RULES FOR DISAPPEARING
BY WITNESS PROTECTION PRISONER #18A7R04M:
Confine yourself to your living space as much as possible, especially at night. Remember, nothing good ever happens after midnight.
I’M trapped in the room again. The voices are loud but distorted. There’s blood everywhere. I look down. It’s coming from me.
I wake with a start. There’s a crowd over me, and Ethan helps me up to a sitting position.
I lean back from everyone and ask, “What happened?” My throat feels rough and scratchy.
Ethan’s brow scrunches up. “You started screaming and then passed out. How do you feel?”
I’m looking at Ethan’s face, but that’s not what I see. I’m back in that room from my nightmare. I’m behind something. A couch. It’s leather. It’s so real, it’s like I’m actually there, right now. I reach my hand out to feel its buttery softness, but all I hit are dead leaves. My jaw gets tight like I’m going to vomit. This isn’t real. This can’t be real.
“Meg, are you okay?” Ethan twists around and screams, “Dad, I need to get Meg out of here.”
Now there are sounds. Screaming, loud, angry ones. My head vibrates with the noise. I sink back down to the ground, but Ethan picks me up and helps me into the Ranger I saw his dad riding in earlier. I curl up in the seat, and every time my eyes close, I’m back in that room. I open them quickly, scared of being sucked into that dream. Mr. Landry is at my side. I look at his face but I see Mr. Price, Brandon’s dad, instead. And there’s blood pouring from his chest. I dig my palms into my eyes, hoping to erase the image.
“Take her home, son. We’ll see about Bandit. Will’s got the bleeding stopped, and they’re wrapping him up now.”
“You want me to come with you?” I hear Catherine ask.
“No, stay with Will. Help get Bandit back to the truck.”
I want to tell Ethan to stay, to take care of Bandit, but I have to get out of here.
We drive fast through the woods, and Ethan keeps one arm across me the entire time. Every dark shadow from the surrounding woods looks like it’s trying to close in around me and suck me in.
I drop my head against Ethan’s shoulder, and my eyes drift closed. Brandon’s face fills my mind, but it’s not the tanned beautiful face I remember. His eyes stare past me in a lost sort of way, and then there’s blood. Everywhere.
“No!” I scream, and shake my head, hoping to erase the horrible things there.
Ethan slows the Ranger and pulls me to him. “Meg, are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” I’m so not fine. Not at all.
We make it back to his truck and he helps me into the passenger seat, handing me a bottle of water.
“I’m so sorry, Ethan. Is Bandit going to be all right?”
“Yes, he’ll be fine. Just a gash in the shoulder. They gave him a shot to help with the pain. I’ll take him to the vet first thing for a few stitches, but other than that, he’ll be good as new. I probably won’t be able to pick you up in the morning.”
We leave the farm, and I fight down the images forcing their way through my head. I focus on the white center line of the road and try not to think about anything else.
“I’m worried about you. Are you okay?”
I take a deep drink of water and wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. “I can’t talk about it right now.”
I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to even think about it. The nightmare scrolls through my head, and it takes every bit of determination I have to keep from falling apart.
“Are you taking me home?”
“I can’t decide if I need to take you home or the hospital.”
“Home. Please take me home,” I beg.
Ethan is quiet but keeps looking over at me.
“What about the hog?” I ask.
“Dead. It was either him or Bandit.” I can hear the heartbreak in his voice.
He really should have stayed with his dog rather than having to deal with me. I pick at a dried flake of blood on my hand, and then I realize I’m covered in it. Once I start, I can’t stop. I rub my hands together, hoping to get rid of every piece, but it’s not working.
Ethan leans across the truck and puts his hand on top of mine, stopping me. “I can take you to shoot targets. Let you get comfortable with a gun. They’re not near as scary once you learn how to use one.”
My jaw gets tight. “No. It’s fine.”
“Have you ever been around guns before?”
The image of a hand with a gun fills my head, but it’s not Ethan’s. It’s a man’s hand. And I’m in that room. I shake my head, hard. Can’t think about the gun. Or the blood. Or the sound.
“Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”
“I won’t.”
We ride the rest of the way in silence. I stare at the dashboard, letting myself zone out.
Ethan moves to get out once we pull in the parking lot, but I stop him. “I’m so sorry about Bandit. Please go check on him.” He starts to argue, but I put a finger over his lips. “I’ll feel so much better if you do.”
I jump out of the truck before he has a chance to say anything, then tiptoe into the house. It’s late, sometime around midnight, and all I want to do is get into bed and process what happened tonight and why I’m flooded with visions from my nightmares. I’m startled when I see Mom at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, with an empty gin bottle beside her.
“Mom?”
She looks up and her eyes are red and swollen. “You’re back.”
I sit down at the table. I need to ask her what’s happening to me, but she’s stinking drunk. Just when I need her the most. “I thought you stopped.”
She shakes her head and looks back down. “What happened? You’ve got blood all over you. Are you hurt?”
“I had some sort of panic attack. I think I’m going crazy.” I drop my head on the table. I have to talk to someone, even if it’s my hammered mother, who won’t remember a single thing I say come morning. “Something is wrong with me, but I don’t know what it is. I’ve been having nightmares for months, but tonight I had one while I was awake. I’ve got things in my head I can’t get rid of.”
Mom turns toward me and almost falls out of her chair. “You’re not crazy.” She puts both of her hands on my face and pulls me close to her. This is why I hate being around her when she’s like this. The smell of gin is overwhelming. “They said it’d happen like this.” She drops her hands back on the table, then her eyes flutter closed.
I nudge her shoulder. “Mom, what are you talking about? Mom?”
She opens her eyes about halfway. “It’s not your fault. Don’t feel bad.” Her words are slurred, but I can make them out. I don’t understand them, though.
“What’s not my fault? And who are ‘they’ and what did they say?”
She rolls her head to the side. “Can’t tell you. Dad will be mad at me.” She lets out a sharp laugh. “Ha! Dad’s always mad at me.”
I lean forward, closer to her face. “Please tell me. I think something is really wrong with me.”
She props herself up on her elbows, eyes squinting like she’s trying to focus on my face. “It’s not your fault, baby. You weren’t supposed to be there.” Her head falls again.
“Mom, talk to me. Stay awake. Not supposed to be where?” I get that tingly feeling I had in the woods, and I break out in a sweat. “Tell me, Mom. What’s not my fault?” I pull her head up and turn her face to me.
One eye cracks open, and she spreads her arms wide. “This. All this. You’re why we’re here. You’re the one they’re after.”