False Awakening

“Eight. Nine. You’re feeling refreshed and awake. Ten. Open your eyes, Carl.”

Carl slowly blinked his eyes open. He was lying on his back on a brown leather couch that was the perfect length for his six foot frame. His soft brown eyes were fixated on the ceiling fan that hummed rhythmically above him. The white room was warm and well lit from beams of sunlight that shone through the room’s back windows’ parted blinds.

“Carl,” a gentle man’s voice said.

Carl turned his head to see an older man in a shirt and tie, staring at him through circular seeing-glasses.

“What did you see, Carl?”

He thought for a moment, but his mind was still hazy with sleep. It made it hard to recall what he had dreamed.

“I… There was screaming, blood, fire… death. It all happened so fast,” he tried making sense of the images and sounds that flashed before him in his mind’s eye.

“Take your time, Carl.”

He closed his eyes attempting to think, but hated what he saw. “Eight. Zero. Five. Those three numbers keep showing up… haunting me.”

“These numbers, what do they mean to you?”

“They scare me,” he admitted lowly.

The doctor nodded, as he jotted something down on the notepad in his lap and looked back to Carl.

“We’re getting somewhere, Carl. Perhaps these three numbers can be used as a constant throughout your dreams. Something your subconscious can use to distinguish reality from dream.”

Carl stared unblinking up at the ceiling fan, trying to take in what the therapist was suggesting.

“You’re making positive strides. You just need a little more time, but unfortunately that’s it for us today.”

Carl nodded, sitting up in the couch sluggishly and twisting to face the older man.

“So, what’s a good date for our next visit?”

“What about sometime next week?”

The doctor glanced down at the pad in his lap, and began to thumb through it casually. He finally looked up once he had settled on a particular page.

“It looks like I’m all booked till August. How’s the fifth for you, instead?”

Carl stared at him nervously.  “Eight’o’five, Doctor?”

The therapist frowned solemnly. “I’m afraid so, Carl.”

Carl shot up in bed with his heart beating rapidly. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Only a dream,” he thought as he lay motionless for a moment, long enough for him to realize his wife wasn’t in bed next to him. Carl finally crawled from under the covers and off the bed into his house slippers. Lazily, he shuffled his way towards the bathroom.

“Morning, Dad!” Squealed his daughter Emily, as he entered the bathroom.

Carl jumped, slightly startled by Emily’s abrupt greeting. He looked down at her from where she stood in front of the mirror, bouncing on the closed toilet seat’s lid, and he couldn’t help but return her enthusiastic smile.

“Morning, kiddo. Where’s mom?”

“Making breakfast,” she announced, still bouncing.

“Why don’t you go help mom with breakfast and let daddy wake up a bit?”

Emily gave a small frown at the idea. Carl sighed, bending down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead, and helping her from the toilet lid.

“Go on. I’ll be down in a little,” he said, watching Emily reluctantly exit the bathroom.

Carl turned to the mirror. There were dark half circles beneath his eyes, and his beard was stubbly and down to his neck. He turned the faucet on, cupping his hands under the cool running water before splashing his face, and looking to his reflection to watch the water bead down his face.

“I need a drink,” he groaned.

--

Carl entered the kitchen showered and freshly shaved. His daughter was at the kitchen table, stuffing her face with French-toast. She turned to him and tried to say hey with a mouth full of breakfast.

“Hey, kiddo. Is it good?”

Emily nodded enthusiastically before going back to shoveling her face.

“You’re up early,” Vanessa, Carl’s wife, said blankly from where she stood by the stove cooking another batch of French-toast.

“Yeah, I didn’t sleep well,” he muttered, making his way over to a portion of the counter that had an assortment of alcohol. He retrieved a glass from the above cabinet, reached for the handle of scotch, and poured a shots worth before slamming it back. Carl gritted his teeth pinching off the sting.

“Really?” Vanessa said with malice in her voice.

“What?” he asked pretending not to know what she was referring to, as he poured another drink, this one a bit fuller than the last.

“Are you really going to drink today?” she said, whipping around with a dagger like stare to watch Carl take a seat back at the table with Emily, and sip on his scotch clearly trying to ignore her query.

“Seriously, Carl?”

“Yes, seriously, Vanessa,” he finally looked up at her. “I’m going to drink today. I had a rough night, and I still have to go into the office for a few hours.”

“You have to do what!”

“Go into the office. I have some paper work that needs to get done,” Carl explained matter of fact, as he turned back to his drink.

“You’re a real piece of work, Carl. You knew Emily had her recital tonight!”

“I work sixty hours a week! You don’t think you could have reminded me at some point before now?”

“I’ve been telling you for the last eight weeks that it was your five year old daughter’s recital! You just didn’t care to remember, Carl!”

He froze at her words, and his heart started beating with fear, picking up speed like a ball rolling down a hill. Slowly, he forced himself to turn toward her. Vanessa was lunging at him screaming a blood curdling shriek. Her hair was singed and missing in clumps. Her face was a melting mess of flesh; it dripped and fell from her face like wax burning from a candles flame. Her arms were burnt red hot, and the skin was rising and bubbling up into blisters. She held her hands out for his throat.

“You did this!”

The two toppled to the kitchen floor. Vanessa was atop him, her skinless fingers tightening around his neck. He tried to scream but couldn’t find his voice between the horror and her grip around his throat.

Carl gasped for air as he thrust up in his recliner chair. His body was covered in sweat, and his heart was pounding like a fist within his chest. He tried calming his breathing, telling himself it was only a nightmare. In his hand he still held half a glass of scotch, and in one gulp downed the drink.

He stood from the chair and moved through the den for the kitchen. It was now empty, and the small window over the sink revealed it was nearing dark out.

“How long was I napping for,” he wondered, as he reached for the bottle of scotch, and filled his glass. “And where is everyone?”

As if to answer his question he heard Emily giggling from the living room. Carl made his way through the kitchen, stopping just where the kitchen met the living room. From where he stood, he could see Emily sitting in the center of the room on the floor, her back to him.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m sorry about forgetting your recital,” Carl said moving into the room. “I’m not going into work. We’ll make your recital.”

She didn’t respond.

“I know you’re upset, baby. But sometimes adults argue, it doesn’t mean Mommy and I don’t love each other.”

She said something, but so softly the words weren't distinguishable.

“What, kiddo?” he moved closer, taking a sip of his scotch.

She muttered again.

“Emily, what are you doing there?”

Carl’s eyes went wide and terror took hold of his lungs, as she slowly stood and turned to him. Her face was littered with shards of glass. From each protruding piece of glass blood streamed down her smiling face like tears. She started effortlessly plucking the glass from her face, exposing the gaping gashes and allowing more blood to spew out.

“Eight… Zero… Five…” she said happily as if reciting a nursery rhyme. Carl backed away from her as she inched toward him.

"...No" he shook his head.

“Eight… Zero… Five…” she continued repeating the sequence of numbers, and her voice rose each time until she was yelling it.

“No,” he said again, dropping his drink and stopping his ears with his palms.

“Eight! Zero! Five!”

“No!” he screamed, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Yes you are, Carl! You're drunk. You’re not okay to be driving!” Vanessa insisted from the passenger side seat.

Carl eased his eyes open. His hands were on the wheel of his car, driving down the highway.

“Are you even listening?”

He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw Emily’s smiling face sitting in the back seat. Her face was normal.

“I’m fine,” he breathed.

“You’ve been drinking all day. You’re not fine!”

“Will you shut up,” he snapped, turning to her. “You wonder why I drink? It’s you, and your intolerable bitching! It never stops!”

“If you were more responsible, maybe I wouldn’t need to b***h at you all the time!”

“Responsible? I work--” he started but she cut him short.

“That’s the problem! You work, and forget about your responsibilities as a father and a husband! You couldn’t even remember a simple recital for your daughter… that we’re now late for.”

Carl glanced from Vanessa to the clock on the radio.

8:05

The neon colored digital numbers glowed tauntingly.

“Carl, look out!” Vanessa screamed.

He looked up and his eyes went wide with panic. The car was drifting off the road toward the median, and before Carl could correct the wheel the car jumped the curb and was into oncoming traffic. It was a moment where everything appeared to come to a standstill, where everything was slow motion, yet occurring so fast that one could do little more than helplessly watch it happen.

--

He hazily looked around the car. They were overturned and the smell of gasoline lingered heavily in the air. There was smoke and heat filling the compartment.

“Smoke,” he thought. “Smoke,” he said it aloud and the word seemingly brought him to full consciousness. He turned to Vanessa; she was unconsciousness, and flames stretched from her floorboard to the dash.

He tried to move but was stuck at the legs from where the front end of the car had been initially impacted.

“Vanessa!” he screamed as the fire inched closer for her. She didn’t respond, not even when the fire caught hold of her.

“Vanessa!” Carl said, continuing to struggle to free himself, but it was no use. He watched powerlessly as the fire ate away at her until she was fully engulfed.

“Oh, God, please!” he screamed with tears in his aching eyes.

“Emily!” He fought to turn to look in the back seat, but his line of sight was limited.

“Emily,” he yelled for his daughter again, but there was no reply--only the sounds of the flames as they continued to flood the compartment, closing in on him.

“Help!”

“Eight…”

“Help,” he pleaded.

“Nine… You’re feeling refreshed and awake.”

“God, please!”

“Ten… Open your eyes, Carl.”

Carl nearly flung himself out of the brown leather couch as he awoke in fear. His heart was beating like never before, and his body still hot as if the fire was still inches from him. He was back in the white room; the therapist in front of him.

“I know what eight’o’five is,” he said crying. “It was the time of the accident.” Carl buried his face in his palms, continuing to cry.

“I killed them. It was my fault,” he muttered.

“Carl, it’s okay,” a gentle hand rested upon his shoulder. “We forgive you.”

Carl looked up from his hands to see Vanessa standing over him.

“Let go, Carl… Emily and I are waiting for you. It’s time to come with us.”

“I can’t!” he cried.

Carl shot up in bed with his heart beating rapidly. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Only a dream…”

Reviews

[Susie Q]

Wonderful story, I really enjoyed reading this as I'm sure many others do. You have a way of capturing the emotions of the characters in each scene, and the imagery brings the reader closer to experiencing the raw pain that Carl felt. Great job and I cant wait to read more from you! Take care and keep writing love

[BattleAxePirate]

Woah... All I can say is woah. That was really good. I liked that a lot. There are other people who try to the same thing you did but fail at presenting it properly. Job well done. Job very well done.

[Kyla H]

Very good, this has my brain thinking and the gears turning to figure out what happened. Nicely done!

[stellasautelle]

Well written.. I enjoyed reading it. Keep up the good work :)

[Jūdan FyreHeart]

I love the constant circling doubt of the cycle. You just never quite know where you stand and that makes it quite fun. The way the poor guy is tormented as he goes round, the fleeting moments of freedom before just being dragged back down again. The ending finished it well for me, just that doubt lingering in the reader's mind.