Déjà vu
by Ariana Morales
The ground is shaking. I can see the roads start to split open, Oh my God, it's beginning. What time is it? I don't remember it starting around this time, am I too late? I see people running to their cars with little to no belongings. Little kids being shoved, trampled on—people pushing and screaming, feeling confused, and fear filling the space. It's all the same, and I can't do anything about it. I feel hopeless. I've tried to fix it, but I can't. I don't know what to do. I can feel the wind getting louder; the clouds are becoming darker. Hail! Hail is supposed to start pouring down next. And just like that, I was right. It's happening again; everything is falling into place.
I start shoving my way towards my house. I have to tell my mom, I have to tell somebody. Wait! It will be of no use. I've told her a bunch of times already, and no matter how hard I try, she never believes me. No one ever does.
I make it to my house. Everything is pitch black, no one in sight. I want to scream out for my mom, but I can never do it—a lump forms in my throat. I hate the feeling of needing her, of wanting her to save me. I never understood where she went. She's always gone, but where is she? No matter where you go, you'll end up having the same fate as everyone else.
I fall to the ground, breaking down and crying. I pull my hair and scream at the top of my lungs to something that isn't there. The lights start to flicker repeatedly; the house is still shaking, almost like it's an earthquake. Rain and hail are still pouring hard.
"I don't understand! What do you want from me?!"
I curl into a ball and close my eyes; I concentrate on the unknown. Then it begins. Silence. The house isn't shaking anymore, the lights stop flickering, and there is no more rain. I hear myself breathing. I get up from the floor and slowly head outside. Just like I expected, everyone is in their spot, looking at the sky.
And there it is. Five full moons. Three in a row lined up together with two at the bottom. What does all this mean? I don't know, but something feels familiar. I look back down to see everyone's head facing towards me. It's like they are waiting for me to do something, to give a signal of some sort.
This sense of the unknown takes over my surroundings, and a feeling of pressure covers my whole body like it's suffocating me. Everything around me is slow, blurry almost. Some of the faces are melting slowly, and others are just pure darkness like they have no souls. A ringing sound is filling my ears, then comes the whisper of a female voice that I still have yet to place saying, "Isabella."
And with that, I open my eyes. I'm in bed again, like I expected. I quickly turn to my right to shut off my alarm. I get up, and I grab my phone to look at the date.
Friday, April 13th, 2018. It's 6:30 AM.
I throw my phone across the room and sigh—the feeling of defeat courses through my body.
"Here we go again.”
~~~
I've lost count of how many times I've gone through this day. It doesn't matter anyway, since I won't be going anywhere.
Time has gotten slower. Well, not actually, but that's how it feels each time. Usually, I start off my mornings by throwing a fit, which involves me crying and smashing everything around me. Sometimes I'll even throw up, and then I'll chug it down with some expired whipped cream that I keep under my bed.
I know, gross. But if you were in my situation, you would be doing the same thing.
I don't care what my mom says to me anymore. Actually I never did, but now I have a real reason to use. In this life, I like to pretend my mom is a background character in a movie that no one cares about, completely useless.
She's not a terrible person, but I just can't stand her.
After I finish my morning tantrum, I clean everything up. You're probably wondering why, or maybe not, but I'm going to tell you anyway.
The only thing in this fucked up universe that I have control over are my decisions. So, if I want to trash everything and then pick it all back up, I will do that. No one can stop me.
I look at the time. 7 AM. This is when my annoying mom barges in.
"Isabella mi amor, please make it to school on time. I know you're going through some stuff, and we can talk about it after school, okay? Pero por favor, actually go to school and not the park or wherever your hideout spot is."
I look at her, dressed up with her little suitcase, and think it must be fun being a lawyer. I glare at her for a while, then I roll my eyes and sigh in agreement so she’ll go away. "Yes, of course,” I reply. “Where else would I go?"
~~~
Usually, I would go explore the city. I'd head downtown and eat at every single restaurant. Sometimes I'd even steal money from men in suits and give it to the homeless. Then I'd go to the movie theatre and watch every film that plays there.
But there are only so many things you can actually do before your mind starts to take over your body.
I went insane, trying to figure out how to break this loop that I am in. And yes, that even included killing myself multiple times in all of the creative ways I could think of, hoping it would lead me to him. At first, I wanted to get over it quickly, so I did the basics, such as slitting my wrists and throat, overdosing on pills, hanging myself, and shooting myself in many places. Obviously those didn't work, so I got creative. For my first unique attempt, I managed to get to the top of the Transamerica Tower that's located downtown. To make it more fun I waited for security to reach the top so they could see me jump off to my death in style. I know that's messed up, but hey, why not? For my second attempt, I threw myself into cars, hoping I would get hit. People thought I was crazy until finally a school bus filled with children finished the job. I wouldn't call that creative, but it was fun to watch people's reactions. And lastly, my personal favorite was inside my living room, as I drenched myself in gasoline and lit myself on fire while my mom watched. The feeling was horrendous, don't get me wrong, but it also felt peaceful, like I was free.
But I'm still here, trapped in this hell.
Not going to lie, I felt terrible every time I tried to kill myself. I knew my dad was disappointed in me, but I didn't care anymore. I just wanted to be with him.
So I tried it again for the last time, hoping it would work.
I drove all the way to the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. I found a spot, wrapped some chains around my body, tied a brick to my feet, and held another one. Drowning was one of my biggest fears and I didn't know how to swim, so it was perfect.
For one last time, I enjoyed the view of the sun setting and the feeling of the wind hitting against my face. I looked down and was ready to drop, until something unusual happened.
"Hey! Stop! What are you doing?!"
I turned back to see a male figure running in my direction.
"What does it look like I'm doing? Go away."
This had never happened before. I was usually able to kill myself without interruptions.
"Please don't do this. You have people that care about you. You have a purpose in your life."
I should've jumped at that point; all he was saying was pure bullshit. "I have no purpose in this life; life is meaningless. In fact, it's pointless to everyone in this world, including you. We all die in the end. Plus, the only person that cares about me is my dad, but he's dead, so there's that."
A sad look formed on his face, and he looked to the ground. "Your dad wouldn't want you to be doing this to yourself. He would want you to live and escape the hell that you are in because he knows you can do it, and he will be by your side, always."
His words caught me by surprise, I believed him, and I don't know why. At this moment, all my worries went away. I didn't want to kill myself anymore, I didn't want to be with my dad yet.
The boy helped me off the ledge and onto the street, and I got a good look at him. He had brown eyes, curly hair, and looked about 19. When I looked at him, I felt this warmth, this comfort. I felt safe. I hadn’t experienced that feeling in a long time.
Without saying anything, I started to head to my car, and then he called out. "Wait, what is your name?" I turned back. "I'm Roman."
I gave him a smile. "You should get home. It's going to start soon," I said. And with that, I headed to my car and drove off, never turning back. Till this day I haven't seen him. But after that incident, it hasn't felt the same. There's a change in the atmosphere, it feels new.
And I don't like it.
~~~
I didn't miss any of it, the smelly halls, the damp atmosphere, seeing annoying couples making out at every corner, like can you please get a room? I didn't miss the overall pressure of trying to fit in, trying to make friends, communicating with people that aren't my deceased father.
My dad was the only one that understood what I was feeling. He would let me skip school and cover for me, we would go to the park and feed the ducks, explore the city, go to the movie theatres, and eat at restaurants we'd never gone to before.
Eventually, I had to go back to school. My mom found out, and she was upset with the fact my father was covering for me. I still ended up ditching school a couple of times, without my father's help, of course. But it was more fun when he was with me.
I wish I wasn't the one to find him that day, it replays in my head all the time. I was walking to his room, all happy and excited, ready to tell him about something stupid I found on Twitter, only to find his lifeless body hanging. I froze completely; I couldn't believe it. I wasn't the same after that.
The sound of the bell interrupted my thoughts, knocking me back to reality.
Why the hell am I here? I don't even know why I came. I've had this feeling, like a tug, almost, like something is trying to guide me somewhere I don't know. Everything seems normal here. You got the robotic kids gossiping at the lockers, the band kids making out at the staircase, the AP kids rushing to finish their homework from the night before, see? Everyone in their usual spots.
"Screw this, I'm out," I say under my breath. I storm out of the building and to my car. I get in, close my eyes, and lean back in my chair, trying to slow down my breathing. Then I grab my keys, start the ignition, and turn on my headlights. I begin to move until a man jumps in front of my car, causing me to jump. "What the hell?!" I get a look at his face and realize I've seen him before. Oh, right, the bridge. How did he find me? I slowly get out of the car and watch him try to regain his breath.
"You're Isabella, right?" he says.
A shocked look forms on my face. How does he know my name?
"What the hell did you do to me?” he continues. “Ever since I found you on that bridge, I can't get you out of my head. No, literally, every time I wake up, you're the first thing on my mind. And, and, this voice, it's like a whisper, saying your name." What the fuck. Has he gone insane? Is he really blaming me for everything that is going through his sick head right now? "And it turns out I've been reliving the same damn day over and over again. But, OH! You already knew that, didn't you! HA! Oh my god, the moons, the earthquake, I think I'm going insane."
I honestly can't tell if he's laughing, crying, or both. By the looks of it, it seems to me that he hasn't been here for too long. I just don't understand why he's putting all the blame on me. He acts like I put him in here or something, like I have control over what happens.
"And somehow, this is all my fault? How is this my problem, exactly? It's not my fault you're slow," I say.
He laughs. Wait, what if he's right and this is my fault?
"I know there has to be a reason why we are trapped in this world, and it has something to do with you, I just know it. You are the key! And we can both work together to get out!" he exclaims.
Work together? I never needed to work with others or use their help. I've always been on my own, and it's better that way. Because when they leave, it will hurt less. Besides, I'm used to all this. Why would I want to go now?
"So first you blame me for your little meltdown, and now you want us both to work together? Now, why would I do that? I've been here longer than you have, and it gets easier to deal with. Trust me, you'll be fine."
He starts laughing again, a smirk form on his face. "I should've never saved you that day. I should've let you drown."
I didn't ask him to save me, but deep down, I wanted someone to.
"Okay, so now you want to be a dick because I don't want to work with you?” I say. “I didn't ask you to save me, by the way, you did that yourself. Either way, nothing would've happened, the day would have just reset. I've done it a bunch of times before."
What am I doing? Why am I even communicating with this guy, I don't even know him. So I turn around and head back to my car.
"Wait, where are you going? You can't go anywhere! Do you seriously plan on not doing anything?" he says, following me. I ignore him. "Are you serious?! Fine! Screw you, I'll do this myself, I don't need your help."
I get into my car, roll down my window, yell out, "Drop dead!" and drive off. I feel bad, why do I feel bad? I've been alone all my life. No one has ever told me they needed me before. But this feels different, he feels different. Why am I so harsh on people, on myself? I can use this chance to do better, to be better. Wait, am I actually doing this? What if we do get out, then what? I have to go back to living the miserable life I had before,?I don't want to go back to that. I can do what I want here, not age. What if we go back in the middle of an apocalypse, or a pandemic? Actually, that sounds kinda cool, not gonna lie.
Dammit, Isabella.
I turn the car around and head back to where Roman was. I see him sitting on the sidewalk, and I stop my car next to him. I sigh, "Fine, we can work together."
Roman smiles and runs towards the passenger side.
This better all be worth it.
~~~
We went to his apartment complex. Roman believes he has information that can help us get out, but he doesn't remember anything, including renting out the place. He has a lot of stuff inside that he couldn't explain. He says it's better if I check it out for myself.
"You really don't remember renting out this apartment?" I say. It's a standard space. There's a living room, kitchen, and a bedroom, but it was a complete mess. He has papers scattered everywhere, clothes, and half-consumed liquor bottles on the floor. It looks like he hasn't cleaned in months.
"Every time the day resets, I wake up at this desk,” he says. I walk over to where he is. The desk is covered entirely in documents, newspaper articles, and pictures of missing children from today and back to the '80s. This doesn't make any sense. Roman is either a serial killer and he doesn't remember, or he's a private investigator, which I doubt.
"I have no clue what all this means. The only thing I can remember is that I'm not from here. What the hell is a kid from California doing in Baltimore? Because it looks like before I got trapped here, I was hunting down something, or someone."
A chill runs through my body. My arms are covered in goosebumps, I'm cold. I hug myself and grip on my oversized yellow jacket, hoping it will warm me up quicker. Roman notices.
"The last time I saw you, you had that same jacket on."
It belonged to my father. He always wore this jacket everywhere, so now I do the same. It's the only thing I had left of him before my mom got rid of all his stuff.
"It's my father's jacket, well, it was. Before he died, he would always wear this particular jacket, so now I do the same in honor of him."
His face saddens, just like on the bridge.
"Look, I'm sorry for what I said earlier about not wanting to save you. That was a total lie, I did want to save you, I needed to, and I'm glad I did,” he says.
Those feelings I felt when I was on the bridge came rushing back again. I don't know why I feel this way, or why he makes me feel this way. A piece of paper on the floor next to his desk catches my eye. I go to pick it up, and I freeze.
It's a missing person flyer with my face on it.
"What the fuck."
Isabella Garcia Morales: missing since March 2019.
A lump forms in my throat, and both of my hands start to shake while I grip the paper. I start thinking of what this could possibly mean. What is this place? Am I dead!? I begin to rummage through Roman's desk to find something that will link up to my disappearance. I notice he has a whiteboard covered in a blanket on the other side of the room. I go towards it and remove the sheet.
It’s filled with red strings connecting my mom's pictures to missing children, court files, documents, and newspaper articles, as well as the case of my dad's suicide. My breath hitches.
There are different pictures of my dad and another one of a baby at the top right-hand corner. There's another red string connecting a picture of my dad while holding the baby to a picture of...Roman?
Santiago Garcia Morales and Roman Santiago Lewis.
A pain strikes in my head, causing me to fall to the ground. And then it hits me, a wave of memories start racing through my head. I remember. "Bel, are you okay? What's wrong!?" Roman says.
I start to laugh. It all makes sense now. "Oh my god, I remember!"
I knew none of this was my fault. All of this was because of my mother. She's the reason why I'm stuck here, she put me here. I figured out she was part of an organization that used children to do tests on them, like in simulations. Because she was a lawyer, she was able to work with the cops and cover her tracks. My dad was the first to figure it out, but he wanted no part in it, so he was sent out to be killed by my mom. I was stupid and confronted her about it, so instead of killing me, she used me as her lab rat and she sent me here.
She put me into my own consciousness. All this time I've been living inside my head. This day, April 13th 2018, was when I found my dead father. And the moons, the earthquake, all of it, was part of a story my father used to tell me when I was younger. It was my favorite, and now I'm just living in it.
I also found out about my dad's affair, but my mom already knew about that, which only added to her hatred for him.
I look into Romans' eyes, admiring all his features—no wonder he seems so familiar. "You're the little boy."
When I was younger, whenever my mom said she would come home late, my dad would bring home a little boy. He would tell me that he was babysitting him and that he wanted me to be friends with him, to get to know him. But I couldn't tell my mom. We would always have play dates together until one day, my dad told me that I couldn't play with him anymore because he moved away. So I couldn't ask questions or bring him up again. Over time I erased him from my memory; it was better to believe he never existed.
Roman looks at me with a confused gaze. All those feelings I get when I'm with him start to make sense. "You're my brother, Roman."