Ch. Two

As I flew down the stairs of my new house to stop the annoying sound of the doorbell, I saw a flash as I passed by a mirror. The feel of someone was watching me, their eyes following my every move. I ignored the overwhelming sense, as anyone would do but some how I still could not shake this feeling. I thought maybe since it was a new house that I had just moved into and it was getting late, it was just the creaking boards that made me paranoid. I quickly turned from the mirror and continued down the stairs to the door. 

When I opened the door, I saw only a note. At first I was reluctant to read such a thing left at my door step on the dirty welcome mat. I looked down at it, stared for a moment. I laughed to relieve my concern, "I really need to do something about this mat. It's disgusting. No wonder someone would rather leave a note than stand and wait on me. They probably think I'm some hippie or hobo or something to that effect." I picked the note up, closing the door and locking it back into place. For an old house, it had a lot of dead bolts on the door. Something was either trying to get in, or get out and couldn't find a way.

I walked into my kitchen, fixed a bowl of cereal, and sat down. Not much of a dinner, I do admit that, but that's not the strange part. As I was eating, I glanced over at my window and saw the same flash I did earlier up stairs. My heart starts pounding against my chest as I slide from my chair and back away from the window and doors. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, or rephrasing that, I had no idea what was getting into my house. My heart is beating so loudly I cannot hear anything over it. I breath steadily and keep staring at the window. Nothing. I look at the note laying on the table.

I knew I had left it laying closed. I hadn't even opened it, but some how right where I was sitting, it opened and lay before me. "How is this even possible?" I started to question myself, "I glanced up for only a split second. And now it's open. Maybe I opened it when I saw that thing in the window. Oh no, look at me. Seeing things in windows and mirrors, talking to myself, opening mail and not realizing it. There's only one thing to say for yourself, Jane Anna-Lee, you're going crazy." 

Chuckling, I pick up the piece of paper laying on the table and drop it just as quickly as my eyes read across the page in perfect cursive, 

"I want you to know what happened to me that night on the bridge. Please? Help me?"

And it was signed with only one initial. "D."

D could mean a lot of things. Daniel, David, Darrel, Denise even. How was I to know who. A million thoughts raced through my head. I needed out of this house. And now. Just for a while. Clear my thoughts and hopefully find out what's going on tomorrow. One of the neighbors has to be playing a prank, or so I had thought.

I drove around town for what seemed like hours. It seemed to always make my mind go blank when I was out on the road. Nothing more relaxing than my favorite songs playing, the wind blowing at my face, and the sounds of the dirt road as it goes under my tires. This is the main reason of why I moved back home. This and my family. I would be lost without the country feel of life and without my mother cooking every Sunday. My mind faded into the thoughts of my mother and her warm loving home.

Out of no where, a pain streaks through my chest. I slam on the breaks, coming to a complete stop at once. A picture of my mother will not leave my mind. I see her in bed, crying, in pain. I feel the aching through my chest and see her struggling to breathe. I try to shake it out of my mind but I have to make sure she's okay. I spun out in the direction of her house, "Only a few more seconds, Mom. Please hold on." As I arrived, I saw her bedroom light on. I know she leaves the key under the doormat. I remove the key and when I try to unlock the door, the door swings open. I step inside, looking around.

I call upstairs and all around, "Mom? Are you home? Mother? Mom? Please talk to me."

I ran up to her bedroom and she was sound asleep. I startled her and woke her up. I apologized and turn to leave. Suddenly I hear a wheezing breath behind me so I turn back around as my mother grabs tight to her chest, yelling in pain. Without hesitation, I pick up the phone on the side table and call 9-1-1. I still remember that night to this day. That was a little more than five years ago. That's when I realized what I was able to do. Thankful for my gift for that reason, my mother is still alive and cooks for me regularly. I still can't figure out what happened that day, but something I saw in my vision took over every logical explanation and before I knew it, I saved my mother's life.

When I was younger, I always knew things that I shouldn't have. I could tell when my friends weren't feeling well and I could feel the pain they suffered. Little did I know it would help and haunt me to this day. Of course, there are other downs to this. I see dead people. Okay, maybe I should back up and tell you about that part as well? I do tend to jump ahead of things.

You see, people like me are often found... Well, they are often found in mental institutions. I found out about the dead when I was too young. That was pretty much my childhood. At one point in time, I had a father, mother, brother, two sisters, a dog, and a cat. My father was killed in a car accident when I was the age of two, my brother was killed on a playground by a drive by shooter when I was eight--he was only twelve--and two sisters both got killed coming home from a soccer game one night when I was ten--a drunk driver hit the car head on. Had it not been for my mother, I could have possibly went insane at an early age. 

When I was five, I had an imaginary friend. His name was Thomas. Thomas used to follow me everywhere he could. Thomas stayed around for most of my childhood until I was in my early teens. My mother took me to a therapist and they tried every medication they could think of but no matter what Thomas would not disappear from my life--which I always considered a good thing. When I was sixteen, Thomas and I were talking one day and he had something to show me. Of course, I trust him with my life no matter how imaginary or fake he is to others. I follow into the woods out behind the house. He places his hand on my shoulder and all I see is a bright white light. I then see a young boy laying on the road, ambulances and police all around. I also see a woman crying hysterically, yelling for her "baby". Finally I hear someone speak the name Thomas. Every inch of my skin grows cold as I continue watching the scene. I didn't understand it at first. He pulled his hand away and looked at me, wanting to explain but not finding any words to tell me what had just happened. 

He sighed, "I was killed. Someone ran over me when I was young. I have been your friend since the accident because of the past you've had with death. I thought you could reconnect me with my family and help me to cross over. I'm not brave enough to do it alone." I saw tears wailing up in his eyes as he spoke.

Ghosts cannot cry. They can appear to cry but they haven't the physical ability to cry. I have learned a lot since Thomas. In fact, he is the first one that I had to ever cross over. I miss him but sometimes I can hear the faint sound of his laugh and I know he's doing just fine. 

There are other countless experiences that I've had, but for now I will entertain you with the small things.