The Year of the Great Seventh

by Orts, Teresa

  I rested my finger on his lips to stop him from finishing the sentence. Then I looked him straight in the eye. I wanted to stare at his beautiful face one last time, mentally engraving it in the back of my eyelids. It was as if there was a magnetic force attracting us.

  He leaned closer to me, and I let my subconscious make the irrational decision. I could feel the warmth of his breath. I couldn’t control my body anymore. It was as if all the energy we held from each other for so long had exploded out of control. Finally our foreheads touched, allowing the energy to flow. We closed our eyes, hoping time would get stuck in this exact moment. Life was ironic. We were surrounded by the things that most people cherished, but knew we couldn’t have what we both wanted the most.

  “I will. I’ll do it,” I whispered.

  Nate wrapped his arms around me. “Thanks.”

  A wave of sadness invaded my body, as I knew the moment I left this place, I would leave a part of me behind. The part that belonged to Nate. One of those parts that you end up searching for the rest of your life.

  CHAPTER VI

  I WOKE UP EARLY the next morning. The bright sun shone through my bedroom windows. Hiding under my duvet, I was reluctant to face the world again. Thankfully, it was Saturday and there was nothing forcing me out of bed.

  I couldn’t find the energy or any reason to get out of bed ever again. Now I realized that Nate subconsciously drove my day to day. It was true he was arrogant and I knew he was a labyrinth of secrets. Unfortunately, I’d never expected his secrets to be along the lines of a genetic mental illness. Nate’s life was complex enough; I didn’t need to make it any more complicated.

  It was difficult to accept that beautiful Nate was going to lose his mind. It was truly a sad end. The king had confessed that he could no longer rule his kingdom. I needed someone to dream about, and until now, that had been Nate. As of yesterday, I learned Nate was as scared of the future as the rest of us—and even more so.

  I’d never lost a loved one. My grandparents died before I was born. But more or less, I was sure this was the way people felt. The color of my life had been brushed away. I didn’t enjoy living in L.A., but I managed to find little things to give me a reason to keep going. Now, I couldn’t seem to remember any of them, or at least they didn’t seem important enough to get out of bed for. To make matters worse, I was on my own. Megan was in Montreal and Emma was busy shooting a commercial.

  My body felt heavier than ever before. Emptiness filled each part of me. I couldn’t just give up. I couldn’t just accept that Nate’s life had an expiration date.

  My head was pounding. I hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep for a few days. There were too many things on my mind at the moment. I was reluctant to believe there was no doctor or medication that could help Nate. However, I suspected he hadn’t given up right away. I was confident that his parents had tried everything they could.

  After giving it some thought, I could understand his decision for not taking his meds. Yes, they could keep his episodes under control, but if he couldn’t function and couldn’t be himself, what was the point? There had to be some other way of helping him—a more reasonable way.

  I was comfortable under my Nordic duvet. It was incredible the kind of protection from the outside world that a bunch of goose feathers could provide. No one could hurt me down here. It was my own little world that no one could spoil. My imagination was my reality in the darkness of my sheets. But after spending the entire morning trying to invent a reason to get out of bed, the simple smell of toast accomplished the unthinkable.

  After grabbing some lunch, I decided that a good start to get myself back on track was to put some order in my life, and that began with sorting my books and storing old ones away in boxes. I got some folders and boxes from the closet and sat down to classify the papers from last year. If I wanted something to keep my mind occupied, this was it. This would keep me busy for the next two days. I hadn’t sorted out my old books in over a year.

  I picked up the clothes from my bedroom floor and placed them on top of the pile that already existed inside my closet. Then I gathered all the books and papers that were on the sofa and placed them in boxes in the compartment over the closet. I rearranged the duvet and the sheets and also organized the things on my night table.

  The bedroom was starting to look tidy, but it was really a fake. Under my bed there were around twenty pairs of shoes that were going to take a while to organize. To make matters worse, the papers from last year had gotten mixed up with this year’s. Spreading all the papers on top of my bed, I sat on one side and spent the next couple of hours sorting them.

  Someone knocked on the bedroom door.

  “Come in!” I shouted.

  Dad popped his head through the half-open door. “Sophie, we’re going to Burbank to spend the evening at Aunt Jane’s. Do you want to come?”

  “No thanks. I have to go to the Getty to get my recommendation letter,” I explained. “The program coordinator called me last week to let me know it was ready.”

  Jane was Mom’s younger sister. She was a successful businesswoman working for a production company. Even though she was in her late thirties, she was single. It wasn’t because she didn’t have any boyfriends; it was more a personal choice. She never really had time for any of them. Her entire life was her job, which she cherished. I guess different people found happiness in different ways. When I was a kid, she used to babysit me and I loved it. She was absolutely reckless. She would let me do anything I wanted: stay up at night, eat candy for dinner, or go to the grocery store in my pajamas. She was the best aunt in the world.

  She was also really good to Mom. She hired her as a special consultant to supervise the casting process of the movies her company produced. Most of Mom’s income came from these freelance jobs. The downside was that Aunt Jane also had high expectations for me in an acting career. She always told me that I had the talent and the right connections to make it in Hollywood, and I was ignoring the opportunities she could offer me. She was just as pushy as Mom, calling me every time they were casting a role for a movie.

  Unfortunately, that issue forced us apart. It didn’t really worry me that we lost our connection. I knew sooner or later she would understand it was my life and I was entitled to my own preferences.

  “Mom’s car keys are on the coffee table. See you tonight.” Dad said, closing the door behind him.

  I didn’t want to get Dad involved in my blues, but I was sure he could bring some hope to Nate’s issue. Or at least, he could give me the scientific facts about his problem.

  “Dad?” I called. Dad’s steps resonated in the corridor.

  “Yes?” he said, popping his head back through the door gap.

  “What do you know about mental health problems?” I said while sorting out some old school papers on the bed.

  “Homework?” he said with intrigue.

  “Not really. Curiosity.”

  Dad lifted his eyebrows in surprise. He was silent, probably trying to compute why I asked this.

  I explained without looking him in the eye. “Let’s say that in a hypothetical family, the grandfather had a terminal mental disease and the grandchild was developing the same symptoms from an early age. Would there be anything that could reverse the course of the illness?”

  Dad was staring at me. A light crease appeared in his forehead. I think he knew exactly whom I was referring to. He came and sat on the bed next to me, moving some of the papers aside.

  “The brain is the most complex organ of the body. Scientists have spent hundreds of years trying to understand how it works. They have a general understanding and are able to treat some mental illnesses with some drugs. Unfortunately, they don’t know ‘yet’ how to cure many diseases, and they know even less about the terminal ones.” He surveyed my reaction.

  I was hesitating about asking Dad because I knew he would tell me what I didn’t want to hear. Nate’s battle was a lost cause from day one.

 
“These drugs have a numbing effect on patients, right? They just keep them half asleep so they won’t get themselves into trouble,” I said with disappointment.

  “The causes of mental disorders are complex and vary from patient to patient,” Dad explained. “The drugs given can’t cure the illness. Many of the drugs do work something like a tranquilizer to keep the patients relaxed, so they won’t have any episodes.”

  “So you’re just saying there’s nothing that can cure a genetic mental illness at the moment?” I repeated, hoping that he would prove my understanding wrong.

  “I’m afraid not.” Dad moved his head from side to side resignedly. “Also, mentally ill people can be dangerous. Most of the time they are completely normal people like you and me, but they can go into a state of psychosis at short notice.”

  I shuffled through the papers on the bed, trying to avoid thinking about Dad’s words. My hands were sweating thinking of Nate’s struggle at the parking lot.

  “Is there any way I could help your hypothetical friend? I know some doctors who work in the field,” Dad said, trying to cheer me up.

  “No thanks. It’s okay. I need to finish putting these into boxes.” I stood up and paced into the walk-in closet with a box full of books. Kneeling on the floor, I placed the existing boxes on top of each other to save space. Then I heard Dad closing the door behind him. I grabbed the new box and rested it on top of the others. The bottom cardboard box collapsed due to the weight, and all the boxes fell to the floor. Hundreds of papers flew around the walk-in closet.

  I couldn’t do it. I needed to get out of here. These walls were smothering me. How could life be so cruel?

  I changed into a pair of jeans and a tank top and put on the necklace that Dad had given me. Rushing downstairs, I grabbed Mom’s keys, got into the car, and drove to the Getty Center.

  Last summer I worked at the Getty and enjoyed every minute of it. It was the only place in L.A. where I could find real peace of mind. The museum was secluded on the summit of a hill, leaving the frenetic speed of L.A. down beneath. It was a spiritual sanctuary.

  The gardens and the stylish white buildings made for a beautiful setting overlooking the L.A. skyline. The people who worked at the Getty were mostly retirees who had too much spare time on their hands. In fact, I was the only person under sixty working during the summer. I got along with them really well. Mom always told me I was an old-spirited young girl.

  The internship program coordinator had said he was going to leave my recommendation letter at the information desk. Melancholy filled every part of me when I got off the tram that took me from the parking lot to the summit of the hill. It made me realize last summer had been the best one of my life. I wished I could turn back time.

  My job at the museum had been playing the introduction video at the small entrance theater. The job itself wasn’t very exciting, but I loved spending days at the museum. I got to meet likeminded people interested in art and history, and most important, I discovered, like Dad, history was my real passion.

  The mid-afternoon sun seemed like a disc of fire and the sky was a vivid red. The water cascaded into a reflecting pool surrounded by red flowers in the central garden. The dramatic scenery made me think of Nate.

  I couldn’t believe there was no hope for him. He was going to have to wait for his fate without even an opportunity to put up a fight. My heart sank at the thought of Nate the previous night, the car window, the pain.

  I went into the museum entrance hall and headed straight for the information desk. Like every day last summer, Mary Clarke, a retired anthropologist, satisfied people’s curiosities about the exhibits.

  “Sophie, I’m so glad to see you! How are you my dear?” Mary exclaimed with a toothy grin.

  “Hi, Mary. I’m fine. How are you? Has it been busy around here?” I asked, reclining on the counter.

  “Oh, dear! Those elementary school trips are too much for an old lady like me.” Mary chuckled, lowering her voice.

  The entrance hall was in chaos with a bunch of children running around out of control. The teachers struggled to get them to line up. Two little ones chased each other around the information desk.

  “Thank God we’re closing at six. I need a day off after today.” Mary rolled her eyes at me.

  The children seemed to multiply by the second. Every time I turned, there were a few more of them running around the entrance hall.

  “You may want to check the new Ancient Egypt exhibit until these little buggers clear off. Believe me, you don’t want to be stuck with them in the tram.” Mary winked at me, handing me a large white envelope.

  Feeling sorry for Mary, I fled as quickly as I could manage. Those screaming children were too much, even for me.

  I spent a couple of hours at the Research Center checking out an exhibit about Rembrandt’s drawings and looking at some books. I could spend hours here without really noticing the time flying by.

  Before leaving for the evening, I decided to check the exhibit that Mary recommended. The temporary exhibits were always displayed on the ground floor of the north pavilion.

  The exhibit had completely changed since last time I was there. Through the summer, an exhibit of European paintings from the nineteenth century had been on display. Now the room was filled with glass cases that held papyruses. The larger ones hung from the walls. The first papyrus I walked up to had golden Egyptian symbols with a beige background.

  I went around the room, observing the others in the cases. Each one was the size of a paperback book. The pages, deteriorated by the passage of time, were also beige and covered with golden lettering. There was a large red papyrus hanging on one of the walls. It seemed to be the paramount piece of the collection as it was the largest one. It, too, was covered with golden hieroglyphics. To the side, an information plaque explained that it dated from 30 BC, the time of Cleopatra and Mark Antony.

  The translated text read:

  “Ammateus, marked by the legend of Orion, will suffocate with his own hands the life that guides him. Then he will bring the sons of Satan back from the death, marking the end of it all.

  “Only the divine stone found where heaven meets Earth will save her. The salvation to both lies beneath.”

  I skimmed through the text, and it explained some background below the translation. It said something about the Egyptian people fearing a night spirit known as Ammateus that was supposed to bring the end of the world. It also mentioned they believed a divine stone could protect them from this night spirit. It was a gift from the gods to protect the Egyptians.

  I was about to move on to the next papyrus, when a word rang a bell. The first one was “Ammateus.”

  I knew I’d heard this word before, but I couldn’t remember exactly where. Dad tutored me about Ancient Egypt a few days ago. I remembered we’d spoken about Egyptian mythology, the gods and demons, and how Egyptians erected obelisks to be protected from the night spirits. But he hadn’t mentioned the word Ammateus.

  He described how gods and demons had adopted different names through different stages of Ancient Egypt. I was almost sure that Ammateus hadn’t been one of them. I couldn’t remember where I heard that word, and I moved on to the next papyrus. Trying to read through the next information plaque, I couldn’t let it go. I knew I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t remember where.

  Flashbacks played in my mind.

  My throat contracted. This couldn’t be for real.

  I went back to the large exhibit and read the word out loud. Ethan’s party and the parking lot. Nate had said that word each time he’d had an episode.

  The previous night I promised Nate as we stood together outside his house that I would stay away from him for my own good—and for his. I had to fulfill his wishes, whether I liked it or not, and be the invisible girl I had always been.

  Was I contriving a reason to break my promise? The text on the papyrus made no sense. I asked myself if this is how a desperate mind worked. Surely Nate would think tha
t if I contacted him again the very next day.

  I couldn’t think about it any longer. Holding my breath, I grabbed my phone and texted Nate.

  You need to come to the Getty Center. It’s really important.

  I continued to examine the papyruses in the same area to see whether any others mentioned the same word. They were divided in chronological sections. None of the others seemed to be related to Mark Antony and Cleopatra.

  My phone beeped within seconds.

  Is everything all right?

  Please hurry. You need to see something.

  I keyed the letters with the speed of sound.

  A pause and then another message came in.

  Is everything all right? What is it?

  The museum closed at six o’clock. Nate only had half an hour to drive from Beverly Hills. He needed to hurry.

  No time to explain. Please, you need to come. It’s really important!

  Nate texted right back.

  Okay, I’ll be there soon.

  I went outside and sat on the marble stairs where I could watch the tram arriving at the museum. The sun was setting and the darkness of the night tinted the multicolored sky. The city lights were slowly coming to life.

  The breeze was quickly picking up on top of the hill. At this time of year, the temperature dropped as soon as night fell. My tank top didn’t really keep me warm so I brought my knees close to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. The tram climbed up and down the hill with not a single passenger. I followed it with my gaze, eager for Nate’s arrival.

  Why did Nate murmur the word Ammateus to himself when he was having an episode? Now I could clearly picture him saying it at Ethan’s party and also last night in the parking lot. Maybe he’d read that word in a book and it came afloat from his subconscious when he lost control. What about the freckles on his back shaped like the Orion constellation? Wasn’t that too much of a coincidence?