Authors: Tabra Jordan
“Mother.”
Jillian uncurled a vine of greenery. “You’re the best hostess. I think you
missed your calling.”
Ester
gave her daughter a stern expression. “Are you suggesting I open a catering service,
again? My dear. Please. I don’t do domestic.”
“Mother.”
Jillian arranged the soft pink napkins as she spoke. “May I ask you a question?
I mean, if you have time.”
“Sure.”
Ester tugged at the neckline of her pink chiffon dress. “I’ve got a moment.
What’s the matter? Not satisfied with your new stylist? I think she’s done a
marvelous job.” She reached out and touched Jillian’s thick hair. “Your hair is
full of body.”
Jillian
smiled. “No. it isn’t that.”
“I
know.” Ester placed her finger aside of her cheek. “Maria is not working out
for you. Darling, she’s getting old now. You didn’t have to hire her. She was
retiring. It isn’t her fault her arthritis acts up every now and then. Give her
a few days off and she’ll be good as new.”
“Mom.
No. It isn’t about Maria. She’s fine.”
“You’ve
always been a sentimental one.” A blonde spiral inhibited Ester’s view. She
blew the ringlet from her eye, then groomed her elegant updoo. “Honey, it was
time for Maria to retire. She’s been around since you were a baby. You’ve
developed an unhealthy attachment to her.”
“Please.
Mother. I have a question.” Jillian touched her mother’s shoulder.
“Oh,
I’m sorry. What were you saying, dear?”
“I
was asking if there was ever a fire in the nursery.”
Ester
gazed into her daughter’s large brown eyes. “No. Why would you ask such a
thing?”
“There
is smoke—clothes must have been on fire.”
“Oh,”
Ester shunned, “you’re talking about those silly dreams, again.”
“Mother.
They aren’t silly. The dreams are trying to tell me something. If I can just
piece it together I’ll…”
“Well,”
she added flippantly. “A few drinks should take care of that.”
Jillian
held her mother’s arm. Desperate to be heard, she looked into her slate blue eyes.
“No. No more drinks. No more pills. I want to know the truth. Now, what
happened in my nursery?”
“Jillian
please. You’re just like your father. This is hardly the time to discuss such
matters.” She jerked her head forward. “Excuse me.”
CHAPTER THREE
That
night, Jillian experienced the dream she’d had so many nights before. In the
vision, the nursery was dark, but she recalled being contented. She played in
her crib with hardly a care. Suddenly, someone was there. The scent of burning
rags overcame her. A foul smelling hand clasped over her mouth—a hand so large,
it covered her eyes and nose as well.
Jillian
reached out, tearing at the burning rags. Unable to free herself she flailed
against the stranger. He bound her tightly. She tried to cry out, but her cries
were muffled. Sticky duct tape was placed over her tiny mouth. Then, she heard
the sound of a bag being unzipped. Her body was then stuffed inside. The zipper
closed, then there was darkness. Soon, the bag was jostled about, as if someone
was walking.
How
scared she was. Inside the bag, Jillian recalled sweating. The closed area was
tight, and stifling. There was no air. How she needed air. Tears clouded her
vision and her lungs ached. A constant flow of mucus inhibited every breath. Soon,
the bag was wedged into a tight place and practically unzipped. Immediately, a cool
breeze rushed inside. Above her head, there were flashes of bright light, and
people were talking.
For
days, Jillian recalled being kept in a dark place. The stinky man had changed
her diaper once or twice, and had given her a bottle. The milk was almost
frozen; she struggled for the nourishment. She recalled being cold on the bare
plastic mattress—so, so cold. No one was there. No one heard her cries.
In
the next room, there were loud voices—arguing, and blaring music. “
Mommy is
there
,” she imagined, reaching toward the closed door. “
I know mommy is
there
.”
Unexpectedly,
the door opened, and the room brightened. A woman dressed in dark clothing walked
near the bed. She reached inside the crib to get Jillian. “Yes. She’s a healthy
one,” she said. “Nice and plump, too.”
“
Who
is this woman
?” As the woman held her tightly, Jillian could not make out
her face.
“This is not mommy. No
.” She pulled from the woman’s grasp.
“I
don’t want to go. No. I don’t want to go
,” she whined.
“Jillian,”
Lake called, caressing his wife. “Darling. Please wake up.”
Jillian
opened her eyes. Her face was torn in anguish. Tears streamed down her cheek. “Help
me, Lake. Please, help me.”
Lake
cradled Jillian against his bare chest. Her gown was soaking wet. He rocked her
in the warmth of his arms, while she moaned and cried. “Baby,” he whispered
softly. “My baby. It’s all a bad dream.”
“I’m
so frightened,” she said, her voice hardly audible. “So scared. So cold. So
cold.”
“L,
let me get a blanket,” Lake stammered, and rose from the bed.
“No,”
she wailed, reaching out to him. “Don’t leave me! Please. Don’t. Don’t.”
“Yes.
I’ll stay.” As he held his wife, Lake stretched out his arm and touched the
intercom with his fingertips. “Maria. I’m sorry to bother you, but Jillian
needs a blanket.”
“It
is not a problem,” Maria replied through the system. “I will be right there.”
Soon,
there was a knock on the bedroom door. “May I come in?” Maria asked.
“Maria.”
Lake tossed the covers from his body. Wearing only his pajama bottoms, he reached
for his robe. “Yes. Please come inside.”
When
Maria opened the door, Jillian was still trembling. “Here is the blanket.” While
Lake wrapped the blanket around Jillian’s shoulders, Maria cast her gaze toward
the floor.
Lake
tied the sash on his robe. “I’ll get you something to drink, sweetheart.” He
walked past Maria, pausing briefly as he regarded her.
Jillian
sat up in bed, her eyes were wild and agitated. “Maria.”
In
response to hearing her name, Maria turned. She raised her aging eyes to look
upon Jillian, her employer. “Yes, Mrs. Fairchild.”
“Come
here.” Jillian patted the bed. “Sit down.”
“I
can not sit on your bed, Mrs. Fairchild.”
“Yes.
You will sit. You have known me all of my life. Is that not correct?”
“Yes
ma’am. I have.” Maria refused to look into Jillian’s face.
“Tell
me what happened in that nursery.”
“Nothing
happened in the nursery, ma’am.”
“Stop
lying to me! I’m a grown woman.” The tone of Jillian’s voice proved her
desperation. “There are no boogie men under my bed. What I’m feeling is real.
Now, tell me what happened there. Was there a fire? Were there firemen?”
Maria
averted her gaze. “No ma’am.”
“There
was a fire. I remembered the smoke filling my room. I remember that it was hard
to breath. The fireman put something over my mouth and I couldn’t breathe.”
“No
ma’am. There was no fire in the nursery.” Maria stood up. “I am very tired,
Mrs. Fairchild. You understand, don’t you?”
Jillian
became calm. She rested her head against the headboard. “Of course. I’m sorry.
How selfish of me.”
Lake’s
footsteps padded softly in the carpeted hallway. He met Maria as she walked
past. “How is she?”
Maria
shook her head and said nothing.
“I’m
so sorry,” Jillian whimpered. “I’ve been nothing but trouble.” She reached out
for the juice Lake held in his hand. “You’ve married a crazy woman. I never
meant to put you through this.”
“Sweetheart.
You’ve been having these dreams for years. Since we’ve been talking about having
a child, they seem to have gotten worse. We’ve got to find the reasons for
these nightmares.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The
next morning, Jillian sat at the table holding a coffee mug. In her mind, she
pondered her past. Life had been wonderful. But, somehow, she never felt a part
of the family, though, no one treated her differently. After taking a sip of
her drink, she rolled the warm cup in her hands.
Maria
placed a light breakfast before Jillian. Jillian looked at her waffle, link sausage,
and egg. The food was just as she had asked—impeccable.
Dressed
in his gray suit, Lake walked downstairs and strolled toward the table.
Immediately, Maria met him with hot waffles and fruit. She placed them on the
table. “Anything else, Mr. Fairchild?”
“No.
Maria. As usual, everything is fine.” Lake bowed his head and said grace. When
he finished his prayer, he patted his wife’s hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I
know.” Jillian raised her eyes to look into her husband’s face. His brows were
furrowed. “I can’t have a child, Lake. I’m too scared.”
“Well,
don’t worry,” he said. “If having a child makes you fearful; we will just be a
childless couple.”
Jillian
sighed. “Mom and dad aren’t concerned with having a grandchild. I would have
thought they’d be chomping at the bit for a granddaughter.”
Lake
grinned. “Your parents are into themselves. They wouldn’t have time for
grandchildren.”
From
the kitchen, Maria chuckled softly. Hearing her laughter, Lake snickered. “See.
Maria knows them better than you.”
* * * * *
When
Jillian had kissed her husband goodbye, she reached for the phone, then sat
down in the living room. She just had to talk to her father. No, she wasn’t a
daddy’s girl. That position has been occupied by her younger sister.
Never-the-less, she knew her daddy loved her. “Good morning, Daddy.”
“Good
morning, bunny. How is my snuggle bunny, today?”
“Not
good daddy. I’ve been having that dream again. I’m not sleeping well.” A family
portrait hung above the fireplace. Jillian focused on her father’s dark brown
skin, and hooded eyes—a family trait she didn’t possess.
“Are
you still seeing Dr. Vega, the therapist?”
“Yes.
And I’m taking the prescription the doctor gave me.”
“Good
girl. You’ll make it through this. You’re a trooper.”
“Daddy.”
She hesitated. “Was there a fire in the nursery at any time?”
“A
fire?”
“Yes.
In my dreams, I’m always a young child. I’m standing in my crib. Someone opens
the door. I always see smoke rushing into my room.”
“No.
There was no fire, but every now and then, Jesus would burn brush out back.
Perhaps, you’re thinking of that.”
“It
isn’t the same kind of smoke, daddy.”
“I’m
sorry, bunny. I can’t help you.”
“Okay
dad. Thanks. I love you,” she said hastily, as she hung up the phone.
* * * * *
Still
unsatisfied, Jillian looked at the clock. It was now, 9:05. She placed another
call. “Mr. Freemon. How are you today?”
“I’m
exceptional,” he said, his voice jovial, “now that I’m talking to my favorite
client.”
Jillian
cradled the phone against her face. “I’ve got a job for you.”
“Okay.
I’m ready. Shoot.”
“I
want you to find out all you can about my birth. Dig up birth certificates,
birth announcements—everything.”
“Jillian.”
Freemon paused. His tone became solemn. “I’ve known your family for years.”
“Do
you recall my birth?”
“Well,
no but…”
“I
want cold hard facts. Something happened when I was very young. I need to find
out what.”
Mr.
Freemon lowered his voice. “Your family will not be happy about this. I think
you should leave well enough alone.”
“Jack
Freemon. I’m sick. I have nightmares so debilitating that I need to be sedated!”
“Why,
I had no idea.”
“Something
happened to me when I was a child.” Her heartbeat grew rapid. “If you won’t
help me, I’ll go to another agency.”
“I
can’t help you, sweetheart. I work for your dad. He owns the agency. But, I do
know someone who can investigate your birth and childhood. He’s a little
uncouth, but he’s the best at what he does. ”
“That’s
all that I ask. I promise Daddy will never know. This is something I’ve got to
do for myself.”
“I
understand.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Jillian
waited for Mr. Freemon to make arrangements. Meanwhile, she took life as usual.
The dreams subsided somewhat, and she slept restfully. After three months,
Jillian finally got the call she had been waiting for. “Hello.”