Deadliest Intuition Read online

  But alas, then was a time to play chase. She leaped with one hand in the air, her foot catching a groove in the tree at the same time her hand grabbed the branch above her head. From then, the little girl was off to the races. Once she reached her exit spot, Cecilia paused, testing her mode of transport. She gave it a tug or two, approving of the safety the branch would provide. One big swing and she safely planted her feet on the garage alongside them. Cecilia made her way across the roof, then looked down over the edge, eyeballing the basketball rim affixed above the big metal door. Should I do it? She turned to see what progress her brother had made just as he’d made his landing. As she had expected, he was closing in on her.

  “I’m coming to get cha, Cecilia.”

  “Never,” she proclaimed before climbing down onto the rim.

  She used it to hang as low as she possibly could to get the leverage needed to get on the roof of her mother’s old banana-colored Chevy Malibu. Cecilia sprinted across the hood, then windshield, the bottoms of her Chucks leaving dirt impressions on the glass. Her frame was small enough not to cave in the roof of the vehicle as she shot across, then down to the opposite end.

  “Mom’s gonna kill you,” Ronald warned, feeling a bit sour due to the butt kicking he was receiving courtesy of his sister.

  Currently under construction, the soon-to-be house across the street had become one of their spots of exploration. The two were fascinated by the rock piles, cement blocks, and heavy machinery outfitting the half-acre lot.

  Cecilia took her chance darting across the street after glancing both ways to ensure the coast was clear. “Come and get me, brother,” she challenged him, tackling the fifteen-foot gravel pile in front of her. It took her less than a minute to reach the top, then to stand there victorious.

  “Dun dada dun dun dun dada dun,” she stomped, singing the Rocky anthem with her fists held high in celebration of the accomplishment.

  “Don’t be a show-off,” Ronald complained, finally reaching the summit’s peak.

  That’s when the rocks shifted. Cecilia’s foot came down on sliding gravel, taking her down into a hole that the workmen had dug for the basement.

  “Ronald, help me,” she squealed, a look of sheer terror in her eyes as she plummeted.

  “Cecilia!” His brows wrinkled with worry over his sorrowful brown eyes as the boy stood in disbelief at what he was witnessing. He’d reached for his twin sister’s hand but a moment too late.

  Cecilia’s little body had rolled down the slope, only worsening the pile’s instability. When her frail structure hit the bottom of the pit, an avalanche of rocks began to topple down on her.

  “Ronald, please, help me.” For the last time, she called out to her brother for help as a white cloud of dust permeated the air.

  One second, he could see her hand reaching up out of the rocks, then the next, her body had become completely covered with stones. Cecilia had been buried alive, and there was nothing Ronald could do to save his dear twin sister.

  “Cecilia,” Ronald called out in terror. Tears welled up in his ducts.

  * * *

  A soft, monotoned voice calling out to him pulled the now fully grown man back to the present.

  “Ronald, can you hear me?” His psychiatrist snapped her fingers.

  The scruffy-faced gentleman opened his eyes—one brown, the other gray. “I hear you,” he replied, staring fixedly at the dimmed light fixture in the ceiling.

  “How does it feel remembering that day?” Dr. Martyr pressed on, keeping her voice as passive as she could.

  “It feels like torture.” He turned to her. “I feel helpless. I feel like,” Ronald paused, fighting the aching lump in his throat more than the truth he hesitated to admit. “I could have done more to save her.”

  “Ronald, as long as you harbor guilt over the death of your sister, the inner turmoil you’re facing will never cease. You must release it. Ronald, you have to release her.”

  She peered into his sorrowful eyes with intent.

  He knew she meant well and that her concern was genuine enough. But to be quite honest, she had no idea what she was dealing with. Neither did Ronald, for that matter.

  “That’s easier said than done, Doc. She’s my twin. Sometimes, I feel like she’ll never leave me.”

  “Are you ready to talk about what triggered your episode last week?” she inquired, intertwining her fingers before placing them atop the ledger on her lap.

  Dr. Lisa Martyr, the youngest psychiatrist in her practice, had just earned her doctor of medicine. As a child, she was always attracted to the wounded. Even if they looked put together outwardly, it was as if she could sniff out the pain in a person. Healing that pain provided her fulfillment. Ronald happened to be her favorite patient. She fancied him yet would never reveal her true feelings, as it was against her code of conduct. Besides, he was nearly twelve years younger than she. Dr. Martyr would often describe him as a handsome young man, barely legal to drink.

  “Do you need more time?” the doctor continued, sensing his hesitation.

  Stuck in his head, Ronald flashed back to the episode in question.

  * * *

  Crouched on hands and knees, beads of sweat poured down Ronald’s profile out of his long, curly, red coils as he frantically burrowed into the ground, bare-handed.

  * * *

  “Ronald?” Her voice yanked him from the memory, pulling his focus back to reality. “You’ve been very distracted lately. Have you gone yet to get that MRI I referred you for?”

  “They put me on a list,” he responded, huffing as he lifted from a lying position on the plush leather sofa.

  “Ronald, do you want to be cured?” his psychiatrist asked in the softest voice she could mimic. She didn’t want him to feel as if she were antagonizing him. Her inquiry was genuine.

  “What kind of question is that? I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to fix what’s happening to me. You think I want to live like this for the rest of my life? Coming in here to tell you about how I can’t get over the deaths of my family isn’t something I particularly enjoy, Doc.”

  “I believe you, Ronald. I believe you want to live a normal life. Maybe even have a family of your own someday. For you to do that, though, we have to work through these blocks. We need to find out what it is about your sister’s death that you can’t seem to let go of.”

  “I’ve heard that same line since my adolescence.”

  “I promise, I’m going to help you, Ronald. I know it has been a long, hard road for you, but you can get over this. Tell me, when was the last time you went out on a date?”

  “I don’t have time for a date.” Ronald blew off the notion.

  “How so?” she frowned. “Has school become too demanding?” his psychiatrist pressed forward.

  “Between work and school, it’s hard to find free time.” Ronald had to tell Dr. Martyr something besides the truth. If she knew he was seeing his sister’s apparition while he was awake, she’d have him committed. Coming to her gave Ronald someone to talk to. She was his last remaining outlet. Unfortunately, he had absolutely no confidence in the fact that she could help him.

  “You should try it. Have you seen anyone you might be interested in?”

  “I can’t say I’ve been looking.” Ronald stuck to his guns.

  “Ronald, you attend a university full of beautiful, intelligent beings. You should try mingling.”

  He looked down at his wristwatch, not wanting to open that can of worms. “I think it’s about time for me to go.”

  Dr. Martyr glanced down at hers realizing their session was due to end in several minutes. “Oh . . .” She pushed one side of her shoulder-length brown hair behind her ear. “Well, I guess you’re right. No worries. We can pick back up where we left off on Wednesday.” She stood, tugging at the helm of her black business skirt to assure its length was appropriate. “Don’t forget, Wednesday at eleven o’clock,” she reminded him, hoping he would show up.

  “
Thanks, Doc.” Ronald headed for the exit.

  “That’s a very nice broach, if I must say so myself,” a waiting patient schmoozed the secretary just outside Dr. Martyr’s office.

  “Why, thank you, sir. I appreciate you saying so, again,” she remarked politely, a bit put off by his constant compliments each visit. Fraternizing with the patients was against company policy, but Rochelle would never in a million years date a patient even if it weren’t. Besides, she didn’t exactly see Mr. Arthur Columbus as handsome.

  His third chin looked completely unnecessary, considering he was, at most, 150 pounds soaking wet, wearing full fireman’s gear. He sought out Dr. Martyr’s assistance after seeing a posting on campus alleging one month of free counseling. Arthur wanted desperately to be cured of his insecurities. Often, the mass of self-doubt that plagued him caused him erectile disfunction. That, atop of his high blood pressure medication, a condition that made him a looker most times as opposed to a completer of the act. Oh, but when I do . . . The thought sent him salivating.

  A mildly exposed bosom under a fitted champagne-colored business suit introduced Rochelle’s hourglass frame at which Arthur stood gawking, choosing to fade out the sound of her voice as she attempted to usher him inside.

  “The doctor will see you now, Mr. Columbus,” she remarked, having recognized Ronald emerge.

  Dead air followed her instructions, lengthening the moment of anticipation that he’d take his creepy ass inside. She called out to him once more. “Hello . . . Earth to Mr. Columbus.” Not even the snap of her fingers caused his leer to wane.

  “Hey, man, don’t be a creep,” Ronald chimed in, tapping Arthur’s shoulder.

  The moment he turned, making eye contact with him, Ronald’s hand began to tremble.

  “What are you gonna do, hit me or something? I was simply complimenting the woman’s broach.”

  “Liar. That wasn’t all he was doing,” Cecilia’s voice rang true in his mind.

  Ronald didn’t believe a word he said. How could he? After Cecilia’s burial, Ronald’s nagging headaches manifested into much more, eventually revealing itself to be the voice of his dead sibling. For years, he tried his best to block her out, but ultimately, he accepted that it was his punishment for Cecilia’s death, and so he gave in to the apparition. So much so that one of his eyes had gradually transitioned to gray. His mother always had suspicions it was because he’d lost his twin, the change came. The once-vibrant little boy became shy around strangers, preferring to stay to himself. It was because he could sense the evil in a person. All thanks to the twin sister who refused to leave him.

  He focused on stopping his twitching hand before responding. “Of course not. Why would I hit you?”

  Mr. Columbus sucked at his teeth, shooting Ronald a brief scowling stare to which the young man huffed in amusement.

  “Are you finished here? I’d like to confirm my next appointment.”

  “I’m done here,” Arthur reluctantly remarked, a bit embarrassed he’d overstayed his welcome.

  Rochelle rolled her eyes, relieved he’d gone on his way. “Thanks. I appreciate the interference.”

  “It’s no problem. Next Wednesday at 11:00 a.m., right?”

  “I’ll mark it down in Dr. Martyr’s calendar.”

  Ronald mashed his stretched strawberry lips, avoiding a full smile. “I’ll see ya then.” He continued his way out of the office with his sister’s apparition right alongside him, looking just as she had the day she was crushed by rocks. Ronald tried his best not to look at her.

  Cecilia’s dark, sunken eyes were foggy, her clothes tattered and dingy, down to her calf-length socks. Even her fingernails looked as if they had been dipped in soot. Ronald kept his eyes elsewhere as often as he could. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop him from hearing what she had to say. Most times, her voice bored into his psyche, causing her will to be that of his. Even after twenty years of life, it remained Ronald and his sister alone.

  A sinister whisper nagged at him as he exited the building. “What a bad, bad man. Bad men deserve to be punished.” Cecilia’s voice drowned out everything else in the vicinity.

  Even the sound of the woman’s voice bidding him a good day as he hopped into his burgundy Chevy conversion van remained mute. Ronald smiled, guessing what she meant to convey, attempting to ignore his sister’s demand.

  “Listen to me, brother. Why are you ignoring me?” The apparition turned up the volume. Her thin, black, crusted lips stretched wide.

  Bang! He slammed the door of his vehicle upon climbing inside. “I hear you, dammit. I hear you. You’re all I can ever hear.” A frustrated Ronald rapidly pounded his closed fist atop the steering wheel, hoping against his better judgment that the noise would stop.

  “If you want me to stop, then do as I ask,” she demanded once more.

  Ronald breathed an exhaustive sigh, pulling his seat belt over his chest to buckle himself in. “As if that’s ever worked before,” he contested in a low lull.

  “One’s Karma has to be fulfilled. This is your Karma, dear brother. Your Karma for letting me die.”

  “I didn’t kill you. You slipped,” he snapped, staring into the rearview mirror to finally face her.

  “You’re the reason the rocks slipped. You’re the reason I’m dead. Face it,” she snarled.

  Ronald lowered his head in shame, deep down believing Cecilia’s accusations. “What do you want me to do, Cecilia?”

  “The path to redemption is good works, dear brother. You can redeem yourself by punishing him.”

  “Fine,” Ronald replied, resistance fleeting. “But I have to be sure he’s evil. You can’t just go around punishing people without proof they’ve done wrong.”

  “You felt it, didn’t you, dear brother? His evil evoked my senses. You can’t deny you felt it. It’s only a matter of time before someone falls victim to his sins. But don’t you fret, brother. I’ll lead you to the truth of it all . . . I always do,” Cecilia proclaimed.

  Ronald started his van, headed off on a quest to seek the truth. Cruising down highway I-75, he recalled the first time his sister’s apparition appeared to him, marking his initiation into his new life.

  Chapter 3

  Cecilia’s Return

  Cecilia had been deceased for over a year. Regardless of that fact, her side of their room remained decorated with his late sister’s belongings. Scooby-Doo paraphernalia covered the walls. The analog clock above Cecilia’s bed, the covers, even the drapes over the windows were that of Scooby-Doo and the gang. Drapes Mrs. Doolally had sewn herself, with ruffles added for a feminine touch. Sure, you’d think Scooby-Doo would be more of a boy’s choice, but Cecilia had her reasons. Her favorite character Daphne was what attracted her to the show. She had long, red hair like hers. Only Cecilia’s was full of beautiful, red coils, which often, her mother braided into two pigtails. The little girl always wondered what it would be like to straighten her hair. Yet, she wouldn’t dare volunteer to be under the hot pressing comb her mother heated under the stove’s flame. Unfortunately, her death came before she ever got up the courage to try it out.

  Plagued by night terrors after his twin’s death, Ronald regressed from a social atmosphere, preferring to stay home rather than play with friends. The night terrors were the precursor to his headaches. Then the latter foreshadowed the surfacing of Cecilia’s apparition. A bad dream ripped him from his sleep in a cold sweat that had dampened the pits of his white T-shirt. The panicked little boy had become accustomed to the nightmares but seeing her there in front of him once he’d regained focus upon rubbing his eyes free of sleep terrified him to his very core. He hollered at the top of his lungs, but alas, not the faintest squeak could be heard.

  The apparition crept up beside young Ronald, who sat frozen in terror—panicked breaths barely filling his lungs before being forced back out.

  Seeing the fear in his eyes, she spoke. “It’s me, dear brother. Why are you afraid?” Cecilia’s apparition paused at the foo
t of the bed.

  “Cecilia’s dead,” he faintly uttered as a tear fell from the liquid welled up in his eyes.

  Feet never touching the ground, the apparition inched closer. “Only to the others, dear brother.” Cecilia sat on the bed beside him. “I’ll never leave you.”

  Ronald nearly jumped out of his skin when the apparition laid its filthy hand atop his, but not wanting to offend his twin sister, he sat as still as a scarecrow, allowing her to embrace him. “I don’t understand what’s happening. I’m scared, Cecilia,” the little boy finally admitted.

  “In time, you’ll come to understand why it’s you, just as I had to learn why it was me chosen to die, dear brother.”

  * * *

  Ronald was barely a third-grader when his sister appeared to him for the first time, assuring him of the role he would play from then on. Currently, he was an adult in college and well into acting out his said role. Every day, he prayed silently that one day, his sister would transition into the light. It was a wish Ronald would never admit aloud. Deep down, he’d grown tired of not having a normal life, one where he could enjoy the company of another. His life had been so wrapped up in the demands of his sister that he barely got to live his own, a punishment he once thought to be fair. As time passed, though, with his psychiatrist’s help and the counseling received, Ronald began to see things from a different perspective. He truly wanted to live. However, wanting something is much different than taking the steps necessary to implement the change desired. Was Ronald ready for that? It was a question he’d asked himself quite frequently over the past few years. The answer, unfortunately, was often an emphatic no. Thinking about his dilemma weighed heavily on his shoulders. By the time he’d made it to his exit, not a solution had surfaced. Ronald feared Cecilia’s request for him to punish Arthur Columbus would be fulfilled sooner than later.