It was a day that should have been as perfect as the picture made it out to be.
What the photo didn’t show was the fact that earlier in the day, Liberty had lost control of whatever it was she was cursed with. She’d basically flattened a trailer home by lifting it high into the air and then whipping it at a massive tree, all with nothing more than a thought. Thankfully, the trailer had been an old abandoned one, and no one had been injured.
The photo also left out the fact that Isobel, the woman with the dark hair, had a similar curse as Liberty. One that left her being the cause of a fire that spontaneously broke out in the gymnasium of their high school a week prior, forcing the graduation ceremony to be held in a junior high gym.
Those were hardly the only spots on their records when it came to losing control of what they could do. They were just two of the more notable ones.
Having a number of items floating around her room didn’t seem quite so bad in comparison. Not that it was great or anything, especially since Liberty had made it happen while she’d been asleep and dreaming.
Her memories of life before the age of five were fragmented at best. Frequently, they came in the form of nightmares, like the one she’d only just woken from. Sometimes, a scent or a noise would bring on a memory.
Rarely, if ever, were the memories good.
For most of the nightmare she’d been having, it was the same repeated flashes of children in cages, of men in white coats running countless and many times painful tests, and then there was the mother of all horrible memories.
Taking a moment, Liberty collected herself and tried to focus on returning the floating items to their original locations. That was a task easier said than done.
Reaching out, she touched the figurine that was normally on her bedside table. She wrapped a hand around the plastic object and plucked it from the air, drawing it close to her chest.
It was the Statue of Liberty, and while it had seen better days, it was special to her. It, along with a small stuffed brown bear, had made the journey with her through her childhood, even though she had very limited memories of how it was she’d come into possession of them.
She associated both items with the man who had helped her but couldn’t recall if he’d given them to her or not. The statue was hardly child-friendly, yet it had been with her as far back as she could remember.
Two of the crown’s spikes on the statue were broken off. The corner of it was burned from a fire that had broken out in one of the homes she’d been in for special children. The very home where she’d met Daisy and Isobel.
There was charring on the base and on the nickel plate, leaving the engraving reading “come to America, Jackass” in place of the “Welcome” that had been there prior to the fire.
The statue was something others had tried to take from her, pointing out it wasn’t for kids, especially with the inscription, but she’d clung to it desperately, refusing to cooperate or settle down until she was given permission to keep it.
As her fingers ran over the statue’s smooth edges, calmness eased through her. She thought more about her dream, hoping she could remember another clue. Anything that might help her connect the dots and learn the truth of who she was and how she’d come by the curse she carried.
And find the man with blue eyes.
She didn’t voice the desire, but it was always there, just below the surface. Try as she might, she’d never been able to find anything in the way of real records from before the age of five, and even the ones she could get were mostly redacted.
The first group home she’d been placed in (that she could remember) had experts on staff who would tell her time and time again that her nightmares were merely manifestations of trauma she’d suffered as a small child. That they were not true events that she’d lived through. For a while, she’d bought into their propaganda. She’d believed them. Right up until she woke from a nightmare to find everything in the room flying about as if on strings.
That also happened to be her last day at that home.
Several homes later, she’d ended up at one that didn’t leave her feeling like a total and utter freak. One that had others like her. Kids who were different.
Special.
It wasn’t without fault, but it had been a hell of a lot better than the first ones. And it helped being around others who were like her. Plus, she’d met her best friends there. Isobel and Daisy were the same age as her and had very similar memories from early childhood. They too suffered from nightmares. They’d wisely stopped sharing them with others as well.
Now they only talked about it with one another, no outsiders. Of course, some details didn’t line up exactly. Like the fact Liberty’s dreams included a man who she knew deep down wasn’t trying to harm her. One who had helped her. The man with the Eastern European accent.
Liberty wanted to locate the man who had helped her—the man who’d made her feel safe for the first time in her life. She’d never been able to thank him and very much wanted to express how much his kindness helped to show her there was good in the world.
“I just need to remember something useful,” she said out loud. “Something more than his
