by Dima Zales
Thankfully, even with the disturbing deception, everything went smoothly and we helped her cross over. Still, I couldn’t help feeling bad for Jameson, because he would never know how she felt about him.
“You okay?” Michael asked after we were both back in the car, strapping in for the ride back into town.
“Yeah, I just…” I took a deep breath. “It’s a shame he didn’t get to find out she was in love with him. It sounds like she carried it with her for a long time. I wish she had been able to tell him before she died.”
He nodded, starting the engine. “Unprofessed feelings tend to eat at the soul. It’s not healthy.”
“Yeah. People really should just say how they feel.”
Our eyes met. Silence spilled between us for a paralyzing few seconds before I cleared my throat and grabbed the directions from inside the glove compartment.
“Right. Let’s get the hell out of here,” I muttered, mentally chiding myself for letting such a stupid thing out of my mouth. Just as I retrieved the directions, the picture frame of my mother tumbled to the floorboard. As I scooped it up, my fingertips brushed against something bulky and rectangular in the back of the frame. What the hell?
I put the papers down and flipped the frame around, running my hands over the back until I found a thin seam at the bottom, so thin that I could only squeeze two fingers inside. When I pulled, a small leather-bound notebook no larger than the palm of my hand slid out.
“What is it?” Michael asked as I flipped it open. Inside, there was curly cursive writing on small sheets of tablet paper in Castilian Spanish, my mother’s native language so it was only natural she would write in Spanish.
“I think it’s a diary.”
Michael leaned across the seat to see. “Your mother’s? What’s the date?”
I read the date at the top, though it took me a moment. She had taught me Spanish and English as a child, but I rarely spoke it so I was a bit rusty. “If this is right, then it’s after they took her to the psychiatric hospital.”
I turned more pages, finding that entry after entry, starting from the day they brought her in to the day the file said she died. A thrill went through me. This is what I had been searching for all this time. Answers.
21
August 5th, 1993
I am no fool.
I know why I have been brought here. They can pretend all they want that they want to help me, to heal me, to save me from myself, but I can see right through their lies. I was only able to procure these bits of paper from them because they hope I will willingly divulge my innermost thoughts to them. Each night, I take one sheet and hide it for safekeeping. Thus far, they have not caught on. I am not sure if I will be able to keep my writings safe from them forever, but I have learned that there is always hope even in the darkness.
I don’t know where to start. I am writing merely to keep myself sane. I don’t expect to be able to see my precious Jordan again, but should you ever find this, my daughter, know that I love you more than anything in the world. I had hoped to explain these things to you when you were older, but I fear I will be gone before you grow up and so I will divulge them here.
The year you were born, my powers came to fruition. I developed the ability to see the dead spirits walking the earth. The archangel Gabriel came to me and explained the order of things. There are twelve bloodlines in this world that possess the ability of Seers—the bridges between humans and Heaven. This power passes down through the generations of the original Twelve Disciples: Simon-Peter, Andrew, James the Son of Zebedee, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew, James the Son of Alphaeus, Thaddeus, Simon, and Judas. Not every son or daughter of these disciples has the gift—only a select few receive them. It is usually those with souls that are pure and untouched by the ways of man. We are charged with the task of helping the spirits who are left behind to reach the afterlife. We are few, but we are faithful.
It is for this reason that the people in this institution have imprisoned me. My sister, Carmensita, bore witness to my ministrations helping spirits cross over and called the authorities to take you away. She did not receive the gift and so she did not know, or care, that I was helping the ghosts. However, this is not the only reason I have been brought here.
Long ago, Gabriel warned me that someday the demons might become aware of my existence. They are as cunning as they are cruel. This is why I left Spain to come to the United States. I decided to stay mobile—to live in a city for a certain amount of years and then move in order to keep my presence under the radar, as they say in America. I do not know which particular demon or entity has overseen my capture, but I will do my best to find out and escape this place. I will keep this journal safe and record what I have found periodically, should it prove useful for my escape.
August 8th, 1993
It has been three days since my imprisonment. I have learned little, but I have at least learned something.
The head doctor is called Dr. Vulcan. I did not deduce that she was one of them until she smiled at me and I could see the cruelty, the evil, the hatred in her eyes. Whenever I am in her presence, I feel trapped. She has not revealed to me the reason for my capture, but I suspect she wants me to play some part in a plot against humanity as well as Heaven.
During my daily sessions, they send in people to counsel me. This usually consists of asking me questions about my past in order to understand how I conjure up the so-called ‘hallucinations.’ They are just humoring me. I smile and give them nothing. It is probably not the wisest idea. I know that they will start to get nasty soon. I can feel it in my bones. But I will endure. I am an Amador and I am not afraid.
August 10th, 1993
The monsters have dropped their human masks and shown me their true faces. I will not detail the things they do to me because I will not give them the satisfaction of knowing they hurt me. I am stronger than that. I will endure.
Gabriel has finally contacted me through my dreams. We discussed an escape plan based on the small amount of information I have been able to gather. At this time, he cannot extract me because of the demons’ numbers in this place. If he went for a direct assault, the demons would most certainly kill me rather than let me fall into the hands of the angels. He has learned this from experience. Instead, he said he will find another method, one that has less risk involved.
He also told me that he does not know why they chose now to abduct me, but that he will find out and he will find a way to free me. His kindness is what got me through their torture today. I do not blame him for being unable to help as of yet. The angels are charged with the safekeeping of both Heaven and Earth. They cannot put themselves out in the open because it is against the rules their Father made. But I have faith in Gabriel, in God, and in myself.
I will endure.
August 12th, 1993
The demons brought in a specialist today as their previous attempts to extract information have been fruitless. His name is Andrew. I do not think they know the truth, but I do. When he walked into my room this morning and looked at me with those dark blue eyes, I felt something.
Hope.
I cannot explain why, but I know this man is not here to hurt me. He did not ask me about my past or about my ‘hallucinations.’ He asked who I am. When I talked, he listened. He didn’t write anything down. He didn’t patronize me. He didn’t look down his nose at me like the Americans do when they hear my accent. He is calm. He is steady. He is different.
Though I do not trust him fully, I have decided to cooperate somewhat. It may be one of their tricks, but if there is one thing I do trust, it is my own instincts. My powers only take me so far. I can only depend on myself in here and that will not happen if I have doubts.
Let us hope that I am right.
August 14th, 1993
The demons feel more confident with my cooperation and so they allow me more ‘privileges’ than before. I am not constantly restrained in my room. They allow me the luxury of a few books. It
is almost an acceptable existence except for one thing. They will not let me see my daughter. I fear for her more than I fear for myself because I know the hatred my sister has for me and how she will project it onto Jordan. Jordan is a strong girl. I have to tell myself that every second I am here and not with her. I have endured unspeakable things in this place, but I worry she will endure worse. She does not deserve it. She never will.
Gabriel contacted me again and revealed that Andrew is on their side. They received word that the demons wanted someone to gain my trust to fool me into cooperating with them. He has been sent to monitor my stay here and unravel the secrets the demons are keeping. I do not know how successful he has been in this endeavor. I do know, though, that when he smiles, I feel safe. It is a strange feeling. Our time has been so short and yet I find myself relieved when he shows up for our sessions. It is foolish, but it is one of the only things that keeps me going.
August 15th, 1993
Andrew and I seem to have reached some sort of comfortable level now that I know he is not one of the demons’ ploys. I have not met many charming men in my life, but he is one of the few. He often answers my questions with questions—a trait of both intelligent and infuriating men. When he’s feeling generous, he tells me a little bit about his life.
Currently, he does not know about any other Seers in the states. Based on what I’ve heard, he is one of the most skilled Seers there has ever been. He has been helping ghosts cross over for nearly three decades, and he has had some vicious encounters with demons as well. He does not like to talk about the scars—especially not the one above his eye—and so I do not prod him about them, but I know he probably got them from protecting someone. However, beneath the charm, I sense there is more. He has no family and no ties to anyone because of his valuable abilities. He openly admits that coming to this hospital puts us both at risk, but he never backs down from a challenge. He is the one who told me that Dr. Vulcan, the head psychiatrist, is actually the demon Mulciber in disguise. The only reason he has been allowed access to the hospital is because he has mastered his powers to the point where he can pass himself off as a normal person.
When I asked him if he regrets his gift, he merely shrugged and said that it was a life, nothing more, nothing less. I told him that wasn’t much. He smiled at me and said ‘It’s enough.’
Maybe it is.
August 16th, 1993
Is it possible to find light in the darkness?
August 17th, 1993
For the first time since I’ve been here, I was allowed to go outside. I had forgotten about the wind and how it feels in my hair and on my cheeks. I actually cried. Shameful. Andrew was the one who convinced them to let me have some fresh air. We were only allowed out for ten minutes, but that time alone made the shackles feel loose, almost nonexistent. Maybe this kind of serenity means my time here is drawing to a close. I do not know. What I do know is something inside me has changed, and not because of my imprisonment here. It is because of Andrew.
He gave me a rose today. I want to blame my happiness about this fact on the isolation and the desperation I’ve experienced in this little slice of Hell, but when he held my hand for that brief moment, I knew I had found myself again. Holding his hand reminded me of my former husband, Lewis, before he became a bastard, when we were young and in love. God help me. I am not capable of love. Or at least I thought I wasn’t. It would be better for me to forget. I cannot.
He calls me Cat.
I wish I didn’t love that about him.
August 18th, 1993
Something is wrong.
I believe that the demons are going to make a move soon. Today, they claimed that my behavior implicated signs of suicidal tendencies and so they placed a security guard in my room for ‘safety reasons.’ Furthermore, I did not have a session with Andrew today. They told me he had other arrangements. I cannot remember ever feeling so afraid. All I can think about is whether they have caught on to him and hurt him, or worse. I cannot escape by myself to look for him.
However, there was one ray of hope. When the men came in for my daily examination, they gave me a glass-less picture frame they said was from Andrew as part of my therapy—a photo that had been confiscated from my wallet. It was my senior portrait from high school. It seemed only for sentimental reasons, but just after they left I found a scrap of paper hidden behind the frame. I waited until nightfall when the guard left for a brief break and read it in the moonlight. There was no name, only a poem. It took me a moment to recognize it as W.H. Auden’s “Song IX.” I used to read his poems when I was learning English.
I do not know if this is a warning or a confession, but I know it is important and so I have kept it close by. I believe that whatever reason they have chosen to abduct me for is going to come to fruition tonight. I cannot explain why. It is just a feeling in my gut.
There is nothing left to do except wait. If this is my last entry, then so be it. I have led a good life. I have seen many wonders. I have laughed. I have cried. I have loved. I have…lived. Our Father gave us no greater privilege than that.
Catalina Amador
It took me a moment to realize that the car had stopped because we arrived at the hotel. My mind had been completely engrossed as I read the letters out loud. Silence filled the car, seeming to highlight the stillness that had come over me when I read the last one.
Then, slowly, Michael unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across, brushing his fingertips against my left cheek where hot tears had trickled down my face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I am so sorry, Jordan.”
A faint smile touched my lips as I lowered the diary into my lap. “Why? It wasn’t your fault.”
“If I had been there…maybe I could have prevented this…”
I shook my head, wiping my eyes. “We could sit here all day talking about what we would have done if we had been there. The past is the past. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
“That doesn’t make it hurt any less.” His voice held such regret that I wondered if the letters had upset him more than me. I closed the diary and touched his hand, finally looking into his concerned face.
“Michael…it’s okay. All I wanted on this trip was to find the answers for myself. I’ve done that. It’s not pretty, but it’s what I needed.”
He wrapped his fingers around mine, strong and warm, and nodded. “Okay.”
After giving my hand one last squeeze, he opened the car door to get out. I unbuckled the seat and climbed out, gathering the picture frame, diary, and papers I’d gotten from the psychiatric hospital.
I needed something else to think about, and soon. There was so much information to absorb. Upon glancing at my watch, I realized I only had a short while before my…meeting with Terrell. That did the trick alright. The mere thought of which made my pulse double and my palms start to dampen. Damn him.
We went back to our room, which was considerably chilly due to our absence, and Michael sat on the bed while I stared intently at my suitcase and wondered if I should change clothes. I mean, it wasn’t a date. No way in hell. So I shouldn’t change. Or should I? I thought about calling Lauren to ask—since she was the only female presence in my life who knew things about men—but decided against it. It was a one-time occurrence, no need to change. Right?
“Are you okay?” Michael’s mildly amused voice broke through my thoughts, making me jump a little.
“Hm?” I said.
He glanced at the suitcase. “You’re been standing there for almost a minute with the weirdest looks on your face.”
I cleared my throat and zipped the suitcase closed, trying to seem nonchalant. “It’s nothing.”
“Right.” Michael reached down on the other side of his bed and withdrew his acoustic guitar—a gorgeous wooden one with a brilliant polish to it. He practiced three or four hours a day, and our trip was no exception. I stood in front of the mirror applying a bit more eyeliner while he began plucking at the string
s and adjusting things accordingly.
“How long do you think you’ll be out?” I caught on to his casual tone. He was trying way too hard not to sound interested. It was kind of adorable, in a way.
I hid a smile, picking up my comb. “A couple hours.”
“Want me to order something?”
“Just for you. We’re getting Chinese.”
“Oh. Bring me back a Fortune cookie.”
I paused, glancing at him. “You’re an angel. Do you really believe in those things?”
Michael smirked. “Who says I believe in them? Maybe I just want to read the messages and add ‘in bed’ to the end of them.”
I dropped my comb. He chuckled. I tossed him a dirty look and checked one more time to make sure my hair looked presentable before walking to the bed to get my duster. By now, I had started to recognize the melody he was recreating—a tune I’d heard on an old Guy Ritchie film. “Golden Brown” by the Stranglers. Good song.
“Call me if something comes up,” I said, my hand on the doorknob.
He nodded, watching me with a rather guarded look.
“I’ll be here.”
Earlier during the day, I had looked up the restaurant to find it only about two blocks away, so there was no need to ask Michael to drive me. Besides, he already seemed displeased with my agreement to go—though he just wouldn’t admit it—and I didn’t want to put him in that position. I wasn’t sure if his disapproval was a result of being protective, or if it was something more personal. Frankly, I didn’t want to entertain either thought, so I walked down the street, careful to make sure I hadn’t been followed by anyone dead or alive, until I reached the Dynasty.
The Chinese restaurant was tucked between a barbershop and a Subway and the inside was dim but with a quiet atmosphere. There were beautiful paintings on the walls of emperors and warriors and miniature chandeliers hanging above each table. The tables themselves were covered in forest green cloth that went well with the dark carpet. There was a short line at the front so I had to wait. Terrell was waiting for me at the center table. He smiled and waved when he saw me. My pulse skyrocketed. This was such a bad idea.
