The Last Barn On Winsor Avenue
Wind howled through the cold bright morning as I forced my eyes awake to stare at what seems like a plain white celling. I have slept long and wel, I procrastinated to myself; in fact, I could barely recall my past at all. As I twitched my hand to the side, a loud scream came up near me. “ He’s awake! Doctor, he’s alive!” I can hear someone banging through the door as footsteps came closer to me.
“Hello,
I’m José, your doctor. You’ve been asleep for a while now and most patients
don’t wake up that fast from a head injury. We couldn’t find any
identifications on you. Do you remember your name?”
“My Name is Alan, Alan Jones,“ I answered.
Everything around me seemed so
dizzy as the doctor aided me up on the white bed. What happened to me, and why was I here? Unanswered questions flooded through my head like a game of
clue.
“Concentrate!" For all we know,
you were found by locals lying down on Winsor Boulevard down, the only thing
we found on you was a wallet with no real ID on it”.
“Who found me”, I questioned.
“The local sheriff.”, He answered.
He handed me the black leather
wallet my dad gave me for present once. Flashbacks of my dream last night
started to strike my head as I slowly recall things from before. The dream was
terrible, horrifying actually. It consisted of my father torturing both my mom
and my sister to death. Then he dragged them across a long farm field and my
sister dropped her teddy bear. My dad murdered both of them except for me. Was
it because I’m special? Trying to picture a dream is like trying to remember
someone you never knew.
The next
morning came by through the blink of an eye. I opened my black leather wallet only to
find thirteen dollars in cash, my library card and a ripped piece of paper with
an address written:
"Abilene, TX, United States"
Abilene just
sounded too familiar for me; I know for sure I’ve heard this place. Before I
could look further into this location, a knock from the door distracted me
completely. When the door opened, it turned out to be a sheriff. Could he be
the sheriff that found me, I thought to myself. After some questions, I learned
that her name was Sheriff Hopkins and she was indeed the person that found me near the
outskirts of Dallas.
“One more
thing, Alan, you would need to come to the department for an investigation
with the blood found on your shirt during the night of your accident”
“Investigation?
What kind?” I questioned back.
“We need to identify whereabouts and perform a DNA test on the blood found on you.”
Things got more and more
confusing as her words went on and so I asked her if she could help me find my
way back home before the DNA test. Surprisingly, she exhaled and I followed her
to the police car parked outside the hospital, “Parkland Memorial Hospital.”
During the car ride I told her to take me to the place where she found me. Just maybe, there will there be some hints on
my finding my home. As I look over the window of the car, I remembered that I
lived in barn and worked as a farm boy for my dad.
“Do you live with your family?” the detective inquired.
“ Yes
mam, I have a family of four, my dad, my mom, my sister, and me.”
The detective looked at me blankly for a
second and continued driving. I could tell by the look at her face that she was
about to burst out into a laugh, but she held it in. When we
arrived at Winsor Boulevard, she pointed out the alley in which I was found in.
Searching for evidence, I scattered around the whole place like a rat trying to
find dinner in a garbage bin. There was absolutely nothing that’s brings me
back any memory. After an hour of clueless search, I asked Hopkins if she knew
where all the old barns were in Dallas. I could tell by the looks of her face
that she was quite annoyed by my requests, but she assisted me any way.
Again, we went on a trip to find my family.
Time
drifted fast as it seemed to me that we are already reached the countryside
within minutes from Winsor Boulevard. Is time getting faster, or am I actually going crazy? I
viewed down the window of the car again. This time, I could see fields and
fields of barn and suddenly, a flashback hit me.
“Turn
left and stay by the right side, I pretty sure it’s the red barn”
When we dropped by the barn; we entered straight towards the little house beside it. Inside the house was a
completely disastrous setting of broken furniture, and the disgusting smell of
blood. The sheriff was completely shocked and told me to stay out here,
as she needed to call for an emergency backup. Out of my conscious sense , I walked out of the house
into a grass field where I spotted that bloody teddy bear which my sister held
in my dream. I rushed down towards the teddy bear to found a note
lying next to it.
" Dear Diary,
Daddy beat mommy again because of me. I hate getting blamed for my existence.
- Amy Jones"
Tears fell out of my eye as I
read the note. I was never dreaming after all. My father did kill my mother and
sister. I walked backed into the house where sheriff Hopkins sat down and
stared at our family photo. I could tell by the by the look of her eyes
that she feared me. However, before she even had a chance to touch her belt, I grabbed a rake and smashed her skull right open. She dropped down into the ground like a weak insect with blood
spilling all over the floor. When I dragged her body across the field, the noise
of siren came roaring closer and closer. I knew there wasn’t much time left
before they will catch on with me. I hurried back into the house; locked
every door I could found. Sitting down on the dinner table, I read a bill on the
table:
"Abilene Institute
September 1st 1978
Patient Name: Samuel Jones
Patient Number: 54912324
Emergency Contacts: Emma Jones
Spouse: Emma Jones
Children(s): Amy Jonese
Medical Reason: Dissociative Identity Disorder"
