Buried Truth

by Caleb Whitaker

Chapter 14: Reliving the Past

   

  While standing in front of the bathroom mirror, the cuts and gashes on my face grab my attention. Claw marks that are much bigger than I previously thought are beginning to crust over as they go through the stages of forming a scab, much like the scab covering my memory. Healing only occurs after enough time has passed from the original act of the trauma. I suppose the same is true for emotional trauma.

  I must need more time for my memory to fully heal, to return all the bits and pieces of information to their proper place. It’s time to stop rushing myself, let it happen. In the end, everything heals when left alone to run its own course.

  I turn the sink faucet, which in turn allows a stream of cold water to flow vigorously into the sink. I cup my hands, in an attempt to control the high-pressured water, and splash the cool water across my face. The water sends a coolness over me that penetrates all the way to my skull, acting as a temporary relief aid for my tempered thoughts and pain.

  I cup my hands once more and splash even more water across my face. This time the splashes of water across my face send a rejuvenating tingle throughout my entire body. The coolness spreads down my arm, like a crawling insect, all the way to my fingertips.

  After feeling the instant effects of the water's healing energy, I bend over the sink and let the cool water flow through my matted hair. The water stings against my hair and scalp, beating away any thought of malice or hatred along with the sweat and muck. My heart rate slows and my body relaxes.

  I raise my head and stare into the mirror at the water dripping down my face from my wet stringy hair. As I’m looking at myself, a small detail in the bottom corner of the mirror redirects my eyes. There is a bloody rag against the wall behind me. I quickly turn, slinging water with me. I stare at the wall, but there is nothing there. No rag. No blood.

  I turn back to the mirror to find only my ghostly reflection and a bare wall and floor behind me. I brace myself against the sink as I stare into my own eyes. There isn’t even a flicker of acquiescence in the reflected person's demeanor. The eyes are those of a bold stranger, unyielding in his pursuit and wary of everything. He doesn’t resemble myself in any way, or does he? “I have got to take this slow. I’m going to run myself into the ground if I don’t.”

  I take a towel and dry off while trying not to tear any of the scabs. Then the door shakes from Ryleigh knocking on the door as the bouncing sound waves intrude the tiny bathroom. The door is locked, so she speaks through the wooden barrier from the other side. “Ryan, I know you didn’t mean to do that. Please, come out so we can talk.” 

  I open the door and go to walk out of the bathroom, but she blocks me from passing. She wraps her arms tightly around me, the smell of sweat and vanilla captivating me in the process. Her body is warm and comforting against the coolness of my own. My arms follow her lead and wrap around her as a few rouge water droplets from my hair fall onto her shoulder.

  I let out a deep exhale, “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I just don’t understand any of this. I want so badly to understand what happened.”

  She kisses me on my wet forehead and gives me one more tight squeeze before we walk back over to the bed holding hands. “I’m sorry, too. You have to understand that I never meant for your parents to be harmed. I… I was just scared.”

  I should cut her some slack for throwing a pillow at her and everything else. I wouldn’t even know what to do if someone was stalking me, for instance the guy at the bar was enough to rattle me. And for all know he could be her ex, but she is no shape to deal with that problem and neither am I. Who knows how I would react if he had wanted to kill me right there in the parking lot. Hell, I don’t even know what to do right now, so it makes sense she was scared. I’m the one who didn’t save them because I was probably too much of a coward. I’m still scared to death about even finding them. So, what could she have done? Nothing!

  I say, “I know you were scared. We can get through this together. Let’s continue to go through what happened. Maybe, it will help me remember. Let’s just take it nice and slow.”

  “Ok. Well, after I came out of the bathroom, I found you at the bottom of the stairs. You were all scratched up. I didn’t see the fall, but it looked like you had been shoved down the stairs and hit your head or something. Because, you were a little out of it.”

  “Was I drunk?” I interrupt.

  “Yes, between the bar and dinner you drank a lot. So you weren’t in the best state before the attack. And after, well…”

  “Ok. So, what happened once you got to me at the stairs?”

  She pushes some hair off her face as she thinks about it for a few seconds. “I got you up on your feet and we ran outside to your car.”

  At least, that matches up with what the police and my mystery person have told me. “Did you see anyone outside?”

  The question appears to catch her by surprise. Her body posture gets rigid. Her muscles in her arm tighten as her hand squeezes mine. Then just as quickly as everything tightened up, her body relaxes. “He chased us out of the house, but I didn’t notice anyone else. Why? Do you remember something?”

  “Oh, no. I was just wondering if there was anyone else that was there that could help us?”

  She responds. “Unfortunately, no one else was around. I think we are on our own. Maybe it’s for the best.”

  My head begins to steadily pulse as another headache is on the verge of breaking out of its restraints, splitting my entire head in two. It’s like every time I take a step forward to regaining my memory or finding out the mystery of that night my body tries to stop me. The pulse against my scalp quickens its pace and the intensity rages into a full-blown frenzy, causing my eyebrows to constrict because of the growing discomfort.

  Feeling the need to end the conversation quickly I reply. “One final question then I need to get some rest. What happened once we got to the house?”

  Realizing my discomfort, she speaks a little quicker. “On the way over, it was clear you were beginning to lose it. You wouldn’t respond to me. When we got to your house, the first thing you did was pour a glass of scotch and change your clothes. It was as if you were sleepwalking. You had no clue I was even there with you.”

  I hack into the open air as my body begins to shut down. My cuts begin to sting as if they had just occurred, the dampness of my forehead now taking the feel of blood instead of refreshing water. I miss part of what she is saying, but there is no way I can have her repeat it.

  My ears latch back onto her voice as she says, “I stayed long enough to realize you had no recollection of what happened. I was scared he might come find us, so I left you in the bathroom. I left town and paid for a hotel room here in Burkeville at the Comfort Suites. I have regretted leaving you when you needed me most, ever since that night.”

  “The important thing is you’re here now. I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well. I need to lie down.”

  After I finish speaking, I dig my fingertips into the bed sheets and use them as leverage to crawl from the foot of the bed up to my pillow. My face hits the soft pillow as my hands clench the sheets. I try to fight the raging migraine by tightening my body, but the more I fight the pain, the more intense it gets, every muscle compresses into a hard ball formed by the unmitigated cramps. I can’t help thinking that without a doubt this is the most painful experience I have felt since I woke up with no memory.

  The sheets rise up over my body as a sudden chill slices through me to my core. My hands slowly loosen their grip on the sheets, and without my permission, my body gives in to the pain and gradually relaxes itself. The full effect of my exhaustion comes over me as my eyes close shut.

  I abruptly find myself in an in-between state. I’m not yet asleep, but I’m not really awake either. My body is limp, too exhausted to move. My eyes feel as if there are weights pulling them down, this time without restraints to keep them open. My headache still hurts, but it’s more of an annoying disturbance than any
thing. I can still hear, but it's more like hearing background noise than actual sound. My mind wants to flutter into panic, but my heart wants peace. My breathing stabilizes as I wander away into my thoughts and memories.

   

  The shot of Scotch glides down my throat as I slam the glass down on the bar counter in defiance of my drinking limit. Someone sits down on the bar stool next me, the smell of vanilla covering up the repugnant hint of vomit somewhere in the bar. A sweet, soft voice calls out for the bartender from beside me. I turn to my right setting my eyes on the person beside me.

  It isn’t exactly love at first sight, but it isn’t nothing. I glance away, blushing because she catches me checking her out. She breaks the awkward moment by introducing herself as Ryleigh.

  I introduce myself and we talk for a few minutes, drinking more and more as time rolls by, with each drink ending with a crash of glass upon the counter. Finally, after I drink more than my fair share I pull away and stumble out the bar. I start walking, my arms stretching like the wings of a bird, toward the street that heads to my buddy’s dorm. Before I get ten steps from the bar, a girl comes running out yelling my name. My head whips around, pulling my entire body with it.

  My bird wings are no match for the quick unbalanced motion that works along with gravity to pull me down into the rocky gravel parking lot. Ryleigh runs out to me and grabs my hand pulling me upward from my grave of shame. This time, gravity and my weight act as leverage against her, sending both of us crashing down into the bits of rock.

  We both burst out laughing at our clumsiness. Ryleigh brushes herself off and picks up my phone. “You forgot to ask for my number…”

   

  I knock on the door to my parents’ house. My dad comes to the door and opens it with a smile. My hand stretches out to meet him as Ryleigh and I break the threshold of the home. My dad and I embrace with a hard handshake as he pulls me in for a hug.

  As he wraps his arms around me, he whispers into my ear. “We need to talk privately. When the ladies go to set the table meet me in my Study.”

  My hand pats up against his back in subtle acknowledgment. We release each other as I close the door, smiling at Ryleigh as it latches shut. My dad says something to Ryleigh then gives her a hug, while I walk into the kitchen to find mom. My mother is stirring a pot of mashed potatoes on the stove, my favorite dish from a childhood of splendid home cooking.

  I hug her, “How long till we eat?”

  She replies in her proper tone. “Dinner will be ready shortly, dear.”

  “Smells great mom. Can’t wait.”

  “Well of course. Only the best for my bright little boy. I’m so proud of your hard work. I knew you could do it if you set your mind to it.”

  I give her another hug and thank her before I head into the living room. A few minutes pass as my dad, Ryleigh and I talk about this and that. Then at some point, my mom walks in and sits beside my dad. My parents are sitting on the couch opposite of me and Ryleigh, which makes me feel like a teenager all over again, never could get away from them when I did manage to procure a date. We talk for a few minutes, and then mom asks Ryleigh if she wouldn’t mind helping to set the table.

  Once Ryleigh and my mom walk away into the kitchen to set the dinner table, my dad pushes himself off the couch without a word, for the silence is clear enough for me to decipher what to do. He slowly trots out of the living room and back towards his study. I get up off the couch and walk behind him, like many times before. Growing up, whenever my dad needed to talk to me about something or when I was in trouble he would take me to his Study for a chat. The importance of going to the Study creates a tremble within my consciousness. I’m feeling guilty for something. I know the feeling well, but I have nothing to feel guilty about.

  We walk into the study and my dad motions for me to have a seat in one of the chairs. He walks over to his filing cabinet that securely holds all his most important copies of work files. As he picks through some files, I pick nervously at my pant leg. Finally, he retrieves a file and hands it to me. The file is titled Gate’s…

   

  Something slides up from the outside of my leg, pulling me back from the memory. I try to roll over, but my body is still trying to milk every second of rest it can. My arm flexes as I’m trying to push myself up. The muscle balls up tight then relaxes. The effort I put into moving only brings more pain to the limbs, making my options minimal. Giving up for now, I return to sleep. But this time, no real sleep occurs and no new memories fight upward into my thoughts.

  I lay there on my stomach for a while trying to clear my mind and go to sleep. I close my eyes tight, but nothing. I relax my eyes, but nothing. I try anything and everything I can while lying there, but nothing helps. After a while, it becomes clear there will be no progress, not tonight.

  I open my eyes and with one painful jolt of concentration, I push myself up with both hands. I roll over on my back, cramps and all, to find Ryleigh is lying beside me reading a book. She looks over at me, saying nothing but clearly a little worried about something. Her face looks more rigid, than it was when I last saw her. Her eyes are dry and have a coldness to them.

  It’s as if instead of being eaten by guilt and fear as she was before, she is being plagued by something totally new. Something down deep in her that she has yet to reveal. I crack a small smile as our eyes meet. In that moment, her features soften and return to those of the old Ryleigh from before I fell asleep. The Ryleigh from my memories.