Dreaming a Reality (14 page)

In my dream, she was bloody and walking in the snow, leaving a trail of red behind. She kept calling out to me, but this time I didn’t follow. I heard her cries through the forest and stood in the cold darkness, as I did now, but with nothing on. I was naked, yet the coldness didn’t affect me. I felt a warm rushing feeling between my legs as if someone had poured hot oil on me, and when I looked down I could see it was blood. The trail of blood she left was coming from me. We were connected somehow.

After seeing visions of my last dream, while standing outside, I flicked my cigarette in the snow and went inside. Enough of this nonsense, I thought.

Instead of doing the usual and going to the computer to chat and e-mail, I decided to lie back down.

I pulled the covers over my cold nose and curled up underneath the warmth. It was now mid-December, and John was still away. I thought of how hard he worked, getting construction deals and building permits. He was working on getting his own company started and awaited approval from the union. I desperately missed him and yearned to see his face. It’d been so long, I was starting to forget.

Then my thoughts shifted to my mother. I had to see her. Once I get up in the morning, I will go visit her, I thought. For now, I needed my rest. It felt good to be tired and at the right time—the middle of the night. It was the first time in a long time that I was able to fall back to sleep, and quickly too.

* * * *

Before Jeremy left for school in the morning, I kissed him good-bye, and then prepared myself for out-patient therapy. I wasn’t about to disobey doctor’s orders and go off my meds this time. I would be true to myself. After the divorce, things just hadn’t been the same. This was the third attack in two years and slowly but surely, I would not let it happen again. Not on my watch.

I got ready, bundling up for the cold, brisk air and went to the car and heated it up. I noticed these strange footprints in the snow. The tracks led from the driveway to the garage.

I checked inside the garage and thought maybe someone might have broken in, but the lock wasn’t tampered with in any way. There was a foul odor coming from somewhere, however.

Maybe it was the neighbors snow-blowing, I thought, or it could have been the deer I saw last night. The snow was so peppered with prints of all kinds, making it hard to tell. It could have been Jeremy too, taking out the trash.

Once I exited the garage, the stench got stronger.

I saw a drop of red in the snow, and then a few more drops that led from behind the garage, so I followed the trail. As I walked around back, I was shocked to see the deer lying there, contorted and bloody.

A jolt of fear ran through me. I ran back to the car to call the police and could feel the cold sweat drip off my skin as the heat from inside the vehicle blew in my face.

It was early morning, right before nine, and I was pressed for time for the out-patient therapy meeting. Ironically, it was the same hospital my mom was in.

After I answered some questions from the police officer, I hurriedly rushed him off the phone.

“I am late for a meeting; can I call back?”

“Yes. In the meantime, we will have someone come out and check the perimeter.”

* * * *

Once I got to the hospital, I tried to set my thoughts aside regarding the bloody deer. It must had been hit by a car, but why was it placed behind my garage?

I entered the hospital, knowing it was only a temporary visit and that I was able to go back home. Two weeks there seemed like too long. I wondered how my mom was holding up and completely felt for her. Although I was in the hospital under much different circumstances now, I knew how it felt to be locked up in a place you didn’t want to be.

Out-patient group therapy lasted a few hours. It was the same routine as before; everyone introduced themselves and poured out their feelings.

I didn’t say much when it was my turn to speak, but I was able to vent out some things, walking away from the meeting feeling somewhat satisfied for the day. I even met a few new faces. So, all in all, I thought it went well.

The meeting was over at noon, and everyone got up, stretched out of their seats and headed to the elevator doors, while I took the stairs to the fourth floor.

Finally, it was time to see my mother.

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Mom?” I whispered to her. She was sitting up, eating this time. It was good to see her like that. Although she was too weak to do it herself, a nurse was there to help.

“Katherine? Is that you?”

I came up close for her to see.

“Yes, Mom. I’m here.”

“Where have you been?” she asked in a raspy voice as she started to cough.

“I was having some trouble.”

“With what? Is everything okay? How’s Jeremy?”

“Jeremy’s fine, Mom. I was in the hospital again.”

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry to hear…” She coughed again. “How are things now?”

“Better, but I have a long way to go.”

I proceeded to tell her what happened—the parts that I remembered―then I began to mention bits and pieces of the dream-girl. I told her how it still bothered me, and how I wondered why it was still happening.

After a long stint of talking to her about it, she turned pale in the face.

“What is it, Mom?”

“Nurse, could we have some privacy please?”

The nurse nodded her head, took the tray of food off the bedside table and left the room.

My mother then took my hand, cold and clammy as it was, and folded it up inside hers.

“It’s been a while, but I’m glad we are talking again.” She paused for a moment and squeezed my hand a little harder.

“What is it, Mom?”

“Forgive me for not telling you this sooner. Believe me, it bothered me for years.”

“Mom, you’re scaring me. Was it something I did wrong?”

“No, honey. It wasn’t you. Well, not entirely.”

“Then what?”

“Maybe you are having dreams of your daughter.”

“What?” My mind in shock, I gave her a glazed look. “How?”

“You miscarried a girl.”

“I thought it was a molar pregnancy. The doctor said it was nothing but cysts.”

She pulled me a little closer and said, “After your ultrasound, the doctor pulled me off to the side and told me. I didn’t want to tell you just then since you were so upset. Months later you were pregnant with Jeremy. You were so happy, I couldn’t tell you after that.”

I couldn’t believe it. All those years and now she tells me. It had to be what it was. I remember it was in late February, the twenty-seventh to be exact—it never occurred to me that the date was the same as the numbers of the clock each night; 2:27 a.m. Everything seemed to connect after that. All the premonitions I had, and here I thought it was me in another life. No. It was my child.

* * * *

After I left the hospital, I pulled up in the driveway to see the cops and animal control cleaning up the deer.

“You Miss Wheeler?” the police officer asked once I stopped alongside the house.

“Yes, I called this morning.”

“We just need to take a few pictures, and we should be set. There wasn’t anything odd that happened last night was there?”

The police officer was young, in his early twenties. In a way, he reminded me of Jeremy with his sandy blonde hair and lengthy body.

“No, not that I could think of.” I hesitated a little, and then remembered one other thing. “Well, Officer, there was this odd shadow across the street behind the trees, but that was in the front of my house.”

“Okay. We’ll have someone check the whole area.”

“May I ask how the deer died? I mean, where was all that blood coming from?”

“There were multiple stab wounds around the neck and chest. We are looking into it. We have zero tolerance for animal killers. If there’s anything else you can remember, please notify me right away.”

“Okay, Officer, I will.”

* * * *

After the unsettling incident with the deer, I tried to pull it together and do some work.

I went downstairs and started making dinner. I got out the roast from the fridge, peppering it with different salts and seasonings, stuck the meat thermometer in and placed it in the oven.

Jeremy called and said he was going out after school, so I was alone, again.

Late in the evening, around eight, there was a knock at my door. I checked through the blinds to see who it was. There was a flower delivery truck pulled up in front and a kid standing with a bouquet of some sort all covered in purple gift wrap.

I opened the door a crack.

“Flower delivery for a Miss Wheeler?” the young boy said, standing there shivering.

“From who?” A plume of fog came from my breath.

“Doesn’t say. Can you sign for me?”

“Sure.”

After I opened the door full way, a burst of cold air swept into the front room. I took the electric pen and signed on the small screen as the kid held up the computer device.

“Thank you,” I said, while he handed me the flowers.

I shut the door, went into the kitchen and placed them on the table. Starting from the top, I began to rip the paper in a downward split. Out popped a dozen red roses. They were beautiful with their huge budding bulbs and velvet petals. The fresh smell permeated the room.

There was a small envelope sticking out of the bunch, and my heart flooded with excitement, yet I felt uneasy at the same time. With all that had been happening, I wasn’t sure.

Once I opened it, sliding out the card, I was puzzled at what it said. Written in a scribble was, “Sorry.” I couldn’t make out the handwriting. At first I thought of John, but why would he say sorry? He had nothing to be sorry about, unless there was something he hadn’t told me yet. Was it because he was marrying Natalie? There had been times he wanted to tell me something, and I’d blown him off. Now, since I got sick again, all that’d been pushed aside. Then I thought of Mitch. Maybe it was him.

Just as I pondered who it was, the telephone rang.

“Hello?”

For a long moment there was a silence.

“Hello?” I said again.

“Hey,” a deep voice said into the phone.

“Who is this?”

“It’s me, babe.”

Then I knew. A chill ran through me as if I had a window open this time of year. I wasn’t in any mood to talk to him. “Dean!” I was surprised and a little unnerved it took him a few seconds to respond. It was creepy.

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, Dean, I can’t…”My voice trembled as I spoke. I could hear the words failing on me and felt trapped. I wanted to hang up but was so stunned by his voice, I couldn’t move.

“Did you get my gift?”

I tried to get my thoughts together as they scattered across the room.

“Gift?”

“Yeah, gift. Did you get it?”

Instantly, the flowers came to mind as I glanced at them on the table.

“Oh, yeah, that! Thank you.”

Then the silence again. “Dean? Still there?”

Click!

Wow, he hung up on me. That was strange. What was all that about? I mean, I was thankful for the flowers, but why did he have to hang up like that?

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Yo, Ma, I’m home. Uhh, it’s smells good in there,” Jeremy said after stepping in the back door.

He came home around 10:00 p.m. and was, of course, still hungry. Luckily I’d made the roast earlier. It was nice that the kitchen still smelled of the tender seasonings and fresh spices. I walked into the kitchen to greet him and started on the dishes.

“So, dude, wanna tell me where you’ve been?”

“Oh, Ma. Do we hafta go through this again?” he said in a cocky voice.

“Jeremy, I am serious. You need to tell me. Strange things have been happening around here, and I’m worried. Mainly about you, so tell me!” I demanded to know. I could feel my face blushing. I didn’t want to get mad at him, but this was too important.

“Okay, Okay! I’ll tell you, but don’t freak out on me.”

“Jeremy, you’re scaring me, what is it?”

“Her name is Mallory.”

“Mallory? You mean you’ve been dating?”

“Yes, and don’t freak out on me. I don’t want you going overboard. We just started dating about a month ago.”

“Oh, Jeremy! That’s wonderful! Oh, wow! When do I get to meet her?”

“Mom! I told you not to go all weird. I don’t wanna talk about it right now. It’s too embarrassing. Besides, after I told Dad, we had yet another one of those talks, so come on, quit it.”

“So your dad knew before me? Wow, I’m a little hurt by that, Jer. Why would you leave me out like that? When were you gonna tell me?”

“Well, you were sick, remember? I just wanted to wait till you got better.”

“I am better, Jeremy, and I will continue to get better. I promise this time.”