27. Willow
WILLOW
NOVEMBER PRESENT DAY
“So...Did you text him yet?” Jenna asks as she starts pulling stuff out of the fridge to make us lunch.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m just not sure what to say.”
Thanks for the flowers. By the way, why fifteen bouquets? Do you have an obsession with the number fifteen? Is it your lucky number? Or are you secretly stalking me?
“How about just thanks for the flowers? Simple. Sweet,” she asks.
“Doesn’t that seem a bit unappreciative? The man literally got me hundreds of flowers.”
“Do you want to thank him by going on another date?” she teases.
“I can’t.”
“Ooh, so it’s not that you don’t want to…”
“Jenna, stop. I told you last night why. Everyone would judge me at the firm. They’d say there goes the bitch who slept her way onto the team.”
“No one would say that,” she laughs.
“Okay, they’d think it.”
“And are you a mind reader?”
“No…”
“Then fuck what they think! Jesus, Willow. You said it yourself, you’ve never felt like this with someone before. What if he’s your true love? Your Prince Charming.”
She’s getting that look in her eyes again. The lovey-dovey sparkle she gets any time she talks about true love.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe. But hey, what do I know? I’ve been shit out of luck for two years waiting on Mr. Right to cross my path. I’m starting to think he might have gotten hit by a bus.”
“Or maybe your Mr. Right and my Mr. Right are actually dating each other.”
“Ooh, we could be like sister wives…no. Is there a show where it’s two dudes and two chicks?”
“Not that I know of. It sounds like something that would be on MTV, though.”
“Oh, God. I miss old MTV. I always wanted my car to get chosen for Pimp My Ride,” she says as she dreamily looks out the back window before we both start cracking up.
“I’ll text him in a little while. I think I’m going to go for a drive.”
“A drive? You never just go for a drive. You okay?”
“Yeah. I just want to go drive along the water for a bit to clear my head.”
“Want me to come with you?”
I want to say yes, but at the same time, I can’t. She can’t know anything about where I’m going. No one can.
“Not this time. Thanks, though. What do you want to do for dinner?”
“Can we go to that burger place? I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
I glance at the clock on the microwave. It’s almost one. I should be able to get back by four or five.
“Sure. We can do that.”
“Hey, if you clear your head enough, can you invite Mr. Bigshot and see if he has a friend? Maybe our Mr. Rights are best friends.”
“I’ll think about it. Love ya.”
“Text me occasionally.”
“I will.”
I run upstairs and quickly pull on some warmer clothes. The first few flakes of snow have started to fall. Winter is officially here.
I don’t know what I’ll be walking into when I go back. I don’t know if there is anyone living at the house now or if they’ve condemned it. I don’t remember much from my childhood, but one thing’s for sure, I’ll never forget that house.
A little over an hour later, I’m pulling off the main road onto a dirt road.
Fields seem to stretch forever. The temperature has dropped four degrees, and I forgot how quiet everything is around here.
Occasionally, I’ve had to stop as the random rabbit or deer goes bounding across the road, but other than that, it’s been empty.
I haven’t even seen a car for over fifteen minutes.
It's a Saturday. I’m surprised more people aren’t out and about, but I guess with the possibility of a bad storm coming tonight, people are being smart and hunkering down.
Except me. I’m the idiot who decided today would be a great fucking day to take a trip down memory lane.
To the hellhole I’ve been actively avoiding for the last four years.
I’ve tried to block out the memory. For years, it would only resurface maybe once a month. For the better part of my childhood, it didn’t even exist. It wasn’t until I got into a pre-college law program and was put on as a shadow for a case.
It was a domestic violence case. The man was on trial for multiple incidents of assault and more.
When I looked at him, I only saw my father.
The same look in his eyes. The curl of his lip in disgust when he looked at his wife.
It was then that I decided I would do anything to become a lawyer, just so I could make sure scum like him didn’t get to go free.
It was shortly after that day that the nightmares started happening more frequently. I had to be put back on a stronger dose of anti-anxiety medication and antidepressants than I was on when I was younger. So far, the meds have helped, but they haven’t made it go away.
“In a quarter mile, your destination will be on the left,” Karen shouts through my speakers, startling me.
Yes, I call my GPS Karen. I slow my car, letting the tires coast until I’m right in front of the house. I don’t know if my heart stops beating or if time just freezes completely, but I feel like I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t stop staring at the epicenter of my trauma.
*Ding*
“You have arrived.”
“No shit. Thanks, Karen.”
I pull into the driveway and my heart beats rapidly in my chest. The house looks abandoned.
The records online showed that the last time it was sold was the year my mother was murdered.
I’m guessing someone bought it on a short sale, sight unseen, then got here and realized what the fuck they actually bought.
The shutters are barely hanging onto the wooden siding. The once white paint is now a mix of grays and yellows. Flecks are peeling and drifting off in the icy cold wind.
My tire swing still sways back and forth, dangling from the old oak tree out front.
The porch swing is only being held on by one chain.
Kids have vandalized the outside with spray paint, but the words look old and faded, probably from people I used to know back then. Not that I can seem to remember anyone.
The furthest memory I can fully recall from my time here was that horrible night. My memories of back then have occasionally drifted to the surface, like the one today, but they melt into a mixed reality in my mind. That’s what happened earlier.
When I was looking at the flowers, I could vaguely recall a memory from when I was really young. It was fuzzy but I could remember walking along the road here and picking as many ditch lilies as I could.
I think back on the memory again. Through the haze obscuring the memory, I can see the shadows stretching across the dirt ground, cast from the sun setting behind me.
But it wasn’t just my shadow… There was someone else walking beside me.
I could see their shadow holding a handful of flowers in one hand, then in their other hand they held my own.
Earlier when I went to turn to look at who the shadow belonged to, a sudden and intense wave of nausea hit me and I dropped the envelope. Who was the person walking down the road with me?
This time though when I go to look at their face, it’s not there. It’s as if the haze is thickest covering their body. As if my mind is blocking them out. Was it ever even real? Or is my mind filling in the blank spaces with what I wanted my childhood to be?
A friend by my side…protecting me.
I glance down at my hand again and can feel the ghostly touch of their fingers still intertwined with my own. I felt it this morning when I recalled the memory…
Why can’t I just remember?
A lone crow caws out in the back field, pulling me from that hazed memory yet again. I glance up at the windows on the second floor and my mind gets flickers of images. My mom just beyond the window, searching for something that horrible night…My rabbit.
The window is busted now, as if someone threw a rock through it. Most of the windows are shattered. I wonder what’s up there. Surely people have vandalized the inside too, not just the outside. I bet there’s nothing left. At least nothing of importance.
Hopefully, none of the neighbors just saw me pull in. That’s not something I want to explain because Willow Parker doesn’t exist anymore, and I don’t want anyone from her past discovering Willow Bennett.
There’s something wrong with this place.
There always has been. As I step out of the car, I can feel the ice-cold wind slither underneath my jacket.
Fingers of death caress against my skin and up my spine.
I can practically feel the icy bones as they rake along my body.
If I close my eyes, I can hear the way the wind whistles through the cracks in the windows and the loose floorboards of the covered porch.
It’s as if it’s warning me not to set foot back inside.
Most people are only afraid of the monsters under their beds or the ones hiding in their closets when they are kids, but not me.
No, I had something worse to fear even as I got older.
My monster escaped that night. He’s been haunting my nightmares and stalking through the shadows just at the edge of my vision.
I swear the wind just howled the word Go as it flung my door open with the strong gust. I guess it’s fitting since the only ghost that would be haunting this place is my mother’s.
“I’m sorry. I can’t leave just yet,” I whisper to the empty backyard.
The door slams open, then shut on the old barn door at the back. You can hear the way the wood shifts, groaning in pain from the years of decay. I was never allowed in Daddy’s barn. I wonder if it still holds his secrets.
I glance down at my phone. It’s nearly three. I need to hurry. I doubt this place has power anymore, and I want to look around before it gets dark. Plus, I promised Jenna we would go get burgers for dinner.
The door to my car slams shut much harder than I intended. The sound echoes off the trees that run along the side of the property separating us from the neighbor’s home, less than one hundred yards away. What were their names again?
As if on cue, a dog starts barking in the direction of their house.
I faintly remember their dog. A giant mastiff that always hated my dad.
There’s no way it’s the same dog after all these years, but it’s like the land remembers.
It’s as if being back here is making the memories slowly start coming back.
The only question now is, will I be able to handle what I’m about to remember?