An Eye for Art

Chapter Twenty

Air flows through my body with ease. My chest rises and falls rhythmically as my eyes flitter open. My eyes examine everything around me. There's an IV attached to my arm, and the monitor beeped steadily. How did I get here? I am alone with no doctor or a familiar face in sight. Sitting up, I take a deep breath. All the events with Mr. Newman resurface. The room. The kitchen. . . the stalking. . . Ashlan. . . Mason. . . How long have I been gone?

A middle-aged woman walks into the room. She's wearing a scarf with jeans and a blouse; she's not a doctor. She. . . looks like me.

"You're awake," she exclaims, "I'm glad you're doing well. When I found you. . . you weren't looking good."

"What do you mean, 'when you found me?' Who are you?"

"Right." The woman nods, rubbing the back of her neck for comfort. Pulling a chair closer to me, she sits down. "My name is Melissa. I found you in my house." No way. I stare deadpan. Is this really the woman Mr. Newman was talking about moving on with?

"You were with Mr. Newman?" I question her. Melissa nods her head, tightening her lips at the sound of his name. Her eyes roam to the ceiling.

"I was on a six-month-long venture to Russia for the Red Cross. . . I had gotten home the day I found you on the basement stairwell," Her voice cracks as she finishes her sentence. "I am so sorry for whatever he did." Melissa's eyes billow out tears despite her rocky attempts to keep them in. "I had no idea about the things going on in his head. . . He seemed fine when I left." I don't know how to feel. For four years, a man stalked me. He manipulated people to get to me. . . and I killed that man. My body chills under the notions resurfacing. I can't cry. I can't whimper or feel pity. I feel like this is all a calming dream. "When I called the ambulance to pick you up, the police came and searched the house." Melissa's breathing spikes, forcing a stutter over her words. "They found h-him in the b-basement dead."

"It's not your fault," I attempt to reassure her. I don't have anything else to say, and anything I can come up with is too callous for her at the moment. "How long have I been here?" I shift topics.

"Eight hours or so." Melissa wipes her tears away. "I found you in the middle of the night. It's about 7:30 in the morning right now," She informs me. "There was someone else down there with you," Melissa calms down. "I don't know if you know them or not, but there was a boy. He was dead a couple days before they found him." My mind races to the night I confronted Mr. Newman. He shot Mason. . . panic seeped into my lungs as my chest rose.

"Mason," I whisper.

"I don't know who it was. I left with the ambulance to take you here."

"Do you have a phone???" I bombard, frantic cries hiding in my voice.

"Of course!" Melissa pulls out her phone from her back pocket and hands it to me.

"Thank you." Dialing Mason's phone number, the phone cuts straight to voicemail. "Fuck!" I dial the number again and again and again, but all I get is leave your message at the tone. My calm dream transforms into a raging nightmare. Tears ball up at the seams of my eyes as my fingers twitch trying to dial Gabriel's number.

"Hello? This is Gabriel. . . who is this?"

"Gabriel!" I shout.

"Adilene?!"

"Yeah!" The tears burst out as my lip quivers.

"Why are you crying? Oh my god! Where have you been??? You missed graduation! You idiot!" All of the bottled pain surges out, and nothing but saping nonsense escapes my lips. My insides shake as reality slams into me. "Sweetheart. . . I didn't mean it when I called you an idiot. . . please tell me what's wrong. . . Where are you?"

"I'm in the hospital," I mutter out against the tides of snot and pain.

"Why?!" leaning my head on the phone like a pillow, I weep into the phone, tears sliding down the screen.

"Can you please come get me?" I sniffle. "Thank you. . . Newport Hospital. . . I really don't want to talk about it right now. . . please just get here. . . thank you." Handing the phone back to Melissa, she wipes the screen and slides it into her pocket.

"Is family coming?" She asks, her voice a drained melody. I nod in response. Laying my head down, I close my eyes until Gabriel shows up.

The next month bursts and sizzles out with Newman as the headline in the news. Brown Professor found dead after kidnapping two of his students. One survivor. One dead. Art History Professor kidnapped students. Kidnapped students. Kidnapped. Sympathy echoes in the air. Everywhere I go, my face is a beacon for the questions of the city. You're the student the professor took. Are you okay? How are you holding up? I am so sorry that happened to you.

Standing in the living room, I hold a mug of coffee as I watch the news.

"Girl," Gabriel calls, "You need to stop watching that shit." He grabs the remote from the couch and turns the tv off. "We're moving on, Ads. I love you, but it's time to start a new chapter in your life." Staring at Gabriel, I take a sip of my coffee. You're the only one I have left. Yes, my mom is alive and well, but here, with me, by my side and in my life, you're all I have. I lost my father. I lost my best friend. I lost the only man I loved apart from my father. Nodding in agreement, I set my mug down and wrap my arms around Gabriel, squeezing tight. A few tears brim my lids.

"I love you too, Gabriel."

I contemplate how this happened to me, hitting rewind on the track of my life. Who wouldn't do that? Who wouldn't ruminate the reasoning behind it all?

Gabriel rubs my back as we sit in the front row of the church and listen to Mason's mother reading her eulogy tribute to her son. My lip quivers, and tears swell, streaming into my lap.

Father. You are the light in my life. The light that fed me to the dark, and Mason was the way out of the dark. Yearning your comfort, I drove him away time after time. I took his presence for granted. His smile will never grace my eyes again. His touch will never meet mine, and I. . . I lost him. . .

Scrolling through my emails, I click on job offerings and note down the interview dates.

Desiring nothing more than to make you proud of me, when you left. . . I had no one else. . . losing Ashlan, to some, is the pinnacle miracle of my life. . . but, really, it was Newman.

Strolling through Providence, I breathe in the air, ready to seek what these offerings have for me. Despite my passion for art being nurtured by you, I hope to find my own purpose in it. These interviews, these jobs, I hope would bring some kind of meaning to my life.

Fresh. Untainted. My lungs breathe with new direction. I'm ready to discover my own nirvana in this passion of ours.

Arriving at the building of my interview, my body stills.

Ashlan manipulated a timid child to her benefit and breaking free from that delirium reigns a free spirit from the mold. . . but the real cage was you.

People swarm the atmosphere with chatter. I turn around and the gallery stands tall, a for sale sign resting on the door.

The real cage was the world I created for you. The kingdom I built around you. Newman helped me see that my actions weren't on my own accord; everything was to make you proud and keep the shadow of your existence with me. Newman tore away the love of my life from me, but Mason wouldn't want the freedom I gained to be wasted. This is for his memory and taking back my life from the influences of others.

Crossing the street, I desert the interview and press my hand against the door of the gallery. I call the number on the sign with hope surging through me.

In the eyes of others, Newman was a tragedy. In mine, he saved me from my darkest secret: my father. This is my purpose. Apart from you.

"Hello, My name is Adilene Ackerman, and I would like to talk about the gallery for sale."