Malaya has escaped into a world of exotic dancing and drugs, trying to hide from her ability to see into the future. With a series of murders amongst her she's forced to deal with her gift before she becomes the next victim.
I could see my dad sipping his steamy coffee as he drove his usual path to work. The morning was unusually dark and the roads glistened from the rain reflecting off the oncoming traffics. The amusing voice of the early morning radio host discussing home remedies accompanied him on his trip. The dream was peaceful until the sound of a large deer crashing into the windshield interrupted his routine. His coffees rapidly found protection on the passenger seat when the antlers impaled my father’s chest. The overwhelming cry of bones breaking and the car swerving out of control completely overpowered the radio. My father closed his eyes and whispered “I’m so sorry Malaya,” even though I was miles away from him.
Right before the car was completely devoured by a massive oak tree the dream transformed and I could see the seven year old girl I used to be. She had awakened from our shared nightmare. I remember that moment like it was yesterday. Her face was barely recognizable and her stringy brown hair was clinging to her face as she ran to find our father. She was wearing my favorite pink nightgown that made me feel like a princess running through castle halls. I remembered how I couldn’t live without that gown. My father was standing near the door gathering his final items, as he always did before he left for work.
“Daddy, please don’t leave!” I cried, holding tightly to his sleeves, standing in the way of his exit. He could sense the agony I was experiencing as I tried explaining my dream as best as an eight year old could. He always listened attentively, never making me feel like a freak. He knelt down in front of me, and wiped my tears with the handkerchief he always kept in his breast pocket. His eyes were comforting, reassuring me that everything would be ok. They looked exactly how I remembered.
The house was quiet and the only audible noises were the echoing of my cries. I still remembered how he whispered in my ear “its ok baby, nothing is going to happen to me.” His embrace made me feel like it was just a dream. I could hear his voice like I was still in that moment, “It's just a nightmare.” My crying slowed down with the comforting tone of his words. My father hugged and kissed me again before he finally left, forever. “I’ll be back, I promise,” he softly said. An unfulfilled promise was the last words I ever heard my father say.
The scenery rapidly changed as police officers showed up with the news of his death. I could see the little version of myself fall into my mother’s arms crying as reality exploded in front of me. Even at such a young age I wanted her to forgive me for not doing more. I told her everything I dreamt and never wanted to dream again. By fourteen, I was heavily sedated and spent most of my evenings sitting by the window praying for my father’s return, he never did. The medication I was given made it difficult for me to differentiate the line between reality and fantasy. My dreams began feeling real and life was a place I wanted to escape. My mother could barely look at me or get me to talk and my twin sister Alice stared at me like I was a lost soul. She was right, I was definitely lost.