The air is crisp, fresh. The sky is cloudy, but perfect- the people are staring at me, but it is fine. The world is beautiful.
"Ma'am, how would you describe your life in the house?"
"Are you happy to be freed?"
"What is your next move now that you are free?"
A blanket is thrown over my shoulders. I'm not cold, but it feels nice, soft. I don't know what any of these people are talking about. They are obviously reporters. Various news vans are parked along the street with many vacant houses- it seems everyone has left their homes to watch what is happening here, now.
"Mae!" The woman's voice is familiar. "Mae, it's me!" She is crying. "It's your momma!" There are happy tears flowing down the aged, tired face of the woman. I want to feel something for her, but I can't.
A policeman tells everyone to step back but they seem to only come closer. What happened to you in the house, someone asks. Do you remember what happened? The voice is almost whispering.
Do you?
The question isn't from a reporter. There is one man not wrapped in the commotion of the moment, standing out by the street. We lock eyes, and I become stiff, his glare freezes me in place. I study him and he studies me. How could I have heard him? He is not close to me... How did I hear his voice when he didn't' shout?
The world grows silent- the beautiful, new world becomes silent and cold and vacant, even with the tens of people standing around on this front lawn.
Do... you... remember, Mae?
I shudder. I heard him, but his lips did not move.
"Mae, would you like to speak with your mother now?"
"Stop saying that," I try to keep my calm, "I do not know that woman."
"Then who is your mother?" The interrogation continues. Nothing but questions. No matter what I say or do, I am faced with another, stupid, confusing question. Like many others, this has no answer.
"I... I don't know."
The woman leading my interrogation sighs, frustrated. There is a man that has been standing in the corner with his hand on his chin, studying me and agreeing with the woman's line of questioning. The room is cold, they took away the blanket.
"Listen, this isn't going anywhere. Let's just release her, she hasn't done anything wrong."
The woman gives me a look, she isn't letting me off the hook so easy. She and the man in the corner regroup and talk in hushed voices. Though I can't hear her words, I can tell by the tone of her voice that she is upset.
"Jesus, Paul! What about the bodies?" She yells but then hushes her voice again.
Bodies...?
"Okay, Mae- one last question. What do you remember?"
I think long, hard. I have been asking myself the same question; trying to dig deep into my mind but my thoughts don't linger farther than waking up this morning. I don't remember anything about my past at all- but I do remember how I've felt.
"I was in a bed, waking up..." The detectives both pulled out a chair, happy that I was finally presenting new information. "It smelled like...um..." I don't know how to describe it. It was musty and it didn't smell good, "bad. It smelled bad. I was afraid, but I don't remember why. And then there was a man wearing a lab coat. He ran around the house, frantically searching for something... he didn't even notice that I was there. My head hurt really bad, I had a migraine and could hardly think right.
