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In my dream, I was back at my childhood home. It sat in the perfect neighborhood in the suburbs of Rochester New York. I hadn't been there since the attack, but I remembered everything about it. The smell of the neighbor's fresh-cut grass, the sounds of the kids playing kickball at the end of the cul-de-sac. As I moved toward the house, I could see the younger versions of me and Anna playing football in the yard. Suddenly I remembered this day. I wasn't sure why, but this memory stood out like a sore thumb in my mind. My father was inside, talking with someone from his work. He used to visit our home a lot. He and my father would have frequent conversations in his study about things at work, which my mother would never let me hear about. I never asked, because it always seemed to trouble him.

On this day, the man from work threw open a door in a huff and quickly walked down the sidewalk to his car. Anna and I both looked at him, and he made eye contact with both of us and smiled. I whipped around to face my father in the doorway when he came out, yelling at his coworker.

"I know you think this is right, but we can't allow it," he said frantically. His eyes were wide with fear, and I remember being scared about what that meant. My father worked in finance, at a respectable firm in the city. "You have to convince them to reconsider," he said again, this time in a sadder, more desperate tone. He braced himself in the doorway, looking straightforward at the man getting into the car. For being a dream, the details on the man's face were so concrete. He had wide eyes and deep set wrinkles that shifted when he moved his face at all. He looked at my father for a moment but didn't respond to what he said. He tipped his hat to him and opened the door to his car. Within a few moments, the man was gone, and my father was left alone in the doorway, his face full of worry and fear.

"Dad, what was he talking about?" I heard myself ask. My father looked at me, and I remember never feeling more scared and upset than I did looking into his eyes. Anna went over to me and hugged my legs, pulling herself in tight against me. I watched as he tried to pull himself together, probably realizing how scary he must've looked to his kids.

"It's nothing Louis," he said reassuringly, He stepped out of the doorway and came to me and Anna, kneeling so he was on our level. "There are some issues at work, and dad is trying to make sure everything turns out alright," he put his hands on shoulders and smiled at me. I could tell now that he was desperately trying to hide his tears. "Mom is inside making lunch, so why don't you two go inside and eat. Don't worry about anything." He gingerly stood up, bracing his hands on his knees, and then pushed us toward the front door. He turned away to face the road, and now that I could see him clearly, I realized that he had finally started to cry.

…

When I awoke we were stopped, and Logan wasn't in the truck. I jumped out of my seat. Where had he gone? Was he okay? Maybe this was all some elaborate trip to lure me somewhere where the real torture would begin. The truck was stopped at a brick building, but there wasn't a sign. Only a few small windows and a concrete pad out front with a couple of benches. I cautiously opened the door of the truck and stepped out onto the hot pavement. I had forgotten that my shoes were probably still in the woods behind the bar.

I thought back to my dream - or rather my memory. An experience that I had buried deep in my brain had come to light, and it left me with more questions than answers. Though the thought of seeing them again after what I had done terrified me, I had no idea how long this escapade would last and I had to revisit the painful events of recent history. When would that day come? Would I even be ready for it? I didn't know but thinking about it now paralyzed me.

The sun had risen already, but it was still somewhat dark. It must've been seven or eight in the morning, but I wasn't sure. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves on the few trees scattered on the property. There were no other cars in the parking lot, at least from where I could see. I took a few steps toward the building when I saw Logan emerge from the front door.

"Logan, where are we?"

"Oregon. There's a shower inside, be quick." He motioned for me to head toward the doors. I walked there while still questioning where we were. When I opened the doors a rush of cool air hit and it felt amazing. A man stood at a front desk. On the wall behind him hung a map of Oregon and the trucking pit-stops throughout the state. We were at a lodge for truck drivers, I realized.

"Are you with the short guy?" He asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"There's a shower round the side, don't be more than five minutes and don't use too much hot water. They'll have my ass if the water's icy."

"Thanks," I said. I went down a long hall until I found a bathroom near the end. It looked like it hadn't been properly cleaned in ages and it smelled like dust, but there was a shower, and the urge to feel clean again practically drove me insane.

As the water cascaded down my back, I could feel the blood dripping. I rinsed my hair and body, but I had to practically claw myself to get the day-old mud out of my hair. The water ran murky red and brown, but I finally felt clean.

By the time I was done it had been nearly twenty minutes.

...

When I got back out to the truck, Logan was sitting inside with the window down, smoking a cigar. He had the radio turned up, but it wasn't playing music, it was an AM radio station talking about the latest news in Syria.

"Sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to take that long," I got in my seat and relaxed. Logan took one more puff of the cigar and smothered it with his hand. He winced, and I got a glimpse of his hand, burned from the ashes, rapidly healing to the point of perfection. Maybe that was his mutation. I didn't know. "You wouldn't happen to have extra shoes, would you?" O asked tentatively. Logan always seemed to be on the edge of an angry fit, and I certainly didn't want to push him over the edge, but my feet were dirty already, and I couldn't go most places without shoes on.

"We can stop somewhere on the way, but I ain't buying you Nikes or anything," he said smugly.

We started driving. The roads were long and barren, we could go for miles and not see anything but evergreens and a deer or two. It was peaceful almost, tranquil. After about an hour we pulled into a small gas station and I was able to grab a pair of hiking boots. They were the kind that your grandpa would wear on his fishing trips, but at least they were something. I also grabbed a few snacks and some bottled water. I hadn't eaten a full meal in over a day, so I was exhausted and I could feel the hunger setting in. Luckily, I scarfed down some protein bars once we got back on the road.

"I can drive if you want to take a break, I know how to drive, you know," I said after we had been driving again for a few hours. At this point, I still had no idea where we were going, and it just struck me that maybe I shouldn't be with this guy in the first place. I started to tense up, but it did no good considering that even if I could get away, I still would have no money and nowhere to go.

Logan didn't look away from the road, just mumbled something. "I don't want you to switch on the road, the last thing I need is to have you swerve off the road and hit something,"

I sighed. Sure, he was right, it could be dangerous to let me drive, but I could sometimes tell when I was going to switch, and I was capable of suppressing it every once in a while. But I didn't want to argue, so I slumped back in my seat and listened to the radio. That's when I heard it. The signal was fuzzy, but I could make out enough.

We have more information on the animal attack from Rochester, New York. Two parents remain in medically induced comas after an unexplained animal attack two weeks ago. Anna Laurents, the youngest child of Maeve and Daniel Laurents is recovering in the hospital, while authorities are still looking for Louis Laurents, age 17. Anyone with information is encouraged to speak to the Rochester PD.

The radio crackled and I couldn't make out anything else, but I had heard enough. I looked at Logan in fear, only to find that he was staring at me with the same look.

I stuttered, choking back tears. I could feel a lump in my throat the size of a baseball.

"I… I don't.." I fumbled with my words.

I started to sweat and my limbs got shaky. I felt a nasty pit in my stomach, and it twisted and churned like an animal that was trapped. Like a dam breaking, I shook with rage and sadness. The tears streamed down my cheeks, soaking my shirt. I tried to talk, but I couldn't make a sound. For two weeks I had been doing such a good job at hiding myself and my emotions, careful not to let anything seep out. At the tiniest reminder of what I had done, I broke down. I was too pathetic to handle the truth. Logan looked at me with an expression of rage and pain. Almost like he knew exactly what I was feeling.

"I don't remember!" I cried. "I don't… I don't…" I kept telling myself that it wasn't true, that there was no way that I could've done it. But in the back of my mind, I saw my mother's face. She was so scared. And my father, holding my sister Anna in his arms. I could feel the weight of what I had done like a thousand rocks inside my body.

"I'm taking you to the airport," Logan said. "I can't help you,"

I looked at him in shock. "Where will you take me? They'll kill me if they find out what I've done and what I am!" But he didn't say anything, just kept driving. "Logan please don't leave me. Please, I can't… I don't want to be in this alone," I cried some more.

"I told you, I can't help you,"

"But you've helped me so far!" I exclaimed. "I would've been caught in those woods if you hadn't found me!"

"You don't want my help. I promise you,"

"Logan… Logan, please," I begged. I couldn't go through this alone. Not now that I knew what I had done. Memories filled my mind. The blood, the pain. My mother's screams echoed throughout the house. It was all coming back. I put my hands up to my head and screamed. I knew now. I knew everything. And I had to live with the knowledge of what I did.

Logan didn't talk again until we reached the airport. Evidently, he had nothing more to say.