One

by J. A. Laraque

  “You’ve reached the voicemail of Martha, Timothy and Ashley Hayden. Sorry we missed your call, but if you leave your name, number and time of your call, we will call you back. Have a wonderful day.”

  Hearing my mother’s voice, for the first time ever, caused me anguish.

  “Mom, are you home? Please pick up! Something happened. I don’t know what it is, but everyone evacuated. I’m coming home. Wait for me!”

  My body froze. I never saw my mother face to face that morning. Was she even there? My eyes locked onto a large digital clock above the door, one forty-five. What if they never had a chance to tell me, to warn me? I begged my body to move. I couldn’t accept what I feared had happened. Finally able to break free I rushed toward the door. A thought burrowed through my mind. Was this my dream fulfilled by a nightmare? Was I now alone

  An Awakening Nightmare

  It didn’t matter anymore; the mystery of what was unfolding before me. All that I cared about was reaching home as fast as I could. I didn’t show it, but I often worried about my mother as much as she worried about me. I remember the look on her face at dad’s wake. People we hadn’t seen in years showing up, not out of love or even respect, but obligation. Mom spent more time trying to be strong for us than grieving. Maybe that is why she was not able to “heal” as Ashley would say.

  My bike could not move fast enough. I remember how I felt. It was just like before, the cold air, the silence, the helplessness. Driving to the hospital the night of the accident there was nothing I could do, but sit there looking at mom’s face. I don’t even remember my thoughts, but I knew deep inside that something horrible had happened. My mind tried to deny it, but again, deep down I knew it was true. That feeling, that day, rushing home, it told me that everything was starting again. It told me something horrible had happened.

  I pulled back into the garage, nothing had changed. The lobby was still empty, quiet. The elevator was there as if waiting for me. I reached my door. My hands shook as I tried to open it. The rush of air from the apartment brought something else, a smell from earlier, of coffee. When I left the house I remembered smelling mom’s coffee. I went on that thinking she was in the kitchen having breakfast.

  “Mom, are you home? Ashley?” I called out with more hope than question.

  Receiving no response made it harder for me to open the door to the kitchen. Mom always sat at the island in the center of the kitchen. It was dad who designed it. He was the chef of the house and was always proud to show off his culinary skills to anyone who came by. Ashley told me mom sat at that spot every morning just staring ahead at the stove. Before, dad would be there cooking something for everyone. Since his death she just sits there alone drinking coffee and eating toast.

  “Mom…” I said in almost a whisper.

  My voice echoed through the room. I knew the answer before the door was fully open. There was nothing. The kitchen was as empty and quiet as the lobby. I was going to turn and leave when I saw something from the corner of my eye. A small, white plate sat on the island. I could see the half-eaten toast from the doorway, but that wasn’t what caught my eye.

  The track lighting from above the bar caught the reflection of a broken coffee cup shattered across the tile floor. My eyes focused on the dispersal pattern. I couldn’t help it; my mind saw a puzzle and began working on an explanation. I walked closer and had the solutions before I reached the island. Mom had the cup in her hand when she dropped it. It fell straight down to the floor. What I couldn’t figure out was when this happened and why.

  I knelt down and brushed my fingers through the spilled coffee. It was cool, but recently made. The next question was what did she see or hear that caused her to react like that. The LCD television hanging from the cherry oak cabinets was turned off. There was no sound from the radio. Another question entered my mind bringing with it a glimmer of hope.

  I ran from the kitchen darting up the stairs. My thought was that perhaps this event happened just as I left. Immediately my mind tried to reject that theory because the evidence showed that it would be impossible to evacuate the city that quickly. If anything there would be police or military left behind for those who got lost or didn’t hear the evacuation order. I tried to push reason to the side as I reached mom’s door. It was closed.

  “Mom, can I come in? Something’s happened, they evacuated the city. I think there was a terrorist attack or something.”

  All I wanted at that moment was to open the door to mom yelling at me for not waiting for her to call me in. I pushed the door open in haste and what I saw I was already becoming used to seeing. Vacancy, mom’s bed was unmade. Normally she would wake up and head downstairs for breakfast, shower and then make her bed.

  She would never get up later than eight; even if she was sick she was often up by six. Embrace every minute of the day she used to say. I wondered if she still embraced it after dad died. She still awoke every morning bring and early, but the brightness in her had dimmed. Her laptop sat on the edge of her pillow. It would have been plugged in if she knew she wouldn’t be using it for a while. There was nothing in her room that told me she was in a panic or a rush to leave. I didn’t understand what that meant.

  I left her room and quickly checked the bathroom, but it was empty. It didn’t look as if anyone had been in there since I had showered less than twenty minutes ago. All that was left was Ashley’s room. Already I was expecting the worst then I tried to turn the knob to her door. It was locked.

  “Ashley, open the door!” I screamed out.

  As I banged on her door, jubilation turned to anger when I received no response. Ashley would often lock her door and stay in her room for hours. After dad died she spent even more time alone and yet I never once heard mom talk to her about it. She was secretive about people going into her room especially when she was not home. With all her protests mom never allowed her the ability to lock her room door from the outside.

  “This isn’t a joke, Ashley. Something really bad has happened. Mom is gone; it’s like everyone is.”

  I did not know if it was the fear of what I had witnessed so far or the frustration of knowing that someone had to be inside. Maybe it was both or maybe it was that I was already losing control. I didn’t realize I had begun to break her door down just with my fists. My heart was racing. It wasn’t fear flooding into my mind, it was rage.

  “Don’t ignore me, Ashley! Not now! Open the fucking door!”

  I didn’t care anymore I needed to find someone, anyone. I needed it to end. One kick was all it took to knock the door from its hinges. There would be plenty of time to apologize once I found them. What I saw was impossible. Ashley’s room, like Starbucks, like the kitchen, like mom’s room, was vacant.

  When we first moved here there was much debate over who would get the second room with a balcony. Ashley argued that because of my love of computers and reading that I didn’t need access to the view and freedom that a balcony provided. I didn’t have to say much. I was older and I told them that soon I would move out and then Ashley could have the room. She didn’t talk to me for weeks after that.

  Ashley’s room was always in a state of disarray. Honestly, I believed that is why she wanted to keep people out of her room. Between her clothes and posters there was not much visual open space on the floor or the walls. She had a fine view of Lake Shore Drive from her window, but it was partially blocked by a Stained poster.

  My search turned up nothing. She was nowhere to be found. Her closet was filled with clothes and various items and there was no way for her to fit underneath her bed, no reason to check. Looking back at the door I confirmed that it would be impossible for her to have locked it from the outside. I didn’t know this until that moment, but she had installed a small latch on the inside of her door. It swung broken from the door, but it was clearly attached.

  The window, we lived on the twenty-third floor. Her window did not even open so it would be impossible for her to leave from there. Also, the poster was u
nmoved still blocking the view. I wanted to rip it from the wall as I walked over toward it. Then I saw it, laid out before me.

  I pulled the poster from the wall and stared out the window in disbelieve. There were hundreds, thousands of cars spread out across Lake Shore Drive, none were in motion. From directly in front of the building to as far out as I could see there was a massive chain of accidents. There were violent crashes that would definitely be fatal and other’s that looked as if the occupants just allowed their cars to roll off the road.

  My legs became weak. I felt myself falling backwards so I guided myself to Ashley’s desk chair. I was willing to believe that an accident like the one on Clark Street could be explained, but not what was out there. I didn’t know what to do next. I just stared at the blue and gold Lincoln Park High School letter jacket that Ashley’s boyfriend gave her. She would never leave the house without it even on the hottest day.

  A long shot for certain. I forced my legs to stand me upright and retrieved my cell phone to dial Ashley’s number. A ringing, I heard it not just from the phone, but from the room. It was muffled and came from Ashley’s bed. I yanked her comforter from her bed and could make out the song. Under her pillow I found Ashley’s phone.

  I needed more data to make sense of everything. I checked her recent calls and found Ashley received one from her boyfriend at eleven forty-five. The call lasted thirty-two minutes. At twelve seventeen I was still asleep. Whatever happened occurred between twelve seventeen and one thirty. This gathering of data did little to calm me. So much did not add up; there was something I was missing.

  I returned to my room to the first thing I knew to check, the flow of information. The World Wide Web would have information on what had happened whether it was localized, national or global. I awoke my computer from sleep mode to find my system was still connected to the home network, but I could not connect to the internet. My digital subscriber line modem showed my connection to my internet service provider was unavailable.

  There was still hope. I never closed my internet browser window from the night before. Surfing the internet for game information while playing was a common practice for online gamers, I always kept my homepage open. Set to Google, I could check my mail and use its search engine at the same time.

  The page also contained recent news headlines and would refresh every ten minutes updating the page and leaving a timestamp. I couldn’t help thinking about the conversation I had the night before with mom and Ashley. I went from wanting them to leave me alone to wishing they would barge in telling me this was all a joke.

  The time stamp only brought more questions and confusion. The last update before the internet connection was loss was at one PM. One last time stamp to confirm. Within my modem menu was an error reporting page. It would time stamp any errors or disconnections from the internet. That time stamp showed the connection to the internet was loss at one o’clock PM.

  Reviewing what I knew brought me to two conclusions. Both the data and what I have seen with my own eyes is false or everything I’ve learned leads to an answer that isn’t realistically possible.

  The clock showed one thirty when I woke up. That means that everyone evacuated within thirty minutes. Even if it was possible to do that it does not explain the massive accidents I have seen. Why would people just leave their cars, money, personal items, just dropping them to the floor? Honestly, the main question for me was, how could all this happen and no one, not my friends, not Christine, not mom or Ashley wake me?

  I felt tightness in my chest and needed to get some fresh air. I opened the door to the balcony and was slightly relieved to find that the air had not left me as well. The wind blowing across the sky reinforced another thought from earlier. Not only had I not seen any people, but no animals as well. The sky was clear of any birds and the ground free of any pets, vermin, even insects.

  Again my mind took over this time taking control of my body as well. Forced to turn back toward my room I found myself staring at the bed. Was there a clue there, something I overlooked?

  It came back to me. Before I feel asleep, all I thought about was being alone. Looking out over the black void of Lake Michigan at night I wanted to be there. A familiar theme, unlike It’s a Wonderful Life, I didn’t think the world would be better without me, but I without them. Was it possible that all this was a nightmare cast upon me by my sub-consciousness, a lesson or punishment to show me that being alone would not bring me peace?

  I griped the railing of the balcony. If this was a dream then all I needed to do was awaken. I remembered watching Poltergeist when I was younger. That movie scared the hell out of me. The part where the tree crashes into the kid’s room gave me nightmares for years. I had a tree just like that outside my window. During the day everything was fine, but at night that tree haunted me. No matter how mom or dad tried to comfort me, I just couldn’t sleep well at night. One day Aunt Jackie taught me a technique to take control of my dreams.

  She told me to close my eyes and concentrate on waking up. It worked. It took a few tries, but I was soon able to pull myself out of my dreams. I closed my eyes and tried to convince myself that everything here was impossible. This was not a world of reality, but a dream world I could control and escape. In the past I could feel myself pulling away from my dream and into the waking world. It felt like being pulled from quicksand, slow and tiring.

  When my grandfather died I had a dream I was trapped in my room. My mother and sister were screaming, calling out to me. No matter what I tried I couldn’t escape my room. Even using Aunt Jackie’s technique didn’t work. There was nothing, no pull, no retreat. I feared it was real until I woke up on my own accord. Crying to Aunt Jackie I asked her what I could do if her technique failed.

  Here again I was in a dream wrapped so tightly around my being that I could not escape. The first time this happened it was due to my repressed feelings over my grandfather’s death. At least that was what the shrink said. There was nothing that I could think of that would cause such a vivid dream, definitely not the wanting to be left alone. I had felt that way for years. Aunt Jackie did teach me one other way to escape what she called a constrictor dream.

  With my eyes wide open, I knew this was my only chance to put an end to this. My leg felt heavier than usual lifting them slowly over the small metal railing of the balcony. While not scared of heights I would have never done such a thing when awake. Perhaps I could have just jumped, but instead I found myself standing on the small ledge that protruded out from under the railing.

  If you die in a dream you die in real life. A statement that Jackie promised me wasn’t true. She told me growing up she had terrible nightmares that would come as soon as she closed her eyes. As much as she fought and even developed these techniques, it was as if the dream itself began to evolve and adapt to her. In the end, the only way she could escape was to fall from a distance that would normally kill her.

  I couldn’t understand why my hands held so tightly onto the railing. A feeling of fear squeezed me almost choking me. Aunt Jackie told me that when you fall in your dream you will wake up before you hit the ground. Even as my breathing increased and my heart raced I had an explanation.

  Adaptation, Jackie said that just before she finished college her dreams came to an end. Before that, they had become worse and more realistic. It got to the point where she was not certain what was real and what the dream was. Standing on top of a building she would feel the same fear she would when awake, but she told me that she could feel deep down in her soul that nothing she was being shown was real and then she would step from the building and awake safely in her bed.

  I leaned out further from the ledge and tried to think about how I would soon awake in my bed and for a moment felt a joy knowing my family would be there. That wasn’t what I felt. What I felt was an instinct. My body doing everything to warn me that what I was about to do would lead to my death. Self-preservation, if this world was real would I really want to remain in it. If this
were a dream then I would awaken. Either way, soon I would be free.

  Fading Friends

  My hands would not release, they gripped tightly around the rail as my mind fought against my body. I couldn’t understand why I was so afraid. Deep inside beyond rational thinking laid the will to live. I could not stand on the ledge any longer. I climbed back onto the balcony and fell onto my stomach. The feeling of relief sickened me, to feel relief in a world that had to be a lie. I didn’t want to get up. I was content with lying on the balcony with my eyes tightly shut.

  I don’t know how long I laid there. I rolled onto my back and sat up. I did not want to move any further so I just leaned against the railing facing the balcony door. I looked at myself in the reflection of the glass, my thoughts turned to Ashley and the fact that it would be impossible for her to leave her room. There was so much evidence to support the idea that this world was not real and yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave it.

  Something else caught my attention. The skyline in the distance reflecting off of the glass, my body ached as I pulled myself to my feet and turned around. In the distance there was a large plume of smoke rising up from near Wells Street. If there is a fire then perhaps there would be a response by the fire department or the military. Also, my mind questioned why would there be a fire so far away from me if this were a dream.

  Accepting and adapting to a situation was what I prided myself on doing, but here I did not want to accept this and I was not sure I could adapt. Questions requiring answers was what kept me moving. There was an explanation to be discovered and I did not believe I had any other choice than to investigate and solve the mystery I was placed in.

  I left my apartment and on my way to the garage, I tried calling Christine again, but received her voicemail. I could not help but think as I pulled out onto North Avenue that having this motorcycle would be convenient considering the vehicle graveyard laid out before me. When passing by Clark Street I looked inside North Shore Bank and thought about the money left behind. If my family and Christine were with me perhaps this world would be a godsend. I almost chuckled to myself when I thought that.