Illusions Complete Series (78 page)

“You hear that, Mr. Just Here? We’re going to set the car on fire with you in it. Ty, give me that can of gasoline.” Then I heard the sound of gasoline being poured outside.

Then another guy said “let’s not do this now. Why don’t we let pretty boy in there suffer.”

So, for a time that seemed like an eternity, but was really actually two entire days, I lay in that car trunk. I heard the men outside laughing, talking and joking around the entire time. From time to time I heard one of them say “you wanna do it now and get it over with?” Or “come on, I’m tired of hanging around here. Let’s just set the car on fire and be done with it.”

While I was in the car trunk, I started to come down off my high. I was convinced that I wouldn’t make it out of this alive, so I silently prayed for death. I wanted to die before they set the car on fire, so I didn’t have to endure the agony of burning to death. I had the usual feelings that I got whenever I had to go cold turkey for a matter of days, but the headaches and extreme nausea were not as bad as usual, because my mind was more focused upon what was going to happen to me at the hands of these three men.

Then, out of the blue, after I had given up all hope of ever seeing the outside of this car trunk, I heard a voice.

A female voice.

“Well, you really got yourself into now, huh, Ryan?”

Her voice was unfamiliar, yet she appeared to know my name. “What? Who is this?”

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to get burned up in this car. It’s not your time. It’s not your destiny. Besides, there’s somebody who needs you to live.”

“Who? Who needs me to live?”

“Your daughter. She needs you to live.”

“What daughter? I don’t have a daughter.” At least I hoped that I didn’t have a daughter. Who knows? It was certainly possible that I had a daughter somewhere out there, with as many women as I had been sleeping with, during the times that Alexis and I had broken up.

“She ain’t been born yet. But her destiny is tied with yours. If you die, she can’t live. And she’s going to be important.”

I sighed, but, at the same time, an overwhelming sense of peace came over me.

And I knew that I was going to make it out of that trunk.

Then I heard the sound of the three men coming back to the car. “Who the fuck are you?” asked one of the men.

“Name’s Rosemary, who the fuck are you? Why don’t you get the hell out of here?”

Then one of the men started speaking in Spanish, which was a language that I had always known well. He was saying “Man, something ain’t right with this woman. I think she’s a witch.”

One of the other men started laughing, then the third man said, also in Spanish, “a witch. Whatever. Anyhow, let’s get the fuck out of here. This scene is played.” Then I heard the three of them running away.

Then the trunk popped open. I was blinded completely by the light, then, when my eyes adjusted, I saw the three men down the street, running at top speed. Just above me was a woman. She was about 80 years old, dressed in rags and missing most of her teeth. Her white hair was loosely held back, with several large strands loose around her neck. She outstretched her bony hand, and I took it. She pulled me out of the trunk.

I was confused, to say the least. “Who are you?”

She just smiled and said “I told you you’d get out of that trunk.”

“What were you saying about my daughter? I don’t understand.”

“You’ll see,” she said.

I just stood there, trying to clear my head. I was just about to invite her to have lunch with me, so that I could find out how I could set her up, and get her off the street, when a truck passed by me a little too close. I was brushed back a little, startled, then the truck stopped and the driver yelled “watch where you’re going!” I turned my attention briefly to the truck driver, then turned back to address Rosemary.

But she was already gone.

I looked for her in that vicinity for over an hour, before giving up.

Well, that was weird.

And I felt guilty that I never got to thank my benefactor properly.

∞

As I laid in my hospital bed waiting for Iris to return, and that memory flooded through me, I felt further shame. Even after that incident, I continued to use for several years, although my drug use was not nearly as heavy as before. One thing did change for me, though – even though I continued to use, I no longer wanted to die. Rosemary’s words were like an epiphany. I had felt, up until that point, that I had nothing to live for. I had felt that I was contributing nothing to the world. However, Rosemary let me know that I did have a purpose in the world, a destiny that was uniquely mine. I was going to father a child who was going to be important.

It just dawned on me who that child was.

She was finally here.

My special daughter Dalilah.

Chapter Eight

Iris

I was finally finished talking with Detective Branson, and I headed over to see Ryan. As usual, I was feeling mixed emotions about seeing him. I was happy, so happy, that he was alive and he made it through surgery.

At the same time, there was a dark sense of foreboding that I just couldn’t shake. I wanted him to come home, and I wanted him to get past the point of danger. He was still in danger, and this is what occupied my mind. Post-surgical complications were what I was obsessing about.

Still, he had feelings in his lower extremities, so that was extremely encouraging.

I stopped by the gift shop and picked up a little Winnie the Pooh bear. It was silly, and it was mainly for me – I always loved Pooh. But I wanted Ryan to have a little something to cuddle up with for times when I couldn’t be around.

I arrived at his room on the ICU floor, and felt somewhat relieved to see that he was wide awake and sitting up. His entire face lit up as I pulled up to his bedside, and little tears formed when I gave him the bear.

“Thanks for this,” he said, hugging the bear tightly to him. He put his head down into the bear, like a little boy, then took my hand and squeezed it tightly. “I’m really glad you’re here. It’s uh, been difficult without you.”

I looked into his eyes, and I saw a great amount of emotional pain behind them. I wondered if he was spiraling into negative thoughts, as I remembered Nick’s words about how Ryan had conquered darkness. I guess I didn’t really think about Ryan’s dark side as much as I should’ve, because he had always been so light with me.

Always the strong one.

“Are you ok?” I asked, staring into his beautiful eyes that shone even brighter than usual, because they were set against such pale skin. I cleared his hair away from his face, feeling extremely concerned about his color, but not wanting to address it. I hated seeing him like this, so pale and wan, and seeing the darkness behind his eyes scared me even more.

He nodded. “I’ve just been thinking about things lately. Things that I’ve wished to forget.” He looked ashamed. “You know so much about me, but I think that you’d be surprised to hear what an asshole I was to Nick.”

“Well, you had a difficult life.”

He shook his head. “No excuse. I wonder if this is all karma for me. Biting me on the ass for how I treated Nick for so many years.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Was Nick the only person who you treated poorly?”

“Pretty much. It’s ironic, but I abused him just because he was the only one who cared enough about me to try to save my life continually. Nobody else cared enough about me to do some of the things he did for me, so he was really the only person I abused. As long as everybody else stayed off my back about my drug use, I didn’t get in their face. But with him – I treated him so shitty. I’m so filled with shame about that.”

I gripped his hand harder. He continued.

“We got into a massive fight one time, and I sent him to the hospital with broken ribs, bruised kidneys, a ruptured spleen and a concussion. It was touch and go for a few days, and he stayed in the hospital for an entire week. I never visited him. I was never sober enough to do so.”

“What happened that you would do that?”

He shook his head. “He told me that I was no better than my dad. He was right, you know. That’s what enraged me. I was a waste, just like my dad. And I was always so scared that I would turn out like him. Raping, molesting, abusing. Nick tapped into my fear of being like my dad, and it just came out of me. I almost killed him, and, what’s worse, I didn’t care.”

I just sat there looking at him, gripping his hand and stroking his arm. “Shhh, let’s not think about that right now. You have to think of your recovery. That’s what is most important.”

He just shook his head. “I never apologized for that incident. And I don’t think that I ever properly thanked him for saving me from my hell. I feel like such a low-life right now.”

I put his head in my chest and stroked his hair. “Please try to think of more positive thoughts. Nick has forgiven you, obviously. He loves you. He’s not angry with you. That was many years ago.”

But, by looking into his eyes, I knew that what happened with Nick was not in the past with him. It was consuming him. Why it was consuming him right at that moment, I didn’t know.

I only knew that it was.

“Please don’t leave me,” he said.

“What? Why-“

“I’m not a shitty person. I’m not. I’m not like my father. I could never be like him.”

“Of course you aren’t.” I looked at him quizzically, wondering why he was talking like this.

“I’m so scared,” he said. “I don’t ever want to be abusive with you or with Dalilah. I love you both so much.”

“Of course, I know. Why are you saying these things?”

There were tears that were pouring down his left cheek. “I was like him, once. Violent, full of rage. It’s in me, still. It’s just buried. I don’t want to excavate it.”

“And you won’t.”

He said nothing, just dropped my hand and looked away. His face was filled with shame.

“Ryan,” I said, my voice forceful, “you’re not your father. You’re not like him. Even he realizes that. I mean, remember the letter he wrote you – he was frustrated because you’re not like him, and he wanted you to be. Please don’t go down this road. You need a positive frame of mind if you’re going to recover completely.”

I brushed back his hair, but he still wasn’t looking at me. Then he finally faced me. “You always felt that you weren’t good enough for me. That isn’t true. That’s never been true.” Then he took my hand again, and looked at me with pleading eyes. “The truth is, I’m not good enough for you.”

Where was this coming from?
“Honey, you can’t think that about yourself. You have the tops of everything – intelligence, looks, kindness, everything.” I smiled lightly. “You’re a catch.”

He just shook his head. “Damaged. Damaged goods.” Then he looked at me again. “Uh, Iris, I really need my rest. I hope you don’t mind.”

I felt a little bemused, then recovered. “Sure, of course. You have to get your sleep. I’ll be back later, for visiting hours, ok?”

“Ok,” he said, without enthusiasm. “But maybe you should stay home this evening. Dalilah needs you, and I’m not much company.”

“I want to come back.”

“I know, but I sleep a lot. I don’t want to be rude.”

I felt tears threatening, but I just nodded my head. “Then I’ll be back tomorrow morning for visiting hours at nine.”

“Sure,” he said, again without enthusiasm. Then he wrapped his arms tighter around the Pooh Bear, and looked up at me. He looked just like a little boy at that moment. “Bye, Iris. I love you.”

I smiled, but inwardly cringed at the use of my given name. “I love you too.”

He was acting so strangely.

I shook my head as I left the room. I was feeling concerned, but it was such a vague feeling. I had no idea what I was supposed to be concerned about.

Chapter Nine

I arrived at Nick’s house, feeling forlorn and confused. Ryan seemed like a different guy just now in his bed. What was up with all that talk about how worthless he was, and how he feared being like his father?

When I walked through Nick’s door, I saw Nick and Dalilah sitting at his grand piano. Nick had concert-level piano skills, to my surprise. I mean, I knew that he was a good piano player, because he played the piano at my own house while he stayed with Dalilah and me. But he was so much more highly skilled than I had anticipated. He was playing a complicated piece that sounded like Rachmaninoff, one my own favorite composers, closing his eyes and swaying his head.

Dalilah was sitting beside him, in a specially made seat, quietly studying him. And when I say that she was studying him, that’s what I mean – she wasn’t like most infants, who would be busy with toys or something else to distract them. No, she was watching him intently, studying his hands, which were flying across the keys rapidly, as the music was hitting a crescendo. Her gaze never left Nick’s hands. Her little eight-month-old head was going back and forth, following Nick’s movements precisely.

Needless to say, neither of them even noticed me standing there in the foyer.

I stood there watching the two of them for a little while, fascinated. Fascinated by how talented and passionate Nick was at the piano, and by how entranced my little daughter was by it all. I wondered if she would be like Sarah, playing the piano at age 3. And it struck me that Nick had a sensitivity to the music, and it’s nuances and phrasing. Sensitivity that always seemed to be lacking in his everyday interactions with people.

Nick was finally done with his piece, and Dalilah clapped her little hands appreciatively. “Bravo,” she said, giggling.

Bravo? How does she know that word? I mean, I’m sure that she heard it somewhere, but it boggled my mind that she was able to use it in context the way that she just did.  

Just then, Dalilah finally noticed me. “Mama!” she shouted to me, reaching for me out of her specially made seat. “Come here, mama, come here!”

I rushed over to her, and picked her up. She clung to me tightly. “Uncle Nick play the piano!” she said excitedly. “He’s really good!”