“You can't hide from me, Rosalind,” he said. “I'm coming for you, and when I get my hands on you, I’m going to make you beg.”
His breath hit the back of my neck and at the same time his hands closed around my shoulders, jerking me backward.
I screamed.
“Roz! Rosalind, honey, wake up!”
I opened my eyes. Bonnie sat beside me on the bed, her hands grasping my shoulders in an attempt to wake me up. My face was wet and my throat felt dry.
I looked around me. I was in my new room. In my new town. I was safe and Derek was dead.
“It was just a dream,” I whispered.
She stood and went into my bathroom, and came back a moment later with a glass of water and a pill.
“Juanita said you might have nightmares and anxiety issues for a while. One of your doctors prescribed this. It'll help.”
I eyed the pill and the water, wanting the traces of fear and panic to go away.
“It felt so real,” I whispered brokenly.
Her eyes were full of compassion as she nodded, understanding.
“They seem like it sometimes, don't they?”
I nodded and slowly reached for the medication she held.
“Thank you,” I said.
She waited until I'd swallowed the pill and half the glass of water, then set the remainder of it on my nightstand. It was then I only realized it was the middle of the night.
“How long was I asleep for?” I asked, seeing her in a tank top and pajama bottoms. I hadn't noticed it earlier, but she had tattoos across the tops of her shoulders and down to both elbows. The artwork was intricate and stunning.
She smiled gently. “Six hours. But not to worry, Roz. You get as much rest as you need. You have to heal from whatever it was that happened to you, and the best way to do that is to sleep.”
She bent down and gave me a tender kiss on my forehead.
“I'll leave a nightlight on in the bathroom, and crack the door. Will that help?” She asked.
I nodded, afraid to admit out loud that I was suddenly terrified of the dark. Somehow, she knew it before I did though, and she fixed the bathroom door so a small stream of soft light filtered into the bedroom.
“Goodnight, sweetheart,” she said softly as she left my room.
I took several deep breaths in and out, wondering why Bonnie was the one to wake me from my nightmare and not Jimmy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In the morning, I woke up refreshed and ready to create a new life for myself. I wanted to make things better. Brighter.
I looked around to make sure Jimmy wasn’t around before taking a long, hot shower. The shampoo and conditioner Bonnie had placed there for me made my hair smell like gardenias, and I loved it. Next, I dressed in my favorite black leggings and giant green and purple flannel. I added my wide, black studded cuff to my wrist and placed my rings on my middle finger and thumb. I lined my eyes in black (as was my usual makeup routine), and brushed out my long hair. Finally, I laced up my high top Chucks and looked in the mirror.
I looked just as normal as I always did. Normal was good. I strived for normal. Except today I smelled better than normal. And that was one happy step toward my new, better life.
I entered the kitchen where the family was just finishing up their breakfast together.
“Hey! Good morning, gorgeous!” Bonnie exclaimed when she saw me.
A man sat at the table with Vincent and Amelia, and he turned to look at me.
“There thee ith!” He exclaimed with a mouthful of food.
Bonnie slapped his arm and rolled her eyes.
“I know I trained you all these years much better than that, Mitchell!” She exclaimed.
He chuckled and swallowed his bite before standing.
“Nice to meet you, Roz,” he said, extending his hand. “I'm Mitch.”
I nodded at him and shook his hand. Mitch was tall, wide, and had the beginnings of a beer belly going on. Despite that, his brown eyes were warm and insightful, his brown hair thick and wavy, and I could see he was sort of a handsome man, even if he was old.
“Pull up a chair, Roz, and make a plate!” He said with a grin. “Bonnie’s cooking is somewhat digestible, if it doesn't poison you first.” He winked.
“Oh is that a fact, mister?” She scoffed. “I'll have you know that gut of yours never showed up until you got a taste of my cooking!”
He laughed heartily, obviously enjoying teasing his wife.
He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “It was delicious as always, my bride.”
And with that, he grabbed his empty plate and the plates of the children and took them to the sink to wash them.
I sat beside Bonnie as Amelia and Vincent were excused from the table, and whispered, “He's doing the dishes?”
She straightened up and stared at me. “Of course he is,” she declared. “I cooked, so he cleans.”
My eyes grew big and round as I digested this news. I'd never known a man to wash dishes before. My mother did the cooking and the cleaning, well, what little bit she did of it. Derek had never raised a finger to help in any housework, that I'd ever seen. It had usually been me fending for myself for food, and I always washed whatever dishes I dirtied.
Mitch washed and dried each dirty dish before putting them away. It was enlightening, to say the least.
The table was filled with platters of pancakes, bacon, home fries, scrambled eggs, and a bowl of fruit. It all looked so good I could barely contain myself. I piled my plate high and realized I hadn't eaten since my hospital breakfast the day before.
I was starving.
Bonnie sat with me and chatted while I ate. She told me it was good I'd arrived the day before- on a Saturday- since it gave me today to rest up before starting at my new high school tomorrow. Provided I felt like starting right away.
I did.
Mitch was a PE coach at the elementary school she explained, which wasn't far from the high school I’d be attending. So, it was decided that in the mornings, I would ride with him, Amelia, and Vincent to school. After school, I could walk home or catch the bus, since Mitch wasn't able to leave his school until much later than mine got out.
I nodded, not caring how I got home from school so long as I got to eat breakfast like this everyday.
“You're mighty hungry, aren't you?” Bonnie asked.
I nodded. “The most I ever got to eat for breakfast was usually a bowl of cereal or a slice of toast. We didn't do breakfasts in my house.”
She nodded, and didn't say anything else. There was no need to. The compassion in her eyes told me she knew I'd had it rough. Eating a good breakfast really wasn't that much of a big deal. I didn't require it, I was used to not having one. But I could tell, to Bonnie, it was a very big deal, indeed.
My happy stomach seemed to agree.
***
After breakfast, I decided to empty my duffle bag and take inventory of my belongings and the things I was going to need. I wasn't sure how I'd manage, but Juanita had slipped me thirty dollars before she'd left, so I decided it was time to figure out what I had and what I didn't.
I had just put the last of my clothes into my dresser when the air around me grew colder. Considering it was the month of February, a chill in the air was expected. But this felt different. Thicker. Like something almost tangible.
And I knew it was Jimmy.
I turned around and he stood behind me, hands in his pockets, just as casual and carefree as before.
I looked him over. He was dressed the same, and it made my stomach warm. Something about his look was so basic, and yet so right for him. I couldn't help but appreciate it.
He waved at me and I waved back. He grinned.
“She sees me!” He exclaimed and laughed before throwing himself upon my freshly-made bed.
I tilted my head and watched as he rolled himself around on my pillows, destroying my covers.
“You will straighten all that up!” I said, and pointed at
the mess.
He chuckled and hopped from the bed. He moved to me quickly, grabbing my upper arms which shivered beneath his touch.
“But you see me!” He sounded like a child on Christmas morning. “I tried to control it and I did! It worked! You see me!”
And with that, he placed a loud, chaste kiss right on my lips.
I froze.
He looked at me, and realized what he'd done.
“Oh no, Roz, I'm so sorry,” he whispered. “I wasn't thinking. I just reacted. I'm so sorry. Please… don't hate me.”
I stepped away from him and lowered myself into the desk chair.
His quick kiss had shocked me, yes, but it made me want more… yet, at the same time, it reminded me of Derek and I didn't know how to process everything.
“I'd never been kissed before Wednesday night,” I said softly, bringing my fingers to my lips. They still held a trace of coldness from his touch. “And now, in just a few days, I've been kissed by both my attacker and my savior.”
I looked up at him and he stared down at me, his eyes full of pain.
“I'm nothing like him,” he said firmly. “I would never….”
I nodded. “I know. You saved me from him, Jimmy. I would never put you in the same category.”
He knelt before me and placed his hands over mine. They were cold and solid and I grabbed onto them, clinging as if he were my lifeline as I drowned in this sea of uncertainty.
“Listen to me, Rosalind,” he whispered, “I'm nothing like him. I am not like him in any kind of way.” He fell silent for a moment, and glanced down at our hands. “Well, that’s not entirely true. He and I… we do have one thing in common.”
I brought my head close, and tentatively leaned my forehead against his. It felt like his hands, cold and solid. Feeling something more than just icy air filled me with unexplainable joy. It meant he was real.
I was lost in this moment. It was so intimate, pressing our foreheads together, looking down at our clasped hands that rested in my lap. I knew in my soul he was going to tell me something big, and I wanted him to know it was okay, whatever it was. I still accepted him.
After all, he was my hero.
“Tell me. What is it you have in common with a dead man?” I asked.
And then, it was as if a light came on, and I knew. I wanted to beg and plead for him not to tell me, to never tell me his truth, his horrible, miserable truth, because I didn't know how I could handle the knowledge of it. But I stayed silent, because I had to hear it from him… because no matter how outrageous his truth would be, I had to accept it… because no matter how I wanted to prolong the inevitable and believe he was, in fact real, this was one band-aid that required a quick pull.
“He and I,” he whispered, pulling away to look into my eyes, “We're both dead.”
I stared into his bottomless eyes, wanting to lose myself in their depths.
“I knew it,” I said. “Somehow… I knew.”
He released my hands and stood, crossing to the window and looking out at the backyard.
“My mother was a fan of James Dean,” he said quietly, “When he died in 1955, she vowed to name her first born for him. I showed up three years later.”
He turned to look at me, as if to make sure I was listening.
I was.
“James Dean Matheson,” he introduced himself, “at your service. My family was upper middle class. Very proper. Prim. I never understood how my mother loved James Dean so much. He stood for everything that she was against. She was all about raising a proper family in her proper home, doing nothing to offend the neighbors and always obeying every single little societal nicety. James Dean, on the other hand, was all about rebelling against the establishment, speaking out against those who repress others. He didn't care what society thought of him. He lived each day for himself, as if it were his last.”
His eyes moved to the wall where the quote was. He nodded.
“James Dean was my icon, my role model, when I became a teenager in the seventies. The idea to rebel against the establishment was everywhere. And just because my role model was dead didn’t mean he stopped influencing those of us who were oppressed. I had just turned eighteen and my mother had long grown bored with me, with her life. She was sending me off to college, one she'd hand-picked and was far enough away so they wouldn't have to be bothered by me. My father didn't care what I did as long as I didn't shame the family. My mother withdrew from me, my father, my sister. She quit caring about everything, acted like she wanted me gone.”
I swallowed and remained silent. I didn't want anything to disturb him or make him stop. I ached for him, as he spoke about his mother. I knew exactly what he'd described. It's what I'd been through, myself.
“I decided I'd try one last time to get her attention. I figured since she'd loved James Dean so much when she was younger, I'd use him to… I don't know… win her affection once again, I guess. I put these clothes on,” he gestured at his body, “And found her in the kitchen, drinking. She laughed at me, called me a loser, said I was nothing because I came from nothing. That we were all… nothing. And then she said to change my clothes before one of the neighbors saw me and I embarrassed her.”
He roamed around my room for several quiet moments. My heart ached for him, for his pain. I could see it was hard for him to speak, but I also knew it was important that he continue.
“I grabbed a bottle of Scotch, and her keys, and left. I drank that whole bottle in minutes, and headed for a lake near our house. I didn't care about anything. I kept hearing her words- I was a loser. I was nothing. I don’t know what I was thinking, exactly. I was drunk and upset and so damn alone.”
He stopped abruptly and looked at me.
“I guess I felt like, fine, if she thinks I'm nothing, then I'll show her.” He paused and sighed. “I never made it to the lake. I ran my car into a tree going eighty, before I even got out of my neighborhood.”
My eyes filled with hot tears. I knew his pain, intimately. I felt it deep in my bones as if it were my own. And in a way, for whatever reason, it was.
He approached me and knelt down once more.
“Now Rosalind,” he whispered as he lifted his hands to my face. He was tender and gentle as his thumbs swept away the wetness from beneath my eyes. “There's no need to cry for me. I've been dead for a long, long time.”
My shoulders shook as I fought off the sobs that threatened to come out.
“I can't fully control when I can appear,” he said, “But when you were little, you used to see me all the time.”
I raised my eyes to him, shocked. “I did?” I asked.
He nodded. “And then something happened, something to drop this sort of… veil… between us... and you weren't able to see me anymore after that. Not until the other night.”
I took a deep breath, sorting through my memories to see if he was in any of them. But I remembered nothing.
“Why me?” I asked as my tears dried. “Does anyone else ever see you? Or just me? Are you… are you a ghost?”
His eyes bored into me as he nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said, “I am. I died. I saw my body in the car. I saw my funeral, my casket, my grave. They had the balls to put beloved son on my tombstone. Can you imagine?” He gave a harsh laugh. “After that, though, there was nothing. I existed in a sort of darkness where I roamed around, wandering aimlessly, invisible to everyone. Until one day, you saw me. You were at a park, and you saw me. I played with you and for the first time in decades, I felt some kind of peace. Since then, I’ve been able to watch over you and remain in your presence constantly, even when you think I'm not there. But as far as why I’m tethered to you and you alone… I don't know.”
“So… no one else has ever seen you?”
He shook his head, no. “You've always been the only one.”
Suddenly, his grip on my hands felt lighter, thinner, and I looked down. They were becoming transparent, and my heart plummeted.
“No, not
yet,” I begged, “Don't disappear on me now!”
“I'm sorry,” he said softly, his voice evaporating like his body, “I can't control it. It's the energy, I think. It comes and goes.”
“Don't go,” I begged, “Please!”
“I'm always here,” he promised, as he faded completely away.
CHAPTER NINE
I was crushed. I was just beginning to learn and understand what Jimmy was when he disappeared.
Again.
I knew I was losing my mind just a little bit, if I was seeing and talking to ghosts, but he was so freaking real when he was here, visible to me. I didn't know if I was so attached to him because he had saved me from Derek, or because he'd always been around me since I was little (even though I didn't remember that). Either way, each time I got to actually see him and speak with him, it further cemented his presence in my soul.
The rest of my day was spent gathering things together for school. Mitch took me to a local pharmacy where they had loads of notebooks, backpacks, and other things, and I picked out what I needed. I was careful not to spend more than the thirty dollars in my pocket and shopped frugally. However, it was pointless. Mitch told me to put my money away and save it for something fun, and he then proceeded to pay for my items instead.
I didn't like how awkward that made me feel. No one had ever spent money on me before, and I wasn't sure what was going to be expected of me in return. I decided I would offer to do housework in exchange for the school supplies. That way, I wouldn't feel further obligated to this family who was already putting a roof over my head.
Back at the house, Bonnie and the little ones were doing art projects together. They had newspapers all over the kitchen floor and the breakfast nook had been shoved against the window to make room for easels. Each of them stood before their canvasses, painting different shapes and images. Bonnie was creating a rather impressive looking octopus at the bottom of the ocean, with a red-haired mermaid whispering to it. Vincent painted a giant black and white soccer ball on a green field. Amelia painted what looked like bright pink flowers with a rainbow and a sun. On further inspection, I think she may have also painted a unicorn, but the colors were swirling together so much it was hard to distinguish.
Rest in Peace Roz: The R.I.P. Series Book 1 Page 5