I stayed there, sitting on the couch next to my grandmother, with tears in my eyes all over again. It seemed so much like deja vu. Whenever I had a breakdown, I ran to her, the only person I had left in the world. When you're alone, the world feels so cold, and you don't know if you're going to make it through the next day. If I didn't have her, I don't know where I would be. She saved me from an uncertain future, she encouraged me when I needed support, she listened to all of my misery without ever complaining while she lost her child, my father.
"Everyday, I pray to God that one day you'll be able to live just as anybody else."
"There ain't no God, Grams," I shook my head from side to side, and wiped the tears from under my tired eyes. "If he existed, why would he let mom and dad die? Why didn't he stop these rubbers from getting into our house?"
"He had His reasons, Hayley."
"Maybe he thought I could protect them? With that so precious gift he gave me?" I sarcastically asked, getting upset. "Well I used the damn gift, but it was useless! All I did was pushing them to their death."
"Stop saying that, honey!"
"But Grams, you need to accept the damn truth when it's just before your eyes! If mom and dad would have stayed home instead of listening to my dumb psychotic ass, they would still be—"
"Hayley Katherine Thames!" my grandmother scolded loudly, cutting me off in my venting. "I've been hearing the same speech for years, and every single time we come to same damn conclusion!"
Silence fell upon us. My grandmother sighed heavily, and stood up from her comfy armchair to come sit next to me on the couch. I turned my knees in her direction, and she took my hands in hers, putting them on her lap.
"You saw what would happen before it even happened. All you were trying to do was help them. At the time, you didn't know how powerful your gift was, and you certainly didn't know what to do with it."
"And nothing's changed, I'm older, but I still don't know what to do with it," I shook my head, and looked down at my lap. "I could have helped them. I could have called the police."
"To tell them what? That you saw what would happen to your parents? That you saw they'd be murdered by two robbers? You know you couldn't tell them that. You did nothing wrong, Hayley."
"Yeah," I sighed, and stood up from the couch. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, and took my jacket. "I should take some rest. I'll see you around, Grams."
"Honey," she sighed, as she stood up from the couch with difficulty. "Please, take your life back. You can see the future, but still all you can focus on is the past. You should live your life to its best. This is what Katherine and Rupert would want you to do."
I looked down for a split second, and approached my grandmother to lay a kiss on her forehead again, "I'll call you later," I said, and left the living room.
I grabbed my handbag from the kitchen's table, and walked outside the door.
"Hayley, wait!" my grandmother called, as I had my hand on the doorknob. She came limping in the kitchen to catch up on me, and walked to the front door.
"What is it?" I wondered, as she took my free hand in hers.
"You may think it's pathetic to believe in God, but it's the only thing that keeps me sane. Thinking there's someone who's doing good up there...," she trailed off, sighing, "i—it gives me hope. Hope that someday, He's going to help you get better."
"How can He do that?"
"We will see that when He does. We won't be able to miss it," she assuredly said, giving my hand a little squeeze. "I am not going to tell you what to believe or not, I am just asking you to let me believe in Him, because I need it."
"I'll be fine, Grams. I can't be like this forever," I reassured with a faint smile. "I should rest now. It's been a long day."
"You do that," she said, and gave me one of her bear hugs I loved so much.
She always had the ability to make me think that I'll be alright, that, as long as I had her, I will be fine. No matter what, I knew I stayed her little girl, the one who needs to be taken care of. She was loyal, and loving. The best person I could ask for to go through this hell.
"I love you, Grams," I declared, as I hugged her back with the same force. "I'll take my life back, and I'll get better for you."
"I love you too," she smiled, as she broke the hug. "I'll see you tomorrow."
I let go of my grand mother, and came in my car. I waved one more time, and took a few seconds to pull myself together once she closed the front door. I was exhausted; physically and mentally exhausted. To some people, talking was something easy, something normal. To me, it was always difficult. But when I finally dared speak to anyone, they would go, just like it happened with John. With time, I learned to build a kind of shell around me, and just a few lucky ones had the chance to break it and see the real me: my grandmother, and well... John, even though he didn't like who I really was.
When I got home, I traded my jeans and shirt for comfier clothes and went in my warm bed. I put my back against the headboard, and opened my journal on my knees. I flipped the pages, and saw the date on each page I turned. Writing in my diary was an advice the first therapist I went to see gave me. He explained it was a good way for people with a heavy past like me to express themselves, and I guess he was right, because writing had been my escape for around six years.
In there, you could find my darkest thoughts, my darkest secrets, and my innermost fears. If someone read my diary, they would know everything about me, and eventually, they would walk away.
I took my pen, and started to scribble words down.
January 27th, 1991
Third appointment with Dr. Olson.
Dear Diary,
Olson got it. He knows I need time to talk about my past, but I don't think he realizes how serious it is. He kept on referring to my 'gift' by calling it my 'difference', but this is more than a simple difference. To me, everybody is different, because people don't share the same hobbies, the same opinions, or simply the same DNA. I, I would call this a curse, but Grams calls it a gift.
Today, I had the same old conversation with Grams, and she's right: we always come to the same damn conclusion over and over again. Even though I know she's right, I can't help it. The guilt is too powerful, it's like it's eating me from the inside, like it won't ever leave me.
I told them that they weren't safe at home, but they didn't listen. Dad said it was okay, that if they stayed in the house, the robbers wouldn't try to come in. I trusted him. He told me it was okay, that I could go to that party downtown. I shouldn't have gone there. I saw what would happen, but still I left to have fun. What kind of daughter would go to have fun instead of staying with her parents? Her parents she somehow saw getting murdered before it even happened?
Twice is the number of times I saw the murder of my parents happen, excluding the times I replayed the memory in my head.
How am I supposed to tell all of this to a stranger, diary? How is he supposed to believe me?
– – –
Once again, I was awaken by the sound of my pager vibrating on my nightstand. Blindly tapping the flat surface, I found my device, and looked at the number on it with squinted eyes. In a matter of a split second, my eyes doubled in size, and I hopped out of bed. It was Carl, and it said it was an emergency. I didn't even bother change my yoga pants for my jeans, took my jacket and car keys and sped off to the hospital.
That is what a doctor's life looks like. You're always running everywhere, always on the alert, and have to be ready and available in any circumstances. Luckily I didn't live too far away from the hospital, and when the traffic wasn't as bad as most of the time, I could be there in five minutes.
When I passed the hospital's automatic doors, I ran to the service by taking the stairs because waiting for the elevator would have taken too long.
I arrived in the principal hall of the service, and frowned when I saw Carl standing on one of the stairs with people gathered in front of him. Everybody from the service was here, and I realized by Alice's presence that people from the neighboring services were here too. Automatically, I walked to my friend, and she gave me that same confused look everybody had.
"Hey, what is happening here?" I asked her right away, as I looked at my boss chatting with the chief of the hospital, Dr. Baker.
"I have no damn idea. Everybody in this wing of the hospital was paged and asked to come here."
"I can smell heads are going to roll."
"What? You mean that they're gonna fire people ?" she asked, looking at me with crazy eyes. "Those motherfuckers can't do that. Uh-huh, not gonna happen."
"Let's hope they won't, because my name would be on top of the damn list."
"Why? Because you don't want to hook up with your boss? That would be just cruel as fuck."
"Men would do anything for pussy, you know that," I said, rolling my eyes.
"May I have your attention, please?" Baker's voice echoed through the large room, and the chatting died down automatically. "Hello everybody. I'm sorry to disturb every one of you in your work, but I received a phone call a few ago that has to be talked about with the entire staff of this hospital because it also concerns you."
"Told you, heads are going to roll," I whispered to Alice.
"Shut the fuck up," she scolded, elbowing me.
"As you may know," Carl now spoke in a professional tone, "this service has seen many famous figures here. Many celebrities came by to check on the kids, but this time, I think it's on another level," he chuckled, but everybody frowned even more. "Anyway. So this person would be here in two days, and you are all asked to stay professional."
"For security measures, you will have to go through an identity check before coming in each service, and the family of the patients will be given visit cards so that they can be accepted to come in the hospital," Baker added.
"Can we at least know who that person is?" a man in the crowd asked.
"You'll know this in two days. The person doesn't want us to tell the staff about his identity. We're just following the instructions he gave us," Carl responded this time, shrugging his shoulders a bit. "This person should arrive around ten in the morning this Friday."
"If you have any questions, my office is open for you. Thank you for your time," the chief declared, and went back to his office with around five people following.
"So let me sum up this," I told my friend, as I slowly turned my face to look at her. "They woke me up from my so needed nap because some kind of celebrity is coming? Really?"
"They said it was on another level of celebrity, so it must be someone hella important."
"I bet it's Bush," I said, rolling my eyes, as we were both walking side by side to the cafeteria.
"Bush coming?" she practically yelled, stopping dead in her tracks. "Hell nah, I won't be working if this asshole comes around here. Because I didn't vote for him, and I'm not gonna be fake and tell him how much I love him because I don't, alright."
"Actually, Bush coming to visit sick children just seems weird. But if that's the case, then I become a none. I'm not even kidding."
"Nah, their attire is not sexy at all, you have too many curves to hide them," Alice said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.
"Shut up," I chuckled, rolling my eyes.
"Nah, I can feel it's an actor. Damn, we're in L.A, baby! The President must be too busy dealing with his shit in Washington anyway."
"Whoever this is, I won't change who I am just to please him or her, and I'm just gonna work like it' a regular day."
"You say that, but wait until Prince comes through these doors, you'll be too busy looking at this man's ass, to "work like it's a regular day"."
"Let's pray the Pope is gonna walk through this doors, then."
"Girl you got no chill!" my friend laughed, and I laughed along with her.
We grabbed a cup of coffee, and sat around a table in the quiet cafeteria. Our laughter died down, and a silence fell upon the two of us.
"Oh, how was your session with the therapist? It was today, right?" Alice broke the silence, and drank a sip of her black, sugar-less, disgusting, coffee.
"Yeah, it was today. I guess we made progress," I shrugged, twirling my plastic spoon in my cup. "He gets I need time to open up."
"Of course he gets it, Brit, he's a therapist. If you can talk to someone, you can talk to him. It's his job to listen to people. He's the one who can help you. Him, and yourself. If you work together, you'll get better."
"Yeah," I smiled at my friend's words because I knew she was right.
Alice was always supportive, and every time she was being such a good friend, I had to fight the urge to tell her everything about me. It was a selfish gesture from me. The reason I didn't want her to know was because I was too scared she would walk away once I told her who I really was, and I needed her too much for her to leave me.
Whenever I was at work, Alice was always my breath of fresh air. When I needed a break from my tough job, she'd grab a cup of coffee with me, or we'd have lunch together. Apart from work, Alice and I would hang out from time to time, and go shopping, or stay at the loft to watch a few movies and drink wine.
Ever since John left me, the loft where I live seemed cold and empty, like it was too big for me only. I was happy whenever someone was around, because it made the place felt less empty and unfamiliar. I grew up as an only child, but the house where I grew up, in Pasadena in the Los Angeles county, was never empty. My parents made sure throughout my entire childhood that my friends could come over whenever they felt like it. Everyday was a party to me, because I knew I wouldn't be alone.
"Just know that you can talk to me if you need someone to talk to before talking to a stranger."
"I know that, Al. Thank you," I smiled, and gave her shoulder a gentle pat.
"Did you tell him about John the asshole?" she asked, grimacing when the name of my ex fiancé escaped her lips.
"Yeah. We talked a lot about him, actually. Him, and well, my parents. I told Olson that he left because I was—" I stopped dead in the middle of my sentence because I realized I was going to say something I shouldn't.
For a moment, I wanted to tell her. I felt ready, I wanted to open up because I trusted her enough not to walk away. But all of my fear came back in a split second, when I was about to tell her "he left me because I was different.". Of course Alice would have tried to understand what I meant by this word, but I couldn't take the risk to lose her.
"Because you were what?" my friend pressed, frowning at my sudden action. "Brit?"
"Because I—I was um, mysterious," I stuttered, slightly panicking. I cleared my throat, and went on, "he was tired of me being all mysterious."
It wasn't completely a lie, but it wasn't completely true either.
"Being mysterious is a good thing. This pussy was just scared. He certainly thought you were hiding the biggest secret ever, like you've murdered someone," she snorted, and drank another sip of her coffee.
I probably had an expression on my face that worried her because she almost choked on her beverage, and looked at me with round eyes. She didn't say a word for a few long seconds, and kept on looking at me with the same expression.
"You didn't kill anybody, right?" she whispered, looking around the cafeteria to see if somebody was eavesdropping. "Because if you did, you need to tell me so I can help you with it."
Damn, she was as serious as a heart attack. I could see the seriousness in her eyes.
"I didn't murder anybody, Al. Relax," I said, and chuckled slightly.
I just participated to the murder of my parents, I thought, and that thought alone made me shiver.