"I still need you," I shouted.I could see through my mother"s face, as she was trying to calm me down, she probably realised I was a ticking bomb, there would not be much time left until I would have swept away everything around me. My first thought was to hug and smell her lilac perfume, which I loved so much when I was a child, as it always made me feel safe.
"Ducky, we"ll always be together in your dreams or whenever you"ll need me," she said, as her image disappeared from my eyes, which were once again soaked with tears.
I was not ready to say goodbye, for a second, just for a tiny amount of time, it seemed like it was not a dream, my mind tried to deceive me once again, as it made me question whether what I was experiencing was real.
From her ethereal image to the perfume which I recalled the many fond recollections we spent together, pieces of memories which were becoming wounds, the blood spilt even though not visible to the naked eye, I could nonetheless feel the pain which would have slowly killed me. When will the suffering and crying end, when will I cease to constantly blame myself for not being by her side, when she needed me the most.
"When you will remember," a voice suddenly whispered.
It all began to freeze as a strange shadow appeared, cleverly hidden through the darkest corner of the room, which once belonged to my mother. It began to advance toward me, in a slow manner.
"Don"t come near me," I said.
"Why don"t you remember?" the girl asked cautiously. She was the one who held me under water trying to drown me in the pool.
"I"m imagining you again. I"m going crazy," I said, in disbelief as she grimaced with satisfaction.
"I am not a memory nor an illusion if this is what you"re thinking."
"So, I"m right. I am going crazy."
She came near and scrutinized me, trying to read my soul, "you need to find the truth, your life could be an illusion, your eyes may be shut, even though to you they might seem open," she said.
"I don"t understand."
"It will all come with time, you are my only hope," she remarked.
Hope? It was a word I did not have for myself, how could I be one for someone else"s? I could sense I was opening my eyes and regaining conscience, the vision was becoming blurred, and I needed more information from her.
"What should I do?" I asked.
"Do not trust them, they would do anything to make you oblivious."
Before I could ask what she meant or who she was referring to, I woke up in what seemed to be Aliya"s room. I suddenly jumped as the bell rang, who knows how long I was in this deep sleep. With much curiosity to know who this person could have been, I went where I could hear the noises and whispers.
In the living room, I saw a gentleman in a suit seated on a wooden chair. He reminded me of those TV characters in crime series, he was flipping through a stack of papers and read them in a schematic way. He seemed to stop for a moment, a split second as he peeked at me and said, "good morning Miss Wilson, I did not think you would have honoured us with your presence today."
I approached the sofa where Aliya and Robert were sitting in front of him, "excuse me sir, who are you?" I asked.
"My name is Jeremy Ross. I am here to talk about your mother"s will."
There was an intense moment of silence, until his hand gave a sign to Aliya, a gesture which made her understand it was time to go, and while taking away Robert with her, I could sense as if she was stepping away with great reluctance.
Once we were alone, he started telling me what the doc.u.ments were about. He gave me the details of my mother"s last wish, how she wanted to be cremated at the beach, not a place designed lightly but one full of remembrance, where both her and my father met for the first time. She had also left me with a great sum of money in my new bank account, the house in which we lived was now in my name. I was shocked, I did not know how to react, and after all, how would you react in such cases.
"The most important is the sealed letter she left, which should be given to her legitimate heir, as she stated in the will," he said.
While my hands were shaking, I gathered all the courage I had and took the letter from his hand, tormented by the idea of what I should have done with it.
"Should I open it?" I asked.
"Do you want to know the last words she wanted to tell you? Then by all means, yes. However, it shall not be opened before her birthday."
"It means in January."
"Indeed, but those are her wishes," he said.
Even when Mr Ross told me all I could know, this is all I could think of all day. Do I really want to know what she wrote? What she intended to tell me but was not capable in person? During her last month, she was barely herself, she could have written anything inside it, or I could have left the letter and recalled her as the loving mother she was.