Page 2 of In All My Dreams

“No, no, no, Caroline. Why—how could you do this to her? To us!” my father yelled in agony over and over while clinging to the limp body of my mother.

I think part of me knew that it would be the last time I laid eyes on my mother. Each small detail of her etched into that integral part of the brain that holds onto all our dearest memories. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her as the police officer rushed me into the house, embraced in the yellow blanket and smothered by the smell of the cigar smoke that clung tightly to his uniform.

I remember the way her hand lay lifeless next to the overturned lemonade pitcher, the way her pale skin looked ghostly against the wispy branches of the willow tree that hung low to the ground. The white nightgown she always wore made her look like a princess stuck under a spell, waiting for the handsome prince to come wake her up. The way her dark hair fanned around her like a mermaid drying off in the sun after a long day at sea.

I wanted to remember her like that, looking like one of the characters in the fairytales she read to me as she stroked my hair and placed swift kisses on my cheeks when I started falling asleep.

That was the version of her I loved most.

The version ofusI loved most.

The one I wanted to visit in all my dreams, since I wouldn’t have her in any real tangible way any longer.

Instead, she decided to bring one of the scary stories to life—by standing at the end of my bed in that same white lacy nightgown. The white foam still spilling out of her mouth while the blood dripped out of her nose as she stood there, night after night.

Reaching for me.

Watching me.

Haunting me.

Waiting for me to join her.

I knew the minute I turned eighteen that I needed to run from that place. I needed to escape while I still had some fraction of sanity left.

Once I left, I vowed I would never go back there. A vow that rooted into my soul and bones. A vow that nearly destroyed me, knowing I would likely never lay eyes on my father again.

Not that he gave me many reasons to want to.

The hardest part, the part that felt like I was physically ripping my body in two, was I would never see the boy who grew up alongside me, Ian Foster.

The only thing that tied my heart to Crane Manor was Ian. I knew leaving meant abandoning half of myself here—rotting underneath the crown molding and pretending like paint and plaster could fix it all.

Leaving Crane Manor meant I would never skip rocks on the lake with Ian. I’d never see him flashing me that crooked smile that was just a bit too big for his face, or brushing the tears away after a terrible nightmare of my mother. The kind where I would wake up screaming and bury myself into the safety of Ian’s arms—who used to sneak up the trellis and into my window every night from the night I turned nine.

I left in the middle of the night, right after I turned eighteen, with my acceptance letter into UCLA in my hand and two duffle bags slung over my shoulder. That’s how I wanted it to be. A Band-Aid being ripped off, leaving only the tattered shards of my heart behind and a note for Ian on my bedside table. A note telling him to come find me when he was ready to let go of the ghosts of Crane Manor. I was okay with leaving that note and not saying a real goodbye...because I knew one day he’d be ready to leave our cursed past behind us and build a future together. A future where we could finally lay our dead to rest, and leave them there.

I promised myself I would never return to that haunted place. The place that only brought pain and misery while being trapped inside of its dark halls filled with the ghosts of my past. I believed that promise with every breath.

Or at least I thought I did, until I got that dreaded phone call from the manor’s housekeeper, Mrs. Foster. I stupidly kept the same cell phone number and this morbid hope that Ian or my father might use it one day.

This wasn’t the call I was expecting, one I truly wished I could’ve ignored.

My father was sick, and I was needed back at Crane Manor.

I was needed backhome.

It was time to face the demons of my past.

1

Georgia

Now

“Auden, honey! You need to hurry up, or I’m getting in the Jeep and leaving without you!” I yell for what feels like the hundredth time. Stress and uneasinesshave filled my veins ever since I got the call from Mrs. Foster over two weeks ago that my father was sick.

Thank goodness this unwanted trip lined up perfectly with Auden’s spring break. I can’t imagine they’d fail anyone in kindergarten, but it’s a chance I was glad I didn’t have to take.

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