5 Chapter 5: Am I Going Crazy?
Chapter 5: Am I Going Crazy?
Amara
I watch through the rearview mirror as Kell slips into his car with hope and trepidation. My heart is still running a mile a minute. I had never felt so shaken by a guy. I don’t know what it is about Kell Cross, but he drives me crazy, and for someone like me, that’s a dangerous situation.
Kell Cross does not seem like the type of guy to stick around, which is why it’s better if I forget about him and focus on something else. After all, Kell just wants to rattle me. He doesn’t really have any romantic intentions toward me, other than the obvious, of course. Taking a deep breath, I turn on the radio in hopes of distracting myself from the sweet honey desire engulfing me. Regrettably, the news comes on, and my desire turns to dread.
In other news, the mutilated body of Leslie Johnson was found this morning by a jogger in Solis National Park. Police believe that Ms. Johnson’s body is one of three ritualistic murders that have occurred over the past few months across the state. The mutilated bodies of Shana Lewis, Tiffany Chang, and Bridgette Santi were found after being missing for several weeks. Police Commissioner Stan Brawn is set to make a statement regarding a possible ritual serial killer. What we do know is that each body was found with a pentagram carved into their bodies and multiple stab wounds…
I lower the volume feeling the world fade around me. The girl from my vision’s name was Leslie. I try not to think about it. But I know that it’s not coincidental. Leslie is dead, and I saw it happen.
A stray tear escapes my eye as my grief for the girls overwhelms me. I don’t know how I got home, but somehow, I manage it. Rushing into my house, I run up the stairs, lock the door behind me and slide down the door. My stomach churns as I take a few deep breaths and close my eyes. I’ve never felt so lost as I have at that moment. The repercussions of my visions breach my thoughts at that moment. How is this possible?
As if my body has lost all motor abilities, my arms fall limply beside me, and my bag slips off my shoulder, falling onto the floor with a slump. I look at my bag as if it’s a snake about to bite and cautiously reach inside of it. Nerves overtake me as I pull out my laptop and open it.
Breathing deeply, I place my hands over the keyboard and open a search engine. Even though I know it’s not possible, I keep hoping that I’m in a nightmare, and Leslie Johnson is still alive.
It takes me a few minutes to google information pertaining to Leslie Johnson’s murder. I scroll through several articles feeling desperate and petrified at the news that I might find. Shock reverberates through my body when Leslie’s class picture pops up on the screen. She looks so innocent and ready to take on the world. Completely oblivious to the fact that a few months after this picture is taken, her mutilated body will be found by the police.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t see Leslie’s face in my vision. That’s not how my visions work. I’m usually in my victim’s body when it happens. But somehow, I know it’s her. My stomach turns with nausea, and I swallow my dread as I scroll through the information. That’s when I see it. Leslie was stabbed through the heart. I know for sure now that this Leslie is the girl from my visions. Up to now, I ran with the pretense that this was just coincidental. My mind becomes fussy, and my ears ring.
Oh my God, please tell me that this is not happening to me.
A knock at the door jolts me from my thoughts. I pull away from the door and straighten my stance just as my mother strolls in with a determined stride.
“Amara, where have you been?” She asks without looking at me. Instead, she gazes at her blood-red painted nails with an impatient scowl.
I wipe my tears quickly as I take a seat on my bed. “Sorry, Jordana. I had some work to do that couldn’t wait.” Yes, I call my mom Jordana. Trust me, it’s not my idea. You see, from the moment I was able to talk, my mother felt that she was too young to have a daughter, so she taught me to always call her Jordana. I only call her mother to my friends or in my head.
You’d think that a woman who gave birth to a child would be more nurturing, but that is not the case with Jordana. She hates it when people call me her daughter. My father isn’t any different. My parents are both in their early forties. However, you couldn’t tell by looking at them. My mom has beautiful pale skin and dark hair. She’s nearly six feet tall and has a perfect body; courtesy of Dr. Leo and his skillful hands.
Her eyes are blue. My father is also tall and fit. He has olive skin, dark curly hair, and green eyes. It’s odd because I don’t really look like either of them.
My mother’s analytical eyes roam around the room. She must not like what she sees because her face puckers into a distasteful sneer. “My goodness, Amara, this room is such a mess.”
I look around the pale ivory room with its dark wooden floors, blue and gold Persian rugs, and crystal chandeliers. My bed stands proudly in the middle of the room with its white columns and gold and blue curtains hanging at the top like a tent. My covers are also blue and gold. The room is large and opulent with a large walk-in closet, an en-suite bathroom, and tall windows covered with drapes in the same blue and gold fabric. However, my mom is not talking about the bed or rugs. She’s talking about the pictures that are mounted near my bed, window, and computer table. There are collages of pictures nearly covering all of my mirrors. I did that after I had my first vision. But I can’t tell her the truth. Instead, I play it cool and change the subject. “Wow, Jordana, you look so good in that dress. Is it new?” I say, gesturing to her Emilio Pucci turtleneck gown. The gown is black and looks like a mummy wrap, but I’m not going to tell her that.
Her smile widens as she looks down at her gown and runs her hand across the fabric. “Do you like it? It’s from the Emilio Pucci collection.”
I nod my head with feigned excitement. “Yeah, it makes you look so slim.”
She preens and poses for a few moments, completely forgetting her former complaint. But she is not to be deterred. Not Jordana. The woman is like a dog with a bone when it comes to things she wants.
Once she’s done showing off her figure in the gown, she focuses back on me and moves closer. “I’m going out to dinner with your father and a few associates. I have to look my best. Which reminds me—Why are you late? You know that we had a dress appointment with Delia and Carlo at four.”
I bite my lip. “Sorry, Jordana. Mr. Moody asked me to tutor someone.”
She curls her lip and scuffs. “Why do you need to do that? Can’t he find someone else? You don’t have time for tutoring. The Miss Arcata High pageant and dance are coming up. It’s a waste of your time if you ask me. Your focus should be on finding a date to the dance and getting the perfect dress.” She ends with an affronted pout.
In Jordana’s world, your brain should be used for finding a rich husband and planning an elaborate wedding. She can never comprehend why finding a rich husband is not one of my life goals.
I resist rolling my eyes as my mother continues to rant. There’s just no point in arguing with someone who will never see things my way. Instead, I play along by nodding my head and releasing a long-suffering sigh. “You’re right, Jordana. But you know having after-school activities and volunteer hours are part of the pageant requirements.”
She shakes her head and gives me a pitying look. “I don’t understand why they require those things. When I won Miss Arcata High, it was because of my talent and looks.”
I snicker n commiseration. “I know it’s so unfair.”
She sighs again and takes out her cell phone. “Well, I’ll reschedule with Delia and Carlo. Maybe I can talk to Barbara to see if Austin has a date.”
I grit my teeth at the thought of Austin St. Clair being my date. The last time I went out with Austin, he got a little too handsy, and I had to put him in his place. I gave him a black eye, which pissed off my parents. The guy is a real piece of work. I cringe at the thought of how he’d do in college. I’d imagine mommy and daddy would have to pay off a few girls as restitution for things he might do to them. There’s no way that I’d let Austin St. Clair near me again.
Before Jordana could make a choice to call, I shoot up from my perch. “No, Jordana, not Austin!”
She stiffens her spine and wraps her arms around her chest with a speculative frown. “Well, you’ll need a suitable date, Amara. You just can’t show up by yourself. What would people think? Austin’s family is very rich and connected. Mr. St. Clair is the CFO of St. Clair Industrial─”
I jump in before she goes into an all-out rant. “Fine. I’ll go with someone suitable. Just not Austin…please.”
She exhales in exasperation. “Very well, Amara I’ll give you two weeks to find a suitable date. But if you don’t find one, I will call Mrs. St. Clair.” I give her my best fake grin and nod in agreement. “Sure, Jordana.”
Satisfied with my response, she walks up to my mirror and removes a couple of pictures. Jaw tight, I watch as she adjusts her makeup, which makes no sense because she looks perfect.
“We need to work on your talent and get you ready as soon as possible. That’s why I want you to come home as soon as your…tutoring is over. Do you hear me?” She states with a disgusted curl of her lip. “I already hired people to work on this with you. I also want to make sure you have the perfect dress. I can’t have you embarrassing your father and me.”
I don’t argue even though I’m desperate for her to get out of my room.
Then, a thought strikes me. “Jordana?”
She pushes back from the mirror and narrows her eyes at me. “Yes, darling?” She says with a challenging glare.
I shift on my bed uncomfortably and bite my lip. “Have you…” I take a deep breath and clear my throat. “Have you ever had weird dreams? Like of things that happen?”
Jordana jolts up from her spot, narrows her eyes, and shakes her head with incredulity. “What are you spouting about Amara? What silly things have you been reading about in your books? Maybe you shouldn’t read so much. It’s giving you too many ideas.” She says as she walks to the door. “Make sure you get some sleep. Class pictures are in a few days, and I don’t want your pictures to show your haggard appearance.”
And that’s the end of that. I think as she walks out the door. Once I’m sure she’s gone, I go back to the computer and gaze into the screen blankly. My thoughts return to Kell, and the almost kiss, and I want to mentally slap myself. I don’t know if it’s because we didn’t kiss or because I shouldn’t want to so badly. Regardless of those thoughts, I can’t help but wonder how it would have felt to have his soft, plump lips on mine.
I close my eyes and caress my fingers across my lips as if imagining that it’s his lips. My mouth tingles and swells with want. I don’t know what would have happened if he had kissed me. But I can imagine that it would have been explosive. My heart speeds up, and my body shudders with heat. He smelled so good. I wish we had kissed, but I’m also glad we didn’t. My body aches at the thought. It’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone, not since Jason.
Goosebumps rise around my body, a racking shiver reminding me of what I need to do. At least thoughts of Kell distracted me from the chill crawling into my skin. Rising from the chair, I make my way to the bathroom. The lights turn on automatically, illuminating the beautiful interior.
My bathroom is as luxurious as the rest of the house. It has a large Jacuzzi tub, a stand-up shower, and a double vanity sink.
The house is a large Cape Cod-style house with beech colored bricks. It has cathedral ceilings and large windows, and the inside is just as opulent. Crystal chandeliers are hanging in the foyer and winding stairs on each corner of the wall. The wooden floors are a rustic gray color, and walls are painted in creams. On the left and right of the foyer, there’s a sitting room, formal dining room, and the bedrooms are upstairs.
The house has twelve bathrooms and eighteen bedrooms. The kitchen has a huge island covered in black granite and white cabinets. The walls have white wainscoting. Everything in the kitchen is top-notch. There are stainless steel appliances and a large pantry for the cook. Did I mention that we have a cook and maids? When my mom travels with my dad, she takes them with her, leaving only Mimi, one of the maids, to care for the house.
I can’t help but think about how much the house and all its things are like us; beautiful on the outside, but shallow and useless on the inside. I hate it, and I hate us. I just want to be a regular girl. I don’t care about money or possessions. Unfortunately, everyone else assumes that money is important to me.
Sitting on the tub’s lip, I lean over the tub and turn the knobs. The water rises higher as the bubbles form on the surface. My fingers sift through the water, letting the silky drops glide across my skin. As soon as I do, a chill works up my spine.
Lately, that’s all I’ve felt is cold. Now that I think about it, the only time I’ve felt warm was when I was with Kell. I didn’t think about the cold. In fact, all I felt was the heat. It’s as if he melts this shroud of ice surrounding me.
Biting my lip, I remove my clothes and slip into the tub. The water instantly engulfs me in its warm embrace. The heat instantly permeates back in my body, starting from my toes and moving up to my chest.
Closing my eyes, I rest my head on the bath pillow as the gently lapping water caresses my sensitive skin. As I stretch my arm out to reach for the washcloth and run the cloth over a bar of soap, my thoughts return to Kell and his hard-muscled body.
I wonder what he’d look like undressed. He’s tall and firm. I know that his chest, abs, and arms are like slabs of carved stone after running into him. I have to bite my teeth at the thought of licking the tattoos decorating his chest and neck. I groan as my body becomes overheated and aroused. The feeling is amazing and scary at once. For years, I’ve protected myself from unwanted male attention since most of the boys that I’ve known only want me for what they can get from me. Some of them want to either become popular or to say they banged the golden girl. There was only one boy I thought I could trust, and he’s gone. Jason Donovan was a really cute guy that I met in middle school. We had seen each other around, but we never really talked, even though his family and my family were part of the same circles. It’s only when we ended up partnering up for a history project our freshman year that we became good friends. We did pretty much everything together after that. I liked him so much. I was your typical, rich party girl back then.
Jason was tall, blonde with brown eyes. He wasn’t as rugged or as muscled as Kell. He was more on the slim side. Unlike me, he was very introverted.
We had sex once, but it was because we didn’t want to start our junior year as virgins─ or so I thought. I didn’t realize until afterward that he used me. In fact, when we met up the next day, he pretended that it didn’t happen. Not knowing what to do, I went along with it because I stupidly thought that I was in love with him.
It was our sophomore year that I mustered up the courage to ask him out. I wanted to know if he wanted to be with me for good or if he just wasn’t into me anymore.
Unfortunately, Tiffany Gibbons got to him first. They were the “it” couple, and I was just his friend. We partied a lot that year. Unfortunately, we hung out less and less, the closer he got to Tiffany. I couldn’t handle it, so I partied more. I was so jealous, but I never let him know. Then summer came, and the accident happened. We were all at a party drinking pretty heavily.
The night was dwindling down, and it was time to go home. Tiffany wanted to drive because Jason was too out of it to care. But I cared. I argued with them and told them that it was better if we called a cab.
Ignoring my request, Jason called me a downer and slipped into the car. I continued to argue, but they wouldn’t budge. Not knowing what else to do, I got in the car with them.
Tiffany drove that night while I sat in the back. Jason passed out at some point during the drive, and I was still buzzing from all of the alcohol that I consumed. That’s when Tiffany began to show her true colors. I’ll never forget what she said. It was dark, and the moon was out as we were making our way down the damp and foggy road.
I remember Tiffany gazing at me through the rearview mirror with a sneer. “Poor Amara has a crush on my Jason. He told me that he had sex with you, you know? We both laughed when we talked about it. He said that you were sweet and awkward.”
My breathing hitched at her words, but I shook my head and laughed it off. However, Tiffany wasn’t fooled. “Come on, Amara. It’s okay that you have a crush on him. I mean, he’s so cute. I just find it pathetic that you kept following him around after he clearly didn’t want anything to do with you. He literally told me that sex with you sucked.” She said, reaching her hand over to caress his face. Jason didn’t stir.
I looked out the window, trying to gain some control of my panic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Tiff.”
She scoffed in reply. I remember how her blonde curls fluttered as the wind streamed through the open window. “Oh, you know what I’m talking about, alright. But you can forget about it because Jason is mine, and I will never let him go.”
My throat clogged, and my eyes misted at her words. However, I didn't let her see how she affected me. I simply swallowed the growing lump in my throat and replied. “I know, Tiff. I just want Jason to be happy.”
She preened arrogantly at my defeated tone. “And he will be as soon as you’re out of his life,”
I remember giving her a horrified look as she laid down her ultimatum. “What?”
Tiffany looked ahead as she accelerated. “You heard me. I don’t want you around us anymore. You are so pathetic, and he feels bad for you. Don’t you have any self-respect?”
A stray tear escaped my eye, but I quickly wiped it away so she wouldn’t see it. Tiffany is very similar to a shark. Once she smells blood in the water, she attacks. Trying to sound unaffected, I replied, “I would never break you two up. I’m not that kind of person. ”
Her mouth tightened, and her eyes narrowed in anger. “I don’t think you are listening to me. I WANT YOU OUT OF HIS LIFE!” She screamed as the car swerved.
My body jolts under the seatbelt, but I hold onto the headrest and pull back. “What are you doing, Tiffany? Watch how you’re driving.”
But she didn’t listen. Instead, she laughed maniacally as my body shook with the force of the car swerving.
Then it happened. I guess she was too busy taunting me to look ahead, but there was another car on the road that night. As if in slow motion, I could see the headlights descending upon us, followed by my fearful scream. “Tiffany, watch out!”
But it was too late. Both cars collided that night. I woke up a few days later in the hospital with a fractured skull and a few bumps and bruises. Tiffany had broken her arm, and Jason died. According to the coroner’s report, Jason’s body slammed into the windshield. He wasn’t wearing a seat belt, and when the car jolted, he went through the glass window. Unfortunately, he got crushed between both cars and suffered massive internal bleeding.
Jason died soon after arriving at the hospital.
I withdrew from the social scene after that. I haven’t drunk a drop since. I was still the golden girl, but I didn’t care anymore. That’s when I found my love of photography. Juliet and Haley stuck with me, but the others drifted away as soon as they realized that their cash-cow ran dry. I was happier for it. My body healed, but my heart didn’t. I will always regret letting Jason get into the car. That is the burden that I will live with for the rest of my life.
Unfortunately, the accident also killed the driver of the vehicle. He was a sixty-year-old war veteran who was going home to his wife that night. His whole family was devastated by his loss.
Tiffany, on the other hand, got away with it. Her father is a high-powered lawyer. Because Tiffany was underaged, all they required was that she take a class and drive with an adult for a probationary period of six months. That was it. Jason was dead, and no one was made accountable for it.
Emotion wells up in my throat at the morbid thought. Not wanting to dwell on it any longer, I submerge my whole body in the water, open my eyes, and look at the fractured images on the ceiling. A deep calm settles over me as my body temperature regulates, and my thoughts lighten. It’s as if the water is cleansing my soul. After a minute, I come up for air and close my eyes.
A half-hour passes before I rise from the tub and make my way back to my room. Juliet calls an hour later, and we talk about fashion and school. Nothing too deep.
That’s what I like about Juliet. She never pushes. She was one of the people who helped me get through my depression after the accident.
Even though thoughts of that night don’t haunt me as much, my visions and my feelings for Kell still do.
It doesn’t take me long to do my homework. I stay up a while and listen to some music as I sift through some of my old notes. Thankfully, I find notebooks that Kell can use for his classes.
Eventually, I fall asleep, but my dreams are not restful. They are wrought with visions of beautiful angels, girls pleading for their lives, and a knife cutting through my chest.
The next morning, I wake up completely tired and confused after my restless night. The dreams seemed so real. I wish my angel were real. That’s the only good part about falling asleep.
In my dreams, an angel swoops down from the sky and takes me in his arms. I can’t really see his face, but something tells me that we’re meant to be together. He always whispers something that makes my heart melt. Then I wake up, and I can’t remember what it is. It’s so frustrating. All I know is that I wish he were real.
