Chapter 10-3 Book 2

Chapter 10-3

Forget Me Not

Part 2

Shawn was busy washing Dad's car as Mom, and I left to go see the Doctor. His face was red and not from the sun. He scowled at me, and I ignored him, I had other things to worry about. I didn't trust shrinks even though they were supposed to keep what I said behind closed doors, and this wasn't any different. Mom and Dad made it clear that all I was to talk about were the dreams that happened over, and over and everything that I wrote in my dream log. Nothing more or there would be severe consequences. I knew those consequences. I didn't relish spending them with Shawn, knowing very well that when Mom and Dad punished you there were no boundaries or lengths that were off limits.

When it comes to punishment, they are cruel, crueler than my own parents, I also know that if I do what I am told, even though I don't agree with it. I would be treated as if I were one of their own children. Where I would feel love and kindness and safe, safer if I was living at home, where love and kindness don't exist.

I hated my parents, I hated the fact that my brother was living in that home and there was not one thing I could do about it. I wanted to kill them, I wanted to feel their blood running through my fingers. I wanted to see the life strangled for them as I choke them. Feeling their last breath, seeing their eyes as they die slowly and painfully, for everything they had done to me and my brother Aaron.

I wanted revenge, I wanted them to suffer as I have suffered. Night after night, I wanted them to scream in terror as they see my phantom for the rest of their life. I wanted justice. I wanted to be free from them forever. Death is my only solution, they had to die, or I would never be free. Mom smiled at me as she hugged me close to her and I was fine with that. But it also tore me into pieces knowing the dark secrets that hid behind her eyes. The monster that would unleash and easily angered, but I also knew the kindness and how gentle she could be, kindness that my parents had never shown me.

It wasn't a long drive, just somewhere I had never been before, I prayed that my parents would never find me. I prayed that my brother was safe even though he wasn't loved. I prayed that my grandmother would keep her promise and keep him safe and out of the system. I couldn't bear the thought of him being passed around from one home to another. Only to be brought back to endure their cruelty. I swore a promise to God that if they ever harmed him, they would see hell before I would. Like a thief in the night, I would take their last breath and never look back.

I walked barefoot and shirtless feeling the soft grass and dirt beneath my feet, while Mom held my hand I smiled as I felt the warm sun on my back. The blue sky above me was intoxicating and made me feel free as I closed my eyes, listening to the soft wind in the trees. I missed being outside. It made the dreams and the dark shadows that filled my mind retreat from the light. I felt free just for a brief moment. I felt free and happy. It made me miss the Downing's and Aunty M as I ran free on the farm.

When the doors opened, I felt like a prisoner in my own mind feeling the darkness on the edge of my reality, its icy fingers creeping up my spine daring me to dream, daring me to live the nightmares of my past. Yet I knew if I held onto them, I never let them see the light of day, I would never be free from their grip.

Mom squeezed my hand letting me know she wouldn't leave my side as we walked into the unknown together. I reflected on the words. I love you, Mom, I love you, Dad. I trust you to keep me safe. I prayed that they would keep their promise. Something told me that was never going to happen, one day they would break that trust and it scared me.

All I had to do is look in Arthur's eyes seeing the scars that hid behind them. When I did, I saw my own fate and it scared me. In fact, it terrified me knowing I could never talk about it. Not even to my closest friends, afraid they would betray my trust. I stood there in the calm a feeling the warm carpet, seeing the rich mahogany doors where my nightmares would come unleashed upon the world. I held my dream book close to me as if I could lock it away forever. Yet sooner or later I was going to face those nightmares and free the chains that hold me bound.

I was tired, so very tired, and the weight of my burdens was staggering as I sat in silence. Waiting to die, waiting to be free, wanting to be able to sleep and not be afraid of the dark. I could hear the soft tumbles and tick of the grandfather clock as I closed my eyes trying to count my breaths, one tick, one breath, keeping the rhythm as each breath as my lungs expand. Mom asked me if I was cold, seeing the goosebumps on my skin. Rubbing my arms as the cold air tickled my warm flesh. I smiled seeing the kindness in her eyes. Today the storm was calm, and I was safe. I repeated it over and over. "I am safe, I am safe." Mom leaned me against her shoulder rubbing my arms. I closed my eyes breathing deeply with each tick of the clock repeating my safe words.

The large door opened at last and I watched a gentleman with white hair and a long handlebar mustache. Short enough to be almost dwarfish, but thin and refined in his dark brown double vest coat. With a long gold chain attached to a golden pocket-watch. I watched as he adjusted the time to match to the grandfather clock. His eyes were cold blue and his head was round with a small squish nose, he reminded me of a ringmaster in a circus. He didn't smile as he approached us. Something about him seemed off and it bothered me. Mom stood to shake his hand as she introduced me. I nodded and as I took his hand as I looked into the cold blue eyes. Seeing dark shadows, I wanted to hide as I clung to Mom for safety.

His name was Doctor Colburn. Doctor Randle Colburn and I didn't like him as he introduced himself to me. It was like touching darkness for the first time, and it terrified me. Mom handed him my dream log almost ripping it from my hands. I sighed and breathed slowly repeating my safe words as Mom squeezed my hand. My feet didn't want to move, but I made them as Mom guided me to a chair next to her. He gave me the creeps sizing me up like a meal ready to be devoured.

I watched as he turned the pages while I slowly sat down in front of him. I listened to Mom telling him my darkest fears and secrets. Telling him I don't sleep at night. They drug me and I still wake up screaming and it takes hours to calm me. She points to my legs and feet showing him where I had cut myself with a kitchen knife. Showing the scratches on my chest and arms, she made me stand so he could see my back, torn raw after every nightmare.

He nodded while I watched him steeple his fingers as his eyes watched me roving my body as if it were a meal to be had. He opened my dream log and read, while his eyes glanced from the page to my face. While I wait in silence for the beast behind those eyes glance toward the page and then back at me. His face hardened as he stroked his chin, deciding my fate. Then he asked. "So young man you see your parents and they abuse you over and over in your dreams?"

I nod said, "Yes sir."

Then he asked. "Are these advents real or fantasy of an imaginary mind?"

I say "both." He frowned then quirked a smile as he asked me to describe a real advent. I looked at Mom and she nodded for me to obey so I sighed heavily. Telling him what my father and mother did to me was just one advent of many. He asked Mom if this was true, and she nodded that it was correct.

Then he wanted one that wasn't a real event, so I told him. Mom frowned seeing the terror in my eyes as the tears slid down her cheeks. For it was just as real as the other and could be just as true. Even though she had never met my parents like Dad, they had read my file from cover to cover. Each night they watched me act out the dreams as if it was really happening. They knew they were real. It's harder to act insane when you actually are.

He asked for another advent a real advent, trying to catch me in a lie. I didn't lie as I described how my father would beat me as he worked me hard, harder than anyone, and how I would scrub floors with nothing but a toothbrush over and over. How he would suffocate me, thinking it was funny. I talked about the cage they would tie me up in just so they wouldn't have to look at me or hear my cries. How they would beat me and my brother and starve us. I told about the night I had jumped from a two-story window as they beat me to near death. I felt the hot tears sting my cheeks as I described in great detail each and every horrible advent.

He sat there not saying a word as he judged me if they were real or fantasy. Mom confirmed them, showing pictures of my beatings and the advances that caused them, and all he said was. "It's hard to believe that parents could do this to children and still call them parents. Yet concerns me that if it was true then why are they allowed to remain blameless in the eyes of the courts?"

I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry, and I wanted to rip his freaking head off. I could see in his eyes and in his mannerisms. That he didn't believe me. I did neither feeling my shoulder sag, stared him in the eye.

I said. "Because I don't matter, sir. I am labeled a troublemaker and runaway, the courts like you refuse to believe that parents like mine don't exist. I could have all the proof in the world, pictures, testimony, and friends. People who have seen it for themselves. I have been in nineteen foster homes, from the time I was five years old. Bouncing place to place, but when it comes to believing me, people just don't care. My mother and father manipulated using the system against me because they knew people like you would never believe that there are parents capable of such atrocities. Rather believe that a kid like me is lying to gain attention. When what I really want is parents that love me.

"But if I ask you to look at those pictures, read my file, interview the people that have been close to me. Make your own decision based on real facts, and real evidence. Before you judge me as a liar and a runaway, spinning fantastic tales, maybe then you can help me. Mom lets go, he's not going to stop the nightmares." Mom took my hand, and we walked out the door.

Mom turned around slammed down a copy of my file opened the page where it listed names and addresses and the court transcript said. "Sir my son is not a liar, I have talked to these people, his friends, and his family members they all say the same thing. That his parents are monsters, yet it is people like you who hide them. Stating they are ill and should not be held accountable. My husband works for the state prison. He deals with, murders, and abusers every day. We both know what people like them are capable of. Good day."

It was nearly a week before we heard back from him, wanting to place me into a study of trial medications for sleep therapy. Outlining the risks and the side effects. Mom hated the idea, but if we didn't try something soon. I'd be the one stuffed to into a straitjacket and placed into a padded cell and forgotten. So Mom and Dad agreed and signed my life away on the dotted line.