Authors: Melissa Delport
Kyle grins, a wicked, naughty grin.
“Bye, sweet cheeks.” The words are barely out of his mouth and I see the twitch. Carl steps forward and engages with Adam and I stumble backward, tears splashing onto my shirt. I slump back in my chair crying silently and mourning the loss of a man I am not even sure I liked.
Carl continues speaking in a low voice for a few minutes more and when he finally brings him out of the hypnotic
state, it is Adam’s brilliant blue eyes that gaze back at me.
Adam knows how hard it was for me to say goodbye to Kyle. I think he is also moved by Kyle’s selflessness at the end, but more importantly, we are one step closer to the life that we have been dreaming of. Kyle’s integration, as difficult as it was, rejuvenates us both. It is so good to finally have succeeded, to feel that we are making progress. We go out for dinner, have far too much red wine, have drunken, giggly sex on the couch and sleep until noon the next day. For 24 hours life is peaceful and it is just us, being together. I am woken from my extended slumber by the sound of my mobile phone.
Adam throws two pillows and an empty chocolate box in the general direction of my handbag.
“
Turnidoff!”
he moans, and I clamber off the bed, standing and toppling over immediately as my feet get caught up in the straps of my discarded bra.
“Ouch!” I yell and Adam’s concerned face peeks at me from under the covers, his beautiful sapphire eyes narrowed.
“
Yookay
?” he mumbles and I nod, narrowing my own eyes against the sliver of sunlight coming through the curtains. Duly satisfied that I’ll live he burrows back under the covers and pulls a pillow over his head. The ringing is incessant and I grope for my handbag, rummaging around inside it. Triumphantly I pull the mobile phone from its depths and peer at the caller ID.
Bill Morris,
the Private Investigator I've hired to find out about Adam’s past.
“Adam!” I hiss, but there is no response. I press the answer button and make my way hastily from the room, heading for the kitchen.
“Mr Morris?” I ask immediately, switching on the kettle. I'm going to need coffee, very strong coffee.
“Ms
Petrova. I trust you're well?” Bill Morris’s confident, gruff voice comes across the line.
“Yes, fine thanks,” I reply, cursing silently as I spill a heaped teaspoon of coffee granules all over the kitchen counter. I realise with a start that I am using Kyle’s mug; I hadn’t the heart to throw it out. The moment I pour in the hot water I am treated to the sight of the bare-breasted woman adorning the front of it. I smile and force myself to focus on what the Private Investigator has to say.
“Ms Petrova, I’m afraid the trail has run cold here in the States,” he gets to the point immediately. “If you're determined to get to the bottom of this investigation I’m going to have to travel to Ireland.”
“Ireland?” I practically shout, willing my brain to catch up. This would be so much easier if I weren’t so hung-over. “What do you mean, Ireland?”
“I believe that Mr Parker may have been brought to the States from Ireland as a very young boy,” he says, and I rub my forehead in consternation.
“What makes you think that?” I ask, speaking slowly and clearly.
“I've discovered records that show that an Irish couple travelled from Dublin Airport to JFK International three days before Adam was found in that alley. They were travelling with a small child, a little boy. He travelled as Adam Byrne, the couple’s son.”
“And so?”
I ask, wondering if I'm missing something in my delicate state.
“Raymond and
Brigid Byrne flew back to Ireland the day after Adam was taken to the orphanage; alone.” Bill gives it a moment for this to sink in.
“You think the boy was Adam?”
“The alley where Mr Parker was found is only a few blocks from the airport,” he explains, “and it’s surrounded by cheap airport hotels. I think it’s worth checking up on.” He places the ball firmly back in my court.
“Ireland,” I say, knowing that this exercise will come at no small price. Bill Morris is no amateur. He is thorough and he is expensive. And his international travel expenses, I am fairly sure, will be nothing short of exorbitant. Adam and I can afford it but it will be a knock. Ireland. I think of Adam’s black curls and his wicked sapphire blue eyes.
Irish. It’s possible. It would also explain why there were never any leads found; why no one could find any information on Adam’s family. Possibly they were never here – they may have been a whole continent away, all this time.
“Ms
Petrova?” Bill’s voice brings me back to the present and I make my decision.
“Go,” I instruct, carrying my steaming cup of coffee over to the window. “Let me know what you find.”
I flip the phone shut gazing down at the street below and the people walking by, then I sigh and return to the kitchen, making Adam a cup of black coffee, choosing the black and white mug.
“Here you
go, lazybones.” I wave the mug under his nose and sure enough he opens one bleary eye.
“Did we drink as much as I think we did last night?” he winces, sitting up slowly and leaning back against the wooden slatted head board.
“We did indeed.”
“Did we catch a taxi home?” He rubs the back of his head and yawns, his mouth opening wide before he remembers to cover it with his hand.
“We did indeed,” I nod, sipping my coffee.
“Did we have very kinky sex?” he asks, surveying the disaster that is our bedroom.
I grin over my mug, “We may have.”
He rolls onto his back, his head resting on his arms.
“I don’t really remember, the details are a bit hazy...” He regards me seriously for a minute and then, “it couldn’t have been that great.”
I slap his bare stomach and he grabs me, flipping me over and pinning my arms to my side, a mischievous grin playing about his lips.
“You might have to refresh my memory, Paige,” his lips curl up in a sexy smile.
“I have to do no such thing, Adam,” I answer coyly. “It’s not my fault if you were too drunk to remember. Trust me, though, I rocked your world.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about that,” he slings one leg over my body and uses his own body weight to hold me in place.
I squirm helplessly and he laughs, tickling my sides.
“Adam!” I shriek, doubling my efforts to escape. All I manage to achieve is to I flip myself over so that I am lying on my stomach. Adam laughs.
“If this is a replay of last night I'm seriously gutted that I can’t remember it,” he moans in my ear and I laugh.
“You're a pig, Mr Parker!”
He flips me back over so fast I haven’t got time to think and pulls me up by my arms so that I am now sitting beneath him and he is straddling me.
I lean back on my hands and gaze up at his gorgeous face.
“I love you,” I say simply and he smiles down at me, pure delight crossing his features.
“And I love you,” he replies, lowering his head and kissing me deeply.
“Now tell me you don’t remember that!” I cajole later when we finally leave the bedroom in search of something to eat.
“I remember,” he slaps my butt and I hop a few steps ahead. “I still think I would have preferred it if you’d stayed on your stomach, though.” He winks and I laugh out loud. I have all but forgotten my conversation with Bill Morris.
Having worked up an appetite we set about making grilled cheese sandwiches.
“We seriously have to do some shopping.” Adam shakes his head, surveying the measly contents of the fridge. His eyes seem almost admonishing.
“And by
we, I assume you mean me?” I ask, raising my brow querulously.
“Well, yeah.”
“And why, pray tell, is it my job to check that the fridge is stocked?” I ask, my hands on my hips.
“Well, because you’re the girl,” he answers, gesturing at my chest and raising his eyebrows, as if that should be obvious. I fight the urge to slap him.
“Okay, so I’m the girl. That's an archaic train of thought. What else?” I demand, tapping my foot. Adam, much to my irritation, looks amused.
“Well, I’m not always here,” he says and my eyes widen in surprise before I snort with derisive laughter.
“Oh, you didn’t,” I scold and he grins. “So you’re using the fact that you have Dissociative Identity Disorder to get out of doing the grocery shopping?” I can't believe him! The cheeky shit! Adam shrugs; yes, that is exactly what he's doing.
“Okay.
Fine.” I lift my hands from my hips and cross them in front of me.
“Simon!” I call and Adam’s own eyes widen, half-shocked, half amused.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m calling Simon,” I say innocently, “I bet he'd be more than happy to do the shopping for me. He’s more a...” I pause, raising my eyes as though sear
ching for the right words, “a new age man.” I finish with aplomb.
Adam narrows his eyes at me sarcastically; he knows how much Simon irritates me, but when he speaks he sounds unsure of himself and it immediately catches my attention.
“That’s not funny, Paige.” The light mood is over in an instant.
“What is it?” I ask, stepping automatically closer to him. He looks troubled and, when he speaks, I find that I am too.
“I don’t know; they just seem to be getting stronger, the other two,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s like with Kyle gone they've expanded to fill up the space,” he sighs in frustration. “Does that even make any sense?”
I nod. It does, kind of, but I'm not sure that it should be happening.
“We need to speak to Carl,” I say and this reminds me of my earlier conversation with Bill Morris.
I relate his story to Adam who looks temporarily stunned and is at a complete loss for words.
“Ireland,” he murmurs. I can imagine him trying to get his head around it – trying to fit this new information into his self-perception.
“I know,” I sympathise.
“Weird, right?” If it is odd for me to consider Adam being anything but American, it must be ten times harder for him to consider himself as anything else. It’s all he’s ever known. Talk about an identity crisis. To my surprise, as I watch, his face slowly changes; the confused, uncertain look being replaced by a gleeful smirk. I frown at him. I know that look.
“What?”
“Chicks love Irish men,” he grins, settling down on the sofa and flicking through the sports channels.
“No,” I counter, “they love Irish accents; which, incidentally, you don’t have.” I pull my tongue at him.
“Well, I got you to fall in love with me pretty easily.” He wags his finger at me and I slap it aside.
“Yes, you did.” I climb onto his lap blocking his view of the television. “Although I’m still not quite sure how you did it,” I grin.
“What with your boring black umbrella and all.”
“Ah, the luck of the Irish!” he cackles, switching off the TV and pulling my head down to meet his.
Adam was right about the other
alters
becoming stronger after Kyle’s integration. Simon is becoming far too comfortable in Adam’s 'shoes' and even Jacob has been present three times in as little as two weeks. I studiously avoid Simon who returns the favour, but every time Jacob emerges I try to gain his trust. He is so hesitant and so unsure of himself, that I find myself treating him as I would a child. I even took him for ice cream at Victory Garden but, before we could order, Simon emerged and declared it “Cholesterol in a cup.” He turned on his heel and walked out leaving me red-faced and furious, facing the raised eyebrow of the store attendant who had witnessed the entire scene. Apologising profusely, I found Simon outside, tapping his foot, and then had to endure a 20 minute rant on the abuse that we insist on inflicting upon his body and whether we are aware just how selfish that is? I find myself wishing, not for the first time, that Simon and I could get along, even just a little bit, as I could with Kyle and Jacob.
By the time we go to bed, in separate rooms, both bristling wit
h indignation, I am exhausted. Adam’s reappearance the next day is a welcome relief, but it usually takes a few days before I fully recover from any of Simon’s visits.
Going into February the cold is unbearable. I cannot even enjoy the
rain, it is far too cold to go outside. The snow and ice everywhere fast loses its appeal; I have never worn so many layers of clothing. Adam, used to it, makes fun of me every time we venture out, but all in all I just want winter over. Never have I so longed for spring.
It is a Tuesday afternoon and we brave the treacherous roads to make our appointment with Doctor Sheldon on time.
“Jacob, how are you?” As usual the hypnosis process almost puts me to sleep but as soon as Jacob emerges I am riveted. Carl goes through the procedure much the same as always, soothing and calming Jacob and working on trying to make him feel safe. I notice, with a burst of pride, that Jacob seems far more at ease and he is far more expressive nowadays than he was originally, when I first met him. It is enormously satisfying to know that I am largely responsible for this progress and Doctor Sheldon smiles warmly at me, expressing his pleasure at the progression.
“Jacob, is there anything you can tell me about the night that you first remember being awake?” Carl asks gently. Jacob, typically, starts to tremble. He seems calmer though than he usually is when asked such a direct question regarding the trauma and I take small comfort from this. Carl seems to notice it too and for the first time he proceeds further.
“Jacob, did somebody hurt you?” he asks and Jacob hesitates for a moment before answering.
“N
..No,” he stammers. I release the breath that I wasn’t aware I had been holding and frown in consternation. I did not expect a negative answer. Surely Adam must have been hurt in the event that caused his entire identity to rupture and dissociate? Even Carl looks taken aback but as he glances across at me, Jacob speaks again and the blood runs cold in my veins.
“But the blood!
There was so much blood.”
Jacob’s whimper has me sitting straight up in my chair my eyes widening in shock. Carl looks about to press on when Jacob’s entire body starts to shake and he begins to whimper and turn his head side to side.
“Let him go!” I command, and after a brief confused glance in my direction Carl immediately starts to back-track, bringing Adam out of the hypnotic state.
I rush forward the moment he blinks his beautiful blue eyes and throw my arms around him.
“Hey!” he exclaims, his arms coming around me automatically, his hands stroking my hair. “What’s it, Paige? What’s wrong?”
Under the watchful gaze of the doctor I feel suddenly embarrassed by my emotional reaction and I sniff, disengaging myself from Adam and trying desperately not to blush.
“I think that Paige, while she may not particularly like Simon, has developed a very maternal instinct for Jacob,” Carl explains gently and when I finally find the courage to meet his gaze, I see that his eyes are kind and approving. I sit up slightly straighter and nod at Adam.
“I do,” I admit, “I just feel so sorry for him, Adam. He’s so pathetic and so incredibly child-like.”
“Oh Paige!” Adam ruffles my hair fondly. “I know what you mean.” Then he grins and I brace myself – I know Adam, he is about to say something I might not like. “Should I be worried? This isn’t going to be another repeat of Kyle, is it?” He arches his right eyebrow and I slap his arm laughing.
“Shut up!”
I am about to make some smart retort when I remember that Carl is in the room and I flame bright red. We have never mentioned my Kyle episode to the doctor. Although I had run my plan by him beforehand, I think that, up until this moment, he had remained blissfully ignorant, believing that the plan had never come to fruition. Judging by the look on his face I don’t think he is particularly pleased to have been enlightened. He looks mildly disgusted as though there is a bad taste in his mouth. Adam, blissfully unaware of his
faux pas
is still talking, “Only you could make me jealous of myself, Paige.”
I jab his arm and narrow my eyes at him and he looks confused for about a millisecond before understanding dawns on his face.
“Whoops, sorry Doc!” he grins, looking not nearly as ashamed of himself as he should be. Although, I suppose, it is not his reputation he is soiling. I cross my arms over my chest wishing I could put my hands over my eyes or sink into the floor.
“That’s quite all right. To his credit, Carl recovers his composure almost immediately and even manages a small, tight smile. “Well, I had better be off, I have another patient at three,” he announces. He shakes Adam’s hand and gives a small jerk of his head in my direction,
then he is out of the door.
Adam’s guffaws echo through the room a moment later and I turn to face him petulantly.
“Nice one,” I sulk, striding past him to fetch my bag from the desk and he grabs my arm, pulling me toward him.
“Sorry, babe,” he smiles down at me, not looking in the least bit sorry.
“Liar!” I pout and he drops a loud smacking kiss on my lips.
“You have only yourself to blame,” he preaches, releasing me and fetching my bag from the table. “Let it be a lesson to you, you can’t go jumping into bed with every version of me that might come along, no matter how blue these eyes are!” He indicates his own face, looking absurdly pleased with himself and I can’t help but smile back at him.
“You're a nerd,” I say as he opens the door and ushers me out.
“Ladies first,” he croons, bowing mockingly. I step aside, refusing to be patronised.
“Apparently, I’m no lady,” I retort.
Adam’s laughter is infectious and by the time we reach the car, arms around each other, my mood has lifted considerably.
Unfortunately it is not long before things start to go wrong again. Later that night Jacob returns; his body wracked with sobs. I can only assume that the small breakthrough this afternoon did not come without a price and Jacob is bearing the emotional brunt of our successful session. I hold him until he has calmed down enough for the sobbing to subside and then I guide him to the kitchen and make us a pot of tea.
“I...I’m glad you’re here,” Jacob declares suddenly, stammering slightly.
“I’m glad to be here,” I say, feeling touched and slightly honoured.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
“Who are you talking about, Jacob?”
“One of them,” he murmurs, so quietly that I struggle to hear him.
“One of the others.”
I think about this for a minute before answering; I know how Jacob feels about the other personalities but I am also determined to be truthful. I want Jacob to trust me. I need him to trust me.
“Yes,” I answer honestly, meeting his gaze. “I am.” He regards me intently and I continue, “His name is Adam. He’s really an amazing person. And he cares about you, too,” I add, not entirely sure why.
“Why?” he asks, his face screwed up with concentration. “Why would he care about me?”
The question brings me up short and I consider this. I have not actually thought about it before, but Adam certainly does seem to feel slightly more sympathetic towards Jacob than he does toward the other two
alters
. I had assumed it was because Jacob’s timid nature appeals to Adam’s softer side but now I realise that this is probably only part of the reason.
“Because you help him,” I answer confidently, knowing it is the truth.
“What?” Jacob looks even more confused.
“You help him,” I repeat, pouring him a fresh cup of tea. “You've taken all the pain and the trauma onto yourself so he’s been able to enjoy his life. He’s been able to function and live while you've carried this heavy burden all on your own.”
Jacob considers this for a moment and then he suddenly seems to grow in stature right before my eyes. He sits up a little bit straighter and seems slightly less timid than before. I smile behind my cup feeling better than I have in weeks when dealing with Jacob. I have empowered him, even if only a little.
“Could you tell me what happened, Jacob? Tell me your secret?” I ask, and he hesitates, looking anxious and uncertain. “It would really help,” I hasten to add.
“It’ll make me better?” he asks, and I nod emphatically.
“You would never have to be afraid again, Jacob; ever.” I am speaking the truth. I was saddened by Kyle's departure because his desire to live was so incredibly strong and his decision to integrate was entirely self-sacrificing. With Jacob the opposite is true. His existence is pitiful, and when present, he is in constant fear and has a heightened emotional insecurity that can never be overcome. In holding on to the trauma
, his own life is consistently traumatic. A successful integration would free him of that, would let him go. Adam would have to then deal with the post-traumatic stress that he has avoided through Jacob’s existence, but that is healthy. It is what he should have done all those years ago, what he should have been helped with.
I focus on Jacob’s face and I know before he opens his mouth that he is finally going to tell me what I want to know.
Throughout Jacob’s shocking revelation I force myself to maintain my outer calm even while inside I am stunned and horrified.
“I remember I was playing in the garden when they came,” he begins; a tremor in his voice. I am sitting beside him and I instinctively reach for his hand, holding it in both of my own, lending him strength and support and praying that he finds the courage to go on. He takes a deep, shaky breath and then he continues. “I was in the garden, playing with the dog. She was white. I can’t remember her name.” He stares out of the window lost in thought for a minute and I keep absolutely silent, knowing that one wrong move might cause him to withdraw a
nd I will have gained nothing. After what seems like an eternity he continues.
“I heard a scream from the house and the sound of breaking glass. I thought my mother might have dropped a vase; she was always making the most beautiful floral arrangements for the house; but then I heard my father yell, and I realised that something was terribly wrong.” Jacob takes another shuddering breath.
“I raced inside to see what the matter was and, as I skidded to a halt in the hall, I saw them. He was holding a knife and my father was kneeling in front of him, blood all over his clothes. It blossomed over his chest and stomach. My mother was screaming, trying to get free of the ropes that bound her to the dining-room chair. She couldn’t take her eyes off my father and she couldn’t stop screaming. It went on and on. There was a woman standing beside her and she looked so bored; I remember wondering how she could possibly be okay with what was happening. The only women I had ever met had loved children and had been kind to each other. My own mother hated the sight of blood – it made her sick. She could barely put a plaster on my knee if I scraped it without having to breathe slowly through her mouth to stop from being ill. The red-headed witch suddenly whirled and hit my mother across the head. It happened so quickly I thought perhaps I had imagined it. My mother’s screams stopped for an infinitesimal moment and then she opened her mouth and howled even louder. My father, though barely conscious, tried to quieten her; he kept telling her to hush, to think of me. As if he had drawn their attention by speaking of me both the strangers turned to stare at me. His eyes were cold, unmoved and unconcerned that I was witnessing this barbaric act of sadism. The woman’s face showed shock for a second, before she quickly recovered herself and her face hardened again. A slow smile stretched across the man’s face. His eyes were so brown they looked black and his hair was jet-black. He leered at me and said ‘Step forward, Son.’”
“Jacob,” I interrupt firmly. As desperate as I am to hear the rest of the story I can see that Jacob is beginning to unravel. The tell-tale signs of an anxiety attack are showing – his breathing is becoming faster and his eyes are brimming with tears. I cannot let him continue; my conscience will not allow it. In this moment I am responsible for Jacob and I will not let any harm come to him. “Are you okay? Do you need to take a break?” I ask, squeezing his hand and keeping my tone casual and unhurried. I refuse to make him feel as though he is being forced to continue simply to satisfy my desperate craving for this information. “We can always continue tomorrow, or whenever you feel ready?” I let the question hang, holding my breath and forcing a smile.