Chlorine Halos

Teacups & Ballgowns

The corner of my lips twitched uncontrollably as shallow breaths lightened my head. The glare of the muddy brown eyes reflected in the water threw an anchor from my fears, locking them into position around my heart. The name left my mouth in a weathered whisper as my drowning spirit gasped for air.

"...Mike."

My hand drifted to my face. Mike mirrored the motion. My gaze widened when he broke away from the tandem action. He raised his forefinger and waved at me, bending the pointer at the joint nearest his knuckle.

The reflection rippled away when a tight grip on my shoulders convulsed me back to reality. My eyes fluttered, gathering my surroundings while Jaime beckoned me to find sure footing outside the hallucination.

"Come on, Avian," Jaime said, turning me to face him. "You've got to focus. You can do it. Tell me your name. Say, 'I am Avian Douglas.' Say it."

I wiggled out of the remnants of the illusion, see-sawing my stare from Jaime's scarred eye to the one which held his emotion. "I am Avian Douglas." He loosely grasped the nape of my neck and patted me with his fingers.

"Bien hecho," Jaime softly praised, lowering his hands. "You've got to keep your head out of the dark clouds so you can see the blessings on the ground."

"You know what I saw, don't you?" I probed.

"I know you've struggled with visions of Nicholas Michaels for a very long time," he responded. "It's a nightmare that you gave a face, even a nickname. You're the only one who can keep him behind the bars of sleep."

"My nightmares have a tendency to sneak out of my sleep," I explained, running my fingers through my hair. "It's hard to convince myself they're not real, especially when they prove otherwise." My mind reached back to the memory of the two cloaked hostages in the diner. A violent punch forced out a muffled groan. "If you ask them, they will tell you I'm plenty real."

"Stop it," Jaime instructed, bringing my focus back to him. He sat down on the wall of the fountain and leaned on his hands. "I won't let you fold like this—not when you've come this far. We all have ghosts that haunt us. They're there to keep us moving, running. They kick us out of complacency. But, that's it. They have no right to own us."

His warm concern and extended wisdom fished out my overdue apologies and condolences. "I'm sorry I couldn't save them." I couldn't bring myself to say their names. "I'm sorry I brought this on your family." My last apology was the most difficult, but the most necessary. "I'm sorry I felt relieved."

Jaime tilted his head and furrowed his brow. "You're sorry?" My stomach tied itself around my anxiety as he stood up and stepped in front of me. "You have no idea what you've done." A gulp shivered down my throat. "She really left you with nothing."

My deep-seated fright contorted into a question mark. "What?" I asked in a sharp exhale which released my tension. 

"Maddie," he replied matter-of-factly. "She must have taken away all of it."

"What?" The word was becoming stale, but it was the only thing my befuddlement allowed me to say.

"Your memories. The plan. Your plan," he answered.

"Plan?" Still a one-word question, but I was showing improvement.

"Sí, your plan," he replied, sighing as he shook his head. "You said from the start it was risky, but you bet a lot bigger than I thought. You've got some cajones, mijo."

"What?" I asked, frustrated with the backpedal. 

"Calm down," he said, urging me to mimic his deep, exaggerated breathing pattern. I followed his instruction, slowing my heightened pulse. "We can sort this out. We just have to go with our gut." He paused for a moment, stifling a laugh. "I never thought I'd have to tell you that." He leaned forward, bending slightly at the waist as he removed his ballcap. Inside, sitting on top of a Polaroid picture was a small trinket—an apple, Jaime's strata. "Maybe a relay will help fill some of the blanks."