Beautiful Musician Page 6

But at least I wasn’t hiding from my fears altogether. Instead, I’d taken what I hoped was a proactive approach. I’d joined an online schizophrenia support group, and some of the members were meeting in person this afternoon. I needed an outlet that wasn’t manned by mental health professionals, like the family counseling sessions at The Manor. This would be much more casual.

  Exhausted from lack of sleep, I climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom to shower, letting the warmth of the water soothe me.

  Afterward, I blew dry my hair and brushed it until it gleamed. I did my makeup, as well, adding precise placements of color to my fair complexion. I was fanatical about my appearance, determined to separate myself from Abby’s unkempt grooming habits.

  Next, I searched my closet for something to wear. I chose a bright blue dress that enhanced my eyes, but quickly changed into a minty green one instead. Sometimes when I wore blue, I looked too much like Abby.

  I glanced around my room. It used to be riddled with frilly doodads and pop star paraphernalia, but now the décor was sleek and subtle, with natural woods and grown-up accents. This had always been my room, with Abby’s being down the hall, except that Abby always wanted to stay in here, too.

  I opened my door and caught the delicious scent of bacon and eggs wafting in the air.

  Immediately growing hungry, I entered the kitchen where Carol was making breakfast. Not only did we live together, we also worked together at Carol’s consignment shop. But today was my day off, giving me the opportunity to pursue the meeting.

  “Morning,” my sixty-three-year-old aunt said, pushing a strand of graying brown hair away from her eyes. She wore her usual morning attire: a cotton nightgown, soft-soled slippers, and a smidgen of hastily applied lipstick. “Have a seat. It’s almost ready.”

  “Thanks.” Although I appreciated her nurturing nature, I was concerned about Carol turning into a lonely old hen. My life wasn’t so great, either. I’d never even had a boyfriend. Like Carol, I spent so much time focused on Abby, I’d missed out on the types of things I should have been doing. The heartbeat in my head didn’t help, either. How was I supposed to think about having a relationship with the warrior rattling around in there?

  “Are you going to L.A. today?” Carol asked.

  I nodded. I’d told my aunt about the online group, but I hadn’t gone into detail. Carol wasn’t keen on it. Even now she was frowning.

  “How many of you will be there?”

  “There’ll be four of us, including me. We’re the only ones who live close enough to see each other.” Or sort of close. I was about sixty miles from the gathering.

  “Are any of them ill?”

  The question made me flinch, along with the ever-present fear of becoming like Abby. “It’s a support group for family members, not for people who have it.”

  “How much have you said about yourself?”

  “Mostly I just lurk and read everyone else’s posts. But I did mention that I have a sister.”

  My aunt hesitated. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Going off to meet strangers and discuss your personal life?”

  “They’re going to be talking about their lives, too.” Maybe one of them would even admit that they were fearful.

  Carol set a full plate of food in front of me. “It’s a long way for you to travel for something like that.”

  “It’s only an hour.” I was looking forward to getting away. “It’s a Starbucks-type place in the Media District. It’s called The Coffee Shell.”

  “Will you text me when you get there?”

  “Of course. I’ll text you before I head home, too.”

  Carol joined me at the table, and we ate in silence. She’d already set my vitamins out for me. I’d been through a couple of bouts of anemia and now she insisted that I take lots of iron so it never happened again.

  I glanced out the window, which presented a glowing green view of the backyard and the vegetable garden we planted every year. We lived in a lovely old ranch-style house that Carol had renovated years ago. Her consignment shop was highly successful, affording us a comfortable lifestyle, which now included the cost of Abby’s private care.

  Later, Carol left for work, and I prepared to leave for my outing. But then my cell phone rang with an unfamiliar number on the screen. I answered it, and a man’s voice came on the line.

  “Vanessa?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Duncan.”

  He was one of the people from the support group that I would be meeting, and he was even more of an online lurker than I was. I barely knew anything about his situation.

  He continued by saying, “I got your number from Linda. She asked me to call you.”

  Linda posted actively in the group and was the one who’d arranged the get-together, along with her cousin, Jamie. “Is there a problem?”

  “Linda and Jamie can’t make it today.”

  Disappointed, I blew out a sigh. “So it’s cancelled, then?”

  “Not unless you don’t mind meeting with just me.”

  “You’re still willing to talk?”

  “Sure. Why not? I’m not as quiet in person as I am online.”

  “Me, neither.” I smiled, feeling comforted by his easy manner. “We might as well give it a go.” I paused for a second. “How will I recognize you?” I had a description of Linda, but that wouldn’t do me any good.

  “I’ll be the guy sitting off by himself drinking a double caramel macchiato.”

  I laughed. As if that was going to set him apart. “I’ll be the short, skinny blonde in a green dress and gold sandals. How about if you look for me instead?”

  “Will do. See you, Vanessa.”

  “See you, too.”

  We ended the call, and I felt a sense of calm. I liked that he’d been cautious online, yet was willing to share in person. It made him seem like more of an ally, more like myself. Was his story as troubling as mine? Was his family member as ill as Abby? For his sake, I hoped not.

  ***

  I arrived at The Coffee Shell and parked my car. While still seated behind the wheel, I texted my aunt, as promised, letting her know that I was safe and sound.

  I glanced at the time. Luckily I was right on schedule. I put away my phone and entered the building. It was much bigger than I’d expected and not all of the tables were out in the open, as I’d assumed they would be. A row of high-backed booths were positioned beside softly tinted windows, with natural light filtering in.

  I was glad that Duncan would be on the lookout for me, rather than me having to seek him out. Still, I hoped that he would hurry up and notice me. Otherwise I would feel stupid standing around, waiting for him to appear. The place was packed with all sorts of people.

  I approached the front counter and ordered a vanilla latte. If Duncan didn’t come out of the woodwork before my drink was ready, I should probably call him, just to make sure that he wasn’t running late. For all I knew, he wasn’t even here yet.

  Then, as if on cue, I heard a man say from behind me, “Excuse me, miss, but are you the short, skinny blonde in the green dress and gold sandals that I’m supposed to be meeting?”

  I smiled. He’d just repeated what I’d told him about myself. I turned around, intending to reply, “No, you must be looking for someone else,” but those silly words died in my throat.

  All I could do was stare blankly at him.

  He was tall, about six feet, and powerfully built, with piercing eyes and shoulder-length hair. At first glance, his hair could be mistaken for black, but was actually a dark shade of brown. His Native American heritage seemed obvious, chiseled into the strong, bold angles of his face. He was exactly as I’d described him to Abby when we were kids. But Duncan couldn’t be him. The warrior wasn’t real.

  Not real. Not real. Not real.

  “Vanessa?”

  He spoke my name, his voice now giving me a chill. Was I imagining him? Was this my introduction into schizophrenia? Was my biggest fear coming true? W
as I like Abby now?

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  I didn’t reply. I just kept staring. Unblinking. Unmoving.

  He appeared to be searching my frozen expression, concern evident in the depth of his eyes. “I already got us a booth. Do you need to sit down? I can wait for your order.”

  I struggled to take in my surroundings. Did anyone else see him? Or was I standing there like a loon, interacting with a hallucination?

  I couldn’t very well ask the employees or other patrons if they saw him. I would look like the nutcase I very well might be.

  “I have to go,” I said.

  “Go where?”

  “Out to my car. I left my phone in the front seat.” It was the only lie I could think of, and I needed an excuse to get away from him.

  I dashed outside. This wasn’t how my meeting with him was supposed to unfold. He was supposed to be an ally, not the guy who sent me over the edge.

  I unlocked my car and climbed inside, breathing as deeply as I could. What in God’s name was I supposed to do?

  Somehow, someway, I needed to figure this out.

  I racked my brain for an answer. Maybe I should call Linda and ask her about Duncan. Really? And what good would that do? What if I had created Linda and the entire online support group? What if none of this was real? I knew how powerful Abby’s hallucinations were. If I was doing the same thing, then there was no way to prove or disprove a thing.

  I glanced at the building I’d just exited. Even if I’d manufactured the support group, The Coffee Shell was an actual place. I wasn’t sitting at home, imagining all of this.

  Was I?

  I couldn’t be. I refused to believe I was that crazy. So I considered my options. I had one of two choices. Cower in fear or go back inside and talk to Duncan.

  I picked the latter, but before I got out of my car, I checked my appearance in the rearview mirror. Thankfully, I looked just fine. Healthy and sane. No one would be able to tell what was going on inside my head.

  Upon my return, I found Duncan waiting off to the side of the front counter. In his hand he had a cup of coffee that I assumed was mine. And now that I had a less chaotic moment to study him, I noticed details that didn’t match my creation of him: his ears were pierced with small black gauges, and both wrists were inked with tribal-looking tattoos. How could he be the warrior if I hadn’t given him those things?

  “Did you get your phone?” he asked.

  “Yes, and I’m sorry I panicked like that.”

  “It’s okay. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to my phone, either.” He extended the coffee. “I picked it up for you when they called your name.”

  “Thank you.” I tried not to be overwhelmed by his beauty. Or with the memory of Abby telling me that I was supposed to kiss the warrior someday. Even if Duncan wasn’t him, even with the inclusion of the piercings and tattoos, he still unnerved me. “You should have warned me about how handsome you are.”

  He broke into an instant laugh. “Who says things like that? You’re a funny one, Vanessa.”

  If he only knew how funny. “I just wasn’t expecting someone like you.”

  “It’s okay. I’m flattered.” He shot me a boyish smile. “And as long as we’re on the subject, I think you’re hot, too.” His smile turned devilish. “If we got together, we’d make cute babies.”

  I knew he was kidding, but I couldn’t find it within myself to appreciate his humor. “I’m sorry, but I’m having an off day. And I wasn’t trying to start a flirtation between us.” That was the last thing I could cope with.

  “I wasn’t trying to start anything, either.” He went serious. “I know this isn’t an online date, certainly not with what we came here to discuss. Are you still up for that talk?”

  “Yes.” I definitely wanted to find out more about him and who he was.

  He guided me to the booth, where he’d left his coffee. We sat across from each other, and I did my best to relax.

  I even started the conversion. “Where are you from?”

  “I have a loft downtown.”

  I relaxed a bit more. If he would have said that he was from Room 105 I would’ve covered my face and cried.

  He reached for his cup. “What about you?”

  “I live in Riverside.”

  “That’s off the 91, right?”

  “Yes, in the Inland Empire.”

  “I read in one of your posts that your sister is ill.”

  “Her name is Abby. She’s the schizophrenic in my family. Our parents died in a car crash when she was seven and I was eight. Our aunt Carol raised us after that. Losing our parents was traumatic for both of us, but it was worse for Abby. She was already a troubled child. For now, she’s living at a therapy center that’s designed to treat people with mental illnesses and help mainstream them. But her progress has been slow.”

  “Are you close?”

  “Extremely. As kids, we were inseparable. We were homeschooled together because my sister wasn’t able to handle regular school.”

  “Did you want to go to regular school?”

  “Sometimes. But it was easier for Carol to have me there. Abby has always been paranoid of my aunt.”

  “But she never gets paranoid of you?”

  “No. I’m like her other half, I guess.” Which made my fear of becoming like Abby worse. “She always wanted to wear the same outfits as me when we were little. She tried to mimic everything I did.”

  “That sounds sweet.”

  Disturbingly sweet, I thought. “There used to be tons of pictures of us as kids, looking like twins, until Abby went ballistic and destroyed every single photograph that she was in. I don’t even have a recent picture of her. She refuses to let anyone get near her with a camera. It freaks her out.”

  “I don’t have a picture of Jack, either. He was the schizophrenic man who raised me, but he’s dead now. It’s a complicated story. That’s why I didn’t post it online.”

  “Will you tell me about it?” I was desperate to know what made him tick, to learn what separated him from the warrior, to keep reassuring myself that they weren’t one and the same.

  “It might make me sound strange.”

  Nothing could be as strange as what I’d been going through. “I’m not going to judge you, Duncan.”

  “Most of my childhood is a complete blank. Jack was a homeless man who found me wandering around by myself when I was thirteen.”

  A shiver ran through my blood. I was thirteen when I’d created the warrior, and he was supposed to be the same age as I was, maturing as I matured. “How old are you now?”

  “Twenty.”

  I forced myself to breathe. “So am I.”

  “But you know who you are. My identity is made-up. Jack gave me the name Duncan.”

  God help me. I was sitting across from a man who had a fabricated identity. What were the chances of that? “Why did he pick that name?”

  “It was in honor of Duncan MacLeod.”

  “I don’t know who that is.”

  “He’s a fictional character from the old Highlander TV show and spin-off movies. One of the movies was a theatrical release that Jack scrounged up enough money to see. He was obsessed with alternate universes, and Duncan was an immortal from a meta-universe.”

  Should I tell him that Abby was obsessed with other realms, too? No, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t say it.

  He continued, “When Jack found me, all I knew about myself was my age and that I was of Native descent. I still don’t remember anything else. Where I’m originally from, who my parents are, what tribe I belong to, when my birthday is.”

  “What date do you use for it?”

  “June thirtieth. That’s the day Jack found me.”

  Was that the day I’d created the warrior? I couldn’t remember the exact date, but it had been the week after my birthday, which fit the troubling timeline.

  I studied him from across the table, thinking about how the warrior was supposed
to die. “Your birthday just passed. So did mine. We both just turned twenty.”

  He raised his coffee in a mock toast. “Here’s to us. We have almost a whole year to go before we can officially buy a beer.”

  Or before he died? I couldn’t bear to think about that, not now, not while I was sitting here, trying to figure him out. “Tell me more about you and Jack.”

  He lowered his cup. “I was scared and confused when he first found me. He was all I had. He protected me, treating me as if I was his own. We lived on the streets together until I was fifteen, then I was taken away from him and put into foster care.”

  “Why didn’t Jack turn you over to the authorities himself? Why did he keep you with him for so long?”

  “He thought I was sent to him from another dimension to be his adoptive son.”

  “The Highlander dimension?”

  “No. He knew that one was created for the movies.”

  Dare I ask? “Then what dimension did he think it was?”

  “He didn’t know. But he said that I would find out someday. Of course I knew that he was delusional, but I played along with him anyway. I preferred to think of myself the way he thought of me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I figured that I must have run away from a bad situation. That’s what they assumed in foster care, too, especially since they searched for missing kids fitting my description and didn’t uncover anything. If I wasn’t reported missing by my family, then it seems obvious that no one cared.”

  “What about now that you’re older? Don’t you want to know the truth?”

  “Not if it’s something that’s going to trigger disturbing memories. I’d rather just leave well enough alone.”

  I struggled to comprehend his mysterious past. How could there be so many parallels between him and the warrior? How was that possible? “What last name do you use?”

  “Lock. That was Jack’s last name.”

  “So you’re Duncan Lock.”

  “Yep. That’s me.” He glanced toward the window. “I used to have blackouts during the time I was with Jack, and he said it was because I would disappear and go to the other dimension, then would return with no knowledge of where I’d been. He even said that he saw me disappear. But I knew the blackouts were just part of my amnesia. It stopped happening after I went into foster care.”