Waiting on Morning

After the recurrence of her terrifying nightmares, Nebraska-native Maeva Blake has to find out why she's having them again. In the midst of be courted her charming Sebastian, Mae has to learn the truth about her gruesome dreams and their ominous messages. Unfortunately, she has to dig through her painful past to find her answers.

( Have an open mind going into this story! It can get a little vulgar and violent, sometimes even a bit risque. Comments, likes, critiques, all is welcome! Enjoy! )

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6. Truth

Author's Note : Sorry about the wait! I know you all didn't miss it too much. School has been taking up a lot of my time. But I hope to get more headway on this soon. Feel free to critique! You're all wonderful and I love you!

 

 

“What are you talking about?” I asked my father gravely.

            He put both hands to his head, his posture heavy with grief. I knew this was a terrible sign. “It’s not very simple, kiddo,” he huffed. Finally accepting the truth, he sat on the edge of my bed. His head hung from his hunched shoulders, his voice lined with remorse.

            “Dad, please, I need you to tell me what is going on with me.”

            “You remember your mother, right? How she was before she was sick?”

            “Of course…”

            He sighed solemnly, “She was beautiful. She glowed. She was one of the happiest people I had ever met…” his voice broke, and he swallowed hard, “You need to understand that this is going to be hard for me to talk about what happened to her. Because what happened to her was not natural; and now, it’s going to take you away from me.”

            “Dad, what’re you talking about? Mom was depressed and fell into a coma, her heart stopped. I was there, in the hospital—“

            “She insisted that I never told you. She didn’t want to put things into your head; she was afraid that it would consume you like it consumed her. “

            I looked at my father, confused and bewildered. Whatever he was referring to was now something I feared greatly. My blood raced in my veins. My father looked at me, dead in the eyes, and I saw my fear reflected in his.

            “Your mother came home from work one day and didn’t speak a word; didn’t even answer me when I asked what was wrong. You were off at a friend’s house, and I’m glad you were. Seeing the life drawn out of her was terrifying… After about an hour of sitting on the couch, silent, your mother started mumbling about children. I tried comforting her, but she would just cry and ramble about the family; the children; the accident. It was about a week after that day she finally told me about what she saw. It’s exactly the kind of accident you saw today: an SUV with a family of five; a pick-up truck, for her the poles were metal; and a large van with both the driver and the passenger killed. The day she finally told me, she showed me the story that came out in the paper. Seven of eight in the accident died in that accident. The children that were rushed to the hospital died within the same minute of one another after reaching the ER. The only survivor was the driver of the pick-up, who had fled the scene. See, what scared your mother and I was the fact that the police didn’t pick up anything on that car. No prints, no vehicle information, and the plates were stolen. Your mother was terrified that the man knew that she saw the accident and would come back to kill her later. Granted, she didn’t even see the man, but that thought terrified her. She took a different route back from work, and started having terrible nightmares. Every nightmare ended with her dying.

            “After a while, your mother stopped getting out of bed, and this you remember. She stopped eating, she felt guilty for not saving the children even though she witnessed the accident after it had happened. I asked her who else was at the crime scene and she said it was only the police. She said she was the only one who saw it.

            “You weren’t able to see your mother deteriorate like I did. She started losing clumps of hair, and her ribs started poking out unhealthily. I finally got her in to see a doctor, and of course, after meeting with the psychologist, they diagnosed her with post-traumatic stress disorder. Once they prescribed her pills, I thought everything was going to be okay. You remember, she started going back to work and she was eating again. Everything was fine for a couple months. But the nightmares started to get worse. She would tell me how afraid she was to fall asleep; because these dreams felt so real that and she feared they would kill her.

            “And one morning, she didn’t wake up. She was still breathing, totally stable, but she just didn’t wake up. And for those two years in the hospital, I prayed everyday that whatever had her would let her go. I prayed for it to let her come back to me. But instead it took her away from me, from us…” my father turned his head away from me, his chest twitching slightly as he sucked back tears.

           “Maeva, it was so hard to watch this happen to your mother. She hid it well from you, and I was slightly glad that she did because it would have scarred you far worse if you had seen all that I had. She told me everyday that no matter what, not to let this kind of thing happen to you. She said that if anything, you should never know. I feel like a bastard, going back on this promise, but this is all too strange. It has to mean something if history is repeating itself. Anne, please forgive me…” he said, his face to the ceiling. He exhaled sharply. Once he regained his composure, he grabbed my shoulders and spoke darkly, “There is something wrong. Watching what happened to your mother, there is something incredibly dark here. I feel like I’m going crazy; but you have to understand that I will not lose you like I lost your mother.” He let go of my shoulders and seemed taken aback by his own thoughts.

 

       We sat, side by side, submerged in silence for a long while. That was a lot of information for one person to absorb so quickly. The same accident? It can’t be the same accident, there’s no way. And yes, there are quite a few similarities, but the driver didn’t die on the scene, and it was a U-Haul, not just a random van…

       The more I thought about it, my father was right. There were too many odd similarities to let this slip under his radar. I looked at him; his thoughts had swallowed him whole at this point. He was sitting with his eyes fixated on one point on the floor, his features being especially prone to gravity, making him appear much older than he needed be. I watched as his eyes welled and tears gently spilled over, his face still immobile.

       “So, what are we going to do?” I asked, my voice soft and sounding far more afraid than I had hoped. He slowly broke from his trance and sighed.

       “I don’t know. And that terrifies me more than I can say,” he admitted.

       “Well, maybe we can start working on all of this tomorrow. I think we’ve both had a long day…” I surprised myself with my own level-headedness.

       “I think that’s a good idea.”

       “You want to go watch a movie? Maybe, it will help us get our minds off of the day.”

       “We can try. But I don’t know if I’ll ever stop thinking about this…”

       “You’re right; we can try.”

 

       It was impossible for me to see anything in front of me; the fog was opaque and heavy. Using my hands to prepare me for an obstacle I couldn’t see, I inched forward. Bit by bit, I moved forward, realizing that the ground was flat, and there were no objects protruding from the ground. The fog began to thin out, and I could remotely see the barren landscape. I picked up my pace, walking briskly towards the thinning air. After I had emerged from the thick clouds, the sight of an everlasting desert stopping me in my tracks. Confusion washed over me, yet I ambled on. The loose sand made it difficult to walk with stability, but I still trudged on. Anxiety began to fester in my stomach; something didn’t feel right. Each time I lifted a foot, I noticed a stronger resistance with every step. I looked down and noticed that while I wasn’t moving, I was sinking. The realization that I was in quicksand surged adrenaline through my body. Panicking, my body flailed, trying to find a way out of the sinking sand. The more rapid my movements were, the quicker the earth enveloped me. Using all my strength to get just one last breath, I inhaled sharply, and then let my body be consumed. I felt sand shifting around me, my body still tunneling downwards. As my breath grew thin, adrenaline kicked in yet again. With my mind turned off, my body tried swimming downwards and I could feel the weight of sand thinning around me. Before I could flinch, all of the sand gave way and my eyes snapped open. I gasped for air, seeing a floor of sand rushing my face. As I hit the sand, I felt snapping inside of my body. I screamed, and it reverberated back shockingly loud. The sound terrified me, and I looked around, noticing that there was an odd reflectiveness about the black sky. Dragging my body in an army crawl, I reached the glass wall. I looked around, bewilderment filling inside of me. I was in an hourglass. My eyes trailed back to the opening that I descended from, still pouring out thin trails of sand. I looked outside the glass, pounded on it, yelled for help. I began to cough up blood, staining the sand crimson. I looked up to the glass again, nearly getting a heart attack from the swarm of women on the other side. All of them were gaunt and pale; they all looked dead. The few closest to me parted for my mother to walk up to the glass. Pain welled inside of me, now both physical and emotional. She put her hand to the glass, a stoic expression over her face. I coughed up far too much blood this second time and, looking up from the floor of sand, I watched my mother as I felt my mind drifting from life. Before I withered away, she bored into my eyes with her stare and said, all too clearly, “You will end this. Now.” And I slipped away into the darkness.

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