I See Me (6 page)

“Nope,” I answered.

I put the Brave in drive and rolled forward. I didn’t want to run over his toes, but I wasn’t interested in whatever he had going on.

He backed off, called something like “Have fun” after me, and thumped on the side of the RV as I pulled away.

As I paused to turn onto the street, I looked back at him through my sideview mirror.

Hoyt had moved to the center of the alley. He was holding his phone up as if he might be checking it for signal or texting … or like he was taking a picture of the back of the Brave.

I looked away, turned onto the street, and headed south for the border.

The jerk could try to recruit me long distance. Most likely he’d just focus on the easier targets at the Residence. He was probably some religious fanatic collecting brownie points for every soul he converted for his God.
 

Not that I had a problem with religion. Many people found comfort in it. I just had the feeling that most seriously religious people would stay far, far away if they knew I had two bottles of antipsychotics in my bag and another in my suitcase.

I shook off the residual creeps over Hoyt’s alley ambush and forced my eyes to focus on the street ahead. The city was quiet as I cut through it back the way I’d already come. Only one more bridge, a tunnel, and an hour long stretch of highway and I’d be at the border.

“How long will you be staying in the United States?” the border guard asked.

“I’m not sure,” I answered. “A couple of weeks, maybe? It’s a trial run. I might be back through tomorrow.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Straight to the coast. First chance I get to turn off the highway. I’ve got RV sites all through Washington and Oregon memorized. But I might just stop and stay at the first place I find.”

There hadn’t even been a hint of a line by the time I pulled up to the Peace Arch border crossing, but I’d figured that would be the case. Ten o’clock on a Monday night was probably a weird time to travel.

I’d taken off my tinted glasses. It was too dark out to wear them while driving anyway. I put the registration papers for the Brave in my passport, then handed both to the border guard the second I pulled up to his booth.

He hadn’t flinched at my eyes.

Bonus points for him.

I’d bought tinted contacts once, but never managed to force myself to use them. I didn’t even like pulling down on the skin underneath my eye, let alone touching my eyeball.

The border guard was sandy-haired, in his mid-twenties, and had the heaviest American twang I’d ever heard. He eyed my papers and then stepped out from his booth to give the Brave a look of appraisal.

“She’s in great condition,” he said with a grin. A white plume of frozen breath accompanied his words, but he didn’t seem cold underneath his thick, waterproof uniform jacket. I could see the edge of a gray-and-white striped hand-knit scarf zipped into his collar. Someone loved him.

“Mint,” I said with an answering grin. I’d never smiled as much I had today in my entire life, but I loved this RV.

“1970s? Brave?”

“1975.”

“Are you bringing any contraband into the country? Firearms? More than ten thousand dollars in cash?”

“No, sir.”

“Fruit?”

“Just my drawing supplies and a cellphone with GPS.”

He handed my passport back. “I’m going to ask you to pull over there …” — he indicated five or so parking stalls off to the left ahead of us — “… for inspection. Shouldn’t take more than a minute. If you think you’re going to come and go more than twice a year, I’d suggest a nexus pass.”

“Thanks.”

“Have a great trip.”

He waved me through and I pulled over where he’d indicated. I wasn’t surprised that a nineteen-year-old in an RV was getting double-checked heading into Washington State from British Columbia. I’d expected it.

I climbed out of the Brave without being prompted, then waited in the cold underneath the exceedingly bright overhead lights. I was the only one in the parking area, which was good because I hadn’t exactly nailed the parking-within-the-lines thing. It wasn’t raining yet, but I really should have grabbed a hat and my jacket. Thankfully, I had my used-to-be-black hoodie and my mittens.

The two-storey building next to me was a wall of steel and glass, at least on the parking lot side. A line of empty window counters, like the tellers at a bank, lined the far wall. A series of small offices, all of which also appeared to be empty, jutted off a corridor that ran the width of the building on the far right.

I was starting to wonder if I should go inside and take a seat in the pamphlet-flooded waiting area against the front windows when a customs officer wandered out from the depths of the building.

He spotted me, took in the Brave behind me, and then exited. A gust of warm air followed him through the glass doors. He smelled of burned coffee, but he smiled at me readily enough.

“I’ll need to walk through,” he said.

“I understand.” I’d left the door to the Brave open, but was now regretting the heat loss. I didn’t want to drain the reserve batteries by turning on the electric heat if I couldn’t hook up somewhere tonight. But then, I had no plans to stop driving anytime soon, not even to sleep. I’d had enough sleep to last a good long while.

“Anything to declare?” the officer called over his shoulder as he entered the motorhome.

“No,” I called after him.

I’d thought he might bring a dog with him, but I guess I didn’t scream ‘drug smuggler.’

“I’m opening these boxes,” he called from inside.

“I understand,” I repeated. “They aren’t taped.”

And that was that.

The customs officer was out of the Brave and inside pouring himself another mug of coffee, or so I imagined, within five minutes. But first, he handed me a brochure that detailed all the Washington State rest stops. I didn’t tell him I had the major highways, roads, and free RV hook up locations memorized already.
 

I climbed back into the Brave and crossed into the United States of America. I was now as far away from my involuntarily-adoptive home as I’d ever been. And I wasn’t about to look back.

∞

I was only a few miles outside Blaine on Interstate 5 when the migraine hit. I managed to pull into the Custer rest stop before the hallucination took my eyesight, but it was an unusually close call. I got the Brave parked — badly — but thankfully there wasn’t anyone else in the RV-designated area of the lot.

The pain followed its usual path up the back of my neck, over the top of my head, and settled like a fifty-pound weight on my forehead. A weight equipped with oscillating five-inch spikes shredding my frontal lobe.

I dropped the keys as I scrambled out of the driver’s seat. I didn’t stop to try to find them underneath my feet.

Suddenly sightless, I fell down the two carpeted steps into the kitchen area of the Brave. Thankfully, I didn’t smack my head on any counter edges … but maybe getting knocked out would have been better than the debilitating pain of the migraine.

Pure white light flooded my mind. A blistering wave of pain kept me on my hands and knees. I stifled a full-throated scream and clawed my fingers into the thick carpet in an attempt to hold myself steady. I choked on the next scream, throwing my head back with the pain as it seared through my brain.

I crawled, moving one hand, then one knee, through the torment my mind was inflicting on my body and psyche. Still completely blind to my actual surroundings, I slowly pulled myself forward. I just had to get to my bags before the hallucination took hold of me.

The white light in my mind faded into a mist, then resolved around a figure just as my fingers found and frantically grasped at my suitcase.

Oh, God.

I could see her.

Her golden curls were longer than before, now tumbling down between her shoulder blades. She was wearing a vibrant-colored cotton dress and flip-flops. I’d never seen her dressed like this before. She turned to look behind her.

I flinched. For a moment, she seemed to be looking directly at me, but she didn’t see me. She saw someone over my head. A cocky smile spread across her face. She was holding her glowing jade-green knife in her hand.

I didn’t dare turn.

I didn’t want to see anymore.

I didn’t want to see what she saw.

Without being able to see with my actual eyes, I found the zipper of my suitcase and opened it to dig through sweaters and jeans and underwear.

In my mind, the blond turned to look back into the … temple? She was standing in some sort of temple …

No. I refused to see.

A lightning strike of pain slashed through my head from the top of my spinal cord, just as I realized I was looking for my pills in the wrong place. I screamed, unable to stifle it this time and unable to continue my search.
 

I clutched my head between my hands, grabbing fistfuls of my hair as I curled up on the floor of the Brave to ride out the episode.

In my mind, the blond wasn’t smiling anymore.
 

She glanced up. I looked with her. The ornate ceiling of the temple cracked. A deep fissure zigzagged through the carved stone.

My foot brushed against something. The raging migraine eased just enough that I could think.

My bag.

I had pills in my bag.

Fighting through the throbbing pain, I attempted to kick and manipulate the bag with my foot until I could just reach it with my fingers.

In my mind, the blond looked down at the ground. It heaved up and then fell beneath her. The stone splintered into multiple cracks at her feet. She spun to look back at whoever she’d been smiling at before. She was screaming something — obviously scared for the person I couldn’t see, rather than for herself — but I couldn’t hear the words. The hallucinations didn’t always come with audio.

I managed to tug the bag closer until it was even with my hip. I dug my left hand into it, encountering the necklace from my mother before I found my pills. I must have forgotten to close the zipper after I’d pulled my passport out. The gold links were smooth and cool against my fingers. Somehow, the migraine eased further. The pain abated just enough for me to sit up and drag the bag into my lap.

With my mother’s necklace grasped in my left hand, I found and opened the lid on the bottle of pills with my right. I dropped two in my mouth — twice my usual dose — and reminded myself not to chew or swallow them.

Clutching my mother’s necklace to my chest and still completely blind to my actual surroundings, I lay back on the floor of the Brave and willed the pills to dissolve quickly. I didn’t have enough saliva, though. I desperately needed the pills to dampen the misfiring receptors in my brain.

“Please, please,” I whispered. I could feel tears of pain at the edge of my sightless eyes. The thick gold links of my mother’s necklace dug into the flesh of my fingers, rubbing against the bones of my hand. I embraced this sharp sensation as the pills started to soften and spread through my mouth, triggering the taste of metal along the edges of my tongue. I tried to visualize the disintegrating pills flowing down my throat into my stomach, into my blood stream, then into my brain.

In my mind, the cracked ceiling of the temple caved in over the blond. No one could survive being crushed by that much stone.

“No!” I screamed.

Then, much more quickly than it had hit, the white-blindness of the hallucination was gone and I was left staring at the ceiling of the Brave by the dim light of my phone. I must have brushed the touch screen while digging around for my pills.

The migraine was simmering in the back of my brain, but the worst of the pain was gone.

I was surrounded by the sum total of my life — my clothing at my head, my bag at my side, and my mother’s necklace in my hand. All cradled within the comforting confines of the Brave.

The light of the phone winked out.

I closed my eyes instead of continuing to stare into the darkness. The drowsiness that came with the pills swept over me, and I didn’t fight it. I let the blackness settle over my beleaguered, broken brain.
 

Not bothering to drag myself farther back to the bed I wasn’t sure I could lift myself into, I slept.

The hallucination haunted my dreams. Over and over again, I watched the blond get crushed by the massive stone ceiling. She hadn’t even screamed. She simply covered her head and hunkered down, after which the hallucination would end and cycle back, from the blond’s cocky smile to the caved-in ceiling. I saw it over and over again.

It had been many years since I’d asked why. Since I’d questioned why and what I hallucinated. But tonight, in my drugged sleep, I hoped. I wished.

I wished … but for nothing in particular, because this was life. This was my life. I was doing all I could do about it.

I’d sketch the hallucination tomorrow before I headed to the coast. Then it would be done. And I would have done all I could do to keep moving forward.

∞

Completely groggy and with my mouth feeling like it was full of cotton balls, I picked myself off the floor two hours later. The interior of the Brave was pitch black. Without consciously making the decision to do so in the terror of the onset of the hallucination, I’d parked facing away from the rest stop’s washrooms and info booth, both of which were fully lit. Even with the curtains wide open all along the sides and back of the Brave, I could barely see.

Waking like this was nothing new for me. In a sea of blackness, on a hard floor, and cold … I was so cold. Whether I was lost in a blackout or a whiteout, I often had to rely on nothing but touch, sound, and taste.

I dragged my chilled-through-to-the-bone self through the contents of my suitcase, which I’d strewn all over the floor in my stupidity. I’d made sure I had my pills within easy reach all day. I should have taken a second one after the incident on the bus, but I didn’t want to be dopey for my meeting with Carol. Also, I wasn’t supposed to drive medicated.

And I’d wanted to drive. I just wanted to drive and drive.