The snow falls down dusting the shoulders of my coat. A soft powder coating the white landscape in front of me. The flurry silences the world around me. So quiet I hear only the sound of my pulse drumming in my ears. Continuing down the path in front of me, a pang of remembrance blazes through me. It’s a memory like a word on the tip of your tongue. There in front of you, but in a place you cannot see. Even though the intensity of the storm worsens, the path I travel remains uncovered.

The echo of a time behind me, I keep moving forward, unaware of how long I’ve been here on this journey. A journey to the place that rests in the back of my mind, to find something that is lost. The pines rustle overhead, shaking off the weight of the freshly fallen snow. I hear the rushing of the river, its sound building, filling my ears with bright white noise. The sound stops me in place, and the steady hiss filling my brain gets louder and louder. My legs start to buckle, my body trembles, and then I’m on my knees. My hands feel warm and wet, I look down and see blood splattered across the front of my body. Looking back up I see a fallen tree laying across the path. I feel its branches staring into me, it remembers this moment. The memory comes rushing back to me and my eyes lock onto something in the distance. The scene falls out of focus. My brain grasps to remember this place, because it’s where you are, the image slips away, forgotten.

The world returns in razor sharp focus, the ceiling fan slowly spinning above me. The dreams have been growing stronger, a notion burrowing in my brain, pulling me from somewhere beyond, trying to lead me to the answers I seek.

Crawling out of bed and planting my feet on the hardwood floor, the cold rushes through my body making me shudder. The thought of cold wet snow fills my mind. I pull my journal from the nightstand by the bed and write down the clips of the dream I remember. Attempting to fill in the gaps of dreams past. Trying desperately to sketch out a clear picture of where you are.

It’s been a year since the dreams began. Two years since I last saw you. Two years alone, the only conversations I have now are; with myself and my psychiatrist Dr. Phillips, who as a matter of fact I have to visit today.

Traversing into the kitchen, your pans still hanging above the stove, swaying in the breeze from the kitchen fan, a subtle reminder of who you are. The way you would laugh and joke around while cooking, the memory brings tears to my eyes. Wiping them away, I reach for a box of instant oatmeal in the cabinet beside the sink. After all this time I still find myself buying your ridiculous oatmeal with dinosaur eggs. It’s silly but it makes me smile. I dump a bag into a small bowl and mix in the water. While it heats in the microwave, I stare at a picture of us at Disneyland. You, forever a child, enjoying the simple things like building snowmen or going to see every animated movie that comes out. The microwave beeps bringing me back to the now.

Finishing up the oatmeal I set the bowl in the sink and head to the shower. The silence of this place kills me, I flick on the stereo and push play, as I head to the bathroom and turn on the water. The record crackles to life. As “C’est La Mort” comes twinkling through the speakers, I undress and step into the shower. The warm water eases my nerves, the stress of where you could be keeps me wound tight, a rubber band ready to snap. I take your soap from the shower caddy and squeeze a couple drops onto the bottom of the tub. The aroma catches the updraft of steam, and it fills my nose. I close my eyes and think of you with your arms wrapped around me. This daily ritual may seem odd and sad but some days it’s all I have left. I grab my towel and step out, the bathmat is soft and warm under my feet. Looking at the clock, I realize my appointment is in an hour. I get dressed and head downstairs.

The outside air, cold and frigid, finds its way to my skin through my clothes as I step out of our condo. The sky is white with the promise of snow. The weatherman promised an unusually cold winter and it seems Mother Nature is holding up her end. My thoughts become clouded, mother. The one I never knew. I had been adopted when I was around twelve, dropped off at a social service building by some strange woman. She had walked with me for a long time to take me to that place. I was raised by a kind family who made sure I wanted for nothing in my life. Although they failed, because all I want is you here beside me, they failed because they think my hope for you to return is futile. My anger toward them flares, thinking of them telling me to move on. Some days the anger is almost too much.

The wind swirls around me, and I pull my jacket tight around me, trapping as much heat in as I can. Looking around I remember when we first found this complex. We immediately fell in love with the surrounding forest, the smell of the trees, and the affordable cost. I make my way across the parking lot to my car, reaching into my purse probing for my keys. Something stops me. Something wet, cold, spongy. I grip whatever it is, bracing myself. I swallow hard and pull it out.

My hand starts to tremble as I see what I’m holding. A chunk of human flesh, the skin dark grey, blackened blood seeps between my fingers. The smell of rot fills my nose. Nausea swells inside of me, I stare at it in shock. Life throbs through it, convulsing in my hand. It falls from my grip and hits the ground with a sickening splat. Doubling over, I puke up the oatmeal, the dinosaur eggs a kaleidoscope of color in the brown mush of the oats. Another heave pushes the remaining contents from my stomach. Wiping my face with my sleeve, I look to the ground and find the flesh is gone and my hands are clean.

It has been weeks since my last hallucination, maybe it is time to ask Dr. Phillips to up my meds again. Walking the rest of the way to my car, I peek in my mirror. Giving myself a once over I confirm, fortunately, I didn’t get any vomit on myself, save for my sleeve. While still staring at my reflection, I remove my coat. All I see reflected at me is another version of myself. A woman ran ragged, clinging to hope. A hope that everyone else has lost but fuck them. I know I am so close to finding out where you went. I feel your strength courses through me. Getting into my car, I drive to the doctor’s office.