by S. H. Kolee
Simon cracked another egg into the bowl. "Do you think it's because of not having a good relationship with your father and growing up without a mother?"
I sucked in my breath. Simon didn't seem to pull any punches in his questions. I wasn't used to people being so frank with me. People usually never mentioned my deceased mother because they didn't want to bring up an uncomfortable subject. That is, if they even knew me well enough to know my mother had passed away.
"Wow, that's some question," I turned off the electric mixer and looked up at him. "Isn't it a little insulting to ask me if I'm messed up because my mother is dead? And I never said my father and I didn't have a good relationship."
Simon shrugged apologetically. "I didn't mean to offend you. It just seemed as though you alluded to it at brunch the other day. And I don't think you're messed up. I'm just trying to understand you better."
"Simon," I said slowly, as if I were speaking to a child. "I'm pretty easy to understand. I have no deep dark secrets or skeletons in the closet." If he only knew. "I'm pretty straightforward so I'd appreciate it if you stopped asking me all these probing questions. You'd think you were a psych major instead of a music major."
Simon held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry," he apologized with a rueful grin. "I'll try to cut out the probing." He lifted an eyebrow devilishly. "The verbal ones, at least."
I smacked him on the chest but with a laugh. "Behave!"
Simon was a model student for the rest of the cookie making demonstration. After we had placed the baking sheet with the mounds of cookie dough in the oven, we decided to reward ourselves with Ding Dongs and soda while we watched TV on his sofa. We settled on a show pulling pranks on celebrities.
"You're a bad influence on me," I accused him, finishing off a Ding Dong. "I've eaten more junk food since I've met you than I have since the school year started. We're eating Ding Dongs while we wait for the cookies to bake. There's something innately wrong with that."
"You only live once," Simon replied, taking a large bite out of his chocolate cake. "Death by Ding Dongs doesn't sound too bad."
I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach. At his words, I was flooded with the image of his face stricken with terror, his eyes bulging out in pain and panic. The suffering on Simon's face was so palpable that I let out a sound of anguish, wrapping my arms around my stomach as I doubled over, clenching my eyes closed as I tried to eradicate the image from my mind.
"Caitlin!" Simon exclaimed with alarm as he grabbed me by my upper arms. "What's wrong?!"
I opened my eyes as I forced deep breaths into my lungs, feeling as if I was suffocating because I was unable to draw a full breath. I concentrated on Simon's cake that he had apparently dropped on the floor, staring stupidly at the white cream that was now visible from where he had taken a bite.
"Caitlin!" Simon repeated urgently, one hand going to my face to brush away my hair. "Are you in pain? Tell me what's wrong."
I forced my eyes away from the cake and looked up at him, willing myself to straighten. His joking words about death had triggered a rush of memory from my vision. The visceral reaction was unexpected. It had been hard, traumatic even, to meet the people in my visions and remember how they had died, but never to this degree.
I tried to smile, although it was tremulous and weak. Concern was etched across Simon's face, his eyes stormy and troubled. "Dammit, Caitlin. Say something."
"I'm okay, Simon," I said, trying to muster a smile again and was more successful this time. "I just had a sudden pain. Really, I'm okay now. It's gone."
Simon looked skeptical. "A sudden pain? It seemed like a lot more than that. It looked like you were going to pass out from it." His eyes grew alarmed. "What if it's something like appendicitis! We should go to the hospital to be safe."
I shook my head in panic. "No, I'm okay," I said emphatically. "Really."
"Caitlin," Simon lectured, his brow furrowed in concern. "I really think we should go to the hospital just to be on the safe side."
I unwrapped my arms and took a deep breath, this time being able to inhale fully. "Simon, I'm fine. It was just a, um-bad cramp."
"A cramp?" Simon repeated, still not looking convinced.
"Yes, just a cramp," I explained, flushing at my explanation and knowing what he would assume. I knew that assumption would stop his questions.
"Do you have your period now?" Simon asked, as if he was asking me what the weather was like today.
"Simon!" I screeched, smacking him on the arm. "You can't ask me that!" I thought I was going to die from embarrassment.
He laughed at my outburst. "What? I have women in my family. It's no big deal."
"Oh my God," I groaned, leaning back and laying my arm against my eyes, shutting him out. "I can't be having this conversation with you right now. I'm going to pretend that it never happened. For my sake." I had to admit that a part of me was happy that he had credited the women in his family for being unfazed about the topic, not past girlfriends.
Simon grabbed my arm off my eyes and I sat up, looking at him. He was grinning like a buffoon, evidently immensely pleased that he had shocked me. I shook my head but couldn't stop the answering grin from creeping onto my face. "You're impossible."
"That's part of my charm."
"I'm starting to seriously question your charm." I had to give it to Simon though. He had effectively banished all the shadows that had engulfed me moments ago. I leaned over and picked up the half-eaten Ding Dong from the floor. "I think this has surpassed the five second rule."
I stood up and started to walk to the kitchen to throw it out but Simon stopped me, grabbing my hand. "All joking aside - are you okay?" He looked up at me earnestly. I felt an actual ache in my heart at his expression. I thought sentiments like that were just fodder of trashy romance novels, but I actually felt a physical pain in my heart as I looked at him. I was right. The girl that ended up with Simon would truly be lucky. At that moment, I hated that girl, whoever she was.
"I'm fine," I replied, trying to smile. "Don't make me smack you again."
Simon released my hand. "I never would have pegged you for the violent type. Always smacking me around." He faked a wounded look and then grinned. "We can try to get out your aggression in other ways. Much more pleasurable ways."
I rolled my eyes. "Definitely impossible," I grumbled as I made my way to the kitchen, but with a smile.
After I threw away the Ding Dong, I checked the timer on the oven and the progress of the cookies through the glass door. "Five more minutes," I called out to Simon in the living room. He came to join me in the kitchen. We both leaned against the counter opposite the oven.
"Are you working tomorrow?" Simon asked conversationally.
"You don't know?" I smirked. "You seemed to know my schedule for today without me telling you."
"That's because I called Colette's today to see if you were there and they said you weren't working today," Simon admitted. "And I saw Sarah earlier on campus and she said you only had morning classes today."
"Very sly, Mr. Crewe," I replied, narrowing my eyes but feeling pleased at his effort. "I'll add snoop to your list of talents."
"I prefer the term enterprising, Ms. Kile,"
"The euphemism for sly noted, Mr. Crewe."
Simon shook his head in mock disapproval. "So negative, Ms. Crewe."
"Realistic, Mr. Kile." I grinned.
The timer on the oven went off, interrupting our banter. Simon's eyes lit up. "Time for my reward."
"Reward for what?" I scoffed, grabbing a potholder and taking the cookies out, placing it on the stovetop.
"For withstanding your attack on my honorable intentions, of course." Simon reached to take a cookie but yelped and drew his hand back quickly when it made contact with the hot baking sheet.
"Tsk, tsk" I admonished him. "Didn't anyone teach you that patience is a virtue?"
"I'm honorable, not virtuous. There's a difference." I looked up at Simon at his ton
e, at odds with our lighthearted retorts. He was looking at me with an expression I didn't understand. There he was again, with his rapidly changing moods. It was hard for me to keep up, so I decided not to try.
"Fortunately, virtue isn't a requirement for cookie eating," I said, grabbing a plate and piling the cookies on it with a spatula. I placed the plate on the counter. "So have at it."
Simon seemed to shake off his odd mood as he grabbed a cookie and took a bite. "I'm never eating Ding Dongs again," he said rapturously. Today's garbage cookies included chocolate chips, toffee bits, pretzels and macadamia nuts. "I can't waste my taste buds on that drivel when I could be eating your garbage cookies." He finished the cookie and grabbed another.
"I'm not your cookie-making machine," I warned, but immensely pleased at his approval. "I hope your almost photographic memory retains everything."
"Hmm, we'll see," Simon said noncommittally.
I glanced at my watch. "I should get going. I have homework to finish up and Sarah will be expecting me back for dinner since neither of us have late classes tonight." I was tempted to invite Simon over for dinner, but knew I shouldn't overdo it. I had to pace my friendship with him.
Simon looked disappointed but he didn't object. "Okay. At least I have your cookies to console me."
I laughed. "Forget your inflated ego. Now you're giving me an inflated ego."
Simon smiled. "I'm okay with that."
I shook my head at his comment and went to the living room to grab my coat. Simon followed me, grabbing his coat that was hanging alongside mine.
"You don't have to walk me, Simon. It's not even dark outside."
"My mother," Simon reminded me with raised eyebrows.
"Okay," I laughed "I keep forgetting."
We walked back to my apartment, making easy conversation about classes and professors. Even though it was light out and Simon was beside me, I kept feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the cold air. I felt a prickling sensation at the back of my neck and kept turning around, not sure what I was expecting to see.
"Are you okay?" Simon asked, as he turned back to look behind us at the same time I did. "What do you keep looking at?"
"Nothing." I shook my head. "I think all the sugar I ate today is making me antsy." I was hoping that paranoia was not going to be something I had to add to my list.
When we made our way up the steps and to my door, I turned to Simon. "Thanks for walking me home."
"Sure." Simon reached up, cradling the side of my head with one hand, brushing my cheek with his thumb. My heart thudded against my ribcage as I wondered if he touched all his friends this way. If so, no wonder hordes of girls seemed to follow him around. "Thanks for the cookies today."
"You're welcome," I said softly. Simon gazed at me silently, searching for something in my expression. I breathed in and smiled brightly, breaking the spell. "Well, see you Saturday."
"What's his name?" Simon asked in a low voice. He dropped his hand from my face.
"Who?" I asked dumbly, trying futilely to keep up with him again as his mood shifted.
"The guy you're waiting for."
"Oh," I replied, my mind scrambling. I blurted out the first name I could think of. "Bob."
Simon raised an eyebrow. "Bob? The guy that you're in love with is named Bob?"
"What's wrong with Bob?" I said defensively. "His name is Robert but he goes by Bob." I really did suck at lying.
"Okay," Simon said, studying my face. "You're in love with Bob."
I felt a blush starting but nodded vigorously. "Yup." I turned quickly and unlocked the door. I stepped in and turned around. "Well, see you later."
Simon nodded distractedly, looking introspective. "See you later."
I closed the door, relieved that I had escaped the conversation even though I wanted to kick myself.
Really? Bob?
CHAPTER NINE
I sat up gasping, tears streaming down my face. The girl's frantic pleas and screams of pain were still reverberating in my ears. I tried to catch my breath, my chest tight as I felt the cold insidious tentacles of fear wrapping around my heart.
I had seen the vision of the blonde girl being bludgeoned to death again. But it had seemed even more real this time. Instead of just being a spectator outside the bubble of violence, it was as if I was standing in the midst of the scene. I could feel the gravel crunching underneath my shoes, the wind numbing my cheeks. I could feel the ground reverberating beneath me with each vicious thud of the plywood against the girl's head. If I was close enough, I would have sworn that the blood would splatter against me. Yet I still couldn't see the attacker, just two hands clutching the piece of wood that would end someone's life.
My breath hitched as I wiped my eyes. I wondered desperately if this would be the end of me. It was bad enough that the visions were happening again with frequency. But the quality of the dreams were becoming so realistic that I found my mind rebelling against it, wanting to shut down not only from the pain but everything else. The visions had always seemed real, but I had always felt detached from them, like I was watching a movie. Now I was in the movie, but still just as helpless to do anything.
I looked at the clock on my bedside table and saw that it was almost four in the morning. I laid back in bed, forcing my breaths to even out. I had a full day of classes ahead of me, then an evening shift at Colette's. I wanted nothing more than to stay holed up in the apartment, building the shield up again around my mind so that I could function.
My junior year in high school I had started having visions almost every night. It began to take a toll on me mentally and physically. Physically because of the lack of sleep, but the mental damage was even greater. I began doubting my sanity, wondering if my mind was playing tricks on me and I wasn't having visions of people I would meet in the future. I wondered if instead I was slowly going crazy and imagining the whole thing. I began withdrawing more and more into myself. The meager social life I had established began slipping away as I holed myself in my room after school, often skipping school altogether. My father had noticed my disintegration but simply shook his head, commenting that he had always feared that I would be an underachiever.
Paranoia had also taken a hold of me as I was convinced that I was being followed. It had been hard to not feel as if eyes were following my every move, especially when I left my house. Life had begun to look very grim and I desperately wanted to escape it. Yet a part of me held strong. It was as if a part of me separated itself and observed my life dispassionately - aware of my suffering but also realizing that there was a possibility of something more. It was this part of me that had pushed the thoughts of suicide away, as tempting as they had been sometimes. And I had gotten through it. Near the end of my junior year, the number of visions had decreased. I was still having them on a weekly basis but not every day. I had some room to breathe and build myself back up so that each vision had less and less power to chip away at who I was.
By my senior year in high school, the walls were strong and I was able to be an active participant in life again. I still had frequent visions but I was able to compartmentalize that part of my life.
But back then the visions had never been so personal. Even during the early years of college when I was still having frequent visions, it was as if my mind had tuned into a horrible channel and I was unable to turn it off. But with this last vision, I was now within the scenes. Instead of just hearing and seeing the scenes of brutality, I was now a part of them - smelling the coppery odor of blood and feeling the burning of my eyes as the cold wind snapped against me. How could my mind build up walls against this? I feared it couldn't.
I laid in bed until dawn, too exhausted to make my way to the living room to distract myself with infomercials. I wasn't sure how I was going to make it through the day. I didn't even want to try. But the part of me that was determined to survive reared its head again, forcing me to get out of bed. I went through the motions of getting ready for the day and f
orced myself to leave for my classes. I left the apartment before Sarah woke up. I didn't think I could take her concerned questions. I knew she meant well, but I wasn't ready to face the truth myself, let alone to anyone else.
I was trudging out of the last class of the day, Economics, and making my way to Colette's when I felt the sensation of being watched again. I quickened my pace. Although the fellow students milling around me should have made me feel safe, it didn't make me feel any less alone. By the time I made it off campus and was only a few blocks away from Colette's, my anxiety kicked into high gear. The street I was walking on was deserted and the sky was darkening, casting everything into an ominous shadow. I cursed the early evenings of winter. I anxiously cast my eyes from side to side as I walked, not wanting to be surprised. Surprised by what, I wasn't sure. I didn't know if my fear was a result of my imagination, but I wasn't willing to chance it.
Suddenly, I heard a hiss as if someone was expelling air through closed teeth. What made me scream was that the hiss sounded like it was coming from right behind me, as if the person responsible for the hiss was breathing down my neck.
I whipped around, my heart pounding in my ears. Nothing. There was nothing but an empty sidewalk behind me. My breathing felt more and more strained as I began feeling lightheaded. I dazedly wondered if this was the beginning of a panic attack. I had never had one before, but the feeling of anxiety and fear overtaking me felt debilitating.
"Hello?" I called out, my voice sounding feeble in the night air. "Is anyone out there?" I felt stupid calling out, not expecting anyone to answer me. It was more that I needed to hear my own voice to confirm that I was lucid and functioning.
After pausing a few seconds and only hearing the whipping wind as my reply, I turned and started making progress again, although my walking was more akin to a light jog.
"Caitlin, get a hold of yourself," I muttered. "You can't go crazy yet. You still have to get through one and a half semesters."
I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself, when I suddenly felt a cold hand on my shoulder, gripping tight. Dread was emanating from the hand, snaking into every part of my body. The feeling didn't even make sense to me, but my body kicked into survival mode. I had no desire to turn around and see whether there was someone real behind me or if this was a figment of my imagination. Self-preservation took control and I started running. The hand was ripped from my shoulder as I ran as fast as I could, too terrified to scream. Nothing could be sacrificed from my burning desire to save myself by running as fast as I could - certainly not a scream that no one would hear.
