I Don't Remember the Title...

A young woman is slowly recovering her memory after experiencing trauma.

It was hard to tell what was a dream and what was a memory. I have been lying here in this room on this couch next to this window without even flinching for three days; I never once ate or drank, hungered or thirsted, or even bothered to open my eyes. I could hear the soft breeze outside the window. I could hear faint voices and music about Christmas coming from another room, far away. It never occurred to me to cry out to one of the voices, I hadn't the instinct. Besides, I'm not sure I could have made a noise if I had tried. My head ached and pounded so strongly it drowned out my thoughts and overpowered all other sound. I remembered when the headache first started- I was in the hospital. I reached up to massage my temple and felt a dry crust of blood surrounding a tear in my flesh. After that I blacked out, probably from moving my arm, and I haven't moved since then. When I woke up I was on this couch. I only knew it was a couch because I could feel the back of it behind me. I only knew there was a window there because I could hear the wind.

Somebody comes into the room now. A group of people, talking. They must think I'm sleeping because they're talking about me. My head is pounding so loudly I bet the whole room can hear it.

"I hope she THUMP her memory THUMP soon so she THUMP tell us who THUMP this to her," a man says.

"Me too. THUMP really hope THUMP gets better THUMP Christmas," another man says.

"Speaking of THUMP, do you want to THUMP the tree?" A woman this time.

"No. THUMP not without THUMP," the first man says again.

"What if THUMP doesn't get THUMP in time?" Possibly the same woman, but it could be someone else.

"Then I THUMP have a THUMP this year. You THUMP can put THUMP your own THUMP at your THUMP house on THUMP own time. THUMP But THUMP not going to THUMP up without her."

"That's THUMP Dave. You THUMP love her THUMP you?" Definitely a different woman this time.

"Of course THUMP love her! THUMP didn't deserve THUMP."

"Of course THUMP didn't. Nobody THUMP," the first woman says.

"Come on, THUMP go in the THUMP room. I THUMP look at her THUMP now." I'm still not sure if it's the same woman or not, but she sounds upset. I hear soft footsteps and the door closes.

I hear the wind outside the window and I don't know why, but I imagine people walking around outside shops in a snowstorm. The image has an uncomfortably familiar, but at the same time completely alien feeling. (Another memory? THUMP hopefully better than THUMP the last one. Or was THUMP that just a THUMP dream?) I had a flashback earlier in which a young woman was walking across the crosswalk on a cold snowy day. The woman slipped on a patch of ice and I cried out "Lisa!" I heard a bone snap. I started running out to help her when a truck came. "STOP!" I screamed at my maximum volume, my throat chapped. The truck did not stop and my friend was knocked off her feet. The flashback ended there. I had to assume that this Lisa person was dead, but I didn't even know who she was. Before that I had recalled getting my first puppy. I was so excited and surprised. My dad had given him to me for Christmas, and I hadn't thought he would. I cried "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" and hugged his legs.

The current scene is uneventful. People hustle around, all bundled up. For some reason it makes me feel sick. I feel as if my brain is made of lead. I can't even move my head. I think, (Okay, I'm going to THUMP move my arm THUMP now.) But the more I think about it, the less natural the simple concept of moving becomes. I can see myself moving my arm, but can't strain it to move. I know this action should be involuntary, but the only part of me I'm aware of is my pounding head. Which muscle moves my arm? What does it feel like to move it? Suddenly, I fling my arm out. Then I roll over. I can move again, but the strain on my head has become so painfully powerful that I pass out into slumber. In my dream, I'm sitting in the back of a room, concrete from wall to wall, barren of furniture, lit by one lightbulb that dangles from the ceiling. All that's here is a door, and it's locked. The room is cold and has a musty smell. Oppressed by the sound of footsteps, I close my eyes and await what inevitably impends. Sure enough, the door opens and chills go down my spine. The man with the blue eyes appears in the doorway, wearing latex gloves and holding a thin white plastic bag that says Wal-Mart. I can almost see through the bag enough to make out what's inside. The man with the blue eyes says "You want to know what's in my bag, do you?" and a devious smirk creeps onto his face. I shake my head now, because I know it's going to be something horrific. "Look," he says, "somebody's been missing you." He pulls out of the bag what is unmistakably my newborn child. It's face has been completely obliterated and it is almost unrecognizable. I can only tell he's mine by the evil expression on the man's face.
"Somebody's been missing you," he says again.

"Give me my baby!" I wail, sobbing.

"I was talking about me," he says, and throws the child to the ground harshly.

"NO!" I moan as he approaches, leering at me sadistically.

"What's the matter?" he sneers. "Didn't you miss me?"

"Please! Leave me alone!" I implore.

My throat aches with pain from screaming so harshly and sticky tears itch my face. The man with blue eyes grabs my arm and before he can do anything more, I wake up. I won't allow myself to see any more. I've had dreams about this man before. My head aches worse than ever now. Suddenly, I hear the soft creak of a door being opened. I wouldn't dare move again, so I summon the approacher. Whoever it is steps calmly and slowly across the room; I can hear the footsteps. The person stops next to the couch and I hear him kneel or sit.

"Ingrid?" he says, and I suddenly remember being called that by my mother. In the memory I was in a hospital bed, drifting in and out of consciousness. "Ingrid, he's beautiful," my mother said. Then I remembered the most incredible thing- seeing my baby, Tony, for the first time. His big, brown eyes, his soft wisps of hair, hearing his innocent cry. Holding him for the first time. I kissed his forehead and his crying stopped.

"Tony," I say, floating back to reality.

"No, honey, it's me, Dave. Do you remember me?" I recognize the name and voice as the man who was talking about me earlier.

"Where's Tony?" I ask.

"Honey...I'm sorry...do you remember me? Look at me."

"I can't!" I say cautiously. His hand gently touches my shoulder and rolls me over.

"Yes you can. Just open your eyes," he says.
Slowly, I open my eyes for the first time in days. Everything was blurry at first, but when it came into focus I shrieked in terror. Knelt in front of me was a concerned-looking man with brown hair...and blue eyes.

"What's the matter, honey? It's me! David! I'm your husband! Are you okay?"

"WHERE...IS...TONY?!?" I scream with a threatening tone in my newly discovered voice.

"I'm so sorry, Ingrid. He's...he's gone, honey. The police found him dead the same time they found you."

It was hard to tell what was a dream and what was a memory, but now I think maybe I've been awake the whole time. Anger boils up in me. How dare he call me honey?

"NO! What did you do to him?!?"

"Sweetie, I didn't do anything. Don't you remember me?"

(THAT'S IT! ONE MORE MOCKING NICKNAME AND I'M GOING TO LOSE IT!)

"I'm very unstable, so I suggest you cut the bullshit!" I exclaim.

"Baby, what are you talking about?"

The worst one yet! He was mocking me and at the same time casually referencing my beloved child, who he murdered! My adrenaline rises and recovering my strength, I spring off the couch and run across the room. There is a small kitchen area in the side of the room with a refrigerator, stovetop oven, several drawers, and a sink. I open the first drawer and have no need to open another. This is the silverware drawer, and it's conveniently divided into four sections. Forks, spoons, steak and butter knives, and REAL KNIVES. I grab the sharpest one I see and turn back to the man with the blue eyes.

"Uh...sweetheart...what are you doing?" he asks nervously.

"You have no idea how sweet I really am, HONEY!" I say ironically and approach him with a loathing stare.

"Sweetie, come on, what did I do to make you this upset?!?" he says, nervously backing away into the couch. I grin at the fact that I have total control of him.

"Way too much," I say, dragging out every word, so his moment of terror will last as long as possible. Revenge is nothing if not enjoyable.

"BABY, WHAT DID I DO?"

"DON'T CALL ME BABY!" I exclaim, and leap forward with rage.

"PLEASE! No..." He whimpers the second part timidly. I plunge the knife deep into his stomach and he screams with agony and falls to his knees. "Help me! HELP!" he cries. Writhing with fury, I twist the knife, causing him to choke up blood. He spits blood from his mouth as he screams,

"PLEASE! PLEASE HELP ME!" hoping that someone will hear him.

With all of my strength, I jerk the knife back, thrusting it over and over and over into his abdomen. Finally, just as the door is flung open, he collapses to one side, his arms wrapped around his pelvis, more blood gushing from his mouth than from his wound.

I hear several terrified shrieks coming from behind me. I spin around to see five people standing there- two men an three women. I recognize one woman as Lisa from my dream. To my horror, two of the people have those horrible blue eyes. I glance down at the knife, pondering what To do. I see my own reflection in the blood covered knife and hesitate briefly with disbelief before thrusting it into my heart.

Reviews

[weirdguyblueeyes]

Katie! You're eye! Just wow. And about the story, you never fail to get through to me, or in this case, freak me out. Love you and your writing.

[Eliott]

I'm sorry about the format, I typed this on my phone. I tried to indent by hitting the space key but it didnt transfer.