Chapter 23: My Memories Are Nightmares

My head is pounding when I wake up. I don't remember the last time Sam or Dean had a hangover from a night of drinking so I need to toughen up. Sam is amused by my groggy nausea and it makes me feel a little better since it's the first time I've seen a genuine smile on him for a long time. I expected Dean to get in on Sam's teasing but all he gives are a few distracted smiles and one half-hearted joke about scraping me off the table last night. He's all business today but at least he's working on my mom's case. They get dressed in their suits and badges and head out. When their gone, I toss the rest of the eggs Sam made for me into the garbage and slip on some sneakers. I'm going to do some investigating on my own today.

The sun is beaming straight through my eyes and piercing my brain like a blade but I ignore it. I steal a bike leaning on the side of a house and peddle back to my childhood. Mom's house.

The minivan is gone when I get there. A black Porsche is in the driveway in its place. I drop the bike on the sidewalk and walk across the freshly manicured lawn where my mother probably read to me in the springtime on a blanket with lemonade and firecracker Popsicle sticks like I've seen in the commercials. A man opens the door as I step reach the first step. He's wearing a suit and shiny black shoes like my brothers but his hair is too greasy and nice to be anything intimidating.

"Can I help you?" He asks. He has a briefcase in one hand and car keys in the other.

"Hi, does Charlie live here?"

"No, sorry. You've got the wrong house. I don't know any Charlies that live on the whole street as a matter of fact"

"Oh. Sorry to bother you" I smile and backtrack quickly to the bike and peddle off.

I wait at the end of the street for him to drive away and when he does I hightail it back. They left a spare key under the welcome mat by the backdoor. Don't they realize how dangerous that is? I open the door and put the key back where I found it before I step inside.

I've heard people say that you never forget your first home, before. In a weird way, it's true. I stepped through the backdoor and into the kitchen like I was taking my first steps into a dream. No, more like a nightmare. Those weird eerie nightmares when you recognize everything around you even though you've never seen it before and your brain is all fuzzy like you're really drunk, and you can't run because you're suddenly too slow and tired to go as fast as you need. Those nightmares when you feel like everything is wrong long before it all takes a turn for the worst.

I don't remember this kitchen but I do. Everything is different but I can't say how, maybe because everything is so new and expensive. I don't remember much of my home when I was a baby but I remember that we didn't have fancy things like marble countertops and chrome appliances. Even the smell is wrong. I feel sick so I move as fast as my slow legs can take me, out of the kitchen, past a dining room that I've never seen, and into a hall with a staircase.

Like a flash I remember walking down these steps hand in hand. Thump, thump, thump, down each step because I'm so small and the steps are so high. I am a small child and I have to hurry because Mama will be late.

I can see her now. I can see her thick black hair is pulled back into a ponytail; she's wearing red lipstick and a black shirt. I can see her eyes and they're blue like mine. She reaches for my hand and her nails are painted red like her lips.

"Come on" She says

I blink hard and rub my eyes. The image of her is gone. I walk up the stairs. They're much smaller now and I don't have to hop around now that I've grown up. I could run down the stairs if I needed to. I wouldn't make her late now.

There's an open door to the left when I reach the top of the staircase. It's very large; it must be the master bedroom.

Mama hurries out of her room. Her black high-heeled boots click loudly on the floor.

I take a step inside the bedroom. The clean beige carpet is soft and thick. I kneel down and knock on the floor but it doesn't make a sound. I look further in but I don't take another step into the room. The bed is made up with a comforter and cushions like in the magazines. A shiver runs through me from the base of my spine. I turn and leave the doorway.

There are four other rooms on the other side of the hallway. I don't remember this hallway being this large and everything is foreign to me but I know instantly which room is mine. I walk to a white wooden door with a sign on it that says "Freddy's room" written in purple crayon with one backwards "d". There's a picture of a stick figure man on it with uneven spiked hair protruding from its head. I push the door open.

My mom is on the floor bleeding from her stomach. She's wearing a nightgown and it's torn at the bottom. She stares at me with dead eyes as I watch her from the doorway.

There's a stream of blood stained on the side of her mouth. She opens it and says

"Run"

I look over at the closet and see two eyes peering back at me.

Mom says, "Run"

I run. I run so fast that I lose my footing and trip down the polished steps and land with a crash on the floor. There's a shooting pain in my shoulder and then it's numb. I can't feel my right arm. I push myself up with my left hand and run out of the house. I run all the way back to the motel but I left the room key inside. I fall to my knees outside of the door and cry.