Awakened

Chapter 5: It's The End Of The Line

The room is silent, heavy with the weight of today's events. Mia and I sit in front of the spread-out documents, the only sound is the soft hum of the ceiling fan above us. I don't even know where to start.

The papers seem to pulse in the dim light, as though they hold something alive inside them. Something I'm not ready to face, but can't ignore.

The papers hold words that don't feel like mine. Not in any real sense anyway.

Growing up in foster care, I've never had a true grasp on my past, on what came before the system, before the orphanages, the foster homes, the strangers who told me where I was supposed to be and when. I didn't have parents to ask about the past. I had nothing to go on but what the state handed me.

For the first time, the story of me, is sitting right in front of me. The story of who I am and how I got to where I am now. I'm not sure what I'm hoping to find, but I hope they hold some answers.

Right now, that's exactly what I need. Answers.

Anything that could explain what happened back in the store. Why Mrs. Hawthorne, of all people, would be involved in whatever's going on. Why she seemed so aware of me, like she knew something I didn't.

But more than the papers or even the questions, there's something else chewing at me, a constant undercurrent of fear.

The burning feeling inside me from earlier--something primal, something raw and powerful. It's still there, simmering beneath the surface. I feel it in my chest, in my fingertips, in the way my body almost hums with the strange energy. The longer I sit here, the more I wonder what it means, and if it's connected to all of this... whatever this is.

The silence drags on, stretching between us, thick and heavy. Mia finally breaks it again, reaching out for a birth certificate. She picks it up with hesitant fingers, as though it's somehow more fragile than the others.

"Look," she says softly. "It's your birth certificate."

She holds it out for me to see, her eyes scanning it quickly. I take the paper from her, my hands feeling cold and stiff, and glance down at it.

Kyle Atkinson.

The name jumps off the page, bold and clear, and I swallow hard. It's my name, but... it doesn't feel like it's mine, not in the way it should.

The date catches my eye. 

August 23, 2006.

I blink, feeling my heart thump in my chest. August 23rd. My birthday. Today's date. A date I've known by heart for years, but it feels different now. It feels wrong.

Mia points to a line on the page. "Wait, did you see this?" She says. "Did you know this?"

I squint to read the small text that caught her eye.

It says:

Place of Birth: 

Home Birth, Address: 17 North Pineview Road, Brexton, Illinois.

I stare at the address, my mind blank for a second, the numbers staring back at me. Home birth. That's not something I've ever heard about myself before. No hospital, no official records of me being born in any sort of medical facility.

"It says 'home birth.' That's... strange, right?" Mia puzzles.

I nod slowly.

I glance back down at the birth certificate, feeling my pulse quicken. The more I study it, the more unsettled I feel. There's a lot of information here, but not enough.