Seeing Red (13 page)

She reached to open the door when Professor Hottie
walked up and opened it for her. Their hands brushed for a split
second, and she felt electricity. She looked up at him and saw it
in his eyes; he must have felt it too. He was suddenly serious and
reached up and brushed a wayward curl away from her face and behind
her ear. Her senses betrayed her, and she let out a little gasp at
his touch. “Have a nice evening, Ms. Stone.” He said in his low
raspy voice as he closed the door behind her, sending a jolt of
lightning down her spine.

Jill practically tripped on her own two feet,
walking down the hall out of the faculty building. That was a
strange meeting. Why had he called her into his office? He could
have asked about the locker after class.

Weeks flew by. Jillian’s life consisted of studying
and more studying. She wouldn’t let a professor catch her off guard
again. She had to put the journals out of her head for now.
Professor Hottie/Meanie Pants continued being an asshole in class.
She felt like he picked on her more often than other students, but
she was always prepared. She thought she noticed an angry smirk on
his face when she answered correctly. She had to do well in this
particular class because the top students would be invited to
participate in mock-trial seminars the following semester.

Almost daily, she saw Alexander walking around,
always with what seemed like a trail of girls following him, as if
he were the head of a conga line of women. He always smiled at
Jill, and when there was no one around, he always planted a big
juicy kiss on her cheek. However, their conversations were short
and in passing. She was grateful that she hadn’t had a “vision” in
months, but she was worried about the quick flashes she kept seeing
of the redheaded man.

Since coming across the photo and the article, her
glimpses of him became more frequent and clearer. Sometimes, she
even felt that he was there or close by, watching. She had a sense
of urgency to look through the journals and uncover the mystery,
but she just didn’t have enough time in the day. And, she had to
admit, she was a little scared about what she would find.

Thus far, she had found a picture of a redheaded man
that she kept seeing and possibly feeling, a police report of an
unresolved murder, more of Helen’s quips and sayings, and Helen’s
recipe for blueberry custard. She was almost finished with the
first journal, and she had learned nothing,
except how to make
custard.
But, for some inexplicable reason, she knew that the
redheaded man was connected to her. Jillian felt it—literally.

However, Jill’s concern at the moment was Oliver.
She hadn’t heard from him in months and was beginning to get
worried. She found Alexander sitting in the student lounge,
listening to music on his iPod in between classes. Alone.

“Hey.”

“Hey back at ya, Red.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Lighten up, Jillian.”

“Have you spoken to your brother? It’s been months
since I last heard from him. He should be back by now.”

“He emailed me last week to let me know that the
project was being extended for another few months. He seems fine.”
It upset her that Oliver wrote Alexander and had not replied to any
of her emails, but she was happy and relieved he was okay.

“I guess he won’t be around for Thanksgiving then.”
It was intended as a question.

“Probably not.” He replied, looking at her with his
clear blue mesmerizing eyes. “Do you have plans?”

“Sure.” She lied. She refused to be pitied. “How
about you?”

He shrugged. He never seemed affected by anything.
“Sure,” he said, copying her non-committal response.

“Thanks, Xander.” She walked away and headed to her
next class.

At home, things were great, and it was mostly due to
Heather. They took turns cooking and cleaning. In the evenings,
they’d talk while having drinks in their apartment and laugh about
their days. Jill learned that Heather grew up the only child of
wealthy oil tycoons in Houston. Her parents financially cut her off
after undergrad, so she decided to get her master’s in business so
they would be forced to continue to pay for her very expensive
lifestyle. She was thinking about going to law school or maybe even
medical school, after her MBA—anything had to be better than going
off to the real world and finding a job, she told Jill.

It was the day before Thanksgiving. There was a
weird vibe on campus. It was the same vibe she remembered in
boarding school. It was the vibe of happy students getting ready to
spend a long weekend away from school with their loved ones. She
was used to spending Thanksgiving alone—and Christmas. Heather was
packing her big Louis Vuitton suitcases. “You sure you don’t wanna
to come with me? Come on. It’ll be fun,” she whined and pleaded as
she had for the last week since inviting Jill to come to Houston
with her.

“No, thanks. I need a tofu break, and I have a
suspicious feeling that you’ll be serving tofurkey instead of
turkey.” They laughed. She hated being treated like a charity case
and preferred being alone. Jill was resolved to be self-indulgent
and to wallow in her own pity—alone. She was going to have a
full-blown pity party: the only invitee—Jill.

“Okay, sugar, have it your way. At least call
Alexander. I’m sure he’s alone too this year. Ya’ll can go to
dinner or somethin’.”

“I’m sure he was invited to dinner with one of his
harem girls. I’m not worried about him being lonely.” She gave her
roommate a huge farewell hug.

“Have fun, Heather.”

The next morning, Jillian awoke to silence. It was
quiet in her apartment and quiet on campus. She sat on her couch to
watch the Thanksgiving Day Parade in her pajamas and surfed the
Internet. She had an uneasy feeling all day and wasn’t sure why.
Luckily, she wasn’t queasy. That was at least a good sign. She
hoped she wasn’t going to be experiencing any sort of spell,
because that meant something bad was going to happen.

She sent Oliver an email.

Hi Oly,

Happy Thanksgiving. I miss you so much, especially
this year. I’m really missing Helen too. Anyway, I’m mad at you!
Why didn’t you write me? I had to ask your brother if he’d heard
from you because I was getting worried. I thought your two months
were almost up. He told me you wrote him and that your trip was
extended. I’m happy you’re okay, though. I can’t wait to see you or
at least hear from you. School is kicking my ass, but otherwise
everything is fine. My roommate, Heather, is great. I can’t wait
for you to meet her. Xander seems to be doing well too. I’m sure
he’ll be eating
turkey
or something with someone
special
this weekend. I, on the other hand, have so much
studying to do that I decided to stay on campus and hit the books.
Maybe you’ll be back for Christmas and your birthday—I hope so!
Keeping my fingers crossed.

Please write back if you can. Even with just an “I’m
alive” email.

Love,

Jillian

***

Alexander

I’m such a pitiful loser.
Alexander sat in a
dark corner of the library, studying. He looked around to find he
was alone. Of course, he was alone. It was Thanksgiving. Who else
would be in the library on Thanksgiving? Sure, he had received a
dozen invites for dinner tonight, but he wasn’t in the mood. He’d
have to answer questions about his parents that he didn’t feel like
answering. He’d have to watch his drinking, which he didn’t feel
like doing. Today was a day to cheat on his no-drinking policy. In
fact, he was going to make it a tradition to get completely and
utterly drunk on Thanksgiving.

No one would be around to judge him. His brother was
away somewhere in the Amazon, Helen was dead, and Jill . . . Well,
Jill hadn’t been around for the last eleven years, so he wouldn’t
miss her either. Plus, he was sure she’d found somewhere to go for
dinner. Hopefully, it was with her roommate and not that creep
professor that had the “hots” for her. He didn’t like the way that
the sleazy teacher stared at Jillian when she wasn’t looking. He
wondered if she had noticed. He felt a little guilty for not having
forwarded Oliver’s email to Jill. He should have at least told her
about it.

She had been so adamant about not being distracted,
and he was trying to respect that. Either way, she always had a
slew of people around her—mostly males.
Whatever, screw her!
Her loss if she didn’t want to spend time with him. He was not
going to be anyone’s distraction as she had so eloquently put it.
He would be top of the class just to spite her, because he didn’t
appreciate her look of surprise that he had been accepted to a law
school, particularly this school that was so tough on acceptance.
She was always on her high horse. Actually, that wasn’t true—she
was only like that with him. Jillian was actually a rather nice
person to everyone else. She thought him some sort of womanizing
ignorant drunk.

He noticed on his computer screen that she was
logged on. Probably just forgot to log off, he thought. He hoped
she wasn’t sitting home on Thanksgiving alone. He could handle his
own self-pity, but not hers. Instead, he decided to write his
brother back. He hadn’t written him in weeks.

Hey Brother,

How’s the Amazon treating you? Happy Thanksgiving.
Sorry for the delay in writing. I’ve been busy with school. In
fact, I’ve decided to skip Thanksgiving and study instead. Yes,
Jill’s fine. No, I’m not drinking or partying. Yes, I’ve met a few
people, some hotter than others! Who’d have thought it was so easy
to get laid in school! You’d love it. Or not. You are such a bore
most of the time. I think that answered all the questions from your
last email. I don’t know if you’re happy your trip was extended or
upset, so either congrats to you or sorry, Brother, that sucks.
Gotta run.

Love,

X

He went outside to get some fresh air and take a
little break. He wished he still smoked.

Being sad with
the right people is better than being happy with the wrong
ones.

-Helen

Jillian

Jillian couldn’t see one more stupid cartoon float on
TV. She decided to make her time useful and actually catch up on
her school reading. She put on a pair of raggedy jean shorts that
were a little shorter than she normally wore, a beige tank top, and
her black combat boots that went an inch over her ankles. She
didn’t even bother to tie them all the way up. She picked up her
unruly curls into a bun above her head, didn’t bother putting on
any makeup since she knew she’d be alone in the library, and
grabbed her bag and laptop. It was a beautiful day outside:
unseasonably hot. The sky was clear blue, not a cloud in sight. She
decided to walk to the library instead of taking her car. She had a
lot of time to kill.
Might as well get some fresh air and a
little exercise out of it.

HONK! HONK!

Jillian clenched her chest, trying to get her heart
back inside. A black convertible Mercedes Benz was slowing down
beside her. The sun was in her face, making it difficult to see who
was honking at her. She squinted until she made out the
wind-tousled black hair.

“Ms. Stone?” The person hollered out as the car made
its way to the little patch of grass between the sidewalk and the
street. As soon as it stopped, she froze, thinking about her choice
of wardrobe.
Fuck!

“Professor Black?”

“Hello, Ms. Stone.”

“It’s Jill.”

“Ms. Stone, what are you doing walking around
campus?” He was always so brusque.

Well, not always, on at least two occasions he had
been nice, almost human. Guess today wasn’t one of those days.

“I’m going to the library. Catching up on some
reading.”

“Before dinner, I suppose.” It was more of a
statement than a question.

“Um, yes, before dinner.” It wasn’t a complete lie.
She was going to have dinner later, but it was probably going to be
something from her freezer and not a big holiday meal.

“Hop in. I’ll give you a ride.” He never
requested—always commanded.

“No, it’s okay. I can walk. It’s a beautiful day
today.”

“It’s hot as hell, Ms. Stone. Get in and I’ll drive
you. You shouldn’t be walking alone on campus, especially wearing
those.” He tipped his reflective aviator sunglasses down his nose
and looked down at her legs. Immediately, she was humiliated.
Why? Why? Why? Why had she chosen this mess of an outfit
today?
He was already out of the car, opening her door before
she had a chance to reply. The dry Texan heat was making it hard to
breathe.
Or was that Professor Black?
Drops of perspiration
had already begun to slowly make their way down the back of her
neck, and she knew that her forehead was moist and her cheeks
flushed.

Texas was a weird place. It was always hot and dry.
There was a lot of space between places: no trees to give shade,
just arid and barren expanses of space from one place to the next.
The sidewalk she was walking on was gleaming from the heat, almost
reflectively, as if she were walking in the desert.

“O-okay,” she stuttered. Why hadn’t she brushed her
hair and at least put on some lip gloss or something? Ughh, and
boots, she was a midget in boots.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep.”
Not even a little.
She gave him her
biggest fakest smile she could muster. She got in the car, and he
grabbed her bags and put them in the trunk. He always seemed so
nefarious.

“Seat belt, Ms. Stone.”

“Okay.” The attraction was getting out of control.
She felt like jumping over the center console and onto his lap and
devouring him.

“I see that I’m only getting one word answers
today.” He smiled.