Prologue
I never thought that the word happy would be a part of my vocabulary. I never thought it would be an emotion that I would be capable of feeling. In my adolescence happy and I didn’t get along. That was mostly because of Daddy and his problem and how he never let go of Mommy and how I always reminded him of her.
But I am happy now.
Really, truly, and incandescently happy.
It is a beautiful feeling.
I’m standing in a meadow complete with long swaying yellowed grass, radiant shimmering sunshine, and a soft yet cool breeze. The soft lilt of music carries on the wind and I squint, noticing him.
Elijah.
He sits on a blanket, hunched over strumming on the strings of his guitar. He lifts his head, his eyes lock with mine, then a slow lazy grin quirks on his lips. He beckons me closer with a slight nod of his head and when he dips his head the sun grazes the crown of golden curls, making the curls shimmer. Then I hear laughter. It is light, airy, and whimsical. That’s when I notice the toddler bouncing around next to Elijah. Round red cherub cheeks. Golden curls just like her father.
My daughter. Willow.
I run toward my family with a huge smile and can’t want to plant a million kisses on Willow’s cheeks. I think about crashing into Elijah’s arms and telling him to hold me and never let go. I think about telling him that he’s made me the happiest person in the entire world and that I wouldn’t trade my time with him or my love for him for anything.
But something strange happens when I reach the spot where Elijah sits. He doesn’t acknowledge me. He stops strumming his guitar and stands, staring off to the right. I follow his gaze and see Willow running away. “Oh no!” I gasp. “Willow, baby! Come back! Stay close to Mommy and Daddy!”
But Willow isn’t listening. She’s stubborn like her father too.
I take off running and catch up to her quickly. Reaching out I try to scoop her up into my arms, but my fingers slip. The meadow is coming to an end and is edged off like a cliff. “Willow Watson! Don’t you take another step!” My daughter gives me a defiant giggle and I pick up speed, reaching for her at the same exact time she steps off of the cliff.
We fall.
My heart beats in a panic. Fear writhes through my veins. I clutch my daughter to my chest as her giggles turn to cries and soothe her. “Shh, my darling. Mommy is here. Mommy has got you.”
Then we hit the ground.
We hit the ground hard and I swear I hear and feel my neck snap. Standing, I brush off the pain. I touch my neck and my eyes scan the ground next to me. I’m only battered and bruised and I’m convinced the snapping noise was something my mind made up. I spin in a circle. My eyes scan the ground. Where is Willow?
Where is my daughter?
She fell with me.
I know she did.
I had her in my arms.
I start running and the scenery all around me shifts. The sky has shifted from light to an omniscient dark. Clouds loom above me shielding the moon and an eerie afterglow lights up my surroundings.
There’s a cyclone of fear and panic ripping through the walls of my stomach and I choke back the vomit rising up in my throat.
“Willow!” I shriek out hysterically. “Willow!”
I come to an abrupt halt when I see stones of all shapes and sizes. Flowers used for decoration. Names and loving phrases etched into slabs of rock.
A graveyard.
I am in a graveyard.
A gust of cool wind whips through my raven hair as I stare at the mound of freshly laid dirt at my feet. I kick one of the wet, sludgy balls with the tip of my shoe and glance at the moonlight dancing over the headstones in the cemetery. I swipe the tip of my ivory shoe against the wet grass to clean it off while wondering how I got here.
Wondering how I got to this point in my life.
To the point where I’m standing in a cemetery, after midnight, kicking balls of mud with widened eyes and wondering why in the hell, the name on the tombstone in front of me….
Is mine.
Chapter One
1960
I’m flustered.
I’m frantic.
I’m on the verge of hair ripping madness.
Pacing across the rec room, I tune out the other patients and stop, getting down on all fours to look underneath one of the plastic chairs with an orange seat. It’s not there. It’s not there. Part of me wonders if it has ever been there. Didn’t I look in this spot already? Didn’t I check here last week?
No…
I’d remember that, wouldn’t I?
Wouldn’t I?
I hop to my feet in a flash and start pacing again in front of the wide, barred window. I keep telling myself that I’ll never stop searching. That I won’t give up. That I’ll tear the walls of the Oak Hill Asylum down with iron-clad fists if I have to, to find what I’m looking for.
The only problem is…
I’ve been searching everywhere.
Through drawers in desks.
In dark corners.
In nooks and crannies.
Under the cot in my cell.
I can’t find it anywhere.
I can’t find what I so desperately need anywhere.