Remember Me Spain

Prolouge

"Come in," came a gentle voice from the other side of the door.

I stood stiffly with my arms dangling by my sides. Beside me, the nurse, who clearly had seen better days, judging by the bags under her eyes and the wrinkles lining her face, placed a hand on the door and began to open it. No doubt she was pretty when she was at the prime of her life. But now, she just looked tired and was obviously at her wits end. But who was I to judge? I didn't look any better my raggedy, loose-fitting pajamas, my dirt stained woolen socks, and my knotted, greasy black hair, which was a piled mess on top of my head. So, I was in no position to make judgments.

I hesitated at the door, my hands clasped just over my chest. I could feel my heart pound in my chest. While I hesitated, behind me I could hear the sounds of screaming patients from down the hall. Even though these screams and cries was something that I had grown accustomed too, it still sent a shiver down my spine. From their screams I could tell that these patients lived sad and lonely lives. And even though I was in the same situation as them, I only hoped that I wouldn't deteriorate to that state.

The nurse gave me a nudge as if to hurry me in. I glanced back at her before eventually entering. The door closed behind me with a soft click and the sounds disappeared. The sound was replaced with the sound of trickling water from a small water feature on the desk. In the distance I could hear the pattering of rain against the window. It was quite peaceful. I gave a sigh of relief.

The doctor glanced at me briefly before returning to her gaze back to her desk. "I'll just be one more moment," the Doctor said, as she scribbled something into a notebook.

I remained quiet at the other end of the office, my hands still clasped gently in front. Finally, the Doctor stopped what she was doing at her desk and looked up. She placed her pen down and without hesitation she got to her feet and gave me a warm smile. Simultaneously she pushed a pair of small, round spectacles up the bridge of her nose.

"Ah, you must be Amaris Alleiro," she spoke softly. "I read your file. What a pleasure it is to finally meet you. Please, come sit." She motioned to a chair across from hers.

My eyes narrowed. She read my file, had she? I thought as I slowly crossed the room. I stared at her, my hands gently resting on the back of the chair. I eyed the plaque on the desk. Engraved in silver writing was her name: Dr. Rochelle Vellamo.

I returned my gaze to Vellamo and studied her carefully. She was in her late twenties, and, no doubt, was a recent graduate. On top of that, she was very presentable and professional. Her hair, which was black, was tied in a neat bun. And she wore a neatly pressed grey suit. I had to admit, the doctor certainly looked the part of a professional therapist. But still, I had doubts whether she could actually help me. But I would give her a try. I had checked myself in, hoping that I could be helped.

After checking her out, to which she was extremely patient, I slipped into the chair across from her. I sat in my usual way with my legs crossed on the chair and my arms folded across my chest. Our silence continued for several more minutes as she glanced again at a page from my file. Eventually, she got to her feet again, the chair sliding silently back.

"Water?" She asked, as she crossed to a small table with a water jug and cups.

"No, thank you," I replied, as I watched pick up the jug.

The doctor gave a nod before pouring herself a glass. She returned to her seat and smiled at me again. There was another awkward silence between us. Obviously, she was waiting for me to say something before the questioning began. I had been to enough therapists to know that it always started like this. I nibbled my lips and avoided eye contact.

Quietly, the grandmother clock, on the shelf, which I noticed was behind her desk, went tick, tock, tick, tock. I watched as the pendulum swung back and forth. Nervously, I placed the tip of my finger in my mouth and began to nibble on my nail. Slowly the hand moved. A minute had already passed.

Again, my eyes drifted towards her. She was still waiting patiently for me to speak. I wondered how long she would wait.

To spare her the agony, I finally cleared my throat. "Before we get started I want to say one thing," I said.

The doctor nodded. "Of course. Be my guest Amaris, we're on your time."

"I just want to establish that I'm not crazy. I'm not like most of the people here, where they had someone check them in. I checked myself in," I explained.

She nodded silently. "Then what are you? Why are you here, if you're not, as you say, crazy?" The doctor asked.

There was a pause as I pondered her question. I placed a finger, thoughtfully, on my lip. That was a good question. What was I? I looked up at her again. "Honestly, I don't know what I am, or what you should call me. All I know is that I'm here to get help. Isn't that the whole point of a hospital?" I inquired.

"It is," she replied with another nod. "And I would like to help in any way I can Amaris." The doctor sat back in her leather-covered chair and placed her hands gently on the armrests.

There was another pause as she looked down at the open file on the desk. Again, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"So, Amaris, I read in your file that you suffer from chronic nightmares," the Doctor said. I gave a sigh. So this was where she decided to start. "Did something in your family? A death maybe?" She asked.

I averted my eyes when she mentioned the word "family." I bit my lip and clenched my hands into fists. The whole idea of family was a touchy subject for me. Seeing that I never really had one.

She cleared her throat. "Did your parents hurt you in any way?" She continued.

With that comment I returned my gaze to her.

"My parents have nothing to do with this I assure you," I replied calmly. "They loved me and my siblings. They never hurt any of us."

Dr. Vellamo raised her hands in defense. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you Amaris. I'm just trying to find the root of the problem," she explained as she wrote something down. "Well, if it wasn't anything to do with your parents, then what, in your opinion, caused the nightmares? What happened to you as a child that traumatized you?" She asked.

That was easy to explain. I took a deep breath in and stared out the window, thoughtfully, watching the rain trickle down the glass. Before starting I leaned against the back of my chair and slung my arms over the back.

"Well...it all started in 1604. I was eight...and..."