I decided to push what I heard to the back of my head. After all, I was not sure they were talking about me and I didn’t have any connections with the mob.
Just add it to the list of secrets.
I entered the office and dropped my backpack next to the chair facing hers. As it had been for days now, the black, wooden box sat on top of her desk. I tried to avoid looking at it because I knew what it does to me.
“Are you ready for your session today?” she asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said more nonchalantly than I intended.
“Shall we try opening the box today?” she said in a controlled voice.
I cleared my throat. “I don’t want to do that; I fainted the last time, remember? Besides, I don’t see what that has to do with my parents’ disappearance or how it’s going to clear me from suspicions of murder,” I said, hardly controlling my anger.
“Then what would you suggest we do in this session, Abi?” I could feel her temper rising but I didn’t care anymore.
Inwardly, I was fuming. Every chance she got now, she went on about how I needed to tell her what the box was for, that I would remember how to open it if I just tried, and I knew some secret I was not sharing with her. To be fair, she got that last one right. I couldn’t give her any evidence so she could let me hang while she took from me the very last thing my parents gave me; or worse, give to the mob.
Yet day-after-day we kept this appointment and dance to the tune of ‘go ahead, lie to me’. But I only ever shared information I thought were safe. The thing about hypnosis is that they cannot make you do something you don’t want to do. Today was yet another session of battle of wills.
I started to tell her about the memory of the crash again. Adding details here and there but never sharing any new information. I’d recounted this “dream” a thousand times and its effect on me had never waned. Every time I went through it, it seemed it was for the last time; that this time, I would hit the ground and die, for good. But we go through it over and over again. Each time, I die anew then I wake up feeling the dampness of the sweat off my palms, the whooshing of the blood rushing through my head, and my heart thumping nearly out of my chest like a terrified bird throwing itself against the cage to be free or to end it all.
“I can’t remember the rest. It always stops there,” I said.
“Really? You can’t remember anything new?”
I stopped talking and gave Dr. McGrath the most menacing glare I could muster and then deliberately turned my head away from her. I pushed myself back deeper into the chair, wrapped my arms around my chest, and forced myself to calm down.
She sat passively in a comfortable armchair dressed in casual but professional slacks and a long sleeve black on black outfit. Her black hair was firmly secured behind her neck in a proper bun.
I sat there quietly while my dislike of her simmered underneath like a volcano threatening to erupt. She was just friendly to me during the first session when my uncle was there. Now, she made feel inferior. She made me feel guilty. Worse, when I looked at her eyes, I felt like it was ok to tell her my innermost thoughts and secrets all the while thinking she will use it against me. So, I didn’t stare at her eyes. I didn’t tell her anything she doesn’t already know. I trained my mind to deflect that voice behind my head. Well, that is to say I tried.
“So is that it?” she asked as she looked up at me with those green eyes. I looked back, defiantly.
She picked up her pencil and twirled it around using her forefinger and thumb as she surveyed the notes she just jotted down. She took a deep breath and put the pencil in between her two hands. She held both ends so tight I could see her knuckles turning white in an obvious attempt to control her temper. With an exasperated sigh, she got up and walked to the window.
“These sessions are for you to get well, you know that, right?” she forced through gritted teeth.
I nodded without a word.
“And you haven’t budged an inch since the first day you came here. Do you understand the tremendous pressure from everyone to find clues for your parents’ whereabouts? You do want to remember what happened, don’t you? It’s been six weeks now since they disappeared. People are losing hope they are still alive. You do want to know how they died, right?” This time the edge on her voice was no longer hidden.
I lowered my head even more and nodded again. I couldn’t accept my parents were dead. I didn’t want to believe that.
“Then why are you wasting my time? You come here and you tell me about the same story. You say the exact same things. But I know you don’t tell me everything. You leave things out. How can I help you if you won’t confront your own demons?”
“I’m s-scared. The dreams are so confusing. I can’t seem to remember all—”
“Stop it, Abigail! We’ve been through this before. You need toughen-up and face your past or your parents’ murderers will go free!”
I shot her a look of surprise. She’d never used that word before. Despite the fact she believed I had something to do with their death, she had never once said that my parents could have been murdered. We always referred to it as the “unfortunate event”, “the incident”, or “the accident” or some other euphemism that conveyed the same thing: the fateful night when my parents died in a plane crash. There were still many remaining questions feeding the media machine. But I can’t blame them. The foremost questions were how I could possibly survive a fall of several hundred feet and land unscathed. Where were the bodies of my parents? Where were we going that night and why were we leaving in such a hurry? It seemed the easy answer that worked for everyone, however horrific and untrue, which of course made it amazingly sensational and great for the media, as the headlines said “Seventeen-year-old girl kills parents for inheritance”, “Where are the bodies of the Frederick and Jane Montserrat?” “Was there a mob connection between the late Foreign Ambassador?” “Was the disappearance of Ambassador Montserrat murder or assassination?” “New Jersey Medium speaks to Mr. and Mrs. Montserrat from beyond, here’s what they say about their daughter”.
I couldn’t control my anger and blurted, “What do you mean murdered? Who said they were murdered? Is that what you believe? That I murdered my parents?”
She backed off with her palms facing me, as if pushing the heat away from her.
“I’m not the one saying that. I just meant the mystery of your parents’ death is yet to be solved! And you’re holding out on me! There are so many unanswered questions. I’m not the one you should be worried about. It’s a witch-hunt out there and you’re the prime suspect. Your parents stole away in the middle of the night with you. Why? The plane was intentionally crashed with seemingly no one flying it. How? You say you fell from the plane, but here you are with just a minor scratch on your forehead. How? You were found walking around in the forest, carrying that box. What is it for? What is so important about it that your father and mother took that and left everything else? And why were you carrying that box as if your life depended on it? Do you know that after that warden gave his statement to the police he hasn’t been seen since? No one has been able to locate him. Yet, whoever this mystery person was, he took the time to deliver you and with that box to the authorities? So you tell me what is so special about that box!” she yelled across the room.
“I don’t know! I just don’t know...I’m sorry but I need to go if I’m going to make it to class.”
“Abi, you need to start thinking about what is important. The police are not just going to go away. The press is not going to let it go. Listen, I truly believe that the key to unlocking your memory lies inside that box.”
“Look, I’ll come back. Maybe I can work with the box later and it will give me more of my memories back, but I have to go for now. I’m late for school,” I said. I gathered my backpack and jacket and headed for the door.
I know one thing; I’m
never coming back here. I opened the door to leave, but not without feeling the box’s draw on me. I gave it one last look before I stepped out of the room, sure of my decision.
I took a great big gulp of fresh air as soon as I got outside the building. Behind my back, I could feel her eyes on me. I decided to cross the street to be as far away from her and the box as I could possibly be.
Once I was at a good distance away from the clinic, I allowed myself to think freely. She’s getting too close to the truth. Let me rephrase that. She’s getting too close to what she thinks is the truth; the version that convinces a jury beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have become unstable, that I experienced some psychotic break that night.
So, as foolish as it may seem, I didn’t want to take a chance that my thoughts could be read by the doctor or that I may get sucked back into my subconscious by the power of the box again.
Yes, I said power. And yes, that sounds crazy. But I’ve felt it not once or twice but every time I am around that box. The thickening of the air, the compression of the “space” around it, for lack of a better way to explain it, and the futility of fighting against being sucked into its vortex of power. I know how it sounds. Just as crazy as saying I see auras, halos, and shimmering people. Not to mention the blackouts, and the dreams I dream when I am in that state; more recently, the crazy visions of hooded men in dark caves, chanting around a bonfire.
I can’t let her know. I can’t let my uncle know. I can’t let anyone know. If they find out, it’s a one-way ticket to death row or worse, the mental institution for the rest of my life, reliving that night, and seeing the same crash over and over again. Until I can figure this out on my own, there is no going back.
I never walked to school before but since my uncle dropped me off across the street for my appointment, it only made sense. Thurgood Adams Preparatory Academy sat in a hundred acre land and was protected by high brick walls, The front gates were an imposing thirty feet high with thick wrought iron in the form of vines, leaves, and bell-shaped flowers. But more importantly, there were armed guards that secured the perimeter to protect the children of the social and political elites.
But as I approached the great gate, the guard, who I never noticed before, graciously opened the gates for me.
“Good morning, Miss Montseratt. Running a little late today, aren’t we?”
“Just a little, yes. Thank you.” Even the school guards were aware of who I am now. There was a time when that would have been a source of pride, but not anymore. I lowered my head to hide my face while I passed him by. I could tell he was watching my every move.
As I got through the gates I saw other students already piling through the hall. I ran before the front doors closed for the start of the days’ classes. I slipped in just as they were shutting them. I realized I didn’t have my tie on and my uniform was a bit on the disheveled side. I tried to compose myself when I realized that the hall had become very quiet. I looked up and saw everyone standing there looking at me. Their stares were so piercing that they didn’t need to say anything to tell me what they were thinking. I bowed my head and pretended not to notice as I headed for my locker.
On the way, I saw my friends Grayson, Carlson, and Amelia. I smiled and pretended it was just another day. I started towards their direction, as I would have done so countless times in the past. I expected that we would go to class together and share the latest gossip or trends. I was looking forward to this. I needed this to get away from the morose story my life has become. I needed my friends right now.
To my horror, they turned their backs against me while attempting to make it look like they didn’t see me. I stopped, shocked at the blatant insult. I stood there in the middle of a throng of students filling the hallway with chatter that drowned my internal screams. My uncle’s words kept repeating itself to me as I braved the halls of Thurgood Prep; He who angers you, conquers you. I stared at their backs as they walked away and got lost in the crowd. It didn’t even occur to me that my tears were falling. I, all of sudden, grasped just how stupid I’d been to spend all my time trying to get Grayson back. I was crying, not because I still wanted him but because I felt so embarrassed about what I had become. I didn’t think that all the texts, the emails, the tweets, the notes, all the little things I did to get him back were chipping away at my self-worth one small chunk at a time to the point I was nothing more than a pathetic joke to him and his friends.
I ran to my locker. I couldn’t afford to be seen like this. They would think I was crying for him and if this were two months ago, they would have been right. But it was not and I would die before I give him that credit. I ran.
“No running in the hallway!” boomed a male voice behind me as I tried to get away.
I kept running.
“Miss Montserrat, did you hear me?” Thaddeus, the teacher assistant, said.
I don’t know what came over me. I exploded.
“Whatever, Thaddeus! Why don’t you go get laid already or somethin’? Or crawl back whatever slime pit you came from and stop harassing me!”
Everyone was looking at me now.
“Detention, 4:00 p.m. Today,” he said with an edge in his voice.
“Damn you, Thaddeus! You can’t do that! You’re just a TA.”
Then from the headmaster’s office boomed, “Detention, Miss Montserrat. Report to Solomon’s Triangle at 4:00 every day. Starting today for the entire week,” said the voice of Professor Andrews as he peered down at me through his reading glasses. “And before you go to your first class, I need you in my office.” I swallowed hard and wiped away my tears. He guided me towards his office while he continued to say, “Look, I completely understand what you are going through, but I can not allow dissention and chaos at the school.”
I nodded without saying a word.
I walked over to Professor Andrews’s office. Adding insult to injury, inside were Detective Dewitt and Detective Mercado, the latter, yet again chewing on something, I assumed were pumpkin seeds.
“I’m not supposed to talk to you with my unc—lawyer.” I corrected myself but didn’t quite finish.
“You don’t have to say anything. It’s more like we have something to say to you. Abigail, you’re back in school just because your family has a lot of powerful friends, but we are here to tell you, don’t even think of leaving or disappearing or even giving the impression of being missing because you are a Person of Interest,” Detective Dewitt said, using air quotes.
“Look, you are not allowed to talk to me without my—” I tried to protest.
“We know. We’re just leaving. Don’t leave town. In fact, if it’s not home, school or doctor, don’t go there. I’m warning you,” Dewitt said.
“Are you quite done intimidating my student, Detective?” Professor Andrews said.
“We will have a couple of uniformed officers to guard her,” Dewitt added.
“Not while she’s at my school. You can keep your officers outside our gates,” Professor Andrews said.
“No, we need to be where she is!” exclaimed Mercado.
“You misunderstood, Detectives. That was not a request. Now leave my school before I call the school’s lawyer.”
With a sneer, the two detectives left, pushing the doors so hard they banged against the wall.
Professor Andrews shook his head and then looked at me with eyes that seemed undecided about my guilt. But after a few minutes, he took off his glasses and said, “Hang in there, kid. This too shall pass. I have a feeling that soon, everything will be clear. If I can assist in any way, please come see me. For now, you need to get back to your classes. Don’t forget your detention.”
I walked out of his office and noticed there were still several students, including my now ex-besties, still loitering in the hallway. I’m sure they were waiting to see if I would be arrested. I shook it off and turned to go back to my locker jus
t in time to see Grayson turn away. I shook my head while thinking, how could I ever have thought he was the real thing.
CHAPTER 6
The Detention Club
I took my time getting to the detention site. My cell phone beeped. I took a deep breath and pulled the phone out.
Jake: How’s first day of school?
Abigail: It’s ok (I lied).
Jake: I got a call from Professor Andrews. I heard you got detention.
Abigail: Yes, but it wasn’t my fault! (again)
Jake: Listen, I know you’re hurting but you really need to control your temper.
Abigail: Yes I’m trying, but really this wasn’t my fault! (and again)
Jake: Don’t try, Do! This is very important for your own defense. Don’t get into any more fights. Okay? And check in with me everyday.
Abigail: Okay, I promise.
Jake: Also, Bloominglanes called, they are asking that you don’t shop there for a while. I paid for that vase you threw at the cash register and your “unpaid balance”. Abi, don’t get into any more fights and no more shopping for a while, I mean it.
Abigail: Okay.
My face burned with embarrassment. I didn’t think any of my activities would have reached my uncle. I never really thought about how my behavior may appear to someone else. My parents always took care of everything. No one ever dared to confront me on my attitude. Well until now. I felt so ashamed. I wanted to say more than just “Okay”. I wanted to text him again and say I’m sorry for what I did. But I really didn’t know how. I never had to apologize in a sincere way before. I turned off my phone and stuck it in my pocket and wiped away my tears.
I entered Solomon’s Triangle Library after meandering around its lush garden, walking on the thick layer of grass with small flowers, and savoring the air fresh with the scent of pine from the trees lining the driveway. I walked past the threshold slowly, admiring the one hundred-year-old wooden door that serves at its entrance. Its bulky planks were secured to two metal bars by oversized studs. In spite of the fact that the planks have gaps and let the winter cold and the summer heat through, it was hewn from trees cut from the school grounds and will always be a school icon. Over its frame were the words “Scientia Potentia Est” or Knowledge is Power. Those words felt heavy on me, thinking how utterly hopeless I felt not knowing what really happened to my parents. But I was glad we were going to have the detention in this library. I always felt at home here but I would never admit that to anyone of my friends. The adage “Nerd is the new sexy” doesn’t really apply in high school. I gazed at the tall bookcases filled with old leather-bound and gold gilded books. The Solomon Family Trust funded the building’s development and unlike most libraries I’ve visited, this one is laid out in a huge triangle with a big three-sided fireplace in the center, thus the name, Solomon Triangle. To say that the fireplace was big is an understatement. The fireplace had an opening on all three sides and was tall enough to have ten to twelve people stand inside the pit. Around it were sofas and armchairs set up so people could sit around the fire and be comfortable reading during the cold Oregonian winter.
The Obsidian Crown of the Lost Dominion Page 4