Soul Seers Complete Set (10 page)

 
“Dream no small dreams for they have no power to move the
hearts of men.”

– Johann Wolfgang von Goeth

Some people view mind-reading as
the evolutionary providence of humankind.
 
Of course, "some people" are usually not telepathic, yet they
still seem to think they understand everything about the paranormal phenomenon
that is a part of me.

Since I woke up in the hospital a
little over a month ago, I’ve been going through the motions of putting my life
back together.
 
It was a huge blow
to consider the past six years were nothing more than a dream.
 
A wonderful dream.
 
A dream, to this day, I wish I had
never awoken from.

As I reflect back over my six-year
hallucination, I now realize how much was dictated by my mother’s love and
attention.
 
She never let a day go
by without reading to me, teaching me, talking to me, and loving me.
 
She talked to me about art, literature,
the news… she even continued my schooling as if I were really there.

The rumors are true.
 
A coma patient does in fact absorb the
words and information around them.
 
If it weren’t for my mom, I would still have the mental capacity of a
fourteen-year-old.
 
But because she
educated me throughout my incapacitated state, I not only still felt alive, but
felt the desire to continue on in life as if I were actually coherent over the
past six years.

My mom taught me not only how to
live, but also how to love.
 
Well,
the emotional part of love that is.
 
Even though, in my mind’s eye, I wasn’t a virgin
anymore—technically, my body had never experienced what my mind had
deemed to be so damn real.
 
How
could someone dream of having sex… feeling, seeing, smelling… and it not be
real?
 
Trying to wrap my
understanding around all of this, my mind was nothing but a wacked cluster of
confusion.

Other than my muscles being
horribly riddled with atrophy, the recovery wouldn’t be quite so bad.
 
However, one thing was more painful
than my heart could bear.
 
Jonah.
 
Jonah wasn’t
real.
 
I had to come to the
awareness that he was just a figment of my imagination.

It’s odd.
 
Parts of my dream, or more like my
dream-like state, were factual.
 
I
did break both of my legs in the accident.

The horses?
 
They were real.
 
My mom purchased them two years after
our accident and told me all about them, down to their spirits and
personalities.

The stars?
 
They were real.
 
Over the years, my mom began obsessing
over astronomy and stargazing.
 
She
told me about all the different places she wanted us to visit once I woke.

My dad… my dad walking away was
also real.

“Ella!
 
Your dad is on the phone!” my mom yelled from
downstairs.
 
I didn’t want to talk
to him, and regardless of how much my mom pushed, I wouldn’t change my
mind.
 
When my mom needed him the
most, he walked away.
 
He could
keep on walking as far as I was concerned.

My Aunt Sybil came and went.
 
That was usually her style anyway.
 
But for my dad to walk away as soon as
things got tough… it would take a hell of a lot of ass kissing to earn my
forgiveness.

I decided to ignore her, figuring
she would read my thoughts or get the hint that I didn’t want to speak to the
man.

I could hear her inner turmoil as
she verbally gave him the runaround but mentally defended my feelings.
 
Regardless of her desire to rekindle my
relationship with my dad, she didn’t blame me for my reaction.

I was very grateful for my
mother’s non-stop coddling.
 
Regardless of how torn up I was over losing Jonah… well, let’s get real,
I never really had him in the first place.
 
But, with the realization he didn’t exist, my emotional
state took a nosedive.
 
Even though
my company has been less than desirable over the past month, my mom has never
given up on me.
 
Still, the shock
of it all has me tearing at my insides in some sort of vicious attempt to
comprehend.
 
When I thought my
mother was no longer alive, I was devastated.
 
It turns out I was the one who was dead.
 
Yet, she made sure to keep life coursing
through my mind.
 
She made sure to
keep me alive… if that’s what you want to call it.

“Hey, Ella.
 
Ready for a shower?
 
I have a surprise for you later,” my
mom said as she poked her head around my bedroom door with a smile.

“I think I can handle the shower
by myself now.
 
At least, I would
like to try.
 
Maybe you could just
stay nearby in case I need you?” I asked, hoping she would allow me this little
bit of freedom.

“That sounds reasonable.
 
I think you’re ready to do whatever you
set your mind to.”

Gaining control of my muscles
deemed to be more challenging than I thought.

Supposedly, the doctors and
physical trainers tried to exercise my muscles and joints on a daily basis
while I was in a coma, but the fact of the matter was, I had to learn how to
function all over again.
 
Believe
it or not, bladder control seemed to be the hardest for me.
 
But, after a little over a month, I was
well on my way to being normal again, save for the more advanced things like
driving and the like.
 
Even though
I was nearing my twenty-first birthday, it would likely be at least another
year before I could become a licensed driver.

As I was lathering my hair in the
shower, I noticed I couldn’t hear my mother’s rambling thoughts.
 
Odd, because her thoughts were usually
the strongest of all, overpowering any other minds near me.

Mom, where’d you go?
I
pushed, hoping she could pick up on my thoughts.

I’m still in your room, Ella.
 
I didn’t go anywhere
,
she projected.

So, it is true.
 
You’re able to block me.

Silence.

So, my dream-like coma held more
truth than I thought.
 
She was
blocking her thoughts from me.
 
Interesting that she has decided to suddenly block me now when I haven’t
ever noticed her blocking anything from me before.
 
I actually thought it was something I conjured up in my
six-year-imagination spree.

“I’m sorry, Ella,” my mom said as
she poked her head through the bathroom door, startling me.
 
“I have a surprise for you and I’m just
trying to keep it a surprise.
 
That’s
all.
 
I didn’t even know you’d be
able to tell I was blocking.”

I didn’t respond.
 
Quickly, I tried to finish my shower on
my own, but lacked the physical stamina to dry myself after the exertion of the
shower.
 
I actually surprised
myself at how comfortable I was with my mom’s constant assistance, even when it
came to rather private times like these.
 
She truly was my best friend.
 
And, right now, my only friend.

Well, I take that back.
 
Jesse, who was also in my coma-dream,
was actually one of the new next-door neighbors and very close to my age.
 
My mom sort of took her in while I was
absent.
 
Jesse’s parents were never
home and my mom needed the companionship she so desperately missed during my
six-year hiatus.

After coming home from the
hospital, I quickly made friends with Jesse.
 
She was genuine, kind, and very lonely.
 
Her father would go on business trips
while her mother traveled for pleasure.
 
Jesse attended the local university and pretty much lived on her
own.
 
Even though she was very
skinny and had a bit of that nerd-vibe going for her, inside she was so
beautiful and sweet.
 
It made me
wonder why some guy hadn’t snatched her up by now.

My musings were interrupted by my
mom’s thoughts.
 
I invited Jesse to go with us, but she said
she couldn’t join us right now.
 
She might meet up with us later though.

Considering I don’t know what she would be joining us for,
it’s no biggie.

As we made our way to the front
door, I looked to the wall where the replica of Da Vinci’s
Leda
sketch hung, just like the dream of my sculpture… and… and
Jonah.
 
The frown now evident on my
face caught my mom’s attention.

“Come, Orella,” she coaxed,
worried I would fall back into my depression.
 
It was a likely possibility considering I seemed to plummet
into darkness whenever I thought of losing him.

Ha!
 
Losing him.
 
I
had to remind myself I never really had him.
 
He was just a figment of my imagination.
 
My hormone-riddled imagination.

About ten minutes later, we pulled
up to an old brick building.
 
Lavendine
, I repeated in my head as I
read the sign.
 
Odd name… if I’m
not mistaken, it’s a certain type of amethyst.
 
It didn’t seem like anything fancy, but I was intrigued
nonetheless.

An art studio,
my mom
let slip.
 
Just as she did, she
thought of a rather graphic curse, causing me to chuckle lightly at her internal
self-chiding.

It was an art studio.
 
A ceramics studio!
 
I felt the foreign feeling of
excitement course through my veins for the first time since I woke up in that
godforsaken hospital bed.
 
My mom
signed us up for an open-studio membership, as something we can do together and
a sort of therapy for me.
 
Her
surprise couldn’t have been better.

As we walked in, I looked over at
the potter’s wheels and smiled.
 
Flashes of memories—watching Jonah work his magic on the wheel,
gazing into his eyes, laughing at his antics—truly wonderful
memories.
 
Or, in reality,
make-believe memories.

What was that?
my mom
projected rather loudly, her voice screeching in my mind.

I turned to her and gave her a
questioning look, raising a brow with confusion.

I saw something.
 
An image… kind of like a movie.
 
You and a boy, in a room like this.
 
It was… was that…

You saw that?
I
questioned, cutting her off and looking away from her to see if anyone was
staring.
 
This was a public studio
and I had to remind myself we weren’t alone.

I did.
 
I saw
it clear as day.
 
As if it was one
of my own memories.

Sit, Mom.
 
I
want to try something,
I thought as I
pulled out a seat for myself.
 
Now, close your eyes.

We sat in the art room with a few
other people mingling around, probably looking like a pair of mental patients
facing each other with our eyes closed.
 
But I didn’t care.

I began to clear my mind of any
other thoughts, save for Jonah’s face.
 
Each detailed feature, from his dark, unruly hair, to his deep green
eyes, to his full, perfect lips, right down to the single dimple on his right
cheek when he smiled.

When I was done, I opened my eyes
and grabbed my mom’s hand.
 
She was
crying.

She finally opened her eyes and
looked at me with what I could only sense as joy.
 
At first, I thought for sure she was crying because she felt
sorry for me.
 
But, then, why did
she seem happy?

Because, Ella.
 
I know who he is.
 
At least,
if he looks anything like this father.
 
I know how to find him.

You know Jonah’s father?
 
Divinus
Chantrey?
 
I practically
screamed in my mind as I stood up, unable to control my over-stimulated
muscles.

My mom nodded and took my hand to
lead me back outside.
 
We didn’t
want to cause a sob fest right in the middle of the studio.
 
Plus, I couldn’t shake the feeling we were
being watched, or observed, by someone in the studio.
 
However, each time I looked around the room, I saw everyone
paying attention to their projects at hand.
 
They paid us no mind and yet I still felt eyes… observing
me.