I know I can get her out of the car. I know it.
The smoke is getting thicker as the fire spreads. I just need to get to the door and pull her out.
Mom!
“There’s nothing you can do.”
The voice is thick and distorted, the voice of a monster—a monster with strong arms, holding me back as the flames take over the car.
Let me go!
Let me go!
“Landon!”
“Landon, wake up. You’re dreaming.”
Rachel’s voice comes from far away, and the other images disappear. I’m asleep, drifting slowly awake. I open my eyes and see Rachel’s are filled with alarm and concern.
I can barely remember the dream, or if I was even dreaming, but her expression worries me.
“What’s wrong?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
I know myself well enough to know it’s not nothing.
“I woke you up with the nightmares, didn’t I?”
She sighs. “Yes.”
Frustrated, I get off the bed.
Her voice stops me. “Where’re you going?”
“I have some reports to read. Go back to sleep.”
“You don’t have to go, Landon. We can talk about it if you want.”
Talk about my mother burning to death while I watched helplessly? “I don’t think so.”
“Don’t you?” There’s a well of accusation in her eyes. “Or maybe you still think it’s none of my business?”
I don’t think that. I wish I could explain to her how my nightmares rob me of my desire to forget, how my desire to forget fills me with guilt. It’s my pain, not hers.
“Landon,” she urges gently. “Talk to me.”
Everything inside me tells me I can’t, that she doesn’t need to share those memories.
Still, I go to sit on the bed and take her hand. “You already know what the dreams are about. The accident. I watched my mother burn in that car, and I couldn’t do anything. Everything changed when she died. My whole family fell apart, my father became a shell, and my brother wouldn’t say a word. In my dreams, I want to save her. I want to save her so badly, and it feels like it would be possible if only I could get away from the person holding me back.”
She squeezes my hand. It’s such a simple gesture, but it soothes me more than I can explain.
“Tell me about her,” she whispers. “Your mother.”
The memories are almost like a dream. My mother laughing, playing with Aidan, dancing with me, then with my dad, dressed up to go out, looking like a goddess.
I sigh. “She was the most beautiful woman in the world, at least to the nine-year-old boy I was. She used to practice at home sometimes, and watching her dance was like watching an angel. She had the softest, gentlest voice, and she liked to laugh.”