I Think The Rain Is Calling Murder (Sequel of We Will Run Away), chapter 12
I never thought that I would see Rebel again. Then again dead people never come back to life. Looking at my wife again I've fallen in love completely. Her thin black hair still smells of cinnamon and hazel, intoxicating. When she first knelt down to me in this room she was like an angel, her hair flattering the features on her face. Her emerald green eyes were so dark and beautiful, the beauty exemplified by thick black eyeliner. She was my punk angel on Earth but now she's my angel in general. Her slim and slender body still attracts me. Even though she's thin she has curves to die for. Her voice could still entrance me, the accent brewed from New York was like music to my ears. When she was alive I loved Rebel with everything I owned.
When she passed away I loved her all the more. I know how that sounds but you should know what I mean. Am I really seeing this woman in front of me or am I delusional? I know this is real, I've touched her, kissed her, held her, this has to be happening it just has to be.
Holding Rebel in my arms again is really like heaven on Earth. Is there such a thing as heaven? I don't know, well if there was then Rebel would be up there, wouldn't she? If I was the ruler of heaven then I would let her in strange away. Call me biased but I love Rebel, you should know that by now. You know I think Jimmy was right in what he said, about the soul mate thing. Rebel and I were meant to be together, even if it was for a short time. In the year and a half that we were married I learnt how to compromise again, how to say "I love you," without any word being spoken. She never liked big romantic gestures but I still did them every now and then.
The look of surprise could still get me smiling. There was one time six months into the marriage when she was feeling a little low because she thought I wanted more children. Well she went out for a while and while she was gone I scattered rose petals around the living room, lit a few candles, you know, made everything romantic. When she came home she came into the living room and saw me laying on the sofa waiting for her. I told her exactly how I felt about her and explained that we didn't need children to prove how much we loved each other. I hated seeing Rebel so down, for some reason, she felt the same considering me.
"What are you thinking sweet Billie?" Rebel asked with a certain softness in her voice.
"Just thinking about out marriage," I replied, tenderly stroking Rebel's soft black hair.
"Billie, I'm sorry I left you...I regret it so much, I cried non stop the first time I saw you from up there," Rebel said looking up to the ceiling.
"Hey. Baby it's not your fault this happened. Would be more my fault than yours." I stated.
"Billie look, if this was your fault then I wouldn't be here with you now."
"That's something else I wanted to ask you," I said then looked at the young woman in my arms, "Why are you here with me? I mean, after all the things I've done... "
"That wasn't you and you know that," Rebel interrupted, "That was Jimmy, he was lashing out because of Whatsername. I found out about Jimmy and all that ages ago. Remember when we were in that Canadian hospital after the plane crash?" Rebel stopped waiting for a reply, "Well Mike told me about it when he brought me back to California. Billie you're not psychotic or even schizophrenic."
My sweet, loving wife went on to tell me that I was to be diagnosed with some dissociative disorder. Turns out that it's like split personality disorder, or well, multiple personality disorder. Well I only have Jimmy inside me, Rebel reassured me of that. Every time Rebel would go to answer a question she would wring her hands barely making a sound almost ordering the sentence into her mind. She used to be a slave to her impulses but when she left for six months after out first wedding she changed. I think living in a bustling city, such as New York, by herself forced her to be more logical in her thinking. Then again she seemed a little withdrawn toward the end. Like she knew something was going to happen to her. If she had known about dying, why hadn't she said anything?
"Rebs?" I asked, "Did you know that you were going to...die?" I asked.
Once again Rebel's hands came together. Her palms rubbed together barely making any noise whatsoever. I could hear her softly muttering something to herself. The words weren't clear enough for me to pick up and understand. Some of my fellow inmates complained that I used to do the same before talking. For a time they thought I was actually suffering from senile dementia. At my age? Yeah right.
When she passed away I loved her all the more. I know how that sounds but you should know what I mean. Am I really seeing this woman in front of me or am I delusional? I know this is real, I've touched her, kissed her, held her, this has to be happening it just has to be.
Holding Rebel in my arms again is really like heaven on Earth. Is there such a thing as heaven? I don't know, well if there was then Rebel would be up there, wouldn't she? If I was the ruler of heaven then I would let her in strange away. Call me biased but I love Rebel, you should know that by now. You know I think Jimmy was right in what he said, about the soul mate thing. Rebel and I were meant to be together, even if it was for a short time. In the year and a half that we were married I learnt how to compromise again, how to say "I love you," without any word being spoken. She never liked big romantic gestures but I still did them every now and then.
The look of surprise could still get me smiling. There was one time six months into the marriage when she was feeling a little low because she thought I wanted more children. Well she went out for a while and while she was gone I scattered rose petals around the living room, lit a few candles, you know, made everything romantic. When she came home she came into the living room and saw me laying on the sofa waiting for her. I told her exactly how I felt about her and explained that we didn't need children to prove how much we loved each other. I hated seeing Rebel so down, for some reason, she felt the same considering me.
"What are you thinking sweet Billie?" Rebel asked with a certain softness in her voice.
"Just thinking about out marriage," I replied, tenderly stroking Rebel's soft black hair.
"Billie, I'm sorry I left you...I regret it so much, I cried non stop the first time I saw you from up there," Rebel said looking up to the ceiling.
"Hey. Baby it's not your fault this happened. Would be more my fault than yours." I stated.
"Billie look, if this was your fault then I wouldn't be here with you now."
"That's something else I wanted to ask you," I said then looked at the young woman in my arms, "Why are you here with me? I mean, after all the things I've done... "
"That wasn't you and you know that," Rebel interrupted, "That was Jimmy, he was lashing out because of Whatsername. I found out about Jimmy and all that ages ago. Remember when we were in that Canadian hospital after the plane crash?" Rebel stopped waiting for a reply, "Well Mike told me about it when he brought me back to California. Billie you're not psychotic or even schizophrenic."
My sweet, loving wife went on to tell me that I was to be diagnosed with some dissociative disorder. Turns out that it's like split personality disorder, or well, multiple personality disorder. Well I only have Jimmy inside me, Rebel reassured me of that. Every time Rebel would go to answer a question she would wring her hands barely making a sound almost ordering the sentence into her mind. She used to be a slave to her impulses but when she left for six months after out first wedding she changed. I think living in a bustling city, such as New York, by herself forced her to be more logical in her thinking. Then again she seemed a little withdrawn toward the end. Like she knew something was going to happen to her. If she had known about dying, why hadn't she said anything?
"Rebs?" I asked, "Did you know that you were going to...die?" I asked.
Once again Rebel's hands came together. Her palms rubbed together barely making any noise whatsoever. I could hear her softly muttering something to herself. The words weren't clear enough for me to pick up and understand. Some of my fellow inmates complained that I used to do the same before talking. For a time they thought I was actually suffering from senile dementia. At my age? Yeah right.
