6:59

by Nonye Acholonu

  Olive smiled shyly at me. “So what are you saying, Cameron?” she asked.

  “What are you saying, Olive?” I countered, grinning at her.

  Olive shook her head, blushing like crazy. “You’re the guy! You make the move!” she said, nudging me with her elbow.

  She didn’t have to tell me twice. I grabbed her elbow and brought her close to me. When our lips touched, it was as if I’d been struck by lightning. The electricity that had just been in the air coursed up and down my spine and instantly intensified our kiss. Olive wrapped her arms around my neck and I shoved away the asparagus, not caring if it made a mess.

  My arms circled around her waist, bringing her closer to me so that our bodies were almost melded together. Her fingers pushed through my hair, electrifying my body in ways I couldn’t explain. I brought my hands up to her face, holding her mouth in place. She traced her hands up and down my back, her fingers like little lightning bolts, electrocuting my senses. I didn’t want the kiss to stop.

  At first, I thought that my instant dizziness was a result of the intense kiss Olive and I were sharing but I was wrong. Warning signs of my blackout were already in motion; the dizziness, the quick breathing, the fatigue. It was coming.

  I pulled my lips away from Olive’s, struggling to check the time on my watch. But when Olive’s mouth fell onto my neck, all thought processes terminated as I wrapped her more tightly.

  Then, I blacked out.

  Chapter Twenty

  Olive

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was kissing Cameron! Cameron was kissing me! Finally, after all these years, we were together and I couldn’t be happier. As he kissed me, I marveled at his eagerness and need to intensify our kiss. This moment happened just how I imagined for years: Cameron would profess his love for me (he kind of did, right?), I would play innocent (even though I pretty much knew what was going to happen), and then we’d make out with each other passionately. Bingo!

  Now, as I kissed his neck, I felt his head loll backwards and I knew I’d hit the spot. So my fear of being a horrible kisser hadn’t come true. In fact, I was pretty great at this, if I do say so myself.

  I kissed his neck one more time, before I reached for his mouth again. But when I looked up, I saw that his body had gone limp and his hands were hanging loosely at his sides. He was leaning back heavily onto the porch railing as if he’d fainted or something.

  “Cameron?” I asked, swinging his head from side to side. At first I felt pretty proud of myself — I’d been such a great kisser, I’d made him faint! But then, when he slopped all the way over and landed heavily onto the pavement, I knew something was wrong.

  Instantly I jumped up and barreled into the house. As I ran for the kitchen, I came face-to-face with Anjolie, Armando, and Hudson. Immediately I’d wanted to throw a tantrum because I wasn’t invited to this thing, but I controlled my anger. “Cameron fainted! I need water!” I cried out.

  “Fainted?” Armando and Hudson asked at the same time.

  “Crap,” Anjolie said, running outside. “Crap, crap, crap!” she screamed before the front door shut.

  Before I could question what was wrong with her, Mila launched herself out of the kitchen. “Cameron should be fine,” she started saying. “He’ll be fine.”

  I grabbed a glass of water and desperately tried not to spill its contents as I headed out the front door. When I got outside, Anjolie was kneeling down, clutching Cameron’s head in her lap. The sight made me want to gouge her pretty little eyes out.

  “Get away!” I demanded instead.

  She ignored me, lifting Cameron up from under his arms. “I’ll take care of him,” she said, dragging him away at an incredible speed. She’d made it down to the sidewalk before Cameron began to stir.

  “He’s waking up!” I cried out, relief flooding over me. I set the glass of water onto the porch railing just as Armando, Hudson, and Mila emerged from the doorway. I bounded down his front lawn and made it to his side, just as his eyes opened.

  “Phew,” Anjolie said under her breath as she let him just fall onto the floor as if he were a filthy pig or something.

  “Ow,” Cameron said, rubbing the back of his head. “Setting me on the ground carefully would’ve been a lot nicer.”

  “Cameron you fainted!” I cried out, falling down onto my knees. “What happened?” It took all I could not to resume our make-out session, but I promised myself we’d get back to it soon.

  Cameron peered up at me and I flinched away, startled. His eyes were now white-gray and his gaze was so intense, he could kill a small animal with it. “What am I doing outside on the floor?”

  Everyone stared at him, confusion in their eyes. “We were out here and you passed out, remember?” I asked. I desperately hoped he’d remembered what we were doing out here.

  Cameron sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Oh,” he said, remembering what happened. “Last night I had one too many beers and passed out on the lawn. Now I remember.” Then he looked at me. “What are you doing here? Didn’t that old lady tell you not to hang with me anymore?” he asked.

  I stared at him with wide eyes. What was he talking about? Hadn’t I just cleared the whole thing up a few minutes ago? Was he that disoriented he forgot what had just happened?

  “And what are you doing here, Anj? Don’t you have work to do?” Cameron asked, staring up at Anjolie expectantly.

  Anjolie glared at him but then glanced up at the rest of us. “I have to go,” she said, and then walked down the street briskly. She disappeared around the corner.

  “Cameron? What’s going on with you?” I asked, so confused, my head hurt.

  Cameron focused his gray-eyed gaze back on me. “Are you retarded?” he asked me, glaring at me. “Why can’t you get my name right? It’s Cam.”

  Oh no. Not this again. What was happening to Cameron?

  Just then, Mr. Sloane’s car swung into the driveway. He cut the engine and stepped out of his car. When he saw everyone on his lawn, his expression morphed into that of confusion.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, walking over to us.

  “Daddy!” Cameron cried out, jumping up and swinging himself onto his father. Mr. Sloane shoved him away. “Can I borrow your car tonight?” he asked.

  “No, you have your own,” Mr. Sloane said.

  Cameron rolled his eyes. “I’m borrowing it anyway,” he said, snatching the keys out of Mr. Sloane’s hands. Mr. Sloane reached for Cameron but Cameron dodged and launched himself into the car. In seconds, Cameron sped down the street, the tires squealing.

  All of us just watched, not knowing what had just happened. I was the most confused. Cameron and I had just had this wonderful moment with each other, then Cameron fainted, and when he woke up again, it was like he was a different person. I needed to know what was going on with him!

  “I know you guys are all really confused,” Armando said, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I think I have the answer to all of your questions.”

  ****

  “Cameron is not the same person whenever the night rolls around,” Armando explained, pulling off his jacket. All of us were sitting in the living room, staring at him, wondering how he of all people had the answer.

  “Well, yeah, I know that,” Mr. Sloane said, annoyance riding over his voice. He’d just finished calling the police, reporting a stolen car — his stolen car. How a father could call the police on his own son was beyond me. “Ever since Cameron was a baby he’d be the worst at night. Why is that?”

  Armando nodded his head. “Cameron is a different kind of person,” he explained. “From what I’ve learned, he is two different people.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Cameron is a great guy during daylight. He goes to school, he gets good grades, he has a lot of friends, and he’s an all around good kid. But come nighttime, he’s a different person. He goes by the name of Cam and his personality is completely changed. I have just recently seen Cam in a
ction — in fact, only until a few nights ago did I realize he wasn’t the same at night.”

  Mr. Sloane sat up. “I think I see what you’re saying, Armando,” he said, nodding his head. “My boy really is two different people.”

  Mila nodded. “Daylight brings Good Cameron,” she said. “Nighttime brings Bad Cam. It’s how it’s always been since you picked him up at the adoption agency.”

  “How long have you two known about this?” I asked, my gaze dancing between Mila and Armando.

  “Well, I’ve only realized this a few nights ago, but Mila has known all along.” Armando nodded in Mila’s direction.

  It was now Mila’s turn to talk. “We picked Cameron up when he was barely a year old,” she explained. “I realized what he was right after I saw him go to sleep at around seven o’clock at night, and then wake up. Whenever he woke up, his eyes were always different. I thought it was because blue eyes sometimes change colors depending on the clothes one wears. But then, as the years went on and Cameron began talking, his personality changed along with his eye color.

  “He was a terrible boy. He would break things intentionally, call out nasty words to his father and me, and be outright disrespectful to his house guests. You were too young to notice his change in behavior, Olive. But I knew this was how he behaved and I learned to deal with it.

  “When he turned sixteen, he began sneaking out of the house. He’d take his father’s car and disappear all night until he’d sneak back into his room after seven in the morning. Ever since then, his father and I rarely saw him during the night. He’d tell us he was going to sleep and then he’d be gone the rest of the night.”

  “He’s been sneaking out all this time?” Mr. Sloane asked, his face turning red.

  Mila nodded. “Hundreds of times I’d try to get him to stop but he’d tell me over and over again that he had a ‘mission’ to do and then leave.” Her gaze went to the window. “When we went to pick him up at the adoption agency, I never would have guessed we’d pick up their kind.”

  “What do you mean their kind?” I asked.

  Armando and Mila shared a hesitant look, eyeing each other as if asking which one should give up this information. As if losing the eye battle, Armando hesitantly replied, “Well, see, Cameron… he’s… he’s—”

  “Schizophrenic,” Mr. Sloane finished for him, nodding his head gravely.

  Chapter Twenty One

  Cameron

  I woke up in a cop car lying face down on sticky leather seats. My hands were painfully cuffed behind my back. I lifted my head carefully and looked around, not knowing why I was in a police car in the first place.

  But then I remembered. I had blacked out during my kiss — oh, that wonderful kiss — with Olive. They must’ve called the police or something. But that doesn’t explain the handcuffs. Or the reason why the cop in the passenger seat was yelling at me.

  When I sat up, I came face-to-face with the angry cop. He peered at me through the metal wiring with a red face and angry eyes. “I could come back there and snap your neck, kid! I’m serious!” he barked at me, spit flying through the screen.

  I shrunk back, wishing I could be at least two feet away instead of a measly one. “What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to get into a more comfortable position and obviously failing.

  “Don’t you smart talk me, you idiot. If I could arrest you, I would,” he roared. If the screen hadn’t been separating the two of us I knew he would’ve been much more action than talk. “But you know what? I have to take you back to your pretty little mansion. Screw you!”

  I decided not to say anything more. I mean, all that mattered was that I was going home. So what if I was handcuffed, so what if I was riding in a cop car, and so what if this cop was mad at me? Once I got home, I could figure things out a little more.

  The cop in the driver’s seat hung a left and drove up my familiar street. I sat, avoiding the angry glare of the cop, trying to somewhat disappear into the leather. Despite all of my efforts, the cop wasn’t done with me.

  “Oh, so now you wanna shut up?” he said with a condescending tone. “A minute ago you were about ready to gouge my eyes out. Pretty little boy all talk? Is that what it is?” His grin was enough to feed into the stereotype of “Bad Cop".

  Thankfully, we arrived at my house. The cop in the driver’s seat leapt out of the car and yanked my door open. As he pulled me from the car, the Bad Cop stuck his foot out, causing me to fall flat on my face. I let out a moan of pain.

  “Get up!” Bad Cop said, tugging me up by the back of my collar. I jumped to my feet and struggled to keep pace with them.

  When they reached my front door, Dad opened it before they even had the chance to ring the doorbell. Dad’s face showed caution and confusion. He peered at me, staring deeply into my eyes.

  “Cameron?” he asked, sounding unsure of himself.

  I nodded, not understanding why he had to question that.

  Dad nodded firmly and then glanced at the cops. “Thank you, officers,” Dad said gruffly. Judging by the sound of his voice, I knew he hadn’t slept much last night.

  The officers nodded and gave him the run through; they found Dad’s car at a local club, saw me getting into it, and immediately arrested me. Because I was Dad’s son, I was brought back home.

  When the officers un-handcuffed me and left — after Bad Cop tripped me again — Dad shut the door and grabbed my arm. “Cameron? Cameron, are you okay?” he asked, his heavy eyelids furrowing.

  I rubbed my wrists and stretched out my aching neck. “I guess so,” I said. Then I looked at him. “What happened, Dad? Why was I arrested?”

  Dad rubbed his eyes and sighed, exhaustion flooding around the room. “Come into the living room, Cameron. I have to talk to you.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and led me to the living room. There, he set me onto the couch and asked Mila to bring me something to drink. When I looked at the time, I saw that it was a little after seven in the morning.

  Clenching his hands together, Dad sat across from me and gave me a hard stare. “Cameron, I know what’s wrong with you,” he said with a tone similar to the one telling me that his wife — my adoptive mother — had died.

  I immediately tensed up. Something was horribly wrong and Dad was about to tell me. I never reacted well to bad news and judging on the situation, I knew bad news was seconds away. “What’s wrong with me?” I asked, knowing right off the bat that this had to do with my blackout problem.

  “You’re schizophrenic.” Dad said it with a wince as if it had hurt him.

  My face immediately cracked. “What?” I asked, not comprehending what he’d just said. There was no way I was schizophrenic. I couldn’t be schizophrenic!

  But Dad just nodded slowly, not a hint of hesitation in his expression. “While you weren’t yourself, Cameron, you’d stolen my car and gone off somewhere,” Dad explained. “Your friends were here — Armando and his girlfriend and Olive and that stunning blonde. We’d seen you take off and were completely confused. That’s when Armando told us his suspicions.”

  Armando? How could Armando think I was a schizo? He’d never even been around when I was blacked out! But how should I know that? If I weren’t myself, then who’s to say he hasn’t been hanging around with me the whole time?

  Dad continued. “He told us how pleasant you are as Cameron. Then he told us how nasty and rude you were as Cam.”

  “Cam? What do you mean?” I asked, trying to understand it all.

  Dad frowned. “You see, you’re schizophrenic, Cameron. Being schizophrenic, you…” Dad struggled to find the words. “…I guess you have a split personality. From what I’ve researched online, it’s a mental illness that alters your behavior.” He stood up and joined me on the couch, handing me his research. He pointed at one of the bullets. “I think you’re mostly catatonic,” he said.

  I read the paper, struggling to take this all in. According to the research, those who suffer from catatonic schizophr
enia display symptoms of agitation, negative feelings, insensitivity, and hyperactive motion. Last time I checked, I barely fit into this category of schizophrenia. Not even a little bit.

  As if hearing my thought process, Dad took the papers away and said, “Okay, so you might not suffer all of these symptoms. But, Cameron, you’re a completely different person come nighttime.” Dad squeezed my shoulder. “At night, you hate me and Mila, you boss everyone around, you sneak out of the house, you make a mess out of things, you call us names, you break important things, you trip me multiple times…”

  As Dad told me all of the horrible things I do at night, an increased understanding of what was going on with me began to sink in. Everything all made sense now. Like the time when Olive said she’d seen me jump out of my window — that had been me, or should I say Cam. Or when Dad yelled at me for interrupting his photo shoot — that had been Cam, too. It also made sense why everyone called me Cam regularly.

  And what about all those times when my room was messed up, my clothes were dirty, and I woke up in random places. It was all because it wasn’t me — technically.

  It was Cam.

  “…you called Mila fat, you killed both our dogs, you spat at the neighbors twice, you totaled my car, you took a hammer to the flat screen TV, you peed in my coffee, you kidnapped Olive, and you disrespected Abby,” Dad finally finished. “You’re horrible at night, Cameron.”

  “Wait, I did all that?” I asked, still horrified by my peeing in my father’s coffee and killing both our dogs. All this time Mila had told me that they’d run away.

  When I told this to Dad, he nodded his head expectantly. “Yeah, Mila knew you were schizophrenic since we got you so she took her anger out on Cam and not on Cameron. Do you get it?”

  Not really. I mean, my father and Mila had been treating me entirely different during the night? How was it possible that they could separate the events of the night with those that took place during the day and not even hint to me about them? And how come they’re just realizing all of this now?