"For we are all bound in stories, and as the years pile up they turn to stone, layer upon layer, building our lives."
-Steven Erikson

That Saturday, the kitchen table had been mysteriously cleared of its junk and papers. And Gus knew Jeff meant business when he asked him in a flat tone to sit down across from him.

"What's up?" Gus asked nervously.

This was it, he was sure. His mind was already running through places to go after Jeff kicked him out. At least it was summer. That gave him a little extra time before winter clawed its way out of the depths of Lake Michigan and began to gnaw on the city like a stray dog on a meatless bone.

Jeff held up a worn Manila folder. "This is your file, Gus. I'm going to give it to you. I want you to read every word."

"My file? Where'd you get that?" Gus asked.

"It's yours now that you're eighteen. It's your legal right to have it."

"What am I supposed to do with it?"

Gus reached for the forbidden folder.

"Whatever you want. Keep it, burn it, show it to your grandkids. It's your property."

All his life, Gus had been curious about this folder's contents, and his hands shook as he opened it. The first thing he saw was his official birth certificate, looking worn and frayed at the edges. His mother's name was Tracey Jewel Crady. His father was a man named August Aaron Hill. That name was listed but never signed, indicating that his father had either disowned him at birth or didn't know about him at all.

"I know their names now! Looks like she named me after my dad," Gus said excitedly. "He might be a lost cause, but I always wanted to meet my mom. I bet she's on the internet and I can find her! Maybe she'd wanna meet me too and-"

Jeff put a hand over his, and Gus lowered the file to see his grave face.

"She dead?" he asked softly.

Jeff shook his head.

"Then what's wrong?"

Jeff's eyes were becoming pink and glassy as he fought back tears. Jeff hardly ever cried, and Gus was scared.

"What?" he asked desperately.

"You can't meet her, Gus," Jeff said, clearing his throat.

"You said she ain't dead so..."

"She's alive. She's in prison."

Gus felt relief flow through him. "Okay, so I can visit her in prison then! Damn, Jeff, you had me all freaked out for no reason!"

Jeff shook his head again. He pulled another piece of paper out of his pocket. "There's some hard words in here. I've highlighted just the parts you need to read. The rest is legal jargon. It explains everything."

"What is it?" Gus asked.

"A police report."

"Is this why she got arrested?" he asked, and Jeff nodded.

Gus put his file down and opened the paper with shaking hands. Reading a police report was a little confusing, but Jeff had gone through and defined the words he might not understand with a pen. It was clear enough. As he read it, he felt himself growing cold inside.

"It just says 'the infant'. But... who are they talking about?" he asked in a whisper, already knowing the answer but wishing he was wrong.

"You," Jeff said.

Gus shook his head. "Can't be me."

"Gus, you're starting to remember. The white cage in those dreams isn't a cage. It's a-"

"Crib," he whispered, suddenly putting everything together.

The terrible smell was the bed and his filthy, overflowing diaper. The bright light came from a small grimy window above the crib. And the shadow was his mother's boyfriend. With a shot of horror, he remembered the sound of a baby screaming in the dream. That baby was him, screaming and crying for his mother. The baby he'd heard during his first ket trip back on Skid Row had been him too, and that house was their house, and the woman in the pink bathrobe was his mother. A demon with no face.

He had screamed and screamed and no one ever came. Bugs crawled into his mouth and eyes and ears, a relentless army. He was so hungry it burned like fire. And the shadow hurt him too. The slice of the scalding water as it hit his little upraised arms. Still he cried out for her day and night, waiting for her to save him.

"The details are really hard to process," Jeff whispered. "I'm so sorry, son."

Gus reached up and touched the curious flat spot on the back of his head. It was no bigger than a matchbox, but he'd always wondered why it was there.

"My head went flat?" he whispered.

"It happens when babies are left lying on their backs for too long. It's actually pretty common because they have soft skulls, but it's usually not as severe as yours was," Jeff said.

"Did that hurt my brain? Am I brain damaged? Is this why I'm stupid?" he asked fearfully.

Jeff shook his head. "You aren't brain damaged, and you aren't stupid."

"Well, that explains it, right?" Gus cried, ignoring what Jeff had said. "Why I'm such a fuckin' mess! It explains it all! Why I can't learn nothin' or keep anything in my head for longer than five seconds! Why I can barely read! Why everyone thinks I'm such a dumbass! I'm a step up from bein' retarded, and you know it!"

"No. I know this is hard, but-"

"No you don't! You got off drugs and you had a chance to make a real life, and you did! I got off drugs but I'm still all fucked up and stupid! It didn't fix me to get clean! That's because nothin' can fix me! Nothin' can fix THIS!" Gus shouted, shaking the paper.

Tears were streaming down his face. He had never imagined that a baby could be so absolutely and thoroughly hated. To be this unwanted was impossible for him to understand or accept.

"You don't need to be fixed, Gus. You need to be loved. And you are, by many, many people. Nothing on that paper will ever change that."

Gus wiped his tears and looked down at the police report again. "She should've aborted me! Why didn't she? It would have been better if I was never born!"

"That isn't true. Remember, you have a great life now that you love," Jeff said.

Gus shook his head. "I'm not even talkin' about me, Jeff! I feel bad for this poor little baby! I wish that baby would have died so it didn't have to live through that pain!"

"The baby that's you, you mean?" Jeff asked.

"No! I mean... I don't know!"

"I know it's tempting to disconnect from this. That's why I showed you the report instead of a news article. You have to read this story and accept that this baby is you. Not some other version of you, but you, Gus."

Gus looked at the report again, this time trying to remember that the things on it had really happened to him.

"This list of stuff... Ants were on me and all up in my ears and nose. My bottle was empty and covered in mold. No milk. That diaper... God I was just laying there in my own shit. He used me to masturbate and then threw me right back in that crib like I was a hand towel. The burning water. And she did nothing. She never helped me. She left me to die, just left me to rot..." Gus whispered, his words trailing off.

He wasn't angry. Really. He was simply too numb with shock to do anything but stare at the police report.

"Why was I born then?" he asked.

The paper held no answer to the question.

"I don't know what I did to her! Why did she hate me this much? I must have fucked up her life so much to make her hate me like this!"

"Gus," Jeff said softly.

"What?" Gus asked as he tore his eyes away the report.

"Your mother didn't hate you. It's not as complex as that. The truth is, she just didn't care. Sometimes that hurts even more for us to accept, but she just did not care about anyone but herself."

"That's a fuckin' understatement," Gus said darkly.

"This memory is your first and deepest trauma. Not just the things that happened to you but the abandonment by your mother. It's formed your entire psyche. Mothers are very important to human beings. Those first few months of life are critical to forming a person into who they are. Most babies know peace, safety, love and security during those months, and they grow up to be normal people. You didn't have that. You had fear, pain, distrust and abandonment. Give yourself some grace."

"I know that. I just always thought my mom, out of everyone, would want me," Gus mumbled. "I'd imagine that she did, and it helped me when I was growin' up."

"You've been searching for a mother ever since you were very young. Is that fair to say?"

Gus nodded reluctantly, thinking about Ida, Gina... and even Hex sometimes.

"I thought we got through the big traumas at the ranch. That's what you kept tellin' me," he said.

Jeff sighed and tapped his fingers together. "I thought we did. But imagine a big pile of garbage. Where does the worst smell come from?"

"The bottom," Gus said.

"Yes, where its had more time to rot and fester and decay. That's like your trauma, Gus. In EMDR sessions, we dug down layer by layer to clear the biggest traumas, only to find the worst one at the bottom. The very, very bottom of your subconscious. Your first few memories."

"How can we EMDR somethin' I only remember in flashes?" Gus asked.

Jeff shook his head. "Each time you have the nightmare, do exactly what we do in the sessions. Notice something, anything. Write down one thing you notice and we'll expand on that each round during EMDR. The memory is stored there, Gus. It's just going to be harder for your brain to piece it together. The dreams are going to become very important. When we sleep we can access the unconscious mind, where this memory is stored, so I want you to make a real effort to notice anything you can during those dreams. It'll draw it out."

"But you leave in a week!" Gus said, suddenly remembering that Jeff was leaving for the ranch during the first week of September.

Jeff's face changed, and Gus knew he hadn't thought about this either. "Well... for now we can start chipping away at it so you can get some relief from your nightmares. When I come back, we'll pick up where we left off and clear the whole thing and you'll finally be free. I promise. I'll walk you through this every step of the way."