Buried Truth, Page 2

  Chapter 2: Three Days Earlier

                    

  As my alarm clock goes off with a loud series of annoying beeps, I slowly and gingerly open my eyes. An extreme headache causes me great discomfort and impedes my vision. Things slowly come into focus as my eyes adjust from the darkness of my slumber. I roll over, quickly noticing there are aches throughout my whole body as I lift my arm out towards the alarm clock. With what feels like my last bit of energy, I slam my hand down on the snooze button. “Shut up! Aw, my… my head is killing me. What did I do this time? That must have been one great celebration last night, but jeez…”

  The effects of the alcohol cause me to slowly get out of bed and walk to the kitchen in search of something to relieve my symptoms before my head blows. I quickly find some ibuprofen and a glass of water. My hands tremble as I open the bottle causing the pills to splatter out onto the floor. Too exhausted to bend over, I leave the pills that spilled out onto the floor and carefully pour some more out into my hand. I chug the pills down. Hoping that the quicker they go down, the quicker they will help.

  Normally, I would go turn on ESPN and catch some of the highlights from last night. However, with my head splitting apart, I decide against the noisy television and choose to lock myself in my bedroom. I feel nauseous, but oddly not to the point of throwing up. So, I bypass the bathroom for now and head for my bed.

  Once situated with my back against a stack of soft pillows, my fingers grind across my temple, attempting to relieve some pressure. When that doesn’t work, I give in to my stress by gliding my fingers through my sweat-oiled hair. I often find, in a time like this, it's best to concentrate on the happy moments in life instead of my aching misery. The only problem is there has to be a happy moment to cling to when under pressure. Luckily, for me, one of those happy moments has recently occurred.

  I can’t believe I finally graduated with my master’s degree. Yesterday was awesome. But, I can’t seem to remember much about last night. Huh, I must have a hangover or something. It wouldn’t be a first... On the bright side, I can now put my application in and take that teaching job at the university.

  It feels good to finally be done with my degree. I made good grades in school and just had a knack for higher mathematics. Of course, I had my troubles as most people do, but the drive to be someone great set me apart from the rest, at least that’s what I’ve been told. Still, teaching wasn’t all I ever wanted to do, but it's the one thing that I haven’t ruined with my selfish antics.

  And to think some said I would never make it. Aw, you just have to love the small town life. Everyone thinks they got you all figured out until they suddenly don’t. Ok, so I have been a bit of a loose cannon at times. But, come on, who hasn’t. Am I not allowed to enjoy myself? After all the hiccups along the way, I still managed to stay the course and get stuff done.

   Feeling the sweat drip across my forehead and onto the bed causes me to realize just how disheveled I am for such an early hour in the morning. An unexpected pain shoots up my arm from my fingertips. I force myself out of bed and over towards the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror glares back at me catching my attention.

  My hair is drenched in sweat as if I have been exercising all night. There are a couple scratches on my cheeks and a small gash located around my hairline. I sift my fingers through my brown wavy hair, trying to inspect the gash that is partly covered behind my hairline. It looks pretty bad, but it’s scabbed over with dried blood and sweat.

  Never mind, apparently that must have been one hell of a celebration. Surveying the rest of my body reveals a white bandage covering my side. Under the bandage is a cut that continues to secrete small amounts of blood, so I leave the bandage alone. In obvious need of a shower and something else to soothe my headache, so I reluctantly turn on the shower faucet. The water washes away the sweat and dried blood from the night before until only the wounds of the mysterious night are left.

  After returning to my bedroom, I pick up my phone to see if anyone had called or texted me. As expected, several people have texted me congratulations for my graduation from a tough program. I read them, soaking up the praise until one message in particular catches my eye. It is from an unknown number that is not stored in my phone, and the message was delivered at 11:48 last night. The message simply reads:

  ‘I saw what happened. Be careful. It’s not safe!’

  Ok. That is kinda creepy. What isn’t safe? I haven’t done anything that I can remember anyways. Whose number is this?

  The strange text rustles my pessimism into a frenzy. When the motives rolling around in my brain become far too absurd to be real, I rationalize the text away as nothing. If anything, it’s probably a prank.

  In need of someone to talk to, I call up one of my friends who hopefully can fill me in on some things from the past night. The phone rings for a couple seconds until a deep drawn out country voice answers with a “Hello.”

  “Hey, Matt. What’s going on?”

  He says, “Nothing much, I did want to let ya know some of the guys wanted to go out for drinks again tonight in honor of ya becoming Mr. Bigshot today.”

  I reply, “Well, I haven’t officially gotten the job. But, yeah! That’s fine; just call me later with the details.”

  “Ya ok, Ryan? Ya sound a little strung out.”

  I’m honest with him, “Yeah, I just feel like crap, and I got some scratches and a gash on my head. How much did we drink last night?”

  He takes a second to respond. “Not too much. We got together around five and had a few drinks. Ya said you had something to do last night and left early, so we made plans with everyone for tonight.”

  “I don’t remember any of that. It’s as if last night as just been erased.” I say.

  “Ya did have a few drinks, and ya are a bit of a lightweight.” He jokes.

  Not amused, I reply, “This is one annoying hangover if that's what it is. I also got this weird text from some unknown number saying that they saw what happened last night and that it wasn’t safe.

  With a chuckle, he replies, “Huh, did you kill someone? Or someone attacks ya… ya are somewhat of a big deal now.”

  I can hear him laughing. “No, and that’s not funny. I would never actually kill someone and I don’t remember anyone unusual from last night.”

  Then again, I don’t really remember anything from last night. But I could never kill… and why would anyone want to kill me.

  Matt coughs on the line, then still with a chuckle answers, “Well, maybe it’s the girl from the bar playing with ya.”

  My chest tightens, then relaxes as a weird indescribable feeling builds within me. “I doubt that. It’s never a girl.”

  “Yeah, and whose fault is that? Always working or getting in trouble. Not exactly the catch of the year. Although y’all were hitting it off last night. Please say ya at least can remember her.”

  “No, I don’t remember much of anything from last night.” Great. Just great. Can’t even catch a break when I have my life in order.

  He says, “Man, that’s a real shame. She was a looker too. If I had known ya would forget her that easy, I would of stepped my game up last night. Oh well… I have to go Mr. Bigshot Professor. Ya know, people to see, things to do.”

  Before I hang up. I say, “Yeah, I got to run too. Alright, I’ll see you tonight.”

  I have to stop drinking. Well? Maybe, I just won’t drink as much. The alcohol has made me do stupid stuff in the past. Or, it could be that I’m prone to do stupid stuff, and the alcohol brings that part of me to the surface. Either way it has caused me to forget a whole night yet again.

  How is it that I actually meet a girl and can’t remember her the next morning? It's just my luck. I never have had much luck with the opposite sex. I don’t think I’m ugly by any means, but it just has never worked out. There have been a few that would hang around, but in the end, they moved on to better men. I was never more than something that gave them
attention, then when better attention came along, off they went.

  Now thinking back, I do have a strange feeling there might have been this one girl several months ago. I seem to remember the way she made my heart feel. The way she made me feel alive when I felt dead inside. For some reason, I can’t remember much more than the distinctions of those feelings. It only occurs to me because when Matt mentioned a girl, my heart jumped, and I felt something different. That feeling only lasted for a moment, but it felt familiar.

  But the feeling, much like last night is a mystery to me. Perhaps, the girl was never real in the first place. I’m basing her entire existence on a feeling that occurred during a phone call that mentioned someone I met in a bar. Then now, I’m trying to tie it to a feeling I had months ago. It makes no sense. It would actually make more sense that I dreamt a girl because I could never sustain a real relationship with one. Maybe, I’m dreaming still.

  Only Matt said there was a real flesh and blood living girl with me last night. So who is she? If I had met her before last night, I should remember her. But I don’t. So either, I just met her yesterday and can’t remember her because of the hangover. Or, I had met her before yesterday, which means she could be the girl of my dreams. The problem with her being my forgotten dream girl is that would mean my memory issue is much deeper than a symptom of too much alcohol. But, what would cause such memory loss?

  A hangover makes the most sense. It would account for the memory loss and the scrapes on my forehead. That would mean I met her last night. So how am I supposed to find a girl I met yesterday with no memory and no clue of who she is? And why do I feel disappointed by this?

  The harder I try to remember the past night the more intense my headache becomes. Feeling thoroughly exhausted, I rest my head back on my trusty old pillow and close my eyes. As I lay there completely still, feeling my head throb for what feels like an eternity, a voice materializes from somewhere.

  The voice that reverberates throughout my room sounds like a muffled scream of a woman. It’s the type of scream that instantly makes you cringe, knowing something terrible has happened. The characteristic that promptly catches my attention is the way the scream sounded like that of a voice coming through a radio off in the distance. It's unsettling because I clearly heard it in my room. The thought quickly registers, and then burrows itself within my throbbing head much like a song on repeat. Someone is in my house—screaming in my house.

  My eyes flood open with a flash of fear and fury. One would think seeing my room empty would bring me comfort. Not for me. The empty room only intensifies my fear and growing concern. Then the weird text message from the unknown number invades my thoughts. What if it's not safe? What if the text wasn’t a joke, and someone is here to harm me?

  I gently walk over to my bedroom door, listening intently for any more screams. Pure calmness sets in throughout the house as I peer out into the hallway. The next few minutes are spent with me running through the house searching every room. I even catch myself opening the refrigerator at one point, as if the scream came from the leftover lasagna. But ultimately, to my dismay, there is no sight of anyone or anything in my house.

  Once again, one would think an empty house would bring along a level of comfort. A comfort registering from the fact nobody is in pain or attempting to hurt me in my own home. But that just isn’t the case for me today. For today upon finding the house empty, the sense of bewilderment and fear flowing throughout my thoughts buries itself into my heart.

  “I clearly heard a scream. There was a woman in pain. The scream had to of come from the house. I mean, come on… I could practically feel the voice echoing in my room. What is going on? First, I can’t remember stuff and now I’m hearing voices.”

  I begin pacing in an effort to figure out a way to help put my morning back together. “What is going to happen next? Everything is all out of whack today. I have never felt more lost. This is supposed to be the day everything fell into place for me. So, why do I feel so terrible?”

  As my fingers glide through my hair, it becomes clear that the more I think about everything, I only end up with more questions coming to mind. Not only are there more questions, but it feels as if the questions themselves are leading down a dark path. A path that could lead anywhere.