Last week it was this guy from munchkinland, now it’s some hoodlum. She’ll probably come home with a tattoo on her ass. Can’t she date anyone normal?”

  Anyway, my hair’s not as frou-froued as it was for the dance, but I’m balancing that out with one of those new outfits Roxanne’s designer client sent over. It’s a royal blue number, a little short for my taste, and it got a raised eyebrow from Mom, but it’s not something that will make me look like I need a bail bondsman and a public defender. Unlike the halter, this one does not offer any “unobstructed views” and has sleeves. So basically short but classy. God only knows how much it will cost when it hits the stores. Hopefully Jake will be dressed appropriately enough to escort the smokin’ hot girl. If he shows up in his regular outfit, which looks as if he lost a steel cage match with a weed whacker, I’m staying home.

  I head down the stairs at five to seven and find Mom pretending to read a magazine in the living room. Jake is supposed to pick me up in five minutes, take me to dinner and a movie. After that, who knows?

  As for how I feel, well, I’m still hot for the guy but keeping my prom-queen-head-cheerleader-bitch-mode in reserve in case he pisses me off or isn’t a perfect gentleman. I’m feeling pretty empowered after basically telling him to ask me out or else.

  “You’re not my little girl anymore,” says Mom, looking up from her magazine and taking in my outfit.

  “I’ll always be your little girl,” I say, trying to soften her up for Jake’s arrival. She gets a bit misty, as she’s beyond sentimental.

  “So where ya goin’ tonight?”

  “Don’t know. But I told him I was dressing up and expected to be taken to a nice place that doesn’t consider an order of fries an upgrade.”

  She forces a smile. “Well, I hope you have a nice time. Don’t forget, we’re going to Jersey tomorrow.” (That’s code for cavorting in the living room till two in the morning is off the table.)

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Our grandfather clock with the Westminster chime announces the arrival of seven o’clock.

  An hour later, it announces the fact that I’ve been stood up.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I could probably fuel the ride to The Summit with steam. I’m beyond pissed off at Jake, and I’m confused since it was the first time I’ve been stood up and don’t really know how to deal with it. I mean, when a guy tells you that you’re smoking hot and then doesn’t show up? I’m not sure what to think. Anger and hurt are battling for my emotions, which are wrung out at this point.

  Between seven and eight last night I tried to rationalize the situation. Jake was stuck in traffic, not an uncommon excuse in New York but one that was of the rose-colored glasses variety since he lived four blocks away. Or his car wouldn’t start. Or he got delayed at the florist picking up a bouquet of flowers. (Yeah, right.) By eight I was starving and in the kitchen eating leftovers, having given up on dinner and still hoping for a movie while trying to avoid eye contact with Mom. By nine, all that was left was that he’d been in an accident, had been abducted by aliens, or was actually being deported as a Russian spy. At nine-thirty I trudged back up the stairs. The beautiful blue trendsetting dress that would have let me start the trend came off along with the rose-colored glasses. The tears flowed a few minutes later. Then a call to Roxanne shut off the waterworks and turned my hurt to anger. (Roxanne, of course, being Sicilian, wants to get even.) My pillow took a beating. And through it all, he never even called. Or texted. Or sent a paper airplane with an apology.

  Mom, God bless her, never said I told you so. She didn’t have to. She came up to my bedroom with a cup of hot chocolate, stroked my hair, tucked me in like I was five years old and kissed me on the forehead. So I guess I’m still her little girl and hooligans really are bad for my health.

  Dammit, I hate it when parents are right.

  It’s a nice day and we’re a few minutes out of the city. Mom’s driving, I’m in the passenger seat and Roxanne is in the back so she can stretch out those legs of hers. My head is tilted to the side against the window, the cold from which is making my forehead hurt. I’m staring vacantly at the side of the road, jaw clenched, one hand wringing the life out of the door handle, pride desperately holding back tears. Suddenly a hand reaches around from the back, squeezes my shoulder. I reach back and take her hand, look back at her, and our eyes connect. We really don’t want to talk about this in front of my mother.

  But we really don’t have to
.

  She gives me her best big sister look. Mouths I love you. I do the same.

  ***

  Roxanne’s eyes begin to change, grow lighter, then turn into diamonds. As before, she dissolves into an image, but this is one I’ve seen before. The spectacular colors are a dead giveaway.

  It’s an image of the afterlife.

  I find myself on a brick pathway, bordered by incredibly fragrant flowers in the most vivid hues you can imagine. The pathway curves into the distance and seems to go on forever. The gentle chirping of birds fills the pristine air. Sunlight warms my face. A rainbow sweeps across the horizon.

  But I’m alone.

  I reach down and pick a red tulip, wanting to make sure I can interact with what I’m seeing. It snaps off in my hand. I raise it to my nose and take in its sweet fragrance. Another tulip grows instantly to take its place. Seriously cool.

  Okay, so I’m actually here, wherever here is.

  I’ve been expecting to interact with my father again, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

  I hear soft music in the distance, classical, Handel’s Water Music, so I start walking down the pathway, figuring it leads somewhere. Or to someone.

  The music grows louder as I head down the path. I see a few wooden park benches in the distance.

  There’s a figure sitting on one of them. I pick up my pace and see it’s a man.

  I’m a few feet from the bench when he looks up and smiles. “Welcome, Jillian.” He gestures toward the other side of the bench and I sit down, but as far away as possible, my back pressed against the armrest. I’m worried he might be someone associated with my father. He’s perhaps thirty, with thick, wavy black hair. He’s slightly built and sports a dark five o’clock shadow on his lean face. His dark eyes seem to look right into me.

  “Do I know you?” I ask.

  “No, we have never met,” he says. His voice is soft, soothing.

  “So, this is a meeting I’ll have in my future?”

  “No, this is the present. My name is Carrielle.”

  “Okay. And you would be…”

  “An angel.”

  My eyes widen as my jaw drops. I feel my pulse quicken. “How do I know you’re an angel?”

  He reaches out, touches my forehead—

  And I’m instantly calm. Whatever apprehension I felt is gone. “What did you do?”

  “I gave you peace. I want you to be at ease as I tell you what you need to know.”

  I look around at the incredibly beauty that surrounds us. “What is this place? Is this heaven?”

  “The afterlife is different for each person. I chose this setting as one that would appear peaceful to you, and one you were familiar with.”

  “This is what I saw in the two readings.”

  He nods. “Yes. Those whose futures you read will experience a different reality. But each will be a peaceful experience.”

  “If I read the future of someone who’s going to Hell, what will I see?”

  “I will not permit that. It would be emotionally damaging.”

  “So, what is it that I need to know?”

  “You must not pursue your father. You must not attempt to locate him, or try to contact him. Not yet.”

  “Why? I just want to meet him. I’m entitled to that. I want to know why he left mom, left me. I need to know. No, I have to know.”

  The angel shook his head. “No. He is too dangerous.”

  “He wouldn’t hurt his own daughter.”

  “He is evil.”

  The words should make my hair stand up on end, but I remain calm. “He won’t hurt me. Mom says he’s not the type—”

  “He will not hurt you in the physical sense. He can damage you emotionally. He could control you. And your powers.”

  I shake my head. “I won’t let that happen.”

  “He is very persuasive. And you are very young.”

  “Fine,” I say, lying through my teeth. “I won’t attempt to contact him. So do you know my future?”

  He shakes his head. “No, Jillian.”

  “So let me get this straight… I can see the future but an angel cannot?”

  “The future is fluid with everyone. There are many possibilities with you. Much depends on how you choose to use your powers.”

  “Speaking of which, what is my second power?”

  “In due time, Jillian.”

  “Please, tell me—”

  “You will not remember our meeting, only my suggestion regarding your father.”

  “But I—”

  He reaches out, touches my forehead, and I black out.

  ***

  I feel pressure around my arm, then hear a voice. “She’s okay.” My eyes flutter open and I see a doctor unwrapping a blood pressure cuff.

  “How long was I out?” I ask.

  “Same as last time,” says Roxanne. “A couple of minutes.”

  Sebastien leans forward. “What did you see?”

  The world isn’t spinning this time, and I sit up. I search my mind for details. “I talked to someone, but I can’t remember who it was.”

  “Was it your father?” asks Mom.

  I shake my head. “No, definitely not. But it was about my father. All I remember is that I’m not supposed to contact him because he’s dangerous.”

  “Excellent advice,” says Sebastien.

  “Jillian, you spoke during the session,” says Roxanne. “No one has ever talked during one of my sessions before.”

  “Yes, that is most unusual,” says Sebastien.

  “What did I say?”

  “It sounded like Carrie L,” says Roxanne. “Does that mean anything to you?”

  “No. I don’t know anyone named Carrie.”

  “Curious,” says Sebastien. “That she would remember the topic of the conversation but not who she spoke with.”

  “What does it mean?” asks Roxanne.

  “I don’t know what it means,” says Sebastien. “But I have an idea how we can find out.”

  ***

  “Please, Rox, just let it go,” I say, as I poke at my lunch that looks like a spaghetti-and-catfood casserole.

  “He deserves payback,” she says.

  I shake my head. “Jake’s not worth the trouble. I’m over it. Just forget the whole thing.”

  She shrugs. “Whatever. But he’s going to keep pulling that shit on other girls if someone doesn’t teach him a lesson. He apparently does that on every first date. Thinks it gives him control over the girl, makes her want him more.”

  “Not this girl. Like I said, I’m over it. And him. Just put that evil eye curse on him and be done with it.”

  “Okay, if you insist.” Roxanne smiles at me but I’m not buying it. I know that Sicilian vendetta thing is churning in her mind, as she’s obviously got something planned for Jake to take him down a notch. She keeps looking around the cafeteria.

  “Rox, please let it go.”

  Her eyes widen as she spots him. “Here he comes.” She looks at me, eyes devilish. “Remember, I’m not just doing this for you.”

  “Rox!”

  But she’s already gone.

  Roxanne marches over to Jake’s usual table, filled with the boys of questionable character. (Who are, of course, magnets for every supposedly sensible girl in the school.) He’s about to sit down when she sticks a finger in his chest.

  “Hey!” she says.

  Jake backs up a step. Rox is wearing her boots with the four-inch stacked heels and is quite the imposing figure. “What?”

  She raises her voice as she folds her arms. “You stand up my best friend? You pull the same shit with her you pull on the other girls in this school? It stops now. You will never do that to another girl.” She moves closer and looks down her nose at him. “Do I make myself clear, little one?”

  The chatter in the cafeteria subsides as heads begin to turn in their direction.

  “Back off,” says Jake, raising his voice as he backs up a step. “This has nothing to d
o with you.”

  “Like hell it doesn’t. You can consider me a representative of every girl here.”

  I’m tempted to get up and pull Rox back to our table, but this is like a train wreck and I can’t stop staring.

  Then Jake says something that I know will set her off. “Oh, since you represent every girl here, does that mean you want me to ask you out?”

  Annndddd … cue the death stare. “You think standing a girl up makes you a big man? Well, it’s time I showed everyone how big you are.”

  With that Roxanne bends over, wraps her arms around his legs and hoists Jake over her shoulder. The students erupt into a mixture of cheers and laughter. She carries him toward the girls bathroom, his legs kicking as he struggles to get away. But his towering captor is too strong for him. She turns around and backs in, using his head to push the door in which results in a loud bang and an audible, “Ow!” from Jake. More hoots from the students.

  This much noise will obviously attract the faculty, and it doesn’t take long. The decibel level drops as Vice Principal Harris enters the cafeteria, the old hunchback crone’s distinctive loud clicks on the linoleum announcing her arrival. “What’s going on here?”

  She gets part of her answer as screams are heard from the bathroom and a few girls come running out. Ms. Harris heads toward the door when I hear Jake yell “No!” followed by a splash and a loud toilet flush. She reaches the door just as Roxanne opens it.

  “Ms. Harris! There’s a boy in the girls bathroom!” she says, wearing her wide-eyed-innocent-just-been-to-confession look. (It should be noted that Roxanne has successfully conned the faculty over the years into thinking she’s a sweet, pure as the driven snow girl.)

  The Vice Principal (who has zero tolerance for the “bad boys” of the school) enters the bathroom. I hear her yell, “Get! Out!” and Jake comes running out, hair dripping wet and blue shirt soaked to the point he looks like he’s wearing dark shoulder pads. She follows him, yells, “In my office! Now!” They both leave the cafeteria.

  And the crowd goes wild.

  Roxanne heads back to our table, getting high fives and back slaps from the girls on the way, sits down, and goes back to eating her lunch as if nothing happened.