Caught in your Wake

ONE

Long, auburn tendrils of hair flow down her shoulders and onto her blood soaked chest. The scarlet fluid spills onto the snow, scarring the earth with yet another helpless tragedy. The trees stood as still as I did, seemingly in a grave amount of shock. My hands were blue, marking the touch of death that so nearly took me as well. I tried to walk towards the woman lying in the snow, her eyes still wide open, her chest rising and falling shakily. Is this what death looked like? Police sirens were approaching in the distance, but I did not take my eyes off of the dying human in front of me. Was I supposed to cover her wounds? Oh there were too many to keep track of. The blood made my head feel dizzy and I grasped her hands to comfort her. With tears streaming down her dirty, bloody face, her lips quivered into a pathetic smile.

"Don't let go," she mouthed and I nod but hands grabbed at the back of my shirt, dragging me away from the poor woman. I flailed my arms but no one seemed to care. No one cared about her dying wish. And as the snow fell onto my hysterical form, the paramedics placed a black sheet over the woman with the auburn hair. Then the tears came. They came and didn't stop. Voices yelled in my ear, lights flashed in my face, but my eyes followed the black sheet. Finally, I began to register the voices.

"What's your name?" A man pulled me up to sit in the back of an ambulance. His brows were furrowed in worry, and his soft, blue eyes seemed friendly. I just kept shaking my head, unable to get the words out. 'My name is Dakota Wolfe,' I wanted so badly to scream into the wintry air, but my mouth stayed closed. "He's still in shock," the man placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Let's get him to the hospital quickly."

The ambulance doors closed in front of me after the friendly man jumped in with me. He offered me a warm smile and a large, winter coat. I began to realize how much I was shivering in my water soaked clothes. I'm almost positive I lost half my shirt in the crash. As I was bombarded with bottles of water, reality washed over me and I let out a scream.

"Dakota!" A familiar man's voice flooded my dream and I sat up in bed sweating. Jonathan runs into my room for the second time tonight and places a hand on my cheek, comfortingly.

"Was I screaming again?" My cheeks turn red in embarrassment and I place my head in my warm, clammy hands.

"I know you've only been with me for barely a day," Jonathan sighs, "but if you need to talk about your dreams it could be helpful."

"They're not just random dreams," I glare at the man sitting beside me. "They're memories, personal ones at that."

"I'm sorry," he sighs and runs a hand over his face, "the whole point of you moving here was so we could become closer."

"I never wanted to come here," I bite the inside of my cheek and Jonathan silently stares at his hands. He slowly nods and stands up with a sigh.

"Goodnight, son," he mumbles before closing my bedroom door behind him. Anger runs through my veins as the words escape his lips. I may be his son, but he will never be my dad. Dads protect their children, watch them grow and help them become the person they dream to be. Jonathan left my mom and I when I was three years old. Dads aren't supposed to walk out on their children. And now, fourteen years later, I'm forced to move across the country to live with him. Throwing my pillow at the wall, I let out a yell of frustration and breathe heavily.

I turn over on my side and grab my phone dialing my mom's cellphone number. The line keeps ringing until her voice speak in the darkness of the night.

"This is Lindsey, leave a message and we'll get back to you," her voice is upbeat and followed by a long beep. I sit there silently trying to picture her kind, loving face in my mind.

"Hey Mom," I speak after a while and a tear runs down my cheek, "I'm just calling to let you know I miss you, and I want to go back home. God I want to go back home with you so bad. I hate it here in California. But I hate Jonathan even more. I know you always used to tell me that he made some mistakes and wasn't a perfect father, but he loved me. I agree he made some bad decisions, but there's no love in that man's heart. Anyway, I love you so much," and with a sob, I end the phone call. Where do people find hope in times like these?