Nightmare

The nightmare is the same as always. In it, I’m in a dark room, unable to move, talk, or do anything, even breathe. The breathing tubes attached to my body do the job of breathing for me. All I can do is lay there immobile in terror as a mentally deranged Charlotte advances on me with a poison-filled syringe. As always, I wake up screaming before she plunges the needle into me in the dream.

The room I’m in is dark, but I know where I am. I’m in a bed in a room at Sebastian’s house. I hadn’t wanted to be alone after the ceremony earlier in the day, and his wife, Carol had understood. In fact, she was the one who had urged me to at least, stay over for the night. Thankfully, my screaming did not wake anyone in the house, but I know that sleep won’t come again, at least, not for a while, so I get out of bed and pad silently out of the room.

The house feels very familiar to me, which is not a surprise, because once upon a time, I had been a joint owner of this house and had lived with Sebastian, to whom I was engaged in it, but that time seems so distant now. The house is now in Carol’s name because Sebastian had bought it for her in a desperate bid to get me out of their lives. I can’t blame him though. I had been constituting such a nuisance to them that it is even a wonder that they forgave me at all. Surprisingly, I don’t feel any jealousy toward them any longer, which is such a huge relief. All I want is to be normal again, but it seems that that is too much to ask for. Sebastian and I have a lot of history, but I want to remain friends with him, despite everything that has happened.

The house is silent as I step out into the cool night breeze, and although everything in me kicks against it, I head over to the garden, which I had once loved, but now, didn’t even like anymore. I wrap my robe more tightly around me, looking around me at the deserted and partially lit garden instinctively. I would never forget that God-awful day for as long as I live.

I remember the party that had been held in the house that night all too well. It had been held at my insistence for Mr. James, Sebastian’s uncle, who had once loved me as though I were his own daughter but had suddenly begun to be very hostile towards me. I organized the whole thing as a way to mend fences between us and try to get him to like me back because I knew how much Sebastian loved his uncle.

I can remember putting some makeup back on my face after the crying bout that I had had because of my fight with Mr. James, who was totally unimpressed with his party. I remember the unnerving feeling that I had of being watched … a shadow approaching in the dimly lit garden and someone placing a piece of cloth over my face before I can even draw a breath to scream. I can also remember my futile struggles as whoever it was, held me tightly and pressed the cloth firmly over my nose for minutes while communicating with someone else who was working with him. I remember feeling fainter and fainter as the minutes passed, and my struggles lessen.

Willing the awful memories back, I glance around again, but it is a futile effort. Being in the garden where it had all happened brought the memories back, whether I want to remember them or not. I had blacked out that day, and woken up Charlotte’s captive, remaining so for a long time, and almost dying at the end, if not for Carol’s intervention.

Tears blur my eyes, but I wipe at them angrily and draw in a deep, ragged breath. Then I light the cigarette that I brought outside with me and take a few drags. I had been such a mess when I first got out of the hospital, but nowadays, I like to think that I’m much better and stronger, but apparently, I’m not, and the reason for my relapse was right there inside the house at this very moment. It is no wonder that I had the nightmare again after almost a month of freedom.

As I stand there, I realize that I’m not alone in the garden. Someone is there in the shadows watching me silently. I know it as surely as I know that Charlotte is in prison. I don’t know how I know that there’s someone there, but I just know. I consider screaming off my head to alert the household. I refuse to be taken again.

“Hello, Jessica.” A deep voice says from behind me. I whirl around, my right hand flying to my throat as I stare at him … the very reason for the nightmare I had just had. I relax a bit as soon as I see his tall frame, but from the way he is looking at me, he can probably tell that he has scared me very badly.

“I’m sorry for scaring you. I didn’t mean to.” Charles says, looking like he meant it. I stare at him with ill-concealed hatred, his apology not appeasing me in the slightest.

“Why are you following me?” I ask him rudely, unable to stop staring at him and thinking about how much he looked like his dead sister.

“I wasn’t. I was in the garden and I saw you come in, so I figured I’d ask if you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay, thanks to you and your face that looks so much like that of your sister. I’ll be okay if I never see your face or anything that will remind me of your crazy sister ever again.” I spit at him.

“I understand. I’m sorry that you feel that way, but I can assure you that I’m nothing like my sister, Jessica. I’m very sorry for all that she did to you.”

“Sorry just doesn’t cut it. Maybe if you didn’t look like a taller, masculine version of her, I wouldn’t be so sickened by you. I understand that it is not your fault that you look the way you do, but it is also not my fault for being traumatized. It's just the way things are. As it stands, being with you in the same room or space scares the living daylights out of me. Please, I beg of you, avoid me from now henceforth. I’ll do the same with you.”

“Alright. I’ll try to do as you’ve asked. Once again, I’m sorry for everything that you went through, and I truly hope that you heal from it. Goodnight, Jessica.” Charles says solemnly and turns to leave. I watch him go, feeling a little bad at the way I had spoken to him. It isn't his fault that his sister is a maniac.

Everyone tells me that he is nothing like Charlotte, and I can see the truth of that in his eyes, which although they’re the same color and shape as Charlotte’s, hold a kindness and intelligence that I’m not sure Charlotte’s ever produced a measure of. Still, I’m not interested in being his friend and would be very much relieved if I never see his handsome face again.