Awake
But you see, it’s not me
It’s not my family
In your head, in your head
They are fighting
“Zombie” - The Cranberries
Mom! Mom, help me! What’s happening? Mom? Mom-!?
He wakes with a gasp and a name on his lips.
His head hurts, everything hurts, and he doesn’t know where he is. He blinks, eyes darting around frantically as he takes in his surroundings. A woman with short brown hair is next to him, tears streaming down her face as she gathers him into her arms.
“Charlie, oh thank God! Julio! Julio, he’s breathing!”
“Ma’am, try not to move him around too much. He’s hit his head-”
Before he can begin to process what’s happening he’s being manhandled out of the car and onto an uncomfortable stretcher. A mask is placed over his face and a bright light shines directly into his eyes. He winces, trying to jerk away from the invading hands and voices.
The same woman from the car is next to him as the stretcher is wheeled towards an ambulance. Behind her there’s an equally distraught man and a younger girl with long hair clutching his hand as she cries.
“You’re going to be alright, baby. Try not to move,” the woman murmurs, taking his hand in hers and giving it a tight squeeze.
He doesn’t know where he is or how he got there. He doesn’t know who this woman is or why she won’t leave him alone. He wants the people to stop touching him. He has to go. He has to leave . He has to go home and find-
Home…
Where is home?
He can’t remember. He can’t-
He wants Tommy. Where is Tommy?
His breathing picks up and soon he is gasping for breath, thrashing against the hands and straps that are holding him down. He can feel him but he can’t find him. Tears prick his eyes as the world begins to move in and out of focus. He can hear a cacophony of voices, some near and some far away. It makes his head hurt worse than it already does. The stretcher is loaded into the back of the truck and for the first time he catches a glimpse of his reflection. A boy stares back at him, bruised and bloody with wide, fearful blue eyes. He doesn’t know this face. Is this his face?
It's too much. Everything is too much and he can't. He can't.
Darkness swims along the edges of his vision as the straps on his arms and legs are tightened, and he feels a small prick in the crook of his elbow.
‘Tommy…’ is his last thought before he drifts off into unconsciousness.
_____________________
When he wakes again he’s in a white room. Everything is so white and the strange lights on the ceiling hurt his eyes. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to lessen the pounding in his head and the nausea threatening to overtake him.
"Charlie! Charlie, are you awake, honey?"
Reluctantly he forces his eyes back open just to see the same, teary woman from before leaning over him. The man is there too, a wide, relieved smile on his face as when he sees that he's awake. "Thank, God," the man breathes, reaching out to brush some of the hair back from his forehead. "You gave us quite the scare, young man."
He doesn't know these people, but they act like they know him.
He doesn't know these people.
Why are they here? Why do they keep touching him?
He needs to leave. He needs to leave now.
Before he can plan his escape the door to the room opens and a woman with a white coat strolls in. She gives him a wide, happy smile when she notices he's awake. "Charlie! Good to see you're back with us now. My name is Dr. Martin and I'm here to check up on you."
No. No. He doesn't know this woman either. He doesn't want the doctor here.
“Can you tell me your name?” the doctor asks as she approaches him, seemingly unaware of his rising fear and anxiety.
He tries, but he can't seem to summon the words for answer his question. He shakes his head, shying away from the gloves hands that are trying to examine him.
"Do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened before you came here?"
He shakes his head again, curling in on himself further. He doesn't. He doesn't understand anything that's going on or who any of these people who won't leave him alone are. He wants out of this place. He wants to go.....go where? He's supposed to be...
The woman reaches out in an attempt to comfort him and he nearly throws himself off the bed in an effort to get away from this stranger.
"Stop touching me!"
His voice is hoarse, and sounds strange to his ears.
"Charlie, please-"
"Whose Charlie?" he rasps, tears forming in his eyes. "why do you keep calling me that? Where am I?"
His only answer is a room full of people staring at him in horror.
_____________________
The doctor tells him he has amnesia, but that this condition is usually temporary and should resolve itself once he heals a bit more. They also say he has to visit a psychologist to process what happened to him and hopefully help with his memories.
He doesn’t quite remember what a psychologist is, but he assumes he has no choice other than to talk to them at some point.
The strange man and womanhis parents have barely left his side since he woke up. The girlTori hasn’t left either, just sits in the chair holding his hand tightly. He finds that he doesn't mind her being there as much as he does the adults. Her presence is calming, and her touch isn't as upsetting. His mother is loud and shrill, constantly fussing over him and saying too many things too fast for him to keep up with. His father is calmer, but for the most part lets Jane take the lead.
“The doctor said you can go home in a few days. You hit your head rather hard and they want to monitor to you for at least forty-eight hours. After that you'll be good to go. As long as you’re feeling up to it, that is!” his mother says, "but I'm sure it will be fine and your memories will start coming back. We'll set up an appointment with the specialists right away to be sure, and we'll have you back to normal in no time."
He swallows, looking nervously between the faces of the people who are apparently his parents and older sister.
"Y-yeah. Yeah, I guess."
'This is fixable. We can fix him, we have to.'
'Jesus Christ, Jane. Give him a moment to breathe.'
'We've already dealt with so many problems of his these past few years. I don't know how I'm going to handle another one-'
'I can only imagine how this is going to go-'
His grip on Tori's hand tightens as he listens to his parents argue about him, and she looks at him with wide, concerned eyes. "Charles? What's wrong? Are you okay? Does something hurt?" But he barely hears her questions, too focused on the conflict happening in front of him. He doesn't want them to be mad, he doesn't want them to be loud anymore. He just wants everything to stop.
"I'm sorry! Please don't fight, I'm sorry," he blurts out, panic evident in his voice as he scoots closer to his sister.
Instantly everyone's attention is on him as he trembles on the bed. The confusion is evident on their faces as they all share a look. His dad is the one to break the silence, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. "No one is fighting, Charlie," he says gently. "Why would you think that?"
It's in that moment he realizes that he hadn't seen either of their mouths move the whole time the were arguing. His parents hadn't even looked at each other or spoken directly to him. But if they hadn't opened their mouths, how did he hear them? It doesn't make sense. It doesn't make any sense.
'Oh God, what if it's worse than that doctor let on? What if we can't fix this?'
The thoughts keep coming and he can't make them stop, no matter how hard he tries. And endless stream of worry and planning that quickly becomes overwhelming to the point that he's hyperventilating, hands over his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the noise. His parents frantically call for the nurse who sticks something in his IV that quickly begins to have a calming effect on him.
Eventually they leave to take Tori home, after a nurse assures them at least seven times that he will be okay for the night and that he just needs rest. But at that point his mind had already become too fuzzy from the medication to truly process what's happening around him. The woman his mother presses a kiss to his forehead that he tries to jerk away from, causing a disappointed frown to appear on her face. "We'll be back first thing in the morning, Charlie."
He collapses back into the bed when they finally leave the room, curling up on his side and tugging the blanket around him.
Part of him wonders if going to sleep might free him from all of this. That he'll wake up in the morning and suddenly everything will make sense again. But another, larger part of him is terrified that once he closes his eyes something terrible will happen to him. Just the thought of slipping away into the darkness of sleep makes him feel nauseous. If he sleeps, something bad will happen like last time.
Last time.
Last time was...
Red. Screaming.
Tommy.
He squeezes his eyes shut, tugging the blanket over his head as he tries in vain to hold back the quiet sobs.
He must end up falling asleep because the next thing he knows a kind nurse is shaking him awake for breakfast and telling him that his family should be back to see him soon.
He isn't sure he wants to see them.
_____________________
The three of them are back bright and early, as his mum promised. They come armed with a box of pictures and other mementos of a life he does not remember. "I tried to stop them," Tori says, hopping up to sit next to him on the bed and leaning in close so their parents don't hear. "I said it was stupid and that they just listen to the doctor instead of overwhelming you with things. But mum is convinced all this stuff will jog your memories faster."
He gives a quiet hum of acknowledgement, pushing the eggs and fruit around on his plate. He isn't really hungry.
"Just humor them for a while and maybe they'll leave you alone for a bit?" Tori suggests.
He glances at her, briefly meeting her gaze before staring back down at his uneaten meal.
"Okay."
They tell him a lot about a boy named Charlie Spring.
Or rather, they tell him a lot about himself.
He is Charlie Spring according to the doctors and nurses, and the people who call themselves his family.
He is twelve years old and lives in Kent, England, he’s a Year 8 student at Truham Grammar school and he likes playing the drums. He has parents named Jane and Julio Spring, an older sister named Victoria that he is supposed to call “Tori” instead, and a younger brother named Oliver called “Olly” (Olly, really, really wanted to come say hi to Charlie today, but his parents thought he might be a bit overwhelming at the moment). He is also not supposed to talk the way he does now. He’s supposed to have a voice that sounds like his parents and sister, but his pronunciation is different now and it makes them cringe every time he talks.
"The doctor said it's something called 'Foreign Accent Syndrome'. I can't believe that's actually a thing! And of course you had to go and sound like an American of all things," his dad joked, nudging his shoulder playfully. "Don't worry, we'll get that sorted out, too," his mommum assures him before he can reply. "I'll ask the doctor what can be done about that when she comes back around."
He also likes to read, particularly Ancient Greek books (he doesn’t recall much about this “Greece” place), and he loves dogs.
Didn’t he have a dog once? And a rabbit?
Tori tells him they did not, in fact, have a dog named Sparky or a rabbit named Mr. Scratch because their parents (mostly their mother) don’t like animals and refuse to have one in the house. But no, he is almost certain that Sparky and Mr. Scratch are real and can’t understand why everyone insists on lying to him about it.
He recently made a new friend at school who is a year older than him that had one name, but prefers Elle in private according to Tori. He likes Elle better than the old name, if he’s being honest. He still does not remember anything about "Elle" and he hopes they won’t be too mad at him for it when he sees them again. His parents have launched into another conversation about a family "holiday" they took last year that he supposedly had an excellent time on. He doesn't remember this either but lets them continue to ramble and get their hopes up. But one thing he does notice is that in all their stories, in all the bits and pieces of his life they mention, they never talk about Tommy.
What about Tommy?
"Where's Tommy?" he interrupts, looking around the room curiously as if the other boy was there and simply hiding from him. "Why hasn't he come to visit?"
"Tommy?" his dad chuckled, "I don't think I know a Tommy. Is he one of your friends from school? Are you starting to remember, Charlie?" There's a hopeful note in his voice,
His brow furrowed in confusion. "No, Tommy. Tommy is....he's.."
He's what?
Brother.
'Billy, why don't you and your brother go play outside while your father and I talk?'
"My brother. Tommy," he insists, desperately trying to make them understand. "Where is he?" The three of them look at him like he has spontaneously grown a second head. His mum is the one to break the uncomfortable silence.
"Sweetheart," his mother begins slowly, glancing nervously at his father. "You don't have a brother named Tommy. There isn't a single Tommy in our family, on either side."
"But..." he swallows, a now familiar panic welling up inside of him. "He's supposed to be here. He's always here."
"Maybe he's just confusing the names? Do you mean, Olly, son?," his dad asks, "I know it has to be hard trying to relearn everyone's names at once-"
He shakes his head, the feeling of another headache brewing behind his eyes. "NO! No. Tommy. Where is he?" he demands, fists clenching the blanket laying over his legs. "Why won't you let me see him?"
"Charlie, there is no Tommy. You're just confused," his mum repeats, voice stern.
"You're lying!"
"Charlie!" she snaps, the patient expression on her face quickly fading into a look of annoyance and frustration. "There is no Tommy. I know that you're confused and upset, but that doesn't give you any excuse to speak to me that way-"
"SHUT UP!"
The nurses end up cutting their visit short, despite his parents protests. The shouting had drawn of crowd of people and they had had to force Jane Spring out of the room when they determined that she was the one upsetting him. His dad had followed immediately, trying to calm things down before they escalated further. Eventually the doctor had been called and she agrees that their visit and attempts to jog his memories had simply been too much for his brain to handle at the moment.
He can still hear his parents arguing with the staff in the hallway, but he can't bring himself to care as they are sent home and told they can pick him up tomorrow morning once he's discharged.
He knows Tommy is real. He's sure of it.
Tommy is real.
....right?
_____________________
The car ride to the family home is mostly silent, other than his dad pointing out buildings and locations to him as they drove past. "It'll take some getting used to again, but we can have Tori show you around until you feel comfortable." He nods, resting his forehead on the glass and watching scenes from an unfamiliar neighborhoods fly past him. Eventually they reach a road that takes them between two large buildings. School, apparently.
"And this, is Truham! Oh, and Higgs over there. That's where Tori goes. You'll be starting up again this coming Monday. Try not to worry too much, Charlie. Your teachers have been told about the uh...situation, as it were, and they'll work with you to make sure you can keep up."
He remembers nothing about his school, or any of the things he's supposed to be doing there.
He does not say this, just another soft "mhm" to take it seem like he's listening.
Tori's hand has found his own again, and while he still can't recall anything about his sister other than what she has told him over the past two days, he's grateful for her. Her steady presence is grounding, safe. He can still barely tolerate his parents being near him, especially his mum. Her thoughts are nearly as loud as her actual voice, constantly grating on him and chasing him wherever he goes. Not that he could have gone very far away in a hospital, of course. Tori's were quieter. Sad and gray, and a little painful, but quiet and soothing in their own way.
If he knows nothing else about his current life, he's glad he at least has Tori.
It's another fifteen minutes before their car turns into the driveway of an unfamiliar house. "Home sweet home!"
It does not look like home.
He is ushered out of the car anyway as his parents babble about having got the house ready for him and making sure his room was all set. Truthfully, finding his bedroom is the only thing he can reasonably contemplate doing. He's tired. Tired of his parents, of all the information being thrown at him, of all the thoughts that aren't his buzzing around in his head. But something tells him that won't be the case.
He can hear them before he can see them. The whispers only he can here coming from inside the house that grow louder and louder as they approach the door.
'Poor thing...'
'It'll resolve itself soon..'
'Ugh, why did mum say I have to be here instead of with my friends? It's not like Charlie will even remember who any of us are anyways..'
'Another issue for Jane and Julio to deal with...'
He clutches Tori's hand again so tightly he fears he may be hurting her, but she doesn't complain. He doesn't know this place. He doesn't know any of the people gathered inside. Why are so many people here? No one told him that they would be. The front door opens and-
"Charlie!" a chorus of voices greet him as his parents push him through the door.
The house is bursting with balloons and flowers, and a rather colorful banner that reads "Welcome Home, Charlie" is pinned up on the wall. There is indeed an absurd amount of people crammed into the space. While not a tiny house, it's definitely managed to be filled to capacity. And, once again, he doesn't have a clue who any of these people are. Though based on the way his parents greet them he assumes that he should.
He shuffles closer to Tori, practically hiding behind her as he stares with wide eyes at everyone. They're all looking at him expectantly, and he wishes the floor would open underneath him and swallow him up. Anything to just get away.
"uh...H-Hello," he forces out, instead of running like his mind and body want him to. It's silent for a moment before a combination of gasps and disbelieving laughs fill the space.
"Good God, you weren't joking! He really does sound like an American," one of the men chuckles.
He flushes in embarrassment, keeping his eyes trained on the floor as he is then practically dragged into the sitting room by a gaggle of what he can only assume are his relatives.
"I'm sorry," Tori whispers, keeping herself close to him.
"It's okay...'
_____________________
He finally makes his escape when the adults become too preoccupied with some silly argument. He can feel Tori's eyes on him, but she doesn't try to stop him as he creeps towards the stairs. He'll have to thank her later. They hadn't shown him to his room when they arrived. He had immediately been whisked into the sitting room and bombarded with questions and head pats by the people who were introduced as aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents. His cousins had tried to cajole him into a game of "Mario Kart", but he had just stared awkwardly at the plastic thing not knowing what to do with it.
Olly, his brother, had been so excited to finally see him and refused to leave him alone. Climbing into his lap and clinging to him for who knows how long until their mum managed to bribe him away with the promise of cookies and juice.
It was loud, it was overwhelming, and he races up the stairs before anyone else can see him.
He wanders the hallway, eventually finding what he assumes to be his room and slipping into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him and letting out a sigh of relief. He's alone for the first time in days. The loud, boisterous voices of his family members downstairs as well as their weird whispers are still audible, but slightly muffled from this distance and more manageable. He stands still for a moment, back against the door as he basks in the quietness of thehis bedroom.
It doesn't feel like his room at all. It feels....
Wrong.
Cautiously he makes his way over to the closet that he can see has a tall mirror next to it. He slips in front of it, shoulders tense as he carefully lifts his eyes to meet those of his reflection. The face he sees looking back at him is no longer a shock, but still not any more familiar than it had been the first time he saw it.
“My name is Charlie Spring,” he whispers, staring at the unfamiliar boy in the glass. “My name is Charles Francis Spring,” he tries again, attempting to mimic the way his family speaks and wrinkling his nose when it comes out sounding all wrong.
“I am Charlie Spring,” he says one more time, desperately, trying to ignore the way the name feels wrong on his tongue. The way his body feels too tight and uncomfortable, as if he's been shoved into something that isn't meant to fit him.
His gaze returns to wandering around the room, taking in the unfamiliar sights and all the things Charlie Spring that adorn the space. Hesitantly he begins to move around the space, running his fingers gently over objects and trinkets that don't feel like they belong to him, looking at books he can't recall reading, and picking up the sticks to a drum set he can no longer remember how to play.
It shouldn’t look like this.
He can’t help but frown at the fact that there is only one bed in the room. There should be another one, he knows it. They should be lined up differently, across from each other so he can see…
See what?
Tommy.
Tommy should be here. Tommy should be in this room….shouldn’t he? Because he and Tommy had always shared a room. Tommy on the left side and him on the right. He was always protective of his side of the room because Tommy was messy and nothing made sense in his half. He liked to have everything in its place and it made him upset whenever his things were moved and were no longer just so. The man who was sometimes blonde and sometimes red and metal always came in to gently scold Tommy when he touched his things and helped him put things back exactly how they should go.
'Tommy, we have discussed this on multiple occasions. Please do not move Billy's things without his permission.'
The man is...he's...who? He can't remember. He should, he knows he should but the harder he tries to remember the more his head hurts.
'It's alright, Billy. See? We can fix it-'
Billy.
Why do they keep calling him Billy?
Goodnight, Billy.
Goodnight, Tommy.
Is Billy him? No, his name is Charlie. He’s supposed to be Charlie, that’s what everyone has been telling him since he woke up. So why does that name sound so familiar?
Another sharp pain in his head nearly sends him to his knees. He clutches his head, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a quiet whimper as another scene flashes behind his eyelids.
'Boys? Thank you for choosing me to be your mom.'
Red.
Everything is turning red and disappearing. His body’s disappearing. He looks over at Tommy who is just as terrified as he is and tries to reach out to him. Just before their fingers can touch Tommy is gone and everything is black, black, black .
He’s screaming. Tommy is screaming for him and he can’t reach him.
He can’t-
“Charlie!”
He comes back to reality with a gasp, collapsing to the ground sweating and trembling. Frantically he runs his hands over himself and to his relief everything is still intact. His body isn’t breaking down and fading back into that black nothingness. He's here, he's okay, he's real. His hands came up to grip his hair as he tries to slow his panicked breaths. He's real, he's here, he's not disappearing.
“Charlie! Come downstairs. It’s dinner time,” Jane calls again from the bottom of the stairs. "We're all waiting on you!"
He clears his throat, scrubbing at his face in an effort to get rid of the tears. When had he started crying? “Coming mom– I mean mum .”
His name is Charlie Spring.
He is twelve years old and lives in Kent, England with his family. He has a mother named Jane, a father named Julio, and two siblings named Tori and Olly. He is in his house and is about to go eat dinner with his family that does not feel like his family. But they have to be his family…right?
Billy!
He Charlie swallows harshly, pushing himself to his feet
So why does everything feel so wrong?