Uncovering You 10: The Finale (4 page)

He stares. “You’ll leave?” He wrings his hands and touches the collar again. His eyes fall. Instantly, he looks immensely downtrodden. “I’m weak,” he mutters. “I’m weak. I lost all I had. I can’t—I can’t let you do it to me again.”

“Okay,” I assure him. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I can entertain his delusions. For his sake. “I won’t. I promise, Paul.”

“You do?” He stills. He looks toward me, but not exactly
at
me. It’s one of the strangest sensations I’ve experienced. “You give me your word?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m sorry for coming. I shouldn’t have…”

“No!” He bolts up and runs toward me. The fear is gone, the terror vanquished. He smiles so widely, so enthusiastically, that it’s like the last few minutes never occurred.

Maybe in his mind, they did not.

It’s a complete transformation. Instead of being excited, I’m…repelled.

This sort of instability does not sit well with me. Not because I’m afraid of it—not exactly—but because it’s confirmation of Paul’s mental state. Of what I did not want to admit to be true.

“No,” he says. “Please stay. I want you here. I want you to—” He looks ashamed for a moment. “—stay here with me. Just for a little longer? Please?”

I nod, afraid to speak, trying to get my bearings.

He takes my hand and leads me to his place by the window.

We sit. He looks at me in earnest.

“You look…” He reaches out and lightly brushes my cheek. “You look just like your mother.”

I blink quickly, trying to dispel the rush of sadness his touch brings out in me. Combined with those forlorn words.

“It’s okay,” he continues. “It’s okay. I know who you are. I know you’re my Lilly.”

But do you know I’m real
? I wonder.

“I want to show you something,” he says. “You all think I’m crazy. I know you’re in on this with d..” He casts a surreptitious glance about the empty room, “…with
him
,” he hisses. “But I think I can trust you for now. Yes, I think I do. You gave me your word. Right? You made me a promise?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Well, I made a promise, too. To myself. That if I ever got out of this place, away from the voices, away from the cameras, the nightmare, the visions…that I would come and find you.”

I swallow hard. Is this fully-lucid Paul?

“Instead, here you are, come to me,” he says. He smiles. “Lilly.
My
Lilly. I can’t believe you’re not a mirage.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I’m really here.”

“But your arm!” He gasps, as if seeing the cast for the first time. Maybe he truly is seeing it—or recognizing its meaning—for the first time. “Tell me. What happened to your arm? Did you fall? From a tree? Your mother always said you liked to climb. You were always the reckless one.”

“No,” I say. “It was nothing like that. It was something…”

“You’re graduating next year, aren’t you?” he cuts me off. “I want to be there to see you walk onstage. Eighth grade, Lilly, wow! You’re going to be in high school soon. It’s going to be hard work, you know. There are going to be boys, new teachers, new classes. You’ll become a fully grown woman soon, and I can just see how pretty you’ll be. A vision of your mother. You’re going to break all the boys’ hearts. You will…”

I let him ramble on. While I just stare.

He thinks I’m still a little girl.

I am overcome by an overwhelming sadness. Paul’s lucidity is the illusion. I know what he is now. He’s a functioning schizophrenic. His reality in no way matches what’s really there. He can manage, somehow, on his own, as long as nothing threatens him. He can give the impression of sanity.

But only when he’s addressing things in the world as he sees them.

“…math, and science, and social studies. Those were my favorite classes in high school. And you’ll be applying to college before you know it! Have you given any thought to where you want to go?”

“Dad.” I break away from him and stand. “I can’t. I can’t stay here anymore. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Oh.” A melancholy expression comes across his face. “I understand. But before you leave? May I give you a parting gift?”

I look to the door.

“Please?” Paul asks me.

I glance back at him, and nod. “Yes,” I say. “But then really—truly—I have to go.”

“It’ll be worth it,” he says. He jumps up. “Please,” he tells me. “Stay. Just stay right here.”

Then he turns and runs to rummage through a filing cabinet by the desk.

I watch him. I see his excitement about this “gift”…I sigh and look outside. The sun has barely moved in the sky. I’ve been here only a few minutes. But it already feels like hours.

“Here.” He startles me by appearing at my side. “Here, Lilly. I made this for you.”

I look down. He has a blue paper folder in his hands.

I spy a few loose sheets peeking out the side of the folder.

Already I’m surprised. I’d assumed that his gift would have been the same sort as the teapot.

“Take it,” he implores me. “Please.”

I do.

“I had a feeling—a hunch—that I might find you here,” he says. “So when the good doctor put me on his plane, I had plenty of time. And I made you…these.”

I start to open the front cover. Paul catches my hand.

“Wait,” he says. “I don’t want you to see it when I’m around. I want you to open it on your own.”

“Why?”

“I know,” Paul looks down. “I know what you think of me. What you all think of me. You think the voices don’t exist. You all think the things I see are not real. But the truth is: They are as real as you and me.” He meets my eyes. “And that is a
fact
.”

Oh, dad.
I want to mutter. I keep my mouth shut.

“You see these.” He gestures at the empty sheets of paper. “And what do you see on them? Nothing. Am I right? No, no.” He shakes his head. “Don’t answer. I know what you’ll say. If you don’t need to answer, you don’t need to sugar-coat the truth. Right?

“But the truth…the truth, my sweet, young daughter…is that I am not so far lost as you think. No. Don’t say anything now. Appearances must be maintained, remember?”

He gives me a small, secretive smile.

“What
I
see on them…what
I
see on the sheets…it never changes. Each one has its unique images. Each one has its peculiar patterns. That’s why I don’t need ink when I draw. I already see the lines. They’re already there.

“The trick, of course, is to makes others believe.”

He taps the front of the folder with two fingers. “This is my attempt at that.”

And then, without warning, with another word, he turns away and starts to hum. A second later, he’s back at the wall, playing with imaginary pots.

“Goodbye, Lilly,” he says without looking back. “I have another feeling I won’t see you again. Please don’t try to prove me wrong.”

“Bye, dad,” I whisper, and retreat from the distorted reality permeating the room.

Chapter Six

In the hall, I find a door to an empty bedroom. I go inside. And lock the door.

My shaking hands grasp the folder. It feels precious. Even though I don’t want to get my hopes up, something about Paul’s candor moved me.

I sit down. I take a deep breath. He wanted me to be alone when I opened this. I don’t know why…but I’m about to find out.

I flip open to the first page, and my breath is taken away.

There, clear on the page, is the most intricate pattern of lines and swirls and figures and motifs I’ve ever seen. It’s a mosaic. Every inch of the sheet is covered in swirling lines of blue ink. They’re not the random doodles of a lunatic, but the true manifestation of artistic genius.

Not one of them is out of place. It’s harmonious in its chaos. It’s abstract, flowing, beautiful, psychedelic, art the likes of which I’ve never seen. Just the first sheet—the first sheet alone—could mesmerize me for hours.

I flip to the next. It’s just as beautiful, just as stunning. But at the same time—so very different. The two of them, side by side? You couldn’t even tell they were drawn by the same hand, were it not for the identical ink.

This is like savant-level shit here.

Quickly, I leaf through the rest. They’re all like that. The folder is full of artistic mastery. The care with which the lines were drawn, their perfect placement on the page, the underlying confidence, makes it all…astounding. There’s not a single smudge or correction anywhere...

Paul said this is what he sees. Not what he creates, but what he honest-to-God sees.

It’s a glimpse of the world through his eyes. And it’s not the world of a lunatic. It’s the world of a prodigy.

Seeing this makes me stumble. It makes me unsure. Should I go to Jeremy with these? My dad—my father!—has a talent that should be nurtured. I can’t have Jeremy cast Paul off into the asylum. Jeremy and I are here together now, fully integrated, fully… ourselves. I have influence over him. He has the resources to let the world witness Paul’s talent.

The only thing that’s stopping me is the threat that
if
Jeremy sees these—and if he realizes that Paul is more capable than he thinks—Stonehart might come out. Stonehart, as the man who first caught Paul and wanted to make him suffer.

I tuck the pictures away. What if Paul
is
fully there—and he realizes what he does—but he maintains the act of delusion because of that horrifying phrase:
Appearances must be maintained
.

Is that his way of telling me that he
does
pretend? Is pretending the only thing keeping him safe from Stonehart’s wrath?

Well, I can keep him safe now, too. Then again—I glance at my broken arm, which has started itching beneath the cast—how sure of that can I really be? Jeremy is unpredictable. Even when he has the best of intentions. If I reveal to him something about Paul? That might be just be the trigger to set him off again.

I look around the room. Are there more cameras here? I don’t know. If I hide the folder here, will Jeremy know?

Then it hits me: I don’t need to hide anything. If Jeremy is to respect my boundaries, it is enough for him to know that whatever is inside this folder is mine. And I don’t need to share.

I tuck the secret art under my arm and leave the room. My father, the savant. Who would have known?

For now, nobody has to.

Chapter Seven

I find Jeremy, with Rose and Charles, downstairs in the living room.

He looks at me. “So?” He asks. “How did it go?”

I hesitate, glancing at the other two. “Just as you said it would.”

“I’m sorry.” He stands. “Lilly, I have an announcement to make.”

“Yes?”

“We’re leaving. Rose and Charles will come with us. Hugh will stay here.”

“What do you mean, Hugh will stay here? Doesn’t he have work to get to?”

“No. This is now his retirement home. He won’t be coming back to Stonehart Industries.”

“But who will take his place on the board?”

Jeremy’s eyes bore into me. “You will.”

I stare at him. “You’re shitting me.”

“I am not.”

“But—“

“I told you once already: I want you by my side. This is affirmation of the fact.” He looks back at Charles and Rose. “I broke the news to them just now, too.”

Rose stands up beaming. She strides over to me. “Congratulations, Lilly,” she says, offering me her hand. “You’ll do a marvelous job.”

Charles is next. He takes my hand in two of his. He peeks over his shoulder at the others, looks at me, and winks. He doesn’t say anything. His wide smile is enough.

He lets go. Jeremy approaches me next. “You’re finally set, ready now, to be my real woman.” A ferocious possessiveness flares in his eyes. “For life.”