Chapter 2 Nightmares

Bolting upright, wrapping my hands around my throat, I feel as if I am choking. Deep hacking coughs rake my body.

I can smell smoke and charred wood, as if a raging bonfire has been lit in my room. My eyes dart around frantically. Everything seems in order. I take deep breaths. My over-active mind begins to calm down.

The evidence of the latest nightmare fades away leaving my nerves a tangled mess.

Just another dream, I reassure myself. They feel lifelike, so real, that each dream is unsettling.

I have been having nightmares for as long as I can remember. They used to come every now and then. But now my mind won't let me rest. They come every night, leaving their evidence behind.

Dark circles seem to be a constant feature, a tell-tale sign that sleep is non-existent. Every night I fear what lies in wait for me. I fight sleep as much as I can; only sleeping when my eyes are so heavy, they are like lead weights forcing my eyes closed. Then terror takes hold. Each night I am surrounded by monsters. Each time a mysterious woman is there protecting me.

The woman is constantly changing. Her hair and eyes change colour with every new dream. Her face stays the same, fierce and determined. She is always ready to fight, to protect me. I call her my guardian angel, my light within the nightmares.

The sound of music blares into my mind. The sound forces me out of the nightmare and back to reality.

Grabbing my phone, I answer the call groggily. My voice is hoarse, and my throat is parched, as if I have not had a drink for days.

"You're late," Misty huffs from the other end of the line.

I had completely forgotten. We are supposed to go shopping today for a party next weekend. The party does not sound appealing to me; a group of teenagers getting drunk and then sticking their tongues down each other's throats is not my idea of fun. According to Misty, it is the party of the year.

However, she uses that line for every party and event, begging and pleading with me to go. Always using her big, bright blue eyes like puppy dog eyes until I relent.

Misty is my best friend. She moved to Acampo California two years ago. Why anyone would want to move here is unknown to me. We have a measly population of seven hundred and seventy-six people and have no water in the area, not even a duck pond.

She broke down my walls and tossed my invisible shield away.

"Don't get your panties in a twist. I have other business to deal with besides yours," I sigh, taking my frustration out on her.

"Oh yeah, and what exactly is that then? Getting your beauty sleep?" I can just imagine her doing her famous eye roll while placing her hand on her hip like a bratty child. Misty knows me well. She never takes anything to heart.

"Okay, half an hour and I will be there."

"I have a family engagement this afternoon, half an hour top." She laughs as the line goes dead.

Rummaging through my wardrobe, I settle for a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a teal tank top. I quickly run a brush through my tangled rat's nest until my light blond hair falls into spiral ringlets that reach the small of my back. Grabbing my black bag, I throw it over my shoulder and bolt downstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

"Good morning, honey," Clara sings, fixing her clear hazel eyes on me.

The sweet smell of toasted waffles causes my stomach to growl like an animal eagerly awaiting its meal. I take the plate of hot waffles and begin devouring them as if I have been starved.

"Did you have another nightmare, sweetheart?" She studies me closely, probably taking in the dark circles under my eyes that are a dead giveaway. Worry flashes through her eyes, making her pupils dilate for a second.

Clara constantly worries about my nightmares and at times, she demands I see a doctor or a shrink. They always prescribe me sleeping pills, minutes after the pills slip down my throat, I begin to feel drowsy. Then sleep takes me, trapping me in my nightmares. I hate those pills with a passion.

My brain becomes covered by a thick fog and my body does not respond to my pleas. I will myself to wake up, to get away from the demons that surround me. The drugs are stronger than the terror that unfolds around me, so I lay there still and motionless.

***

Clara and David are my foster parents, and I have been with them since I was eight. My real Mom had been drunk when she lost control of her car. We rolled down an embankment and crashed into a large oak tree. Mom died instantly.

Clara and David stopped when they saw the wreckage; they had been on their way back from visiting relatives out of town. David is a paramedic, so his need to help people took control.

They found me wandering the woods a few feet away. I was lost and alone. I was confused and covered in deep scratches and bruises, my left wrist was broken in three places, and I suffered a nasty bump to the head. The doctors believed that the head wound caused my amnesia. They said I was lucky to be alive.

When I first came to live with Clara and David a shrink came to see me. He helped me with ways to deal with my loss. The problem was I could not remember anything. In those few weeks I did not speak, I was scared; the shrink believed that not talking was my way of dealing with the trauma. Once I felt comfortable, I started to talk, and to ask questions. The doctors believed that I had short term memory loss; at seventeen I still have no memory of my childhood.

My past is all a blur, a wet painting with all the colours merging into one, destroying what once was. I don't remember my mom, her face, her smile or her name. I can't remember anything before that night. The only thing I know about my childhood is my name, Kayla.

The events just after that time are still clouded.

My past is a mystery, a jigsaw waiting to be put together, but first I need to find the pieces of my childhood.

Headaches plague me whenever I try to reach my memories, and a dark door blocks my path. No matter how hard I try, I can't break through; I need to find the key. There is a burning desire within me that runs deep into my soul; I need answers, to find out who I truly am and where I come from, to fill the hole in my heart.

"Yeah, it wasn't as bad this time," I lie, shrugging it off and fixing my gaze elsewhere. Clara has an uncanny knack for knowing when someone is lying.

"I'm late meeting Misty. Can you drop me off at the mall?" I ask sweetly, placing my empty plate into the sink, diverting her attention elsewhere. The nightmares are bad enough but talking about them brings forth the fear and helplessness.

I don't drive. I had taken Drivers Ed just like all my peers. The problem was every time I sat in the driver's seat panic would take control of me. My breathing would come in short breaths and my heart would accelerate. My skin became hot like I had a fever. After a handful of times, when I had a full-blown panic attack, I gave up.

I don't know why driving scares me, I am fine in the passenger's seat. Clara believes it is from my subconscious, after all, my mom died behind the wheel.

"Sure, I have to run to the courthouse for some paperwork I need to do." Clara works as an assistant to a judge. She always dresses smartly in different coloured blouses, even on her days off. Her pencil skirts show off her long, toned legs. Her auburn hair is perfectly straight, not a strand out of place, it hangs just to the top of her shoulders, making her heart-shaped face stand out.