Seeing Red Read online

  With conscious effort, I calm my breathing.

  Time ticks slowly. I put my foot on the gas. The stranger is still following me. I feel danger as the car moves closer, weaving in and out of traffic.

  I turn on the radio, distracted and anxious to be going home to my sweet baby, Sky.

  I don’t see the light turn red. I slam on my brakes, but I am traveling too fast to stop.

  My view is instantly consumed by the airbag. My eyes well up with tears. I don’t expect the radio to keep playing, but it does, which makes the car crash feel more surreal.

  “A Sky Full of Stars” by Coldplay is my soundtrack for destruction, mixed with a symphony of grinding metal and shattered glass.

  I realize that somewhere in the dark places of my mind, I am still a freshman at Harvard, freezing, alone, and beaten in a dark alley.

  I didn’t fight back that day, and looking back now, I’ve been frozen and numb ever since.

  After the crash, I can feel my body split into two people. The other Seraphina is some sort of an apparition perched on the trunk of the car, watching.

  The hood is crushed like an accordion. Both of us are soon surrounded by an emergency crew.

  I am locked in a heated stare with my dark shadow self; her smile starts to fade as she turns into a haze of fog and smoke.

  I am either hallucinating or in the presence of an otherworldly evil, a harbinger of doom.

  The stranger is gone. My eyes track the space around me. I remain frozen in pain and fear.

  I have no words for what my life has become. Time feels heavily compressed and moving at the velocity of a falling body.

  After the crash, there is the emergency crew and then the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Something about death—when you have cheated it as many times as I have, you start to make peace with the grayness of it.

  I’ve already painted the picture in my mind of how it will look. I want my ashes blasted to the edge of space, so my soul is free to travel, soaring above wildflowers, mountaintops, and violet-tinted sunsets. I’m finally safe and awash in color and light.

  This life has hurt me more than death ever could.

  A call to Harper prompts his usual mix of concern and hostility. In all fairness, he has gotten the short end of the stick when signing up to be my emergency contact.

  The attack has left me in a permanent state of emergency, often swinging between paranoia and fear. I can always imagine all of the things that can go wrong in the world, because in my world, just about everything has.

  There is still a part of me that feels alive—the one that cheated death when it came to collect me, attempting to sever the last ties between body and soul.

  I feel lost in the world. I can’t find the part of me that stayed strong, the part that feels indestructible, even bulletproof; the part of me with the instinct to scream and fight back, to live and feel safe again.

  I met Harper at Harvard. He was graduating at the top of his class. I had recovered as best I could from the attack, and all of the publicity surrounding the murder forced me to spend most of my time in the library.

  I was hiding, still flailing and floundering in the chaos of recovery and self-doubt. I watched in awe while Harper soared, with no fear or limitation to what he could achieve. He drifted through life light as a feather, never burdened by the weight of things. When I was around him, something as easy as breathing became hard to do. Each time I saw him, he still took my breath away, crawling into that narrow space in my heart, cracking it wide open until he touched every part of me.

  Harper’s love, the pleasure and pain of it, felt like a reason to live.

  Yes, this is what it was supposed to feel like, to know another’s body, the way he knew mine.

  Deep down, I wondered why he would pick a girl like me, with my damage on display. Something about me, dark hair and blue eyes, gave me an edge among all the Boston blondes.

  I knew that night had changed me, and now all of my secrets had grown dark and rusted.

  Maybe my darkness is what attracted Harper. The Boston bars were full of good girls named Laura, who had grown up inside white picket fences, feeling safe and protected. Those same girls were more than happy to roll over, open wide, and let him have his way.

  Harper had never met anyone like me. I was touched by violence. It still flowed through me, threatening to crush the last bit of goodness in my soul, and something about that made our sex electric.

  I was still disconnected and healing. My father always taught me to be strong and soldier on. I just put the memories in a little box, like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. With Harper, I was free from the pain. I felt alive and completely in love, the kind of love that makes your knees shake. A love that is strong like metal, not weak like my flesh and bone.

  We had our second date, already bloated on love and lust. Harper piloted a plane to Martha’s Vineyard. The ride with him was always thrilling.

  That day, he decided he would make me his match. We drank wine on the silk rug, listening to Louis Armstrong and Coltrane on vintage vinyl. I had never met anyone like Harper. He was alpha, razor smart, and thrill-seekingly insane.

  With him, I feel naked. Everything is uncovered and exposed for him to see. I was able to move forward and forget the past. I was the funnier, more beautiful and lighter version of me. The one I was born to be. We sheltered ourselves from those around us who settled, the ones who couldn’t wait to find their true soul mate. We built a wall around our love, brick by brick, until we had a fortress.

  With Harper, I felt safe and protected for the first time. For him, I was the match that set fire to his all- star image, threatening to burn it all up.

  Two

  HARPER SWIFT

  The approach of the ferry is made more evident by the chaos of the crew and the cutting of the engine.

  Harper asks the bartender, “Do you have a light?”

  “You can’t smoke in here. Sorry.”

  “Okay. Can I still borrow the light?”

  Yes, there is something wrong with me. I can’t stand being with other people.

  Harper’s charcoal eyes dart back and forth. He clearly doesn’t want another altercation with the steward.

  He makes his way toward the deck, and he stops and lights a cigarette. He remembers he quit last month, or at least that’s what he told her. He cups his hands around the cigarette and takes a deep drag, again and again, until he feels a warm sense of peace wash over him.

  He lets the smoke swirl and fill up his lungs. He blows a cloud out into the open air, and webs of smoke spread out in a haze over the wooden planks.

  Harper stares out at the trees, the bridge hidden from his view, the water a sapphire blanket that remains still.

  With Seraphina, nothing is ever easy. Something about her radiates toxicity and unhappiness. She needs help but refuses to talk to anyone. She keeps fighting him. He worries about leaving her alone with Sky. She is just a baby. He will insist that she see a doctor and insist on a diagnosis and medication, or he will have to leave, for the sake of his child. Seraphina’s night terrors are escalating, along with her delusions and paranoia.

  His gaze drifts to the rippling water. He feels cold and detached.

  He will choose happiness, even if it means moving on. Would she be waiting for him on the dock again tonight? He can see her clearly in his mind, that same floral dress and pallid glow, waiting to have the last word.

  Lately, she defies him at every turn. More than anything, he loves his job and he is good at it. He believes in justice above all else.

  Now, when he is finally at the apex of his career, it is just like Seraphina to threaten to send it all up in flames with her paranoia, anger, and irrational fears.

  He runs his fingers through his shock of wavy black hair, the chiseled lines of his jaw adding a piercing int
ensity. Seraphina’s unhappiness is a catalyst for him and an impetus for him to start over.

  He stamps out his cigarette and brushes an ash from his starched blue collar. Harper catches a glimpse of himself in the window. He watches the water below swell and billow, mesmerized by its rhythms. Secretly, he doesn’t care about her problems. He just wants to be free from her negativity.

  His phone starts to ring in his back pocket. It’s Seraphina. He lets it go straight to voicemail and then plays it back. He wants to avoid another confrontation.

  On the voicemail, she is babbling incoherently. “Harp, I’m not crazy, even if I’m slowly driving you crazy. I can prove that I’m in danger and that someone is stalking me and our family.”

  At first, Harper thinks it’s another one of her games, her manipulations, and he will return home to find her sauced and passed out on the kitchen floor while Sky sleeps peacefully in her bedroom.

  He is about to hang up when he hears Seraphina say, “I’m in the hospital, Harp. I need stitches. You have to come now. You have to listen to me. We’re all in danger, real danger. Help me before it’s too late.”

  He feels like this is just drama for the sake of drama. He has given Seraphina so many chances. He still loves her deeply, but something inside him is breaking. He has Sky to think of. He has been responsible for holding their family together this past year.

  Yet something in her voice tonight gives him pause. He can hear the fear, and it’s palpable. He wonders if someone is stalking his family. The mystery of Seraphina’s attack in Boston still haunts her. It didn’t seem possible that she could have committed murder, even if it was in self- defense. It doesn’t add up. She remembers only fragments and pieces from that night. Harper will never forgive himself if someone is hunting Seraphina and his family is in danger. For the sake of Sky and his sanity, he needs to abort his decision to finally move forward with a divorce.

  He is, once again, plunged into a deep depression, and feelings of being trapped in his marriage and the depths of Seraphina’s insanity. He is stuck in a middle-aged state of stasis.

  His thoughts drift back to that night in the city when their marriage was bright and shiny new.

  He had just gotten a promotion, and they had moved into the loft in Tribeca. It was August, summer’s end, and their bodies were knotted in the morning sun.

  The jade-green light in her eyes ablaze, her beauty possessed a potent alchemy.

  He can still feel her fingers down his back, setting fire to his skin. He had her every way imaginable, the stone rough, cutting through her skin. They both believed marriage meant forever. For Seraphina, forever wasn’t enough. At least she had said so in her vows.

  That night, she let him consume her—breasts, legs, hips, hands, and thighs, enveloped in their heat.

  But when the summer ended, she started getting colder, retreating into the same dark places. All of her promises were forgotten. Harper wasn’t someone who accepted loss. He had lost her a little at a time until she had come undone.

  Like a flame, he watched the darkness at the center consume the brightest part of Seraphina.

  Now, most nights, if he comes home at all, it is to Seraphina staring out the window at the deep-blue water, at the boats that rise and fall along the Navesink River. He realizes that to most people, they have the fairy tale.

  He isn’t sure what is happening inside Seraphina that is tearing it all apart.

  The drizzle thickens to drops, and the sun is starting to fade by the time Harper arrives at the hospital. He walks down the corridor.

  He doesn’t bother stopping at reception, and the receptionist doesn’t bother stopping him.

  A doctor pulls open the door and stumbles over the words, “You can follow me. Your wife is going to be just fine.”

  Harper responds with a nod and a handshake. “Can you give us a minute alone?”

  Outside the hospital window, the sun is sinking behind the trees.

  “Are you all right?” Harper asks as he closes the door.

  “Someone was following me. I saw him. I was trying to get away. I didn’t even see the light turn red.”

  “I spoke to the police and nobody was there. It’s just your imagination, again. You need help.”

  “You still don’t believe me. So what, are you saying I’m crazy?”

  “What did you take, Seraphina?” he asks angrily.

  “Isn’t that how you like your women? Diagnosed and heavily medicated? It wasn’t my fault.”

  “It never is. They found a gun in your glove compartment. Can you explain that to me?”

  “What? I have a permit.”

  “That is not the point or the question, and you know it. Don’t play games with me, Seraphina. I’m not in the mood. You are sick. You need help.”

  “I’m not crazy. Someone is stalking me. They are hunting our family. They are out there every night, watching and waiting. Why can’t you believe me? You’re constantly questioning my sanity instead of helping me. Our family is in danger.”

  “I’m working. How many fucking times do I have to tell you that before you believe me? You’re paranoid. The night terrors are getting worse.”

  “Maybe you’re making me crazy. Where the fuck are you every night? You’re not at home. Maybe you’re just done with me and ready for a new, hotter, younger model. I’m starting to think that maybe you’re the one that wants me dead.”

  “You’re acting crazy again,” Harper says.

  “Why won’t you listen to me? I saw that boat again last night. It was less than five hundred yards away from our dock. I thought I got a picture, but it’s gone. Someone must have hacked into my e-mail account and wiped out everything on my phone. I saw someone watching me from the boat. I can feel his eyes on me at night.”

  “After how many drinks? I’m surprised you’re not seeing unicorns. I’ll hire more security for the house. I’ll put in a better alarm system. Whatever you need to feel safe. You are a mother. Start acting like one.”

  “I’m not crazy.”

  He won’t look at me.

  “You are so anxious and manic. I have no idea what kind of pills you’re taking or what you even do all day. You’ve stopped working. You’re not healthy and you have to talk to someone.”

  “I’m a mother. I’m with our child every day. You may not take it seriously but I do. Someone is stalking our family, and all you can think of is how it affects you. You are so selfish. I can’t believe I never noticed that before. Why don’t you try coming home and acting like a husband and a father? Until then, the only person I need to talk to is the bartender at Murphy’s.”

  “This isn’t a joke,” he says angrily, his veins bulging.

  He hands me a card. It reads, Dr. Gordon Ellis, Psychoanalyst. “Either you make the appointment or I can’t do this anymore.” Harper says.

  “Well, I can’t do this either. I can’t have this conversation again. Our family just isn’t a priority anymore to you. Is it, Harper?”

  “I’m sorry, but you keep fighting me. I’m not going to do this with you. Not today. Not here. A girl was murdered, a college freshman and she was somebody’s daughter, like Sky. That’s a real problem. I have people counting on me for answers.”

  His words are like the sharp end of a knife. They keep twisting.

  “What about our family? Don’t you think we’re counting on you? You’re home late every night, that is if you come home at all. We need you. I need you.”

  “That’s not fair. I’ve given you everything. Everything, and you’re still not happy. Most of the time, you’re not even thinking clearly. Everything you’re running from—it’s all in your mind. Can’t you see it’s just your imagination? When are you going to realize that? I’ll drop you at home, but I have to get back to work.”

  “Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll just disappear and you
can get on with your life as if we never happened.”

  He’s horrible. I hated him for my own vulnerability. My words play back in my mind. I sound like an unlikable, spoiled child who is well on her way to becoming an unlovable adult.

  A young emergency room doctor with a nervous bedside manner is waiting to examine me.

  He tries to focus on the fresh wound but keeps getting distracted by my old scar. I surprised him with a car accident. The doctor is craning his neck, rubbernecking, so he has to acknowledge it.

  “That’s a pretty nasty scar. What happened?”

  “It’s nothing. An old wound,” I say while staring intently at Harper.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Swift?”

  “I don’t think so. I want to talk to the police. I need to know who was in the car that was following me. Did they get the license plate? Are they going to investigate?”

  “Mrs. Swift, you’ve just been in a car accident, and that is traumatic. We can give you something to relax.”

  “Someone followed me home. I’m sure of it. It’s not all in my head. It can’t be.”

  “You’re going to need some stitches, but other than a few bumps and bruises, you’re going to be just fine. You really are lucky.”

  Lucky isn’t a word I would ever use to describe myself.

  “I called my plastic surgeon. We’ll wait. Thanks, Doc,” Harper says.

  “God forbid I fuck up a photo op, right, honey? You can sew me up. I don’t feel like waiting.”

  The distance between Harper and me is expanding faster than the speed of light.

  “Or maybe I’ll just do it myself at home with a needle and thread.”

  It grows wider than the space between two galaxies. “Thanks, we’ll wait for the plastic surgeon. Forgive my wife; she’s not herself today.”

  “This is who I am now, Harper. And it’s who we are together that’s made me this way,” I say with a bitterness that even shocks me.

  I see the nurses passing and I feel confused. I can’t clear my mind. Even the air is oppressive, and I’m feeling jaded and bitter. I’m twisting, lost in the darkness.