As I Breathe (One Breath at a Time: Book 2) (2 page)

“
Things are different for you now,” the woman quietly said, resisting the maternal urge to take her son in her arms to dispel his worries and fears.

“
Yes, remarkably different. I’d forgotten how it feels to
feel
...I’m losing her and it hurts all over again...”

“
I know...but...she…” his mother stopped short.

“
You know where Brielle is, don’t you?”

“
I do,” she confessed, closing her eyes briefly. Whether out of relief or dread, he knew not.

“
Why have you kept this from me?”

“
There’s not much I can do at this point, and I didn’t want to give you false hope.”

“
Mother...you must help me. Take me to her, please.”

Rain’s mother lowered her head. “It’s too risky. We can’t keep playing with fate. It’s not right. We’ve been doing it for far too many years.”

Rain’s face darkened in anger. “I don’t care anymore...I
must
do this one more time. I made a terrible mistake by asking her to help me.”

“
No, Rain. She wanted to give you this second chance, with or without her, this was her choice.” She paused.

“
Mother,” Rain said sternly. “She didn’t know the consequences. I feel as if I tricked her somehow.”

“
Do you love her...this girl? She’s not the same Bri—”

“
I don’t accept this. To me she is.”

“
No, my darling she isn’t. We both know she is so very different now.”

“
I know she is. I’ve known this from the beginning, but I’ve fallen in love with her all just the same.”

Rain inhaled, frustrated with his mother stubborn insistence. He shifted his weight and placed his hands gently onto her shoulders, his eyes passed over her. “Mother, why are you dressed as if you are going to a costume party?”

“Don’t you like my new get up?”

He smiled sideways. “Not so much. It’s mix-matched.”

She shrugged. “These days it’s called fashionable.”

“
Who told you that?” His eyes flashed briefly with amusement.

“
Comso. Hello?”

Rain chucked. “If only Dad could see you now.”

“Yes....” She drew in a breath, anticipating his reply.

“
You’re simply beautiful...pink lipstick and all.”

“
Thank you.”

“
Mother, take me to Brielle, please. You’re my last chance to fix this.”

“
Rain, be reasonable. If I do that—” She paused, followed by a long, airy sigh. “We need to allow things to unfold naturally or the consequences could be grave. It may undo the gift you’ve been granted. Live your life
now.
That’s what she wanted for you.”

“
This.” Rain barked out and pounded his fist into his chest. “This life means nothing without her.”

“
Oh my. This sounds all too familiar.”

Rain closed his eyes. “Don’t worry I’m not going do something I’ll regret. I think I’ve learned a few lessons.”

“Of course you have. Let’s just wait here for her a while longer before we go tripping things up,” She slipped her arm into the crook of his. “I’ll wait with you.”

“
What if she doesn’t reach the gateway in time?”

“
She’s stronger then you know. She’ll make it.”

“
Tell me how is she holding up? Is she in any danger?”

“
She seems to be doing quite well. I reckon she’ll find her way...the girl’s such a fighter, and not to mention quite a beauty. If she doesn’t make it in time and watches her sharp little tongue, I’m certain someone will find her as lovely as you have.”

“
That’s not what I want to hear.” Rain’s stomach twisted, the thought of someone else loving Brielle sickened him.

“
I know...but isn’t her happiness important to you?”

“
Yes, of course it is...it always has been—you know this. It hurts to think I’ve come so far only to let her slip through my fingers again. All these years gone.”

“
She’d be fine, Rain. Who knows, maybe your paths will cross again. Maybe...” her words fell to a whisper. A shadowed crossed over his mother’s eyes. She tried, for his sake, but couldn’t hide the truth from him. “There is one slight problem.”

Rain raised an inquisitive brow. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Well, hmmm, she doesn’t remember you.”

“
She doesn’t remember me. Are you sure of this?” Rain asked, too shocked to try to hide his worry. He reached into his pocket.

His mother grimaced. “She hit her head very badly, and she can’t remember you...that’s how,” she admitted sheepishly. “But you know this.”

“I must find her, now. She needs me.” Rain turned to retreat.

His mother gripped his forearm. He barely felt her touch. Why?

“Through the years I’ve died a slow death, and suffered a loss that can’t be replaced. I’ve heard the echoes of her cries drowning out the laughter I once knew. She needs me now. I feel it. I’ve risen from the ashes, and I won’t stop searching for her until I know she is safe.”

“
Rain, stop punishing yourself, please. Let her live the life she chose. Son, you’re nothing but a ghost to her now.”

“
A ghost? Fine choice of words...I’m as alive as ever,” Rain negated stiffly.

“
Yes, I know.”

“
Please give her this, if by chance you can reach her. Please.” Rain handed her a folded sheet of paper. It was folded into the shaped of wings. “This might help her remember.”

“
What is it?” She eyed the paper, carefully opening it and read silently.

As she continued to read, Rain recited the words aloud.

...there’s a force willing us together. My fear is if I come too close I will be consumed by your fire. You are the warmth of the day. My sunshine. We share silent moments. I long to see you again. Days pass by. My secret love. I can’t think of anything but you. I’m crazed with thoughts of you. You are my life. The days drag on quietly. I am at a loss, without you there’s a hole in my heart. It grows. Each night you enter my dreams. I can’t wait to touch you again, to bring you into my world. To kiss your rosebud lips...your petal velvet skin, all of you. I’m embraced by the truth of who you are...

“
Stop.” His mother wiped her eyes. Her heart ached for her son. “It’s all too much for me to see you in such pain. I gots to go...there’s something I forgot to do.”

“
Mercy, Mother of God, where are you going now...?” Rain questioned as her voice retreated into the sound of her fading breath. His eyes caught the white glint of the note as it settled against the black sand near his feet.

-2-

The Voices

My memories, vague and foggy, were returning rapidly. I needed to piece the remaining facts together and get the hell out of this place. And so I began...putting the pieces together.

Doctor Tagorski eyed me intently as I spoke. I preferred to shrug him away like a wool sweater that was irritating my skin. The last thing I wanted was to discuss my past or share my secrets, but in my drugged state of mind, I really had no choice.

Such as it was, I relented. I figured I would begin with telling him one of most covert secrets. Why not? Maybe he could shed some insight on the phenomena I lived with and that no one else had ever been able to explain to me. It was worth a try.

***

Most everything in my life was based on timing, from the time I was a child to this present day. My mother had scheduled our lives strictly by the clock. It was her mantra: up at 6:30am, school, chores, dinner at six-thirty, ten o’clock news and in bed by eleven. My young life fit into the mold of others, which I perceived at the time as boring. That is, until the voices appeared to entertain me.

As a child, I heard static inside my head; voices who taunted me as far back as I could remember and probably even further than that. They were with me like a second skin that I couldn’t manage to shed.

Even though I heard ambiguous voices, I’d never been diagnosed schizophrenic. My grandmother and mother were the only two people aware of the voices. They both essentially encouraged me to hide my apparent illness. And I did it well. The voices didn’t rate a mention to the outside world. This was probably the main reason I was never diagnosed with a mental disorder.

The voices became solely my secret, and over the years I had learned to keep them under control. Well...I had most of them under control.

As I disclosed the privy truth to Dr. Tagorski, I felt a strange physical force drawing me backwards. My memories were surprisingly vivid—I supposed it was the drugs that helped me to recall the details of my childhood so clearly.

I reflected back to when I wasn’t more than five years old. I was in my bedroom, and my mother was with me, and the voices were there too. It was the day she discovered me talking to them for the first time.

“
Brielle, who are you talking to?” my mother asked with a hint of dread in her voice.

“
I don’t know”—I shrugged—“my friends,” I answered as I carried on, spinning in circles like a little ballerina. My mother waved her hands in front of my face, trying to grab hold of my shoulders.

“
Stop spinning for one minute, Brielle,” she commanded in a firm, gentle tone.

“
But, Momma…I’m having fun with my friends.” I giggled, shaking my head from side to side.

Although my mother couldn’t hear them, she knew something was wrong. An expression of concern clearly displayed on her face. I remembered it so clearly as if it were only yesterday.

“Brielle, there is no one in here but you,” Mom said as her eyes scanned the room, gliding over the furniture.

“
I know that—silly-dilly—they’re my invisible friends. Actually Momma, they’re voices that live inside my head.” I touched my head, giggling, as I explained what seemed so natural and normal to me, grinning from ear to ear.
How was I to know talking to unknown voices was abnormal?

“
Sweetheart,” my mother hesitated and then continued, “There are no voices in your head,” she insisted. It’s your own voice that you’re hearing. The little voice in your head is nothing but your
own
thoughts—your inner voice. It’s your conscious mind speaking.” She elaborately tried to make this clear to me. This was a lot to interpret at five years old.

“
That’s a funny word, con—sic—ous,” I stuttered in great effort to pronounce the word. “What does it mean?” I stopped running in circles and stared up into her troubled mien.

She sighed, batting her lashes. “Hmm, how do I explain this?”

“I don’t know...” I giggled in response. “Just tell me.”

She then explained. “Okay, to make it simple, the word conscious means that you’re awake and aware of your thoughts, so it’s your conscious mind speaking when you talk to yourself—most people do it when they are lonely or sometimes feel that no one is listening.” Her eyes widened in sudden recognition. “Oh boy...that’s not how you feel is it, baby?” she asked.

“No, not really.”

My mother sighed. “Oh good.” She smoothed down my hair, endearingly. “So, the voice you hear, the quiet one deep inside of you, is actually your conscience speaking. Sweetheart, the voices that you hear cannot be anyone else’s voice but your own.”

“You keep saying big words. I don’t get it,” I whined.

“
Don’t worry some adults don’t either. Let me try one more time.
Conscience
is the small voice inside of you that tells you when you’re doing right from wrong—and your
conscious
voice is your thoughts, you know—like when you have caught me talking to myself out loud when I have things on my mind.”

“
Yeah, like when you’re driving...or not so happy with Daddy, right?” I giggled. “You mumble sometimes to yourself.”

My mother grinned. “Yes...like that, squirt,” she said agreeing with my example. “Listen, your friends—the voices—whoever—Brie, it’s your inside voice—exactly like the voice that I use when I’m talking to myself. That’s all it is, sweetie. You’ll understand the terms someday when you’re older.”

“I think I get it, Mommy. But the voice I hear isn’t a little girl’s voice like mine, and it’s not quiet either. And, there’s more than one—lots of them, and they’re not me! Not at all! I know my voice...and this isn’t my voice. That’s for sure!” I asserted, widening my eyes and half-laughing nervously. “It’s a man’s voice...lots and lots of men’s voices.” A puzzled expression creased my mother face.