The Obsidian Crown, page 2
“This interview is over,” Uncle Jake said. “This fanciful thinking is great for fiction but that is all it is. Fiction. Detective, if that’s all you’ve got, then you’ve wasted enough of everyone’s time. C’mon, Abigail.”
Uncle Jake pulled me up from my chair and firmly led me to the door. I got up and mechanically walked where his hand guided me. This was just too much to take.
I was unaware of how we got from the interrogation room to the front door of the building. All I remembered were the onslaught of reporters as soon as I walked out of the police department.
My uncle led me to his parked Mercedes Benz. He opened the passenger door, and I felt myself being shoved into the front seat. The door slammed shut amid the chaos of reporters’ questions, hands pounding on the windshield, and people calling me names.
Inside the car, I was still numb and dazed. The relentless questions were shocking in their implications. “Ms. Montserrat, did you kill your parents? Ms. Montserrat, where are the bodies? Ms. Montserrat, will you be tried as an adult? Ms. Montserrat, will you plead insanity? Has your memory come back? Is it true you are going to reach out to your parents’ souls when you appear at the next Speaking from Beyond the Grave show?”
I sat inside the car, waiting for my uncle to get in and drive us away from this place. Uncle Jake was always there while I was growing up. However, during these last few years, with attending law school and now running a thriving criminal defense practice and me moving every time my dad was deployed to various places in the world, we didn’t really have a lot of face-to-face time. But when I was found alone in the woods, he was the only person I could turn to.
“Uncle Jake, you’re my favorite uncle,” I would always tell him when I was a little girl.
He would ruffle my hair and say, “That’s because I am your only uncle.” My parents would roll their eyes, but together we would laugh at our silly joke.
Right then, he was the only family I had.
He rounded the car and got in on the other side, slapping microphones away and pushing away reporters’ outstretched arms with recorders and cameras. I heard him yelling, “No comment. No comment,” as he slid into his seat.
He started the car and made it jerk forward several times, signaling for the reporters to move out of the way or be crushed.
We traveled some distance before either of us spoke.
“Uncle Jake, thank you so...so... much,” I choked out finally. “I’m telling you the truth. I just don’t remember.”
“I believe you. But it might be good if you control your temper. It would not be to our advantage if you lose it again. Remember what I always tell you: He who angers you, conquers you.”
“I tried to. I am sorry.” Spoken like a true lawyer, I thought.
“I want to help you. I want to find my sister. And I believe you. That’s why we are not going home just yet. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
CHAPTER 2
The Good Doctor
After a while driving through the vast country roads, we saw a clearing. A large gate and manicured lawn surrounded a massive white house. A slender, stately woman with long raven hair stood on the front porch with a tall man with silver hair.
The sight of them made the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. There was something strange and mysterious… no, dangerous about them. I saw the man leave the porch and get into a large, black car, and he left.
I put my hand on my uncle’s arm to stop him. “Uncle Jake, are you sure about this? This is scaring me. I don’t think I’m ready.”
Uncle Jake pulled the car over the side of the road and faced me.
“I know, kiddo, but you know, the government will not just stand by while one of their ambassadors just disappears.” He paused, looking out the window as if unable to bring himself to say the words. He cleared his throat.
“Of course, we can’t forget… your mother…she…” he tried to continue, but his voice failed him. When he spoke again, his voice was raspy, “she is a very prominent figure in the community. She is president of at least three philanthropic societies. A tough lady, but I know her, she’s my sister. She’s not always as strong as she claims to be…” his voice choked off as he wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. “Listen, they…I mean the societies she’s been heading, they’ve been calling the office every day for news. Especially now that the media and your father’s political opponents are on a smear campaign to link your dad to organized crime. The societies are now worried that your mom might also be involved, after all, she is in charge of large sums of money. The recent news about her relationships with Trifama is not helping at all,” he added without stopping. He looked away again—maybe to hide his frustration with me—but he made sure I didn’t see it.
“There is so much riding on you remembering what happened that night. We don’t want them to start forming the wrong ideas about your involvement.”
“I understand all that, but I am not involved!” I protested.
“And the sooner we can prove it, the better we are off.” He reached over and tousled my hair.
“Besides, I am worried they are stuck somewhere. They could be injured with no food and need medical help, aren’t you? Look, just try your best. I am not expecting anything to happen today, but we should try. Okay, kiddo? Just try.”
I said I would—although my heart sank to my stomach like a lead weight. Since that fateful night, my uncle had taken me to several “experts.” Each one worked painstakingly to help me regain my memory of that incident. These “authorities in the field of Memory Recovery” explained the situation, and every time they did, my anxiety rose to a level of near panic.
“There’s a reason why you are blocking this memory. Something very bad happened. Something you witnessed made your mind shut down. Your conscious mind cannot handle its heinous nature, so, it isolates it from your reality. It is protecting you from that memory.” Each of them would say to me in their own professional way, but always in the gentlest of voices, no doubt to justify and ensure they receive the hefty fee.
I couldn’t help but be fearful of what I did not know. I’d been so scared that the reason was exactly what they were accusing me of. That one of my reckless blunders cost my parents their lives. What if I was the one in the pilot seat? What if I blacked out and caused the crash? What if I had a fight with my dad and there was a struggle? I didn’t want to think about it, but my mind churned. I was almost worried that my uncle could hear my thoughts, so I also looked away and shook the idea out of my head. I focused my attention at the far distance on the house gardens, towards the beautiful flowers. How lucky they are to live such uncomplicated lives, I thought.
The car moved forward again with neither of us saying anything more. It was so quiet that I was slightly surprised when I heard the quitting of the engine and the crunching of loose stones beneath its tires as the car rolled to a stop in the gravel driveway. He put the emergency brake on and waved at the lady walking down from the house’s front porch.
“Stay here a minute. I’d like to see if she can take us today.”
He went to speak with her while I sat in the car. I saw her nodding, and then they walked back to the car, where I was sitting. She came over to my side and made a circular motion, signaling for me to lower my window.
As the window rolled down, I sensed a heady flowery scent that was familiar, but I wasn’t able to place it right away. Then in my mind, I recalled a small white flower from a faraway place we visited when I was just a child. It was a very simple flower with five velvety white petals and leaves as green as the rain forest. Sampaguita, I reminded myself of the name. As I looked up to greet her, I noticed her skin was almost translucent in the sun. She was almost glowing. She wore an elaborate necklace of green gems. I noticed because they were as green as her eyes. Her lips were a perfect shape with just the slightest hint of lip-gloss. She was beyond gorgeous; to say that she was beautiful would be an insult.
“Hi, Abigail. My name is Doctor Vanessa McGrath. Please don’t worry. I am here to help you. We won’t be doing anything here that would be harmful to you. Why don’t you step out of the car, and I can go over with you the procedure we will be using. If you are not comfortable with it, we won’t continue. Deal?” Her voice matched her beauty. It was sweet and soothing to the point of mesmerizing.
I looked at my uncle. and he nodded his encouragement. I nodded, then got out of the car.
Except for the massive mahogany desk and opulent maroon colored couch, it was a typical shrink’s office. That’s what I thought until my eyes caught a gleam of the dark chest on top of the table. It was a black, wooden box about the size of a small breadbox. I took a step closer to examine the intricate patterns carved on the dark wood. It seems to have characters and figures I couldn’t define and no visible lock, just two handles on both sides.
I moved closer.
In the back of my head, I heard Doctor McGrath’s muffled words telling my uncle, “Yes, of course you can watch the entire proceeding. It might actually be helpful in her recovery if she knows she has someone she trusts here.”
My uncle was saying something back, but like a magnet, the box pulled my attention to it. As if in a trance, I moved closer and closer, all the while staring at the patterns of intertwining carvings on the box. The sheen of the black tint seemed to move with the dancing sunlight pouring in from the window.
“Do you see that?” I asked no one in particular, hoping they heard me.
“See what, kiddo?”
I pointed at the box.
“The patterns on the box.”
“Yes, what about the pattern? Do you recognize it?” Vanessa asked.
“They seem to be moving?” I picked up the box to show them.
This time, my uncle switched his attention from the doctor and walked over to me. I looked at him and saw the concern in his eyes. “Moving? Umm, kiddo, are you sure you’re ok?”
“Yes, they seem to be moving, sliding, I think it’s trying to...say something?”
“I’m sorry about this, Doctor McGrath, I think it may be the concussion,” Jake said.
“No, no it’s ok. Abi, can you tell me what it says?”
“I...I...can’t make it out. I...” I heard a faint rustling. My head swam, and my vision blurred. I tried to turn around.
“Uncle Ja...” Before I could face him, I was engulfed in total darkness.
CHAPTER 3
Into The Fire
I was falling. My hair whipped mercilessly against my face. I was tumbling in the dead of darkness, flailing and grasping at anything for a hold. But it only took a split second for me to realize there was nothing to hold on to. I was in mid-air.
I screamed, but no one heard me amid the cold and lifeless clouds.
“Mom! Dad! Don’t let go! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” I screamed.
I became aware of the roar of an engine and then dead silence. A tremendous explosion lit the night sky. I watched through my panicked eyes and a half gasp of thin air as the plane was engulfed in a blaze of fire. My skin burned with the intense heat. I heard the angry roar of the fire so loud it sounded like the thundering horse of the Apocalypse, racing to catch up with me as I fell rapidly into my final moment.
In the backdrop of the conflagration, I saw a black object hurtling towards me. My eyes were wide open but were unable to process the danger or identify the projectile. I tried to avoid it; no use.
Then pain, so much pain I felt my head was going to crack.
My whole body spun from the impact.
Streams of blood flew from my gashed head and added red streaks to the air as my body continued its wayward spin. I tried to jerk around, trying but failing to control my life’s singular trajectory towards death. I was somewhat successful, causing my body to spin once more, just in time to see the plane, fully engulfed in flames, pass me by within a couple of feet. The sky was dark again.
It was quiet again.
It became very cold, so very cold.
I was freezing.
I couldn’t feel my face, and my eyes hurt when I tried to open them. I was unsure if it was because the air was thin and icy or if it was from the knowledge that in just a few seconds my body will slam to the ground and break into pieces. I gasped in the cold air uncontrollably. I think it was my body’s natural reaction to my approaching death.
I stiffened at the thought that in this dark and solitary place is where I die, alone, yet I waited.
I waited for the eventual free-fall to end it all.
But from a very distant place, in an unknown recess of my mind, I heard someone speaking, “Abigail Montserrat, listen to my voice.” The woman’s words cut through the haze of fear in my mind. “Listen to my voice. You are safe. Breathe slowly. This is just a memory. You are safe.”
I started to breathe slower, and as I pulled away from the vision of the plane crash, I became calmer.
“You are safe. Now, I want you to go back. I want you to take yourself back to the time before you went on the plane.”
“I was having a fight with Grayson,” I recalled. “I don’t understand why he broke up with me. ‘You need to tell me why, Gray. I didn’t do anything. I was happy. We were happy! What do you mean you’re seeing someone else?” I cried.
“Abigail Montserrat, listen to my voice. Move to the time after the party. After you got your mother’s text message. Tell me what happened when you got home.”
My mind did as it was commanded. In an instant, the vision in my head morphed to a different scene. I saw myself in a different time and place.
I was in the last conversation I had with my parents. They were there in the living room. My mom half-seated on the couch, poised to jump out the door at the word “go.” My dad was pacing by the fireplace.
This was what he did when he was worried or impatiently waiting. That day, he was both. Despite that, when I walked in, he smiled at me, trying to hide his anxiety. My mom had the same anxious look in her eyes. The living room was in disarray.
“Hon, please don’t worry about the mess. We were packing. The maids will take care of it. Sit with me. Your father has something to say.” At once, I sensed this was not going to be good news.
“What did they say to you?” the voice asked.
“They asked me to sit down, and they explained that we are going to Canada for a while, it’s an extended vacation to support Dad’s job.”
“What are you saying? Are we going on vacation or is this a permanent move? How long will we be gone?” I asked, bordering on insolence.
“We don’t know. There is a possibility this could be for good,” my mother said.
The voice entered my mind again. “Abigail, tell me about your feelings when you heard what they said.”
“I was hurt. I don’t want to go. It was unfair,” I said, trying to explain the frustration to the inquisitive voice in the back of my head.
“Abigail, go ahead. Tell us what else happened.”
I tried to explain to them that I couldn’t go. “How is it possible that I won’t be attending Thurgood Adams Preparatory Academy for my senior year? It would ruin everything. I worked so hard to put my past behind me. No one knows about my secret in this school.” They don’t know about my… my… blackouts. For the first time, I feel like I belong. I have a life here. They said how they are very sorry about the change but that it is out of necessity. They told me that everyone is sacrificing for my good and for the family’s safety.
“How? How is this for my good? No! This is not happening!” I stood up and began to drag my suitcase back upstairs. My father got in my way and hugged me firmly. “You can’t make me go! I’m eighteen next month. I’m practically an adult. You can’t make me!” I screamed while pushing him away as hard as I could. He finally let me go. In a soft choking voice, he said,
“Abi, we can’t stay —”
But I was not going to be placated. “Why don’t you both just accept that I don’t have any voice, any choice in this at all! That you have already made my mind up for me! My friends are all here! Grayson is here! This is the longest I’ve been in the same school, and I finally have friends! But you don’t care about that!
“You, Dad, you’re just thinking about your career and, Mom, you’re always so worried about fighting for some cause and your high-society friends. What about me? What about your daughter? You ruin everything for me and somehow this is for me? How is this for my good? I can’t believe how self-centered you both are. You didn’t even think about how this would affect my life. It’s always about you! You are the most selfish parents in the world!”
“Abi, please...” my mom pleaded as she tried to take my hand, but I pulled away.
“Such hypocrites! I can’t wait till I’m eighteen so I can live my own life. I’ll be rid of you then! I hate you! I hate you!” It ripped my insides to hear the last words I spoke to the two people who I love and who loved me the most, that I couldn’t repeat them not now. I couldn’t repeat those words aloud—even knowing this was just a memory.
I stared at that scene for as long as I could while my body seemed to float in a nebulous haze of memories between this and the crashing plane. Maybe by my own will, my mind started to float back towards the time of the crash, sucked back into the body, plummeting to the ground.
My tears formed into tiny icicles. My vision blurred. My fingers no longer felt anything, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t live one more moment knowing those were the last words I said to my father and mother. I heard the faint voice of the doctor one more time. “Abigail, come back to me. Abigail Montserrat, come back to me. You will awake…four... at the count of one you will wake up refreshed as if from a good night’s sleep...three...you will not remember what you saw today...two...one...you are awake!”
