Threadbare Memories (Part 2)

Here's the first part of Threadbare Memories

“If you stared any harder at me, you’d bore a hole in my head.” I snapped. “It’s bad enough you’re locking me in here, I still can’t eat without you staring down at me?”

I turned to see that Creepy Mom still had her eyes on me. The itch that was constant on my skin since I regained consciousness intensified as I looked into her beady eyes. Why wouldn’t she just leave me alone?

Picking up one of the plates in the mini feast she had set in front of me, I threw it, hitting her square on the face. “I said leave me the heck alone!”

“Maddie?”

I snapped out of my reverie as I saw my mother looking at me with a face etched with confusion and a hint of suspicion. I brought my face down, feeling a flush creep on my face. I hoped my insane imagination didn’t show on my face.

“I’m fine.” And I felt the suspicion on her face magnifying. I cursed myself in my head. Of course, she’ll suspect something. I answered to the name “Maddie” without a fight. Which was unlike me since I reminded her at every turn that my name was not Maddie. She never listened anyways but sparring with her brought a sense of normalcy to my upside-down world. It reminded me that I was still me. Feisty.

But for now, I couldn’t let her know that I had plans. So I fixed her with a tight smile, hoping that it wasn’t as phoney as I felt.

“I’m truly fine Mother. Just lost in thought.”

She smiled back at me, the suspicion on her face clearing. I saw a glint of hope on her weathered face and I intensified my beam. Disarm her completely. I thought.

“Okay. I’ll be going now. We’re out of groceries. Would you like to come with me to the mall?”

“I think I’ll pass on that today. I’m still feeling a bit queasy. Maybe next time.” I completed the statement with another smile I hoped was convincing. I guess she bought it because she gave me one of those overly bright smiles of hers that was nice and creeped me out at the same time.

She went out of the room and I strained my ear as she closed the door. A few seconds later, as if she had hesitated, I heard the click of the lock. I sighed. It was too much to hope that she would leave the door unlocked. But that was okay. A few days ago, I’d discovered another way to leave this suffocating room and get answers.

I looked at the locked windows as I tried to draft out my plan. It had been two weeks since I woke up and found myself in this room. Alone. As soon as the dizziness had stopped, I tried for the windows and the door. But of course, they were all locked. I pounded on the doors to no end and when no one came, I'd slipped down and cried for hours.

I spent three days refusing to eat when my “mother” offered me food. After the third day, I shook myself out of my foolishness. If I wanted to get out of here, I wouldn’t do so looking and feeling like a bag of bones, would I? And so, I started eating properly when food was brought.

It would have been easier if my “mother” was a mean old witch that cackled in the night and whispered threats in my ear. But she was incredibly nice. Too nice. And treated me delicately. Like a jewel. She would have won best mom of the Year if the locked doors and windows weren’t in question. And I didn't feel the wrongness of it all.

I didn’t blame her though. I’d made more than a few attempts to escape. She had caught me every time. Mother looked small and fragile but it was weird the kind of strength she packed in that little frame. I’d also given up trying to regain my memories. Apart from the sharp headaches that accompanied the feat, I hadn’t been remotely successful.

I watched her car zoom out of the driveway from my window and began acting on my week old plan. There was no time to waste. Quickly, I raised my mattress to remove the key I deposited inside the tear I’d made in it. That’s another thing I knew about myself. My quick fingers. It was easy to get a spare key with the guise of a hug.

I opened the door gently, my heart beating out of control in my chest. I took in the environment. And smiled. Somehow this was what I expected. A squeaky clean home. Trying to find the basement took ten precious minutes. And I wasn’t sure why I went there anyway. But isn’t that what happened? Wasn’t every mystery unravelled in the basement?

I flicked on the switch that illuminated the dark room and rushed down quickly, opening the cupboards. I sensed defeat after each cupboard was opened. First, the basement was like the rest of the house. Squeaky Clean. Pristine. Were basements like this? I felt the headache begin when it looked like I was trying to regain my memory.

I winced in pain and rubbed my arms. Basements weren’t supposed to be this chilly either. I turned to find the source of the cold. I gasped. Somehow the refrigerator was slightly opened. The refrigerator. In a basement. I made my way to it to close it and shut off the chill when I saw files slipping out.

I grabbed them like a lifeline and started flipping hastily through them. Kid drawings. I flipped more and they were all the same. Colourings of a woman and a little kid. Each drawing showed them in different places. Like the hospital. And the mall.

Was I that daughter?

What did these drawings even mean?

Was she my Mom?

At the end of the file, I saw a little attachment.

Olive. Age 19. And there at the back was a picture of a girl. A girl that looked familiar. With a woman. A woman I had seen before. A woman whose laughing face was ingrained in the deepest part of my memories. The sharp pain started. More excruciating than before.

I saw feet coming towards me and whipped my face to see Mother. Looking crestfallen and apoplectic all at once. And with a voice too calm and to belong to a human, she asked.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

And I felt the scream rising again.

To be continued....

_{Here's my entry to the second week of the Dreemport Collaboration with the Scholar and Scribe Community. Here's the link.}