“Perks of being the boss and needing a pack house, I guess.”
Grant parks the car in front of what I would consider a mansion, and both of us climb out of the vehicle.
He leads me to the front door and I stop and scan the facade. “This is such a beautiful home,” I compliment. “How are you not always here? It's closer to work.”
“I prefer being close to nature,” Grant explains. “That's part of why Tom wanted you to come here. We're only going to spend the night, so let me show you to your room.”
I raise my hand to protect my eyes from the sun. As much as I try, it still seems to seep through. When my eyes finally adjust to the light, I find myself in front of the house I grew up in.
It's just how I remember, from the front lawn that we could never seem to keep tidy—to my sister's bicycle that she had gotten on her tenth birthday but never rode.
I walk to the front door and knock, feeling apprehension growing in my chest. My heart beats so quickly, I'm afraid it's going to tear out of my chest.
I hear footsteps approaching before the door opens. My mom appears, wearing an apron that she's used for most of my childhood.
“Hello,” she says, her eyes void of recognition.
“Mom, it's me.”
My mother frowns. “Who?”
“It's me, Mom. It's Leena.”
Mom looks fromside to side, a habit she uses every time someone says something stupid. “I think you've got the wrong house. Whatever prank you're trying to pull shouldn't be on my property. Now leave before I call the police.”
“Mom, I'm your daughter!” My heart beats even faster, which I didn't think was possible.
“I have only one child and she's sleeping right now. I'm going to give you one last warning before the cops get involved.”
“No!” I growl, baring my fangs. My eyes turn and I watch as anger turns to horror on my mother's face. Her lips tremble as she falls to the floor. “Mom, I—”
“Get away from me! Help! Help!”
“It's me, Mom, please.” Tears start to fall now. I reach out to touch her, but the woman only retreats.
“Help?”
“Mom!”
My eyes open and the sun is gone. Everything around me—my house—my neighborhood—they're all gone too. I try to get my breathing under control as the walls around me finally comeinto view.
“What—where—”
“You were having a dream.” Grant's voice makes me jump as I turn to see him holding my hand in his. He gives it a gentle squeeze before setting it down on the bed. I suddenly find myself wishing he was still holding it.
“My mom…”
“What happened to her?”
“She didn't recognize me,” I say. “She said she only has one child and that isn't me. Is that how it's going to be for me? No one is going to remember me because of this… this curse?”
“No,” Grant says, looking serious. “It gets very difficult sometimes, but your family is going to remember you. These dreams are just a manifestation of the things you're worried about.”
“Then I may never be cured.” I try my best not to let all of my emotions show.
“How often do you have these nightmares?”
“At least once a week.”
