The Awakening of a Seer

JULIE: The Voices We Hear

Iwas always able to see, but I didn’t know I was seeing. I knew I could hear them speak, but I didn’t always hear them speak—to me.

I drove home after meeting Angela at the Cove Coffee Shop. We’d met, steaming cups in hand, on the Victorian settee beneath the tintype photograph featuring the town’s founder posing on the pier holding the mouth of an alligator shut.

I wish I could shut the mouth of the voice no one could hear—but me.

The voice came uninvited. I hate you, it whispered.

I flinched. The familiar voice reverberated through my body. I had no language for this. Words tried to form in my brain—then collapsed. How do you explain hearing and feeling a voice inside and outside of your body at the same time? I screamed inside my head, GO AWAY! I didn’t know what to make of the voice. I’d heard it since my husband’s death, but now it was more frequent. I longed for my husband’s presence. He would set aside whatever he was doing to let me talk about a situation. He was always my savior. He would give me advice, tell me everything was going to be okay, and pray for me; even though, he knew I didn’t really believe in that anymore. Now, there was no one to pray for me.

I turned off the engine of my truck and stared at my front porch, envisioning all of the times I’d spent with Dave there, and the deep goodbye kisses we’d shared before he left for work each night—except that night. He’d rushed out in a hurry after getting a message while I cooked dinner. That phone call was death calling.

I’d tried to let the way he died go, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know he’d never hold me in his arms again. I wish I’d known—but I didn’t. I got out of the truck and thought of our son. It was just Patrick and me now. The precious son we’d had trouble conceiving. He was all I had left.

I stood on my driveway, looked up at the trees, and heard a whisper. It was the voice again. The words I hate you seemed to live in the wind. It spoke through the rustling leaves and moss waving from the branches overhead. Patrick, it whispered. Patrick.

Patrick? I asked in alarm. This was the first time his name had been uttered by the voice. I spun around, trying to find where the voice was coming from. Who are you? I said through gritted teeth. What do you want?

Son and father will be together, soon.

"Dave?" But Dave was . . . dead. My nails and keys cut into the palms of my hands. I looked up at the trees. Listen you—whoever you are—you stay away from my son. My heart raced as I thought about my teenage son, who looked just like his daddy. He’d been through too much. I’d been through too much.

There was no reply, just the sound of old, sighing trees.

My body started to shake. I fumbled with my keys and ran up the steps of my green Victorian’s front porch. Beetles recently gassed by the exterminator lay on their backs. The porch bore traces of geckos, as their droppings spotted its planks. A dog whimpered in the distance, and the porch swing moved back and forth like an unseen presence had just gotten up and left it. My breath caught in my throat.

I unlocked the door quickly, slammed the door behind me, and deadbolted it. I felt faint and shaky and leaned back against the door. Where was this voice coming from? What did it want with my son? Why would it, or they, or whomever, want Patrick to . . . to die like Dave?

I shook these thoughts away and walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. Think, Julie. Who or what are you hearing? Just then, the back door swung open and banged shut as Patrick ran into the kitchen, causing me to choke on my water.

Patrick, you scared me half to death, I said, blotting my shirt with a dishtowel. He looked panicked. I looked at my watch. What’s wrong? Why are you home early?

Mom. I was just told to give you a warning.

I narrowed my eyes at him. And I was just given a warning . . . about you. Go on.

I freaked out a little and had to come home and tell you. I was pulled aside after third period and told someone has it in for us—well, for you.

Has it in for me? I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

They said they liked me and didn’t want anything to happen to me, so—I—uh . . . needed to tell you to stay within your boundaries.

Boundaries? Me? I said, raising my voice. What boundaries? What the hell? What kind of boundaries? I don’t have any boundaries to stay in.

I don’t know. They took off when they saw one of the teachers coming down the hall. I couldn’t get any more information out of them. Patrick’s blue eyes widened with fear. Mom. What did you do?

I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what’s happening. I mean, I’ve been making discreet inquiries about your father’s death—but that’s all.

He cocked his head to the side and asked slowly, Why? I thought it was an accident.

It was. It was, I said, not believing the lie I was telling him. Too much didn’t make sense for it to be an accident. I finished blotting my clothes, folded the towel, and carefully placed it on the counter, willing my body not to betray my fear. It’s nothing, honey. Some weird misunderstanding or something. Now—don’t you have homework? I’m sure you do, since you skipped some of your classes. Scoot. You need to get to it. I tried to lighten the mood by smiling at him.

Patrick stared at me for a moment.

I kept my eyes steady. Everything’s okay. Don’t worry. He could always see right through me.

He stood still. I could see the wheels turning in his brain.

Okay. I love you, Mom, he said, grabbing a few cookies off the counter. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and headed up to his room.

Love you, too, I called after him. I bit my lip, trying to keep it from quivering. Oh, God. Oh, God. Is this about Dave—the voices, the kids at school—everything? Is this all related to his death?

I sat down at the table. My body was shaking from the inside out. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this, God. Are you there? Were you ever there? Can you hear me? I yelled inside of my head. I slumped forward and cried quietly into my arms so Patrick wouldn’t hear me. My body shook with the tears I’d held in for so long. I’ve had to be strong for Patrick, for the past year. I’ve tried not to cry—I’ve tried not to feel. But if they or it comes after my son, too. . .I just can’t. I can’t let that happen.

So, I reached out to the One I didn’t really believe in anymore. Please, God. Please help me. Please save my son. I don’t know what to do anymore.

A horn honked outside, and I jumped. What in the world? I walked into the living room wiping my eyes and looked out the window. It was Eli getting out of his car with a load of books in his hands. He was the pastor of the church across the street. I stared out the window at him. I almost hated the sight of him, but I knew it wasn’t really his fault. I threw myself onto the sofa. Maybe I should just talk to him. I had to talk to somebody. Anybody.

HANNAH: Twins

We lived in an old, badly-in-need-of-updating, nearly run down, two-story Victorian rental in Green Cove. It was the only house we could find when my dad got stationed at Naval Air Station Jacksonville, several years before. He wanted us to be out of the city and in the small town where Mama grew up, so when they discovered this house on the St. Johns River, they fell in love with it and rented it right away. We’d been able to stay in it longer than usual, when Dad transferred from shore duty to a ship out of Mayport and then back again. Daddy knew that Mama couldn’t bear to leave her hometown again, so we’d stayed. We’d probably live here forever. Isn’t that what people did in small towns? Live, marry, and die there? Mama really wanted to buy a house here, preferably an old church they could convert into a home, but nothing like that was available . . . yet. But if I knew Mama, she’d have that soon enough.

My room was on the second floor, facing the water. I stood looking at the sun shimmer on the water, when I heard my twin brother, Adam, arriving home. I sighed. Here it comes.

Why did you tell him? asked Adam, throwing the door to my room open.

Why did I tell who what? I said, raising my eyebrows and pretending that I didn’t know what he meant.

That kid—Patrick.

My pink room was decorated with one-eyed stuffed animals and posters of rock stars that watched the dance about to commence. I looked in the mirror and patted down the rebellious curls that never seemed to stay straight in this humidity. I didn’t tell him anything—except that he needed to be careful.

And why did you do that? he said facing the mirror. You know that we can’t help him, said my brother, as he slicked back his black hair and then carefully rumpled it for that movie star look. He was good looking for his age—too good—and he knew it.

Look, I said throwing myself on the bed with a thunk. I know. I know. It’s just that he’s always been really nice to me. Oh, my gosh. I wished he would just leave. My life was none of his business, and I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt my Patrick.

Wait. What? You like him?

No . . . I’ve just known him since we were in preschool together at the old Methodist church. We were in Miss Mary’s class. You know, the one with the missing hair.

And so, you’ve had a crush on him since preschool? He laughed as my face colored. Hannah, he’s . . . Hannah, you need to stay away from him. You can’t help him, or his family. He knelt down beside me and looked in my eyes. I’m serious. If they find out that we’re even talking to him, it will be our mother’s head.

I turned away from him and bit my nails. Okay. I’ll stay away from him. Yeah right. Well . . . maybe I should. I don’t want him to get hurt.

He got up. I’ve got to leave, or I’ll be late, he said, before leaving the room. He turned back toward me. I’ll see you at the meeting later, right? he asked, and searched my eyes.

Yes, I’ll see you there. I nodded. I waited until I heard the front door shut and then opened my nightstand and pulled out my grandfather’s old wooden puzzle box. I lifted the lid. It reminded me of all of the times that I’d sat on his lap and told him make-believe stories about the fairies that lived in my box. I picked up each trinket and looked at it carefully. I remembered the lady next door who’d died a week after I’d found her pearl earring in our backyard and the church lady who’d given me a wooden crucifix for Easter, and then there was the picture. It was Patrick’s preschool picture, with his colored-crayon signature on the back. to hannah, love patrick, it said, with a big red-crayon heart. I kissed the photo. Patrick, I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.

JULIE: Without Boundaries

Dear Dave,

Something gruesome happened to our beautiful little Sadie. Evil stole and hurt the puppy you gave me a few months before you died. She must have been so afraid, because it took me two long days to find her. Did you know at the time that you were about to die? You told me that God told you to buy her for me because I would need her soon. And boy were you right, or was He right? I don’t know. I do know that you won’t really get this letter, but I need to talk to someone. Anyone. But what I really want is to talk to you. You left us before we could work out our issues. I was putting our garbage cans out on the street when I heard Sadie’s familiar whine. You know that high-pitched barely audible sound that she makes when she is begging for food? But this time she wasn’t begging for food, but for me to come and rescue her. The morning I found her, it was gray and misty out, and pine needles blanketed the earth in a sea of burnished orange—do you remember how much you loved to sit on the front porch with me and drink your coffee on mornings like that? We would talk about our hopes and dreams for the future, until that one day when you told me Sadie was a gift from God, and not from you. That confused me. Why would God give me a puppy that I’d have to clean up after and take care of when I have so many other things to do? I didn’t understand it then, and I still don’t—completely. But her enthusiasm for life makes me get out of bed every day, even when I don’t want to—when I just want to lie there and keep seeing you in my dreams—when I just want to sleep and pretend that you’re still there—right next to me. In that way, I guess she is a gift. But Sadie went missing the day Patrick came home from school with a message for me. Some stupid kids at school told him that I needed to stay within my boundaries, and that someone had it in for me. What the heck does that mean? What boundaries have I trespassed? And what did I do that would make someone threaten our family? You don’t even know about the threatening voices I’ve heard. And now they’ve gone after our dog, as a warning. I couldn’t find Sadie at first because the weather has vacillated between heat and dramatic outbursts of rain for the last week. There just wasn’t any evidence of Sadie’s path away from the house. It had been washed away. Patrick and I checked our property several times, so I knew when I heard that almost imperceptible sound that it wasn’t coming from our yard. I started following the muffled whimpering and walked behind our property and in between our neighbors’ backyards before I spotted