Have you ever been camping before – all by yourself? There is something about the isolation when you're surrounded by the trees, it's like being wrapped in a fuzzy blanket on a cold snowy day. You have your own space protecting you from the outside world – it's a moment of peace if nothing else. That's exactly what I need right now.
My head pounds as I slowly rise in my bed – my hospital bed. A flood of images flood my mind. The scene is painted a violent shade of red. Men in navy blue rushed to pick us up, stepping on a path of shattered glass to the tune of my car’s horn. Even as I think about it the pain rushes back to fill me up once again.
The mechanical breathing of the monitor next to me pulled me back to reality. I was in a cold room, surrounded by all sorts of medical equipment. The bedside table had a vase on it with an assortment of flowers in it. Was it perhaps an attempt to make the white void feel homelier? There was a full body size window on the wall beside me – dense gray clouds filled the sky, wandering around the vast space, hiding the sun like some prized possession.
There were cops outside my door. A short, lean man stood chatting away with a taller, black-haired woman. The man had a coffee in one hand and a look on his face that meant business. The lady dawned on a wrinkled police uniform. After a brief exchange and a nod, she left and the man looked my way.
The door swung open and along with the short man entered a taller, well-dressed man with glasses. The short man's voice, accompanied by the sounds of the busy corridor, filled the room, "I'm Detective Bernard…and this," he points to the man who entered after him, "is Ros Vanguard, the man who called the ambulance."
"Mr. Nguyen, you've been the victim of a horrible accident," the man continued, "And I'm here for your statement."
"Where is my family? Are they alright?" I asked, my voice cracking at the last syllable. He shot me a look.
"We're looking into it sir," he continued, followed by a long pause, "meanwhile, we'd appreciate your cooperation."
He was clearly on a mission here, and couldn't care less about me or my family. It was painful trying to remember. It feels like thinking even a little would make a vein pop. Before long, scenes of people rushing toward us flooded my mind. Some carried me and my family away from the slow-burning wreckage that our car had turned into, while others just stood by and watched the mayhem. Red and blue lights painted the scene. As soon as my head hit the stretcher, I passed out.
A wave of nausea drowned my thoughts. The desperation that seized my mind as I swerved out of control to avoid a collision ambushed me. My head throbbed in pain.
That van - It was an off-white van that seemed to have almost appeared from thin air. Mere seconds before the collision happened, out of nowhere my son started screaming “Dad watch out!”
I was blinded before long and the only thing I could do was try my best to swerve out of the way. My tires let out, and my best was just not good enough so into that cursed vehicle we went.
I told the stone-faced detective all of this as he just jotted some things down. He thanked me for my time, wished me a speedy recovery, and left. All the while, Ros Vanguard, stood patiently beside the detective and stayed even after the detective had left. For a few minutes, the room was silent.
"I'm deeply sorry about what fate had in store for you and your family," the man reached into his pockets, "here is my card. I wish you well." He placed his card on my bedside table and left.
That was all a month ago. I'm out of the hospital now. My kids and wife had already made it back home, with what seemed to be minor injuries. I, on the other hand, still have to attend physical therapy to regain the full use of some of my muscles. The doctor says things are looking up though, except for the fact that I haven't been able to drive properly ever since the accident. Every time I sit in the driver's seat my hands freeze up and no matter how much I gasp for air my lungs don't fill up.
Air isn't what I need, I just need to get out of this car – I'd always think and step out. I'm going to try again, I tell myself over and over but this happens every time.
We live next to a busy road so the sounds of the traffic linger in our house like the smell of a rotting corpse. The harmonies of the bustling street along with the low, pervasive hum from the passing cars have now lost their charm. What once kept the house alive now suffocates my peace. I found some refuge in an out-of-the-way bar, a little deeper into the inner stretches of the streets, walking distance away from my house. Spending all those hours in there, away from family, though, has driven my poor wife, Rosa, up the wall.
Just the other day, she broke into a fit of rage. I don't want to fight her. I don't want to let these fights cause dents in the family. And that's why…
"I have something exciting to tell you guys!" I gather my kids around the living room coffee table and signal for my wife to join us too. While my wife was coming over, I looked the kids in the face, their eyes were glistening with anticipation with fists formed, barely able to contain their excitement. I watched the glee evaporate from their eyes and turn to dread, with perhaps even a tinge of sorrow, as I told them - "We're going to move!"
Jesse, my ten-year-old son, and Roberta, my six-year-old daughter, both groaned simultaneously. They got up and simply walked away – disappointed.
"Come on guys, you haven't even seen the house we're moving into," I shouted after them, "We'll even have our own lighthouse!"
Jesse looked back but instead of the delight I hoped for, his eyes bled with new-born resentment instead, "So you want us to be like those lonely lighthouse keepers, out in the middle of nowhere, who die all alone?" he scoffed, "Thanks, dad."
"Yeah," Roberta said, a short-lived expression of anger on her face, quickly replaced by one of curiosity, "what's a lighthouse?" she whispered to Jesse as she jogged to catch up with him. But Jesse had shut the door to his room already.
I looked over to my wife who shot me a sympathetic look as if to say I'll talk to them. I nodded and left the task of persuasion to her. This wasn't news to Rosa, she already knew. The decision to move to the old lighthouse had been in the works ever since the incident. Both Rosa and I thought it'd be good to move away from the road for a while, on a quiet island where automotive death traps couldn't hurt us.
As for the logistics, well, that was where I had to convince Rosa. We worked things out though. There was a school in a town nearby where our kids could go, and I'd be working remotely for a while. It wouldn't be too bad. Rosa could go over to the nearby town to do any grocery shopping or socializing she wanted to do. It was all planned out.
A month later, Jesse sat in the back seat, sulking, and Roberta looked like she was about to puke, as we drove up the roads of Mount Macha. Despite all their protests they had decided to give the move a shot when Rosa talked to them. I don't know how she does it but she always has a way with them. Without her, I often wonder what my relationship with the kids would be like.
In that month, I made surprising amounts of progress in facing my fear of driving. Even so, my grip tightened with every turn but we finally made it up the mountain soon enough. From there, the island was a cable car ride away, which, very much like the car, was another death trap but at least this time it didn't have wheels.
My family and I stood in front of our new house no less than a 2-hour drive and a 25-minute cable car ride later.
Though the paint chipped in places, and the underlying bricks were exposed in some parts – the lighthouse still stood as proud, and as functional, as ever. Built-in the early 1800s, my great grandfather's father took great pride in this structure and in the fact that he was the only man who held the structure upright. He was the one in charge of its maintenance and he would never let my great-grandfather forget how he was the sole protector of the ships on this island, from the raging currents of the sea. How he was the only reason why ships didn't crash or get lost in the surrounding seas. He worked on the lighthouse for 38 years before passing it down to my great-grandfather who worked on it for a whopping 24 years, my grandfather worked for this lighthouse for 47 years. My father was different, though. He could only take care of the lighthouse for 21 years before he passed away from cancer. With my mother already dead, I had no reason to live here. Ever since then, the lighthouse and the house had been entrusted to a caretaker – Mr. Papaya, who had taken care of this place for the past 10 years. Today marks the day I've finally returned.
I have a strange relationship with this place. It felt odd to be back at a place I had sworn to never return to when I left. I felt this strange sense of peace being back here, away from the city, deep on an island. There are only two ways out from here, the first is a ferry that seldom works, to the base of Mount Macha, and the second is a cable car ride that keeps you hanging at an uncomfortable height for far too long.
Nguyen Island is an island that isn't even visible on the world map. That's how I spent my childhood – hidden. Back in the days of my grandfather, we used to be quite an influential family. He had set up the ropeway to keep the towns on the mountain connected to the island and to encourage people to visit. That led to someone finding silver on the island and thus began the only population boom this island had ever seen. Houses as well as temporary settlements were built for miners to live in and mine silver. They'd sell it to the influential silver dealers of nearby towns. But there was a very short supply, so the silver soon dried up and vanished, just like the population. The miners came, built little buildings, a place to temporarily call home, then mined all the silver and left. The buildings still stood as somewhat of a partial ghost town on the west side. Partial, because some that had come during this boom, stayed over and began a family here. Granted their kids never got to go to a prim and proper private school, all they got here was a community school education. Frankly, it was all they needed as long as they chose to remain here and never venture out.
The Nguyen family was way past its glory days now, not that any of that matters anymore. As far as anyone was concerned, we were just a regular family coming to live on the island, sure a family with a significant past as far as the island is concerned, but regular nonetheless.
"Last one to the lighthouse is a scaredy cat," said Jesse and bolted out.
"No fair!" Roberta screamed and chased as fast as her little legs could carry her.
Mr. Papaya welcomed us, handed over the keys, and left. He would never talk much when he first met someone new, he'd save it for later when he'd get to know them better. Rosa and I walked over to the docks and helped unload our stuff from the ship. Jesse and Roberta came running as soon as they heard the ship's horn. We unloaded our stuff and stored it all in the living room, ripe for unpacking later.
Once the ship had left, Rosa and I sat on the porch, admiring the orange hues with which the setting sun painted the ocean waves. We heard the kids scream "DIBS!" followed by a herd of footsteps, speeding up the old wooden stairs. They ran up so fast, I thought I felt the house shake. Shortly after, Rosa got up, gently kissed my forehead, and disappeared into the house.
The night came by soon enough. We sat in the living room, eating dinner and staring at each other's faces, making idle chit-chat. We didn't have access to the internet yet. While Rosa and I cleaned the dishes, the kids ran up to their rooms. I suppose the unloading and unpacking had exhausted them because they were asleep in under 15 minutes flat. I walked out, I needed to get some air. Rosa stayed behind to unpack and decorate the living room some more. Normally I would've stayed back and helped Rosa out but I've been feeling a little strange ever since we got off that mountain. A bit motion sick, even though I don't normally feel motion sickness very often. This was something I kept hidden from the rest of the family, I didn't want them to have to worry about me with all this moving going on. Besides, I'd be fine with some fresh air. I headed over to the lighthouse, Papaya would've been up there right about now.
The lighthouse still stood as proud and as rigid as ever as the light it spat tore through the darkness, showing the way to the nearby ships. Mr. Papaya stood at the top of the lighthouse, wind in his hair, facing the sea. I'm not quite sure what he saw, it was quite dark after all, and yet he stood there – at the top of the lighthouse, gazing into the sea. 120 stairs later, I joined him.
"Welcome, sir." Mr. Papaya said, without removing his eyes from the scenery, as if he'd sensed someone coming and instinctively knew it was me. Mr. Papaya had been a friend of my father's. He was first hired as my father's full-time help when he was diagnosed with cancer. During his time here he learned to address the men in the house as sir and every woman in the house as ma'am. I first met him when I was 16 but it didn't take too long for him to become someone I could confide in. I knew Mr. Papaya as a man I could trust, not only that but he was also a man I could somewhat relate to. He was fairly young when his father had passed away from the same wretched disease so he knew a thing or two about the kind of situation I was in. He helped me quite a lot during those times. When my father passed away, Mr. Papaya stuck around as a house help, of sorts, though he always preferred the word butler. My father had passed down the responsibilities of the lighthouse to him since I didn't show a modicum of interest in the gargantuan table lamp, on the contrary, throughout Mr. Papaya's stay he had become quite infatuated with the building. Despite how much it may have hurt to pass down the responsibilities to someone who wasn't part of the family, it was a no-brainer, so that's what my father did. He had not only earned my father's friendship but the respect and trust of everyone in the household, and if that isn't testament enough to how good of a man Mr. Papaya is, then I don't know what it would be. When my mother passed away and I was leaving for good, the only reason I felt any bit of sadness leaving this place behind was him. I, like most of my family, had grown attached to the man, so I foolishly told him I'd be back someday, who knew I'd be back like this?
"What are you doing up here?" I asked him.
"My night watch."
"What are you watching?"
"The night…" Mr. Papaya sheepishly laughed at his joke, but his laugh was a hearty contagious laugh you'd expect someone like Santa to have, so I couldn't help but laugh along with him. Mr. Papaya was no comedian but he always knew how to lighten the mood, no matter what the situation.
"How are you feeling?"
"What like –what is it like being back?"
"Yeah."
"Not too bad I suppose," I paused, and thought over whether or not I should tell him, "Just a little nauseous, that's all."
"Nauseous?"
"Yeah, like how I felt being in a car when I was a kid…so I guess you could say I still feel motion sickness, even though I've been still for a while now."
"That's bizarre," he said, and turned to look at me, "you have to be careful with all that history."
"History?"
"Yeah, everyone in your family has had bizarre events happen to them, leading up to their death," He said, with utmost seriousness, "have you not heard of this?"
I contorted my face into one of disbelief. He took notice because for the next few minutes he went on and on telling me about how my great-great grandfather, great-grandfather, and grandfather died in strange ways. Sure none of them passed away in peace, they all had horrible things happen to them, but we could just be unlucky, or it could all just be a massive coincidence. For example, during my grandfather's time, silver mining began on this island and he was quite significant to this boom but he died at the hands of a drunk silver miner, was stabbed 20 times, and was left to bleed out in the streets. It was quite a while before my grandmother found out about this, how she dealt with it though is a story my parents said was too gruesome for me to ever hear. They say stories like this aren't meant to be passed down and I wasn't much interested in hearing about it either. Come to think of it now, I wonder what she did that warranted my parents wanting to hide it away in the depths of their memory.
"I'm not saying the Nguyens are cursed, but-"
"Well then what are you saying?"
"Nothing." He thought over his next words very carefully, "take your family out for a picnic tomorrow, spend some time with them, I'm sure you'll feel better soon."
And so it was decided. Picnic it was.
"Now go back in and get some sleep," he patted my back, and right as I was about to turn, "Don't forget, breakfast at mine tomorrow!"
I thanked him and bid him good night. Once I got down I looked back up at him and the wise old man was still up at the lighthouse, facing the sea, this time smoking a cigarette. I walked back into the house and climbed up the stairway just about ready to go to bed.
The first thing I noticed about the room, at the end of the hallway, was how dark it was. I fumbled for the light switch and when I least expected it - the lights turned on. It almost blinded me – just like that fucking van did. Memories from the crash flooded my mind once again. A mysterious noise blasted in my ears, getting louder and louder until I fell to the ground holding my head in pain, my eyes shut tight. Thankfully, this didn't last long – the noise evaporated, and my eyes adjusted to the light. I slowly rose back to my feet and headed toward the bed. I grabbed onto the edge of it and clambered onto the mattress. Today was exhausting enough, I couldn't wait to fall asleep.
Quite early in the morning, we went over to Mr. Papayas. Normally, he would catch his food in the surrounding sea but, perhaps because we were going to join him for breakfast, he had gone to the nearby town to buy some non-seafood for us to feast on.
"How'd you sleep?"
"It was alright, considering we just moved here." He just nodded and continued munching on his toast.
"Would you have a fishing rod we could borrow?" I asked him.
"Fancy yourself a little fishing?" he laughed to himself, "Yeah alright, I'll drop by and give you the rod, and take Martha by the dock with you too."
"Martha?" Why'd that name seem so familiar?
"Martha Nguyen, the family boat." He said, "Did you forget ol' Martha already?"
We must've looked lost to him because the next thing he said was, "don't worry, it's easy to recognize. It's the prettiest boat at the dock…and also the only one there."
"Hey mom, can we go fishing too?" Jesse chimed in.
"We'll unpack a few boxes, and we'll help dad clean up a few things first. Then we'll go. Alright?"
Jesse nodded, picked up his orange juice and gulped it down, and resumed stuffing his face with his omelet.
I sat with Roberta by the docks on a picnic blanket. Rosa and Jesse had already rowed a few hundred meters into the sea. The water was a pretty shade of turquoise that day, and with the cool breeze blowing, a picnic was perfect for me to relax and unwind. I wasn't feeling as nauseous anymore, just a little weak but I'm sure it was nothing the sun couldn't fix.
I watched Rosa teach Jesse how to fish. Before I knew it, I had zoned out. It must've only been a few minutes but when I looked back Roberta was nowhere to be seen.
Perhaps she had gone in to grab herself a drink?
Our house was only a few hundred meters away, or in other words, a 10-minute walk away. Roberta going by herself wasn't that big of a deal but, maybe because of everything that has happened, I was a little on edge. My palms started to sweat.
"I'll be right back," I called out, but they must've been too far to hear me. I hurriedly made my way through the trees. I'm not sure whether it was my anxiety or my poor stamina but pretty soon I was short of breath. I had to lean on the nearby trees and take a second. The trees began dancing around me. The floor blurred in and out of focus and the ground started to shake. Was this an earthquake?
I couldn't stop. Roberta was alone in there.
I started running again. Our house was in sight now. Poor Roberta, she must be so scared.
I kicked the door wide open and tumbled into the building.
My eyes darted around for her. She was on the floor, face first. She was bleeding. Scenes from the car crash took over once more. I saw her. I saw my poor child being led away on a stretcher and all I could do was watch…but not this time. I leapt towards her and screamed out her name. I crawled to her and hugged her. Her body was limp, but still breathing. I carried her out.
I made my way through the quaking trees. The whole world was enveloped in a violent current. Were Rosa and Jesse alright?
There was so much to think about. I decided to quietly make my way over to the docks. Through the clearing I could see our boat but no sign of Jesse or Rosa. The picnic blanket was still laid out with the basket right on top of it but no sign of them.
"ROSA!" I called out, hoping she'd come running from wherever she was.
"Let her go." A familiar voice, determined yet strangely sorrowful, called out from behind me. It was then that my surroundings started to go dark and down with a thud I fell.
I woke up in a room just as dark. It took a second for me to tell my eyes were even open, but soon they adjusted to the darkness and the objects in the room introduced themselves. I was in my room and the door was closed but from beneath the door, I could see a bit of light still slip through. It was being obstructed, in part, as if someone was standing right outside with their ear to the door. I must've scared everyone earlier when I fell. I'd better make it up to them somehow and I guess I'll start by letting them know I'm alright.
"Come in," I yelled, but the door didn't open. I waited a few seconds, they were right outside so it shouldn't take them this long. Their reluctance to enter started to make me nervous. As I was about to call again my eyes wandered down, the shadows weren't there anymore.
I stood up, my blood running down my body for the first time in what felt like forever. My body felt replenished but the rush made my head spin lightly. I held my head in place hoping to somehow counteract the head rush. One step after another I headed to the door. My head felt heavier with the step. Those noises rush into my head again. Headlights beam past me. The cars are-
"Honey?" It was that same familiar voice from before, coming from a dark corner of the room. Rosa stood up, her face shining bright in the moonlight, highlighting her solemn expression "You have to let it go."
A crimson stream of blood flowed from her right temple, covered half her face, and fell in a glistening pool by her shoe.
"What happened?" I raised my arm as if trying to reach for her temple.
"You've got to let what happened go," that was all she said.
"Yes, I will." I paused, "I'm trying…you know I'm trying."
"It wasn't your fault."
"What happened?" I repeated. "You're bleeding!" did she even know?
There were heavy knocks on the door but they transformed into heavy slams. It seemed like the door wouldn't hold on for much longer. The cars came back, all blaring their horn as they raced past us in all sorts of directions. Headlights turning on and off.
The kids came running in through the door.
"Daddy, please." Roberta cried. Jesse just stood there, holding Roberta as she cried.
"It wasn't your fault." Jesse finally chimed in.
"We'll miss you, honey." Rosa walked up and joined them. She stood with her hands on Jesse's shoulders, they looked like the perfect family photo, but I wasn't in it.
They were gone in the blink of an eye leaving behind nothing but ash. In all that time I hadn't even noticed the tears flowing out of their eyes. This has to be a dream.
I can see her now. Through what little space the crushed windshield would allow me, I could see them take away my daughter on a stretcher. My precious little love was stained by the blood seeping down her face. Rosa was there too, lying next to me, barely hanging on. But why was I transported to this scene?
When I opened my eyes again I was back in the hospital room. I was surrounded by nurses and the doctor there kept giving out orders. The monitor next to me wouldn't shut up with its incessant beeping. My breathing was jagged, and I found myself struggling for air. With everything I had in me, I held onto the doctor's hand.
"Are my wife and kids alright?" I gasped but the doctor didn't respond, "Please, tell me how they are."
I could barely whisper now but the doctor wasn't having any of it.
"Patient is losing oxygen, nurse - the mask." This is bad, I didn't even have a name now. No longer was I Mr. Nguyen, I was a mere patient, whose name no one needed to know. I felt myself losing my grip on my sanity and sleep took me under its wings once again.
For the next few days, I was alone, save for the occasional nurse coming to check in on me. I couldn't muster up the courage to say anything so I lay there for days, completely still and quiet. I'd answer questions when asked but never asked any of my own. I just didn't have the courage.
Finally one day, a nurse was cleaning up some equipment beside me.
"And how have you been?" she asked, smiling at me.
"Nurse, where are my wife and kids?" For the first time in a few days, I asked the question. It's been at the back of my mind ever since I woke up for the second time. It's a question that's been haunting me and the worst part was I dreaded hearing the answer but I had to know.
"Since you've been doing well, the doctor has decided to discharge you tomorrow." The nurse leaned over, "and so I think it's time for you to know that your wife and kids have unfortunately passed away by the time they got here. I'm sorry you had to find out this way."
It was at that moment that time froze for me. Though this grief would just be a blip in the grander picture of time, for me it was my whole reality – and it was crushing.
The nurse continued to do what she was doing and then left, shutting the door behind herself.
After sitting like that for a while, all I could do was see red. The more I thought about it the angrier I got. That fucking car.
Why did it have to be there?
Why did it have to come my way…if it hadn't then they would've still been alive. I ought to find that bastard and kill him myself.
When I got out I followed the only lead I had. So, I showed up at the address written behind the tall man's business card. The door was the shiniest door I had ever seen, still busted though, from the accident. That driver ought to pay for all this, that bastard. I rang the doorbell and the man came out. His name, if I remember correctly, was Ros Vanguard.
"No time for small talk, I'm here to have a look at your security footage from the night of the accident," I asked the tall burly man, "it's a request."
Though hesitant at first, he told me to follow the security guard into the outhouse. The guard, a middle-aged man who looked like he had nothing to live for anymore, was told to rewind the footage and let me have a look.
It was the scene of that night. We had just driven into the view of the camera but this couldn't be it. Something was off, "was the footage tampered with?"
They didn't even acknowledge what I said.
In the footage, there was never any other car there, just us. And my car wasn't driving straight. It all happened too fast, but the car drove into the view of the camera, heading straight for the door. At the last moment, the car tried to steer away but it ended up damaging the door and pushed right into the wall beside it.
No, this couldn't be.
I ran out, but this time I could picture the car on the night of the accident. I could picture the door, caved in and the wall smashed in.
What a cruel joke.
“The other day I had come to the hospital to deliver the bill,” said Ross Vanguard, “but looking at your injuries, I decided that wasn’t the right time. But since you’re here…the damages will cost about $3,500 to repair. How will you be paying?”