Second Sight
By
Maria Rachel Hooley
Second Sight
©2010 Maria Rachel Hooley
Smashwords Edition
Cover Art by Justine Hedman
Chapter One
There is a hum to the white noise of dreams, a low resonance that slips down through the cracks, keeping me under the weight of sleep like a drug. It’s constant, like a florescent light, and just as warm, but I haven’t felt its steadiness flow through me since Lev died.
Lev.
I open my eyes to find him lying next to me, his arms draping my body, his wings furled around me, bathing us in a soft, white glow. His eyelids are closed, his long, blond lashes touch his cheeks. The even rise and fall of his bare chest suggests sleep.
This is impossible, I know. But impossible or not, I’m not willing to destroy whatever form of Lev lies near me. He’s here for now, and that’s all I care about.
As if sensing my panic, his eyes slowly flutter open, and a lazy smile crosses his face. “Hey, Elizabeth.” His hand reaches out and touches the place just above my heart, willing it to slow. But even that won’t make the fear go away.
“Lev,” I whisper, my tone clipped. Let this be real, not everything else, I think.
“What’s the matter?” he asks, his voice deep and husky. He pushes an errant strand of hair from my face.
A million words splinter through me, but none dare be spoken without destroying him. So I say nothing and bury my head into his chest. Tears prick my eyes, and I wish I could drive them away, but no matter how often I think I get rid of them, they always come back. I’ll never be free of them.
“Elizabeth?”
Panic. I feel my heart thundering in my chest, and it’s hard to breathe. Then I feel the moisture beneath my hands, and I force myself to pull away. Blood. My hands are covered in it. Lev’s once expressive face is slack-jawed and glassy-eyed. Wherever the blood comes from, it never runs out.
It is then morning jars me awake, and I jerk upright in my bed. A scream rips through me, though it takes a moment to realize it. It’s a wordless wail of torment. I could ask why, again--just yell it at the top of my lungs, launching it like a missile at the heavens. But I’d never get an answer. I wouldn’t get Lev back, either.
“Lizzie?” Jimmie jerks open the door. Dark circles underscore his eyes, telling me he’s not been sleeping any better than I have. Every night I wake screaming. Six months out, and I still jerk from unconsciousness as though a knife has been plunged into my chest. Jimmie lingers in the doorway, his hand on the knob, his eyes unsure. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and shorts—classic Jimmy—and his hair is rumpled, standing on end.
“I’m all right.” My voice is flat, and I won’t look at him, afraid he’ll realize just how far from okay I am.
For a moment, he just watches me, eyebrows furrowed. The breath he’s been holding slowly slips free, his shoulders sagging. His lips are pursed but frozen in place; he wants to say something but the words fail him.
“I’m all right,” I mutter again, folding my arms around my body—as if that will contain the anguish that claws at my insides like Constantine wire.
“’Kay.” He nods and retreats down the hallway, leaving me alone. I don’t sleep much anymore. Funny, I used to have nightmares about dying; now I have them about living…alone. No matter how much I try to forget it, I remember the feel of Lev’s body next to mine, his skin as familiar as my own. I ball my right hand into a fist, and the bracelet that Lev gave me glitters in the pale sunlight ebbing around the curtains.
Hesed. Love. The script is beautiful. I blink and Lev’s face is there—gold and pure. His timeless blue eyes peer back at me until they are all I can see.
All gone.
Shaking, I drag my hand through my hair, pulling the loose strands from my face. I turn to the alarm clock. 7:30. It’s Saturday. Jimmie probably would have slept in if I hadn’t woken him. I swallow hard. Six months since Lev’s death, and I yet find myself looking for angels. Looking for him. Is it too much to ask that a town as simple as Tellico Plains, Tennessee, needs more angels—and that if I should somehow be able to somehow find one, could he tell me the truth?
Yeah. Right. The truth.
I force myself to sit up, knowing it was nothing short of a miracle I ever knew Lev for what he was—would I be able to recognize others? I pull the rubber band from my wrist, wrapping it around my long mane of hair just to get it out of my face. As the tears resurface, I rest my arms on my knees and let them rip through me. Tears of grief become tears of anger, which is all I have left.
Damn him.
When the emotional storm has finished with me, I wipe my face and try to ignore the headache. There’s no point in tears, I know. They serve no purpose except to remind me of all the things my life is not and never will be again. I stumble from the bed to the closet. Inside, I find lots of winter clothes left over from my brief stint in Hauser’s Landing, Massachusetts. Never mind that it’s summer now in Tellico Plains, not that I’d wear a lot of this stuff again anyway. Not now.
I settle on black jeans and a purple tank top, colors I’d not normally choose. Maybe it’s my way of saying if I could be someone else, I would be. In passing, I see my reflection in my bureau mirror—haunted and gaunt. But the eyes are the same. They have always been the same. Hello. Is Elizabeth in there somewhere?
I shun the mirror and keep moving until I reach the kitchen, where Jimmie calmly sits at the table, a mug of coffee already in front of him. Although I’m expecting him to break out a pack of Marlboros any moment, right now he’s still adamant about quitting.
Opening a cabinet, I pretend to forage; the one thing that always gets Jimmie’s attention is when I don’t eat. It’s like a red flag, with Jimmie as the bull. So I grab a box of cereal. Once the flakes have tumbled into a bowl, I douse them in milk and feign eating, hoping Jimmie takes the bait. I’m hoping he won’t sense my upcoming road trip away from this stupid place—just another hick town with more trees than people. More classic Jimmie. I can’t say I share his enthusiasm.
I nod to the cereal box and milk. “You want some?”
“Nope.” He taps his mug. “I got the breakfast of champions right here.” He takes a sip.
“Going fishing?” I ask, hoping for the distraction. Jimmie’s been watching me too closely these days, like he’s expecting me to fall apart. Maybe he’s right.
“Thought about it. I guess it depends on what you’ve got planned.”
That’s code for “I’ll decide what I’m doing when I know you’re not getting into trouble.” I shrug and push my spoon around in the bowl.
“Well, what are you going to do?” he finally asks, sensing his hint has garnered no response.
“Thought about looking around and unpacking.” It’s not a lie, exactly. I am going to look around. It’ll just be in Knoxville, not Tellico Plains. I’m not expecting to find any celestial beings in this little town. Hell, with a population this small, nobody gets to die; if anyone did the town might just drop off the face of the earth.
“Lizzie?” His tone harbors a warning.
“I’m fine, Jimmie.” I carry my half-empty bowl to the sink. “I told you that.
“Yeah, that’s why you woke from a nightmare screaming your head off.”
My back stiffens, and I wish I could make him drop this topic. I’ve been wishing that since Lev died. “I said I was fine, Jimmie.”
“I know. But that only makes you a liar, Lizzie. It doesn’t mean you’re not hurting. I still think we need to set up an appointment—”
“I’m not doing the shrink thing!” I yell, g
laring. “Period.” I grip the counter to find some way of occupying my hands.
“Lizzie, you loved a boy who died in your arms. That leaves a mark.” He stands, and I just know he’s coming toward me regardless of whether I want him to. With the counter at my back, it’s not like I have anywhere to go.
“I don’t want to talk about this.” My heart starts to gallop, and breathing gets harder as an image of Lev jumps into my head. My throat is dry, and I start shaking even though it’s easily seventy degrees in here. I wish Jimmie would leave me alone. He doesn’t get it, and he won’t. Jimmie has one way of dealing with everything—barrel through and forget the pieces. No harm, no foul. No point.
“You can’t keep it bottled up forever. It’s going to eat you up until there is nothing left.” Jimmie steps toward me, and I launch myself away from the counter, dodging him. Still, he manages to lay his hand on my shoulder, and with it comes the weight of the world. Tears prick my eyes, and if I have any hope of putting the pain back inside, I have to get away from him. I shrug him off.
“Lev is dead, Jimmie. I know that. He’s never coming back. Is that what you want to hear?”
“This isn’t about what I want,” Jimmie says, his tone resigned. “It’s about what you need to get through this, and you don’t want to talk to me about whatever is locked inside your head.”
Oh, but it is what he wants. It always has been. His time, his way.
I grit my teeth, stunned. “So you think I’m going to talk to a complete stranger because she has the right credentials? Didn’t it ever occur to you maybe I just don’t want to talk to anybody right now?” The lump in my throat is building, just another clue that at any moment, if I don’t get out of here, it’s all going to come tumbling down, and if I fall apart, I’m not sure I’ll be able to put the pieces back together. But, then, damn the pieces, right? Plow through.
Jimmie, clueless as ever, reaches out and pushes a strand of hair from my eyes. That simple gesture unlocks my heart, and all the pain I’ve been carefully stacking there like an internal game of Tetris, falls beyond my control as I start crying, gasping, and falling. Jimmie’s arms enfold me, and he keeps whispering that it will all be okay, but I know better. Jimmie doesn’t control the alignment of the stars any more than I do. He can’t promise me I’ll be okay. The only thing he can promise that the he’ll never ever leave this alone. For him, I’m like the only crooked frame of all the straight ones. If he doesn’t fix me, he’ll never be able to let me be.
Still, for the moment, it feels good to be held and have someone else taking note of everything I can’t control. Not even my heart obeys me anymore. It’s stubborn like that, and maybe if Lev were here, things would be different.
My only chance is to find him, wherever he may be. Knoxville, Tennessee, sounds like as good a place as any.
I take a shuddering breath and test to see if Jimmie’s ready to let go. The way his arms reluctantly release me affirm my attempt, but the concern in his tight-lipped frown appears no less, which sucks because at least one of us should feel better after that moment of despair, and it’s not me. Looking away, I brush the tears from my face and head back to my room. I’ve had about all the bonding I can stomach.
“I’m worried about you,” Jimmie calls. I want to yell back that worry is seriously over-rated and useless. Thing is, with Jimmie these days, I’m never quite sure exactly what he’s worried about. Me? Maybe. But in all truth, I don’t even know what that means. Yet the simple fact of the matter is I’m worried, too.
Jimmie would absolutely kill me if he had any idea my vision of exploring included driving to a city that could swallow Tellico Plains whole and ask for seconds and thirds. But as I start seeing the fringes of the city ahead, I tell myself it really doesn’t matter; Jimmie isn’t going to find out. And even if he does, so what?
I’ve driven in Dallas, so the traffic isn’t that much of a headache. No, what sets me on edge is the fact I’m not even really sure what I’m looking for, only that I’m sure I’ll recognize it when I run across it.
As I start to drive around, I stick to the main streets, but all that results in is pretty buildings with beautiful landscaping. Tourism in all its glory. I shake my head at the mall to my left filled with lots of trendy, expensive vehicles, each complete with nicely dressed people obtuse amid their affluence, which tells me one thing for certain: I’m in the wrong part of town to find Lev.
I came to Knoxville for a reason. I’d looked up the gang problems here, and I knew if any place needed a sojourner for steady work, this place could be it just as well as any other. The trouble is that in order to find a sojourner, somebody’s got to be dying, which means finding Lev will open myself up to a whole new world I am not really sure I want to face.
Brushing the hair from my face, I try to ignore the broken air conditioner and sweat spilling down my face in thick runnels. Unsure which direction to go, I take a random left and head for some back roads. Even as I leave the public relations side of town behind, a little voice is telling me this isn’t such a hot idea, and while I know that, I’ve tried thinking of other ways to find Lev—or any other angels, for that matter. The trouble is that I haven’t come up with anything else, and I’m not willing to live in the status quo. Life without Lev isn’t an option.
I fiddle with the radio, trying to ignore the static bursts grating on my nerves. It’s the one drawback to my Jeep, and most of the time I’ve been able to ignore it. It’s just that, these days, I’m having problems ignoring a lot of stuff. When I look up, I start seeing the first signs of economic struggle in the condition of houses needing new paint with less-than-luxurious cars sitting in the driveways and on the streets. For a moment, my foot stutters on the gas as another internal warning goes off, telling me I should turn around and head home.
Instead, I nudge the accelerator and keep going, watching as the neglected houses slowly give way to slums. The cars passing by are no longer those of rich, affluent whites but have, for the most part, turned into lower-end models of non-descript cars. Most of the faces I see blur past are of Latino descent.
I swallow hard, suddenly realizing just how far out of my element I am. The run-down houses on either side of me have numerous people milling about, including small children, which should make me feel a little more at ease, but it doesn’t, not with the looks I keep getting, especially from teenage males. I’ve seen lots of guys watch me, but these expressions are feral and territorial. It has nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with trying to put people in their places. As an outsider and a female, I’m not sure what that place might be, but I’m also not slowing down to find out.
It’s then, of all times, I feel my front tire start to wobble, and I cringe at the thought of a flat. Around me, there are so many people, and the houses are so small. The flow of traffic has all but died, suggesting that this neighborhood is really either very dangerous or a dead-end. Either way, I shouldn’t be here.
Knowing I don’t have a choice, I ease the Jeep to the side of the road and shift into park. Already I see lots of people staring. The kids who were playing with Frisbees or footballs suddenly stop and look at me—yet another sign strangers don’t come here. Or if they do, they certainly aren’t welcome. I nervously reach inside my purse, scanning for my cell. As my hand touches my wallet, my compact, my brush, I realize I’ve left it at home. My stomach falls like I’m riding a roller coaster and I’ve just gone down the first big hill.
For a moment, I just sit there, half-considering turning the vehicle around and driving back toward the mall. At least that would put me in a line of sight where I wouldn’t feel so threatened, but I know the Jeep won’t make it that far with the ruined tire.
A light pounding at my window makes me jump, and I turn to see a Hispanic teenager in a white tank top. The cotton stretches tightly across his torso, highlighting the taut muscles beneath. He gestures for me to roll the window down. Trembling, I comply.
“You need som
e help with the rueda? The tire?” His voice is calm, careful. He rests one arm on the roof of the Jeep and lets his grease-stained fingers dangle over. Then I notice the car on blocks in the driveway across the street where he’s probably been overhauling it. Although the sun is at his back, his black hair is so thick no light bleeds through it. It only halos his head. He frowns like he’s not sure what to make of my silence.
Finally, I nod, realizing I don’t really have any choice. “That would be great.”
“Set your emergency brake.” He waits for me to comply and then nods. “Where is your jack?”
“In back.” I lick my lips nervously.
“Can you open the door so I can get it?” A thin strand of his hair curls against his forehead. He slowly steps back from the door so I can get out. Taking a deep breath, I yank my keys from the ignition and scramble out. Even as my feet hit the street, I feel numerous gazes on me, and I keep looking at the ground, unnerved, aware of just how much space there is between his body and mine as I walk around the Jeep and open the back door. He steps past me and grabs the jack.
“At least you didn’t get this on the highway.”
“Yeah.” I fold my arms across my chest and watch him place the jack and begin lifting the vehicle. He pauses for a moment.
“You might want to step back.”
I turn toward the Jeep and realize for the first time how stable it isn’t as it lifts into the air on one side. So I take his advice and step back, giving him room to loosen the lug nuts then crank the jack. It’s obvious by his efficient movements he’s probably done this a million times. He’s already got the tire off; if it were me, I’d probably still be figuring out how to work the jack. While I may have some good skills, figuring out mechanical things isn’t one of them.
“Thank you for doing this,” I say, scanning the people around me. The kids have resumed playing, figuring that while I’m not part of the usual landscape, I’m not exactly a threat, either.
“De nada. You’re welcome.” He takes the spare off the back of the Jeep and rolls it where he can mount it. “You’re not from around here.”