Free Swift by Heather London Page A

we had brought with us from home. My sister and I were building sandcastles ten feet from them.
    I knew that all I had to do was open my eyes and the dream would disappear. But it seemed so real, so clear and distinct, as if I was living it in the present. I wanted to see it. Hell, I needed to see it. It had been too long since I’d seen my mom and dad happy and smiling or remembered my sister and I innocently playing at the beach on a warm, sunny day. I never wanted to open my eyes.
    Just as it looked like dinner was prepared, all perfectly placed on the blanket my mother had spread out along the beach, something stole her attention. Without anyone noticing, not even my father, my mother turned and looked out into the ocean. She stood there for a few seconds, looking out into the water. Suddenly, her head snapped back toward my sister and I. The look on her face was terrifying. As she approached my father and whispered into his ear, his blissful face turned bleak, and all the color drained out of it.
    “Girls, gather up your things. We need to go now. There’s a storm coming,” he spoke sternly.
    “What storm?” Charlotte pouted as she looked up toward the bright, blue, sun-filled sky.
    “Don’t argue with your father, Charlotte. Now get your things and let’s go,” my mother demanded, raising her voice, something she rarely did.
    “Fine.” Charlotte stomped over to our plastic sandcastle molds and began to gather them up. “Come on, Meredith. Dad said you had to help, too,” she whined as I saw the image of me kneeling down to help her. I glanced back and saw my mom and dad whispering to one another as they gathered the rest of the gear, both looking frantic.
    “Come on, girls, we need to go now! Leave everything that you don’t have ready to go,” my dad yelled. His face was impatient and his hands were full with items we needed to leave with.
    Charlotte huffed as she stood up and began to obey him, then yelled at me, “Meredith, you heard him, let’s go!”
    I stood and obediently followed my family off the beach.
    “Faster!” My father yelled as he looked back toward my sister and me. We picked up our pace, running faster and faster in the sand. I struggled, my hands full and my legs feeling heavy, not knowing how much longer I could balance everything I was holding. Soon enough, the running in the sand with my hands full proved to be too difficult. I tripped over my own feet, and the plastic sandcastle molds went flying along with me as I landed face down in the sand. When I hit the ground, my mouth filled with the coarse, dry powder. I coughed, trying to breath, trying to get the sand out of my mouth.
    Then something woke me up from my vision. I realized that I couldn’t breathe. I sat up in bed, coughing uncontrollably, drenched in sweat. I swallowed and took in a few deep breaths as I looked toward the clock. It was 5:30 in the morning. And the headache I had woken up with a couple days ago was back, pounding in the same spot as it had before.
    I fell back on the bed and sighed, thinking of the dream, remembering it so clearly, wishing more than anything that I could have that day back. I had always treasured that day at the beach, remembered it fondly. That was the last happy time we had had as a family before the accident.
    Everything after that day had been weird at home, and my parents had begun to act … different. We no longer laughed as a family, no longer ate dinner together, barely even spent time with each other. My parents spent most of their time having hushed conversations, always with a panicked look on their faces. My sister and I were asked to go outside and play a lot more than usual, and we were never allowed to leave the boundaries my mom had set for us.
    But why all of a sudden was I having these dreams of the past? The dreams I had had the past few nights were not random they were actual memories of my family and me. I couldn’t help but wonder if these dreams were trying