"Um, yeah," I nodded. She turned and ran a hand through her platinum hair.
"Frances!" she shouted. "Frances is excited about meeting you, Briana."
"It's Bria-"
"Frances!" she called again. I sighed and switched my backpack from one shoulder to another. Slowly a girl with blond hair and clear blue eyes walked down the steps and looked at me.
"Are you Brianne?"
I smiled; she got my name right.
"Yes. And you're Frances."
"None other!" her mother exclaimed, lighting a cigarette. "Frances, darling, show Briana her room."
"It's Brianne, Mom," Frances corrected her quietly. Obviously, Frances didn't get her mouth from her mother. "Come on, Brianne. Your room is upstairs."
Courtney, Frances' mother, was leaving for Europe today, and decided Frances should stay home this time. She had been feeling slightly fluish and didn't need the strain of travelling, so Courtney hired me. I would take care of Frances until she returned, which would be anywhere from one to two weeks from now.
Frances led me upstairs and down the hall to a room at the back. It was plainly furnished; a bed, a dresser, a mirror on the closet door. There were no picture frames on the wall, and the curtains were light blue lace. From the glimpses I got into the other rooms, this one was the softest.
"Do you have anything else you need from the car?" Frances asked me. I nodded.
"I'll get it later."
"No, get it now," she argued softly. "People like to snatch things from vehicles around here. I don't know why though," she added with a sigh. "We're nothing important."
I started to ask why she thought that, but Courtney entered the room.
"My cab is coming, dear," she said to her daughter. "I so wish you could come with me again! I'll call everyday."
"Okay," Frances smiled, hugging her mom. "I'll wait by the phone."
"No no, don't go doing that. I want you to have fun, hun!"
"Okay," Frances smiled again.
"And, Briana, I guess you know how to cook food."
"Yeah," I smiled, laughing a little. I couldn't help but feel happy around this woman. She was extremely bubbly. "And if not, I know how to use the phone and order out."
"Perfect! Okay, my love, I must leave you now! Kiss!" Courtney and Frances shared a family moment, then Courtney came over and hugged me. "Take care of my beauty, Briana!"
"Will do. Have a good trip!"
"Will do," she nodded, then exited. I waited a moment for a standing ovation from her audience, then shook my head as I realized there wasn't an audience.
"Well, Frances..."
"Well, Brianne..."
"We begin."
Two Nights Later
Frances sat her water bottle on the table and craned her neck to see what I was drawing.
"What is that?"
"Oh um...a guy."
She looked at me, raising an eyebrow.
"He looks like he's in pain, Bri."
I laughed.
"It's possible," I nodded, smiling. She smiled back and sat down beside me.
"Daddy would like that," she nodded after a moment. I glanced at her.
"This isn't really any of my business, but I didn't know your mom was married to that Barber guy."
"Huh? Oh, no, not him," Frances shook her head, making a face. "They're just 'friends'."
I felt a smile slowly spread across my face as I realized whom she must be talking about.
"You think he would?" I asked, holding up the picture so she could better see it. She nodded.
"He likes stuff like that."
Likes, I thought to myself. He can't like. He liked.
"He does?" I continued, walking to the vast stereo system and playing a CD. It was one of Courtney's, I guessed. The Strokes. "You like this song?" "Yeah, but turn it to 'Hard to Explain'. That's a good one," Frances said, taking another drink. "What are we gonna eat?"
"Whatever you want."
"We had Chinese last night," she smiled as I turned up the volume. "What about pizza?"
"Okay, I'll call it in...what do you want?"
"Extra cheese and pepperoni!" she called back to me as she went to her room. I picked up the phone and dialed the number, scribbling at the side of my sketch as it rang.
I don't see it that way/I don't see it that way
"Pizza Hut?"
"Yes, I'd like to order..." I started my order, noticing the skipping of the CD playing. I reached for the remote to turn it off, when I realized the lyrics were more audible than the music.
I missed...her...
I said...I cannot stay...
I am too young...it's true...
I just can't remember
I'm not like her...
It repeated again and again and I swallowed, the music slowly dying away as just the words could be heard.
I'm not like her-
The CD skipped to another song, then back, and the lyrics repeated.
He...says I went too far...
I don't see it that way...
I cannot stay...
...went too far...
I just can't remember...
...it's hard to explain...
"...Miss?"
"Um...what?"
"I have a large double cheese and pepperoni. Is that all?"
"Yes." I automatically told the address and hung up the phone, staring wide eyed at the stereo.
I don't see it that way...I don't see it that way...I don't see it...somehow he was trying too hard to be like them...explain...I can't remember...it's hard to explain
Twenty Minutes Later
Frances shrugged as she sprinkled cheese on her pizza.
"Mom probably dropped the CD in soda or something," she suggested. I looked down at the lyrics, which I had written down as they repeated themselves over and over until I had to unplug the stereo.
"The words," I muttered.
"It's a weird CD," she added as she swallowed. She looked hard at me with glittering blue eyes. "What, you think it was trying to tell you something?"
I tried to say no, but the words weren't coming out.
"...sorta," I finally stammered. She giggled.
"Your pizza's gonna get cold," she scolded me. "Eat." I laughed at her tone and took a bite. "Why don't we listen to some of your CDs some time, Bri?" she said as I ate. "I wanna know what kinda music you like." I moved my CD case to her and she flipped through it, then spread it open on the floor. Staring up at me was a nude baby and a medical dummy with angel wings.
I almost choked.
"You like my dad's stuff?" she asked quietly. I nodded, unsure of what to say. I had no idea what Courtney had told her about any of it, so I kept to myself. We ate in silence for awhile as she continued to look through my CDs, and then she said, "Do you sing?"
"Some, yeah."
"Are you good?"
"Yeah."
"Do you like screaming?" she added as she pointed to my Kittie CD. "They're hard rock, aren't they?"
"Yeah. I can't scream, but I stand it."
"Dad screamed," she breathed a laugh. I eyed her. "It hurt his throat...and his stomach. He had a stomach problem. Did you know?"
"Yeah," I replied hoarsely.
"He says I'll probably have it too..." I put down the pizza slice and shoved my plate away. I suddenly felt nauseated. "Are you sick?"
"No," I shook my head, then reconsidered. "Slightly."
"We have stomach medicine in the cabinets. Want me to-"
"No, no," I smiled. "I'll get it." I walked into the kitchen and searched the cabinets, finding a bottle of chalky medicine. I drank the recommended dosage and went back into the living room.
"I'm finished," Frances sighed, standing up. "And I'm going to bed." "Okay. I'll be up when I get through cleaning."
I went into her bedroom a few minutes later, where she was already curled up in bed.
"Didja come to say good-night?" she asked with a smile as I sat down on her bed. I nodded, swallowing. She looked at me. "What's wrong."
"No-"
"I can tell something's wrong, Bri," she interrupted me. "Your eyes are sick. Are you upset?"
"Not really...just...what you were saying, downstairs-"
"It's true," she nodded. "Mom said my grandma had a stomach problem too. I'm not worried about it."
"I...no, that's not what I meant-"
"Dad had it too. Mom said he had a lot of problems."
I didn't want to tell Frances her mom was right about that, but I didn't know what else to say. Again.
"Can you sing something for me?" she asked suddenly.
"Like what?"
"Anything. Something nice, though. No screaming." She laughed at my expression.
"Okay. Um..." I ended up singing a few lines from an *NSync song and she clapped her approval.
"You've got a good voice. I like it."
"Thanks," I said as I stood up to leave. She turned over and closed her eyes, and I walked to the door.
"Dad liked it too," she added softly. I pretended not to hear her and walked into my room, sitting down on my bed before freaking out. The child was really scaring me with all this present-tense talk on her dad, who was DEAD. And I didn't want to be the one to say, 'Frances, your father killed himself eight years ago' because I wasn't sure what Courtney had told her. She might not even know he was dead. The way she spoke of him...
Dad had a stomach problem...he says I'll probably have it too. I ran into the bathroom and threw up. I stood up to run cold water over my hand, but my knees buckled and I fell to the ground, passing out.
I stood up, wiping my hair from my face. I stared through heavy eyelids at myself in the mirror, my black hair hanging loosely on my shoulders, and my eyes grayish and pained. I heard the drip of a faucet from somewhere, and then I looked harder in the mirror. The shower, behind me, was closed, and a shadowed figure was inside. I slowly turned and opened it, staring in horror at the man inside. His short, shaggy blond hair framed his bright blue eyes and he looked sadly up at me. He was surrounded by blood, splattered everywhere, and I swallowed to keep from throwing up again. He stood up and dropped something--a knife--as he stepped out of the shower, then reached past me to the hand towel and held it against his bleeding wrist. I let out a small gasp-
I breathed in deep, almost choking on the water that was being flicked in my face.
"Are you okay?" a faint voice asked from somewhere outside my foggy mind.
"Yeah...yeah..." I opened my eyes, focusing on the silhouette in front of me. The big blue eyes scared me and I jumped back. Frances stared at me.
"You are sick, aren't you," she asked as she ran water over a washcloth and handed it to me. "Maybe you shouldn't eat anymore pizza." I managed a small laugh and held the cloth to my head.
The Next Day
Frances asked to go to Liana's, her friend. Her mother had left a list of places she could and couldn't go to by herself, and she could go here, so I let her, deciding to do a bit of exploring while she was gone. I didn't want to get too personal, so I first explored the kitchen and my room, then Frances' and the bathroom. While closing the medicine cabinet, my eyes caught the mirror. Directly behind me was the shower. I whirled around and stared at the closed door, its mottled glass distorting the inside. I pulled it open and looked around, half-expecting someone to jump at me.
No one did.
I went back into the guestroom and sat down, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. I needed to stop being so paranoid. I sat back, pressing my back against the wall, and sighed.
I yawned and looked around.
"So you decided to wake up, did you," a voice spoke from beside me. "When did you get back," I asked Frances.
"I've always been here, Brianne," the voice answered, and I realized it wasn't Frances. My eyes widened and I looked in the direction of the voice, seeing a male sitting beside me. His hair was blond and fell disheveled in his eyes, which were bluer than anything I'd ever seen. I gasped. "I was waiting for you."
"No...no, I'm dreaming-"
"Yes, and no," he answered, standing up. "You know me, I know you, so there is no reason to get into that. You want to know why I'm here, right?" I nodded dumbly. "Follow me." He walked to my doorway, glancing over his shoulder to make sure I was behind him, then walked on. He was small--frail being a better word; at least three inches shorter than me and much thinner. But his eyes held a strength nothing could take down, and I was afraid of them.
"Where are we going?" I finally asked. He didn't answer right away, instead opening a door and leading me inside.
"This room, Brianne," he began, "holds the answers to many questions. Or maybe just one. I will answer them for you another time. Right now, my daughter is coming home, and you need to wake up." He kissed my forehead, then everything was dark.
"Why are you in here?" Frances' voice broke through my haze. I looked up at her, then around. I was sitting in the middle of a rather drab room. "I...I-"
"How'd you find the key?"
"Key?"
"This room is locked." Then she came closer to me and knelt down. "Did Daddy let you in?" I swallowed and looked at her. She nodded. "Okay. Just...I don't like this room. Let's go to the kitchen."
Next Night
"So, I'm not asleep now," I said to my closet mirror. Kurt shook his head from his position on my bed. I turned and looked at him. It was two a.m., and Frances had been asleep for several hours. I'd never closed my eyes.
"You're awake," he nodded.
"And you're...you're not real?"
"I�m real. I'm dead."
"I know..." I stopped and closed my eyes, opening them to see if he was still in the room. He was. "This isn't happening."
"Yeah it is," he argued. "There's a reason for it. I have unfinished business," he began, motioning for me to sit beside him. I did. "Frances has a hard time with the media. Courtney is fighting with Krist and Dave, and people are constantly saying what a bad mother she is. And that she killed me." He stopped then and looked at me, his eyes sincere. "I've been watching Frances from day one, Brianne...before and after my death. She has always needed someone to guide her. As much as Courtney was trying, it wasn't working, so I came back...to the room we entered this afternoon. Frances...Frances knows about me. I talk with her when Courtney isn't around. She's upset because people are saying horrible things about her mother and me and our lives, and it's not good for her. I don't want her to grow up being confused... unsure if her mother or her father killed me."
"Did she? Did Courtney...?"
His eyes flashed and he looked down, then back to me.
"What Frances needs to know is that her mother will never hurt her, and that no one will ever hurt her. She needs to know that Courtney loves her...truly loves her, and that what happened is...is not something she needs to dwell on."
"Why don't you tell her-"
"Telling her won't stop the friggin' media," he snapped at me. I swallowed and nodded. "She can't be surrounded with all that. It's not good for her. I've said that before..."
"You messed up the CD, didn't you."
"Yeah."
"So...you're telling me to convince the media, or at least as many people as possible, that you weren't murdered, and that Frances is the larger issue here?"
"Exactly. She is the only thing I'm worried about." He turned fully to me. "She'll understand when the time is right, but right now she's too young to understand."
I nodded.
"Okay."
"When Courtney comes back...don't say anything about this."
"Okay," I nodded again, then looked at him. "You don't know how many times I wished I could have met you," I blurted out, and he smiled as I blushed.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"What would you have told me...if you had been able to meet me?"
"What a brilliant artist you were...such a creative mind...how many people you influenced...how you connected with so many people."
"With you?"
"With me," I nodded. He hugged me to him, his breath gliding past my face in a cool rush.
"Keep in touch with Frances, please. She likes you, she told me."
"Okay," I said for the third time. He kissed my face, then was gone, and I sat alone in the bare guestroom.
Courtney's Return
"Did you girls have fun?" Courtney asked as she signed my check. I felt awkward for taking it...I didn't feel like my job needed payment, but I didn't have the will or the understanding to explain to her, so I kept silent as always.
"Yep!" Frances smiled, giving me my backpack. "I'm gonna miss you, Brianne."
"I'm gonna miss you, Frances! Here," I added, handing her a slip of paper with my contact information, "you call me or something some time. I'll need updates on how you're doing."
She took the paper, then engulfed me in a hug. Courtney's cell rang and she walked into the other room to answer it, and I knelt down in front of Frances.
"Your father...he wants you to know he loves you, and your mother loves you, okay?"
Her eyes brightened.
"He talked to you?"
"Yes," I nodded as I took another sheet of paper from my backpack. "Here. I want you to keep this." It was one of my sketches. Frances smiled, then pulled me back to her room and took a folder from under her bed. She handed me a drawing, and one look told me she wasn't the artist.
"Keep in touch with us, please," she said, her voice reminiscent of her father's. Then she leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "He likes you, he told me." I smiled and felt my eyes begin to burn, but quickly hugged Frances and said a good-bye to Courtney before leaving the house. I pulled down the driveway and started to leave out when I checked my rear-view mirror. A pair of clear blue eyes stared back at me. I turned around, but nothing was there, and looked up in time to see a hand wave to me from the second story window.
The window with the locked door.
