***
Annabelle!
I knew the voice. It was her again.
The smoke was thick in the air, but I could make out her figure hunched over on the floor, her hand stretched out toward me. For so long I thought she was reaching for me, but now I could see that I was wrong. I was no longer trapped inside the mind of the 3-year-old me. Instead, it was the present time of me reliving the horror, and in the present time I was much more receptive.
Her palm was pushed outward, as if she were pressing it against an invisible wall, kind of like how the mimes did when they were in invisible boxes. If she wasn’t reaching for me, what exactly was she doing?
It didn’t look like something someone would do while engulfed by smoke. It didn’t look like anything really, just an outstretched arm. Maybe her face would betray her true intentions, but I couldn’t see it. The smoke was too thick and she was beginning to look more like a shadowy figure than my mother. And then, within a blink of an eye, she was gone.
The room burned furiously and I thought it was only a matter of time before I, too, succumbed to the heat and smoke, but then it dawned on me. I didn’t feel heat and I didn’t taste the smoke, but how? I was in the middle of the disaster, I should feel everything. I should be dead right now, but I’m not. I look around me and I can see the floor beneath my feet is untouched, too, as though I was in some magical bubble that protected me from the raging fire.
“Annabelle!”
Now that voice wasn’t as easy to recognize, but after a brief moment I realized who it was, who it had to be.
“Dad!”
I jolted awake, gasping for air.
Felix jumped back from where he had been hovering over me.
“I saw him,” I said breathlessly.
He sat down on the foot of my bed. “Saw who?”
I flipped the blanket off, jumped out of bed, and hurried to my closet.
Felix followed me. “What’s going on?”
I scrabbled through my closet until I found the turquoise shoe box I was looking for. I returned to the bed and dumped its contents onto of the blanket.
“Because just opening the top would be too easy,” he muttered.
I searched through the fallen photographs, jewelry, and keepsakes until I found the photograph I was looking for.
I smiled and held it out. “I knew it was him!”
Felix took the photograph from my hand and looked it over. “Your dad?”
I snatched the photograph back and smiled down at it. “Yes. I saw him tonight… in my dream.”
I had only ever known my father through this photograph, but now I had met him in my dream. He was more handsome than the photograph could depict with golden eyes and dark brown hair. In many ways, he reminded me of Uncle Felix.
Felix sighed. “Annabelle, you know this doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything!”
“I’m just saying…”
“I finally saw my father in my dream and I’m going to hang on to that. So, you can keep your opinion to yourself.” I carefully placed the photographer inside the box and returned it to the closet.
Felix walked to the door. “I’ll get breakfast started.”
I nodded and he left.
I sat down on the edge of my bed, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I could see my mother in everything I did. She was in my eyes and my smile and even in my laugh. But my dad was absent in my appearance and memory.
I rubbed my face and flopped backwards against the springy mattress.
Why couldn’t I remember him? What kind of daughter forgets their own father?
I entered the kitchen where Felix was sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee in his hand. He was reading the morning newspaper, which he quickly set aside when I came in.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“School. Where else?” I muttered.
“Not today,” he said, sitting his coffee cup on the tabletop. “I have something I want to show you.”
I let out a puff of air. “I don’t really feel like going anywhere with you right now.”
He gave me a disappointed look and held my gaze.
“Fine,” I said. “Where are we going?”
“There’s something I think you should see. Something here in Burnwood.”
I rolled my eyes. “What? Another tree or dirt road?”
He walked to the door, jiggling his keys in his hand. “You want to see it or not?”
I followed him to the car. I attempted to act as nonchalant as possible, but in truth I was intensely curious about the whole thing.
Not surprisingly, he drove through town and down an unfamiliar dirt road. He made a few turns along the way, and about 15 minutes into our travel he pulled into a small piece of property with a severely damaged house in the center of the lot.
The house was a blue and white two-story Victorian, and it was in rough shape. The exterior was badly burnt, but its frame remained. The windows were broken with the exception of one small circular window near the roof, which looked like an attic. The door was hanging loosely from its hinges and the porch was worn and partially destroyed.
I stepped out of the car and followed Felix to the porch. “What is this place?”
He looked over the house. “Home.”
I laughed. “You’re not seriously considering buying this place, are you? It’s a bit of a fixer-upper even for you Mr. Fix-it.”
“No, Annabelle. This is your home.”
I stared at the house and the pieces of the puzzle came together.
This was the house from my dreams.