Letting Go (Chapter-7)

Jilliana

On the morning of her eighth birthday Jilliana stood against the wooden door frame, holding her breath. When her father announced that she was exactly 49 inches, she jumped into his arms and squealed, allowing him to spin her around so quickly that she could barely stand when he put her down. She was a big girl now, finally tall enough for American Thunder - the roller coaster at Six Flags that she’d been waiting not-so-patiently to ride. Once Jilliana had gathered back her balance, she raced down the hall to Serena’s bedroom.

“Serena!” she screamed, peeking her head around the door.

Serena was sitting on the edge of her bed pulling on a sock. “Hey, birthday girl!”

“I can ride American Thunder! I can ride American Thunder!” Jilliana was in the room now, dancing in circles on the carpet.

“Oh Jills! Yay!” Serena lept off of the bed and hugged her sister tightly. “Go get your shoes on so we can get there when they open!”

Jilliana nodded silently and ran to her bedroom across the hall. She pulled on her socks - one white, one blue - and slid her way down the hardwood floor to the kitchen.

“Mommy! Daddy! We have to go!”

Her parents looked up from their fresh cups of coffee and smiled, leaning against the counter where a plate of warm waffles was placed.

“Don’t you want your favorite breakfast, sweetie?” Her mom asked, putting down her coffee and reaching for a plate in the cupboard above the stove.

“Can’t we have waffles in the car? Just this once, please?!?”

“Honey, I think it would be best if you ate before we left. We can’t have sticky food in the car,” her father said, “then you can top your waffles with syrup...or whipped cream…”

Jilliana’s eyes grew wide, and her mouth opened in excitement. “Whipped cream? For breakfast?!”

Her mom chuckled as she brought four plates down. “If daddy says so.”

Jilliana turned and raced back through the living room to Serena’s room. “Sissy! Waffles and whipped cream for breakfast! Hurry!”

Serena jumped from her bed and they raced down the hallway, giggling and screaming as their parents set four places and filled two glass cups with orange juice. Jilliana felt a leap in her stomach when she arrived in the kitchen, seeing the breakfast placed on the table in her honor, and devoured waffles covered in cream until she couldn’t take another bite.

The 90-minute car ride was spent singing songs on the radio, skipping between stations to avoid commercials. The Six Flags parking lot was packed, as expected, but Jilliana couldn’t stop smiling, even when they had to take a tram to the entrance. Once they had finally purchased their tickets and walked through the gates, Jilliana ran hand in hand with her sister, she in her red romper and Serena in a bright yellow tank top, popping out of the crowd like two flowers amidst a background of blues, greens, and greys.

The first stop was, of course, American Thunder. Jilliana broke away from her sister and ran to the sign posted at the ride’s entrance.

“An hour and a half to wait?!?” Jilliana said with an exasperated sigh. Serena ran to catch up with her, gripped her sister’s hand, and pulled her tightly to her side.

“Mom and dad said never, ever, to let go,” Serena said, “Don’t do that again when they aren’t here.”

Jilliana nodded, looking down at the ground. “I just really really wanna go now,” she said solemnly.

“I know,” Serena replied, “but the wait will make it even better, I promise.”

Her parents joined them in line moments later. To make the wait more bearable, her dad bought popsicles and Serena began a game of “I Spy,” until they were so close to the rumbling tracks that it was nearly impossible to hear each other speak. When they finally reached the front of the line, Jilliana tightly clasped her hand around Serena’s. There was only one empty two-person coaster left. They turned to their parents standing behind them.

“You two go ahead,” their mother said quickly, “we’ll meet you at the bottom. Stay together.”

Jilliana smiled, squeezing Serena’s hand. As she sat in the coaster and buckled her seatbelt, she was certain that this day would be one of the best in her life. And for three minutes and twenty-six seconds, it was.

But as swiftly as American Thunder’s infamous 80-foot drop, everything changed.

The ride had ended. Jilliana walked quickly down the ramp to the sidewalk, holding Serena’s hand and watching large crowds of people rushing for the line. “Again! Again!” She said, breaking away from her sister and racing with the crowd. “Oh, Sissy!” Jilliana exclaimed as she ran, “Let’s go again, a hundred times!!” She turned, expecting a reply, but nothing came. She looked left, then right, then left again. She called her sister’s name, first softly then louder, until she was nearly screaming, searching for a yellow shirt, hoping Serena would jump up from behind her or emerge suddenly from the clusters of people. She ran back to the bottom of the ramp where they’d last held hands.

“Jilliana?” Though it was faint, she could hear her father’s voice from behind her.

She turned, and saw her parents walking hurriedly down the ramp.

“Jilliana, where’s Serena?” Her mother asked, her voice slightly more tense as they approached.

Jilliana stared forward, wanting to speak, but unable to.

“Jilliana! Answer your mother - where’s your sister?” Her father got closer now, bending down so he was at her eye level.

“I...I…” her voice quivered as she spoke, “I don’t know.”

Jilliana could feel a tingle in her right hand where she and Serena had been connected, only seconds before. And then everything went silent. She couldn’t hear the rumbling roller coaster, or her mother speak as she gripped her by the wrist and pulled her to the park’s main office. She couldn’t hear the crowds of people on the sidewalk, or her father screaming for the security officers. All she heard was Serena’s voice in her head, repeating the same words over and over again: “Mom and dad said never, ever, to let go… never, ever, to let go.”

Jilliana opened her eyes and stared out through the windshield at her childhood home. She had put off listening to the voicemails until she had driven all the way back to her apartment, and after playing Serena’s message about Agent Keene, Jilliana felt a strong urge to ignore it. She hated Agent Keene. Not Agent Keene herself, but the memories associated with her-the guilt she felt for her sister’s abduction and the traumatic aftermath of the case that stripped Jilliana of her childhood. But she knew her parents would make her life a living hell if she ignored them, so she got back into her car and drove.

The Mor House was small and blue, with a large tree out front surrounded by an impeccably mowed lawn. Serena’s car was already in the driveway, parked behind her dad’s red Honda. If it weren’t for the current circumstances, her mom would be waiting on the porch for her. She would be wearing one of her favorite floral dresses, probably the pink one if it still fit. She’d run up to the car and give Jilliana a long, tight hug, telling her how pretty she looked, and how happy she was to see her. But this wasn’t the case. She knew that they were waiting for her, sitting silently in the living room, wondering why she was taking so long.

Another Miller Family Meeting. She had sat through so many as a young girl - leaning against the couch, gazing at the maroon argyle carpet, listening to rules and regulations that made the house more of a prison than a home. The only thing more unbearable than the strictly enforced “Miller Laws” was the guilt that lay at the base of them. No one had directly blamed her for Serena’s abduction, but even at eight years old the guilt was there, spreading like a disease. It became more bearable over the years, but she could feel it lingering in every cell of her body, waiting for a chance to resurface.

Jilliana rolled down the window and pulled a cigarette from her purse. As she clicked her lighter, she felt her cell phone vibrate vigorously against her right leg. She glanced down. Her mom was calling. She tossed the phone to the passenger’s seat, lay her head back, and inhaled a heavy cloud of smoke. Give me a few minutes, she thought, just give me a few more fucking minutes of freedom.