by S. M. Soto
That’s all I ever see.
I don’t feel anything but the pain.
I’ve given up hope because this is how my life will always be—an impenetrable black fog filled with pain.
All I see is black, all I feel is pain. All I see is black, all I feel is pain. All I see is black, all I feel is pain…
Chapter Four
My body jolts with a start—eyes flying open taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. I instantly notice I’m still lying on the carpeted floor with the frame from the night before clutched tightly against my chest. My whole-body aches along with my head from falling asleep against the floor for God knows how long. I uncurl my fingers from the frame and gently place it down beside me as I roll onto my back. I groan loudly, my body creaking in pain; balling my hands into fists I rub my eyes that are puffy from all the crying.
There’s soft rapping at the front door and I figure that must be what woke me. Pushing off the floor I trudge toward the door not caring about my appearance. Upon opening it I’m met with the friendly brown eyes of an older man. He’s got a head of gray hair and looks to be in his late seventies or so.
“Good morning. Arthur Walker,” he says while extending his age spotted hand. I shake the old man’s hand gently not wanting to hurt him.
“I live in the house a few doors down. I noticed you coming out of the cab yesterday. Thought I’d introduce myself.” He smiles at me revealing his pearly white dentures. Cocking my head to the side, my eyes scan Arthur up and down preparing for any threat.
Who am I kidding?
With the conclusion that he’s a sweet old man, I automatically feel comfortable in his presence, which is odd for me. Normally, I don’t warm up to people so easily. He reminds me a lot of my grandpa for some reason. They don’t look alike or anything, but something about this man makes me think of him in a grandfatherly light. He just seems…safe, and that’s what I need right now.
“Aliza Anderson, it’s nice to meet you.” I offer, smiling back at him genuinely. “Sorry for the mess, as you can see I had a very eventful night of cleaning.”
I gesture behind me inside the condo that has yet to be cleaned. Mr. Walker lets out a raspy laugh after taking a moment to look inside the plain space behind me.
“Well, I would offer some help but I don’t think my seventy-eight-year-old hands would be of much use to you, sweetheart.”
The corners of my mouth upturn into a smile and I nod my head. “No worries.”
We stand in awkward silence for a beat. My eyes travel up and down, taking him in. He’s slender, yet tall, and I can’t help but notice that for a man in his late seventies, he seems to hold himself well. He’s wearing a thin plaid flannel shirt, with his glasses placed safely in his breast pocket, and he’s wearing worn jeans that look a few years old. The typical outfit of an older man.
“Well, if you ever need anything don’t be afraid to ask. I’m always home. An old man like me can never have too much company,” he says jokingly and I chuckle.
“Duly noted. I do have one question to ask, though.”
“And what’s that?” He asks with a raised brow.
“Would you happen to have any cleaning supplies I can borrow in the meantime?”
He peers around me and his eyes travel around the room behind me.
“Thought you’d never ask,” he mumbles with a grimace before turning around and walking back toward his house. He suddenly stops walking and looks back at me over his shoulder.
“Well, you comin’ or not?” He says with an impatient look. It takes a few seconds for me to force myself to move. He returns to his original stride heading back home, and I shove my feet into the first pair of shoes I see, flying out the door after him. By the time I reach the steps to his door, he’s already sitting outside on his porch with the cleaning supplies at his feet. He’s casually leaning back in his porch chair with one ankle crossed over his knee.
How in the hell?
“Took you long enough.” He jokes while reclining in his porch chair imitating an exhausted sigh.
“All I did was put my shoes on!” I balk incredulously. I continue staring at Mr. Walker with a perplexed expression.
How fast does this old man move?
He gives a gut belly laugh and shakes his head at me.
“Oh please, don’t sound so shocked. I’m seventy-eight, not a crippled, shriveled, invalid.”
I stand gaping at him for a brief second before he pointedly stares at the cleaning supplies at his feet and gestures to my condo with a triumphant smirk. My brows furrow as I gather the bucket in my hands and give a small clumsy wave trying not to drop anything.
“Very well then, Ms. Anderson. Take care of yourself. I’ll be seeing you around,” he says, with a swift wave of his hand.
I smile back still a little puzzled at the old mans speed. With a shake of my head, still bewildered, I quicken my stride, retreating home to clean every square inch of my new space. At least I made a new friend in this neighborhood, albeit, he’s a bit old, but in the grand scheme of things that doesn’t bother me in the least.
Six grueling hours later, I’m finished cleaning my entire condo, fully satisfied with the clean pine sol smell now wafting throughout the house. I’m certain I spent an entire three hours just scrubbing the walls of the place. The windows were a bitch to clean, too. Pretty sure my hair is covered in dust, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a spider crawling on me somewhere. This condo has only been vacant for three months, yet the dust and spider webs tell a different story.
There were sheets for the bed left in the hall closet next to the laundry room, and I made sure they were washed a good three times before laying them out on the bed I would be sleeping in. No more sleeping on the floor for a while—don’t know how much more my back can handle. I made a small list of things I would need to eventually buy, like groceries and feminine items for starters.
On an empty stomach, I climb into bed, drained from the day’s cleaning spree and drift off to sleep. Thoughts of my family swirl through my mind, weaving their way into my dreams—holding me captive.
Chapter Five
I hear a deafening crash that makes me jump, shortly followed by the sounds of sirens outside the window. I quickly hop up from my position on the couch and throw open the front door in my haste. The sirens blare three times louder with the door open, and the wind whips my hair around my face as my feet pull me to the source on their own accord.
The bone chilling groans and screams ahead make my blood run cold, sending a shiver throughout my rigid body. Each step closer I take, my heart pounds harder and harder preparing me for what’s next. Shards of metal and glass are strewn everywhere on the gravel ahead. Something sticky coats the bottom of my feet as I take another step forward. I look down at my bare feet that are now covered in warm dark red blood illuminated by the silver light of the moon. My heart stutters in my chest and I gasp. Bending down I furiously try wiping the blood off my feet, but it won’t come off. No matter which way I wipe, or how hard, it’s no use.
The pounding of my frightened heartbeat reverberates in my throat. The smell of copper infiltrates my senses, making bile rise from my stomach. The scent is eerily strong, clouding my senses. Within a blink of an eye I find myself surrounded by a thick puddle of blood that grows larger and larger by the second. It travels higher up my legs, toward my knees coating me in the warm red liquid. My body is submerged in what feels like a pool of blood. It’s thick and heavy against me.
“A-aliza”
The whispered sound of my name causes me to jerk my head up. Everything suddenly becomes clear, instead of standing in the pool of blood, I’m now standing in front of a wrecked car and the scent of copper is unbearably strong here. I plug my nose, casting my eyes around. Wait, this is our car. Why is our car here?
“Aliza,” The unmistakable sound of my mother’s voice holds my attention. My eyes land on her, but I don’t waste a second to assess the situation, I ju
st can’t believe she’s actually here. An eerie sense of dread crawls on my skin as I stare down at my mother’s blood stained lips.
“You did this.” She rasps out.
Her blue eyes that are normally identical to mine are bloodshot and black—Soulless and lifeless. Her golden blonde hair is tinged with red at the side of her head. My heartbeat pounds against my chest as I shake my head thinking somethings not right. My eyes travel up and down discovering she’s in the passenger seat of our car covered in blood. The realization makes me sick to my stomach.
Why is she bleeding?
She’s sitting in a puddle of blood that coats the seats of the car. “Mom?” I take a tentative step toward her. “What happened? Whose blood is this?” I reach out to her with shaking hands afraid of her answer. No matter how far I stretch my arm I can’t seem to reach her. Her next words continue to ring loud in my ears, over and over.
“It’s all your fault, Aliza,” she gurgles through the blood now seeping out of the corner of her mouth. Like a blow to the gut I wrap my arms around myself in utter shock and disbelief.
No.
I shake my head trying to rid myself of her words.
“You did this to us,” she whispers before all color drains from her face.
My chest heaves and tears stream down my face as I frantically look around for answers. All the air is sucked out of me when I look around the wrecked car.
My breathing stops.
My heart stops.
Everything comes to a standstill.
I fall to my knees and a blood curdling scream bursts up from my throat. As if someone has ripped my heart straight out of my chest, I wail at the scene before me.
So much blood.
Blood is spattered everywhere throughout the car. My little brother and sister are lifelessly holding each other’s hands, as the upper half of my father’s body hangs out of the broken windshield. It’s a massacre.
“You did this to us.”
My mother’s words replay over and over in my head. When I look down at myself I’m in a white dress covered in warm red liquid. I lift my trembling hands that are now covered in their blood.
The blood is on my hands.
This is my massacre.
I jolt awake from my nightmare with a loud scream. I’m drenched in sweat from what feels like head to toe. My body trembles uncontrollably, shivers tingling down my spine as I furiously rub my eyes with my fists willing the images to evaporate from my mind. I try to control my heavy breaths before opening my eyes and when I do all I see is the fuzzy, pitch black room. My eyes dart everywhere, the only sliver of light coming from the street light outside streaming in between the blinds. I sigh realizing there’s no clock in here to see what time it is.
This is the first nightmare of many that I’m sure I’ll have while staying here. I was hoping being in a new place would chase them away, but I was wrong. They’re always the same—my dreams, that is. The only things that ever change is where I stand in retrospect to the accident, mainly because I wasn’t there to know what really happened that night. Sometimes I’m in the car with them, and I watch helplessly as my whole family dies right before me. Then there’s times where I walk up to the scene and find them all dead—just like this one. The blood and my mother’s words are the only constant in every dream. This nightmare wasn’t the worst I’ve ever experienced but the internal damage it causes each time I have it, is enough to send me hurtling backward. The images haunt me for days after, and the smell of copper infiltrates my senses clouding my judgement of what’s real and what isn’t. For days on end I’ll walk around with the urge to throw up if I see anything that resembles a wrecked car, blood or a happy family.
I lay motionless in bed trying to push thoughts of my family out of my head, and the accident that took them from me three years ago.
Actually, it all started before that.
The day I lost God’s greatest gift, was the day I stopped living. All I’ve ever known is death; the death of my family, the death of a sweet little girl who was taken too soon. Death was an evil, cruel bitch.
With sleep no longer an option tonight, I climb out of bed and pad down the hallway into the kitchen. Grabbing the sponge that was left in the sink earlier I scrub away my nightmare in the act of cleaning. I drop to my knees and vigorously polish the already clean kitchen floors. Soap suds from the sponge continue growing with each rough stroke. The puddles of blood from my nightmare still linger, urging me to scour the floor with unnecessary force—figuratively washing away all the bright red blood still haunting me. Even if I wanted to rid my mind of all the horrid images, it would be impossible. The images are permanently etched in my brain forever—there’s no hope of purging them.
Not now. Not ever.
Chapter Six
After spending the early hours of the morning cleaning, I decided on taking a shower before I went out shopping for the essentials I’d need while staying here. I’m still a little jumpy and thrown off by last night’s nightmare, but I push the horrific images to the back of my mind hoping they’ll stay there.
As I’m riding in the back of a taxi to the nearest shopping center, I take a moment to enjoy the scenic beauty of San Diego roll by the window. The weather here is nothing like it is back home. There’s not a cloud in sight, the color of the sky a bright periwinkle blue. The sun here gives off just the right amount of heat, shining on top of the tall high-rise buildings in the heart of downtown. Palm trees line what seems like every other street and the freeways look like a tangled ball of yarn from afar. Large houses line the tops of hills that range from small to big, reminding me of celebrity’s houses in the hills of Hollywood.
After leaving the Target that’s connected to the Westfield shopping center, I walked through each level in the mall making it a mission to stop at the stores with well-dressed mannequins. If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about the people here in San Diego is they represent their city to a T. More than half of the people walking around today either had on Padres baseball caps or Chargers football jerseys. I’ve never felt so out of my element before now, back home everything was all about the Pittsburgh Steelers, but here it’s all completely different.
Within minutes of shopping I found a few cute outfits I couldn’t turn down, even though my wallet was begging me to be frugal. One dress in particular caught my eye; it’s a pure white sundress with intricate detailing. The dress reminded me of last night’s dream. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing—it might be an omen.
Images of me in a white dress covered in blood still linger in my head, haunting me. I almost passed the store entirely from being so overwhelmed by everything around me, my gaze darted from store to store trying to decide which one to walk into next. The white flowy sundress was put on display in front of the window, pulling me in that direction. I figured if it looked that good on a mannequin there’s no way it wouldn’t look good on me too. My feet marched into the store with minds of their own. Once I paid for it, I swapped my current clothes for the crisp new dress. It hits just above my knee as it hugs my upper chest accentuating what little curves I have while flaring out slightly near my hips and legs. The fabric is fresh against the heat of my skin. The lace detailing on the chest is what sold me, it’s to die for. For someone like me who has a hard time looking in the mirror from day to day, this dress does a good job of making me feel pretty—like I’m worth something. As if the white of the dress can purify me and cleanse me of the darkness that lingers over me.
My feet start to ache in my flip flops prompting me to check my cell phone for the time. I balk when I see it’s nearly six o’clock.
Damn, is that the time already?
I take a cab back to the condo to drop off my new items, after all the walking done at the mall I feel fatigued, like I haven’t slept in days. When my stomach makes a loud grumble, I’m reminded I haven’t eaten much today, or any other day that I’ve been here. Using the GPS on my phone to find the closest
eateries, I decide to walk on foot to do a little more sight-seeing, and get some fresh air.
The streets here in San Diego always seem busy. If it’s not bikers and runners constantly out for their daily jogs, it’s someone out walking their dog, or tourists snapping photos every other second. I breathe in the crisp fresh air around me, and smile. My dress billows lightly in the breeze, and the warm sun kisses my pale exposed skin.
Twenty minutes later I find a small Mexican restaurant and stop inside for food. The aroma of the spicy Mexican cuisine infiltrates my senses making my mouth water instantly. I stand as patiently as I can in the small line of people waiting to give their name or be seated. The restaurant is dimly lit with Aztec art paintings strategically placed on the walls and Spanish music playing in the background.
“Nathaniel!” A woman shouts from somewhere beside me.
Every part of my body freezes. My heart stills in my chest at that name and all the air is forced from my lungs making it impossible to breathe. The room spins, and my whole world tilts off its axis. I clench my eyes shut willing myself not to pass out. I’m unable to catch my breath, every attempt wheezes out of me unnaturally. Close to tears, the stabbing sensation in my heart reverberates throughout my body, eliciting a cold sweat from my pores. Images of my little brother flash behind my closed lids. Blonde hair, innocent blue eyes, and a carefree smile. Forcing my eyes open, I slowly turn on wobbly legs to find a mother scolding her young son…Nathaniel.
Fresh bout of tears leak-out of the corners of my eyes as I stare at the little boy who looks around the same age as my little brother was before he passed. With the brief thought of Nathan, my whole family comes to mind, and the crushing weight of pain on my chest is unbearable. I stumble on weak legs the light-headed sensation disorienting me, almost like the very floor I’m standing on is shaking and the room is spinning all at once. The noises of the restaurant buzz around me fading in and out. A panic attack is in the midst, I can feel it tempering through my body.
