Chernobyl’s Revenge

VII

It was a sunny morning, and the rays of sunlight illuminated every corner of this bustling city. Kreves could hear people commenting on how this was the city of the future—a place of prosperity. The people were very friendly, and Kreves, along with other children, was in a courtyard. Around him, he saw very traditional houses, and behind them, towering buildings that loomed imposingly. Kreves wasn’t sure where he was when he heard a voice calling to him from afar.

“Son, it’s time to head home. You need to pack your things; the journey to Moscow is long,” said a woman who appeared to be about 34 years old. She was beautiful, with skin as white as porcelain, eyes as blue as the ocean, and hair as dark as the night. She was incredibly stunning. She called to me, but... who was I, and where was I?

“Yes, Mother, I’m coming. I just need to say goodbye to my friends,” Kreves couldn’t control the words coming out of his mouth—it was as if he were living someone else’s memory. At that moment, Kreves noticed that he had been playing with three other children, who looked to be around 14 or 15 years old. The garden was filled with roses as red as blood. I said goodbye to the people I assumed were my friends and headed toward the house where the voice had called me.

“... You know we have to leave quickly. Your father is starting his studies abroad, and you haven’t packed your suitcase at all. Or do you not want to live with your father in Moscow?”

Kreves didn’t understand why parts of his dream seemed distorted. Sometimes, when the woman spoke, her words sounded as if she were talking underwater. Something was preventing him from fully remembering, but he didn’t know what it was. Everything was so strange. Kreves knew this wasn’t his memory—this woman couldn’t be his mother. His mother was blonde, with green eyes, and much older. Unlike this woman, who radiated love, his mother had a more somber presence.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the door. The mother—or at least the woman who was supposed to be Kreves’s mother in the dream—opened it and greeted a tall man warmly. The man was white, with blue eyes and light brown hair. Her husband, Kreves thought to himself. Something that caught his attention was the man’s formal suit, adorned with an insignia Kreves couldn’t make out, and the brown leather briefcase he carried.

“Darling, the bus arrives in two hours. I hope... has their bags ready; otherwise, you’ll have to leave on tomorrow’s bus.”

“He’ll pack right now, won’t you? Don’t make your father have to scold you too.”

Again, some words became distorted and unclear. Just as before, Kreves had no control over his actions. He nodded and went upstairs to the second floor of the house. At the top of the stairs, he noticed a large mirror, presumably in his parents’ bedroom. He entered and tried to look at himself in it, but it was too high. Kreves needed a chair or something to reach the mirror, so he grabbed one. When he looked into the mirror, he was stunned.

It was him—his same eyes, his black hair, and the small mole on his right ear, nearly imperceptible. It was him… but how could it be? Moscow was in Russia, and he had always lived in London.

The shock was so great that Kreves abruptly woke up from the dream. He was sweating profusely, his hands were cold, and his mind was completely overwhelmed. How was it possible to have such a realistic, detailed dream that felt more like a memory without any knowledge of ever living in those places? He wasn’t from Russia; his last name was Lockwood. His parents were different people... unless a part of his life had been hidden from him. And if that were the case, what was the reason?

According to his parents, Kreves had suffered a severe fall when he was 16. Unfortunately, he hit his head, which caused amnesia. As a result, he couldn’t remember much of his childhood and only fragments of his adolescence. However… now that he thought about it, he had no memory of his childhood at all. He felt there was more to this story, that his parents hadn’t been honest with him. He even started to doubt whether they were his real parents. He would have to find out exactly what had happened.