Leaning back on the couch, I cross my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling. It isn’t writer’s block. It’s life block. And it all started when Esmé came on the island. Aw shit, to be fair, it all started with Fran. Let’s go back even further then and say it all started when I was a child. Suddenly, I’m so tired I can’t even face the short walk back to my bedroom. My computer goes on the floor under the couch so I don’t step on it when I wake up in the morning. Pulling a thin blanket over myself, I stretch out on the couch, carefully lifting and rearranging Frank so as not to upset him. He walks around on my stomach for a few moments before settling back into a comfortable position. It’s a muggy night and I wish I had thought to flip the ceiling fan on before stretching out. It’s too late now, though. Even if I had the energy to get up, Frank wouldn’t like it.
I’m kind of in that weird twilight area where my thoughts start to get a little stranger than usual and a kind of filter falls over my mind. I know I’m not sleeping, but I’m not completely coherent. Esmé is standing over me, telling me to go deeper into my subconscious. For a second, I’m sure I can feel my soul hovering over my body and I almost believe that I’m having an out of body experience.
“Open your eyes,” I mutter to myself, but it’s too late.
I’m on a cliff, looking over the side. Esmé is standing beside me, shouting something in my ear. The wind is whipping around us so hard that I can’t hear what she’s saying. Strands of her hair whip around so furiously that some of them hit my face with the force of a slap. Looking down, I can see the billowing shape of a red dress, floating down on the wind. “You let her go,” Esmé says. “You let her go.”
“I know,” I agree. “I killed her.”
“She should never have been with you.”
“I know that, too.”
Swinging around to face me, she puts her hands on my face and tries to force me to look at her. Fighting, I shove her hands off. I can’t take my eyes off the dress. It’s still floating down and part of me knows that it’s Fran, but I can’t figure out why it’s taking so long for her to fall. Esmé scratches at my face, trying to get my attention. “You killed her,” she screams. “You did this!”
“I know,” I whisper, knowing full well she can’t hear me over the wind. “I know I did.”
Dropping to my knees, I bow my head over the cliff, looking at the dress. “Fran,” I yell. “Fran!” Suddenly, I’m in a panic and I’m screaming her name over and over, but it doesn’t help because the only thing left of Fran is a red dress blowing in the wind at the bottom of the cliff.
Awake, I sit up, knocking Frank to the back of the couch. He grunts a mild protest, rights himself, and stalks down to the empty cushion beyond my feet. I’m sweating and my heart is pounding and for a few minutes, I know I’m on the edge of a panic attack. Grabbing my cell, I send a text message to Esmé asking if she’s awake. She responds immediately by calling me.
“Of course I’m awake,” she says instead of hello.
“I think we need to talk,” I answer.
“I agree. Do you want to meet for breakfast?”
“No, let’s meet for dinner. Can you come over here? I’ll cook.”
She pauses. “Is this a date?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I need to talk about Fran.”
“What time?”
“Six.”
Hanging up the phone, I reach down to grab Frank and cuddle him to my face. I ask him what the hell is wrong with me, but he doesn’t have any answers. Neither do I. Looking out the window, I see that it’s close enough to sunrise that I can get up and make some coffee. Every day is a new chance to change your life. That’s what Fran used to say to me. As I stumble into the kitchen, weary to the bone, I don’t know if I find that comforting or terrifying.
Chapter Sixteen
For some reason, making the date with Esmé has cleared my mind a bit. I don’t know why, but I just have a feeling that she might be able to help me through this if I will just let her in. Feeling better than I have in days, I bust out a full chapter of my book before taking a break. Brewing another pot of coffee, I look at the clock and decide it’s late enough in the morning to call Sam. Before I can dial her, she’s calling me.
“Hello?”
She sounds cheerful. “Dude, what’s up?”
“Sam, I was just about to call you.”
“And I called you instead. What are you doing today?