You've Been Tagged

3:41 am

3:41 am, September 10th, present year.

         The room Louis situated us in was a small conference room. A smaller table was in the middle, with a phone in the middle. In the top right corner a small table held a TV. I was currently meddling with for a viewable channel. So far, no luck. Along the left wall was a two person couch.

            Dad called Mom once we were alone, and although she was worried, Dad convinced her to go to bed. Riley was already asleep.

            I was beginning to become tired myself. None of the channels were amusing or clear enough, and it was almost 4 in the morning. I fought the urge to sleep though. Last time I closed my eyes, I woke up in an exploding car.

            I left the TV on the only channel that was visible and plopped on the couch. It was the news. Some reporter was sharing a ground breaking story, but I didn't care enough to listen.

            Dad stood up from the chair he was sitting in and turned down the volume.

            "Why don't you try and get some sleep Chase?"

            "I'm paranoid now. You heard what happened the last time I dozed off."

            "This is a much different situation. You're safer here," Dad assured me.

            "What just happened was not safe."

            "No, but in order to get here, to us, they would have to come through the cops in front of us."

            I sighed. I was pretty exhausted. "Okay, but no promises." I stretched out and shut my eyes.

            My mind wouldn't shut off. I tried to blank out my mind, but thoughts and images of today's events all blurred together into unrecognizable pictures in my head.

            Slowly, yet surely, my whirring brain steadied and after about 10 minutes, my tiredness overtook my adrenaline and sleep took me over.

*          *          *

            Yes, the figure was responsible for the police station break-in. The figure did shoot the door and release all the prisoners. As the figure saw it, he had let the captives free, which wasn’t a bad thing. The Bible said it! The book of Isaiah says, “He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners”. That’s just what the figure did. So it wasn’t wrong! It was even sanctioned by God! The figure wasn’t a bad person; he was only seen as bad because of the previous circumstances. The death of his mother in particular. The figure reflected, relived the moment in the past.

            It was actually a very heart-breaking scenario. The figure’s father had no control; he was unaware of what he was actually doing. The figure’s father switched into his alter ego, his evil personality. The figure couldn’t stop his father once the figure’s father started. It was impossible. The figure’s father started beating his wife, maliciously and unmerciful. The figure shrunk in the corner, not daring to make a move. The figure’s father was usually a very kind and nice man, but now he was cruel and hateful. Blow after blow landed. The figure closed his eyes, not wanting to watch. The sounds were still emitted, and the figure started to whimper. The figure’s father started spewing meaningless words, phrases that were unclear and indiscernible. The figure’s father hit her once more, twice, then stood back and snarled. The figure opened his eyes and saw his father walk away defiantly. After the father left, the figure cautiously crawled over to his mother. She was lying on the ground, barely breathing, eyes closed and heart beat threateningly slow. The figure cried next to his mother, holding her hand. The figure’s father came back in the room. However, this time, the father was back into his normal state of mind. The figure’s father saw the figure next to the mother and shouted, “How could you? You killed your mother!” The figure tried to explain, but it was futile. The figure was a child, and the father was powerful and all knowing. The figure’s father called 911 and the mother was taken to the emergency room. She would die a few days later from internal bleeding.

            After that, the figure was moved from orphanage to orphanage. Nobody ever came to adopt him. Who would adopt a child who had killed his mother? NOBODY!  The figure never left the orphanage for the next six years. Then, having enough, the figure ran away. The orphanage never bothered to report it, and the figure expected nothing less. The figure was homeless, moving from town to town, scrounging for food and living in the same clothes. Scraps of meals and cardboard boxes were his life savers.

            Then, one day, the figure met someone, and that someone saved his soul. They sheltered the figure and cared for him.

            Then that someone, the rescuer, revealed who they really were.

            And it shook the figure’s world.

*          *          *

            Water was all around me, I was drowning. The current was pulling me under, and I for some reason I couldn’t remember how to swim. I flailed my arms and only succeeded in splashing water violently. There was no land in sight, and my body weight was dragging me down. I looked at the water.

            It was black. I was in a black body of water.

            I didn’t stop to contemplate it. I kicked my legs, but my feet felt like bricks.

            A noise. Faint, but I knew what it was.

            A motorboat.

            I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Help! Over here! Help me!”

            However, no sound came out. I was mute.

            I tried again. Still nothing. Silence.

            I saw the motor boat. It was shimmering white, with a female driving it.

            I waved my hands and splashed the water, hoping to catch the driver’s attention.

            It was futile though. The speedboat sped by less then 10 yards away from me.

            It disappeared into the distance.

            The water continued to pull me under, but this time, instead of fighting, I gave up. I stopped resisting and let the tide pull me under.

*          *          *

            “Chase! Wake up! Are you alright?” My eyes flashed opened. I jerked, and fell off the couch I was on. I propped myself up and whipped my head around, looking for danger.

            “Chase! Look at me!” I focused my eyes on Dad, who was talking to me. “Are you okay? You were starting to sweat and move around strangely while you were sleeping.”

            I shook my head.

            A dream. No, a nightmare. But still not reality.  

            But it was the second dream where I died. Although in the last one, I gave up.

            What did it mean?