Dear Frederick,

I know, that as you're reading this, I'm dead. Don't look for my body or anything like a suicide note, cause this is it. I know you didn't like me a lot, and you had a crush on someone else when we first met. Funny, I didn't know just how much I liked you then. You beat me at an argument that I thought I couldn't lose about Star Wars, of all things. We sat at lunch with Sarah and Danika and Elizabeth, and it was simple. We were mutual friends of Sarah, therefore we, by the Transitive Property of Friendship, were friends, (or at least, knew each other.)Public opinions didn't matter when you helped a friend. Sarah's depression bonded our lunch group together, and we dealt with it. And then, there was next year. I don't know when I stopped sitting with my bookish friends, entirely too bent on who got the highest score on the quiz last week, or when the next essay got assigned and simply sat with our little lunch group.

She furiously wiped at her eyes, trying not to let anything fall on the paper. His memory of her would not be stained by her crying. She cared too much about him for that. Her eyes misted over in remembrance of their first Halloween. They'd gone trick-or-treating in his neighborhood, she in her Uhura dress and he as Spock, with Jen and Kate as redshirts. She hadn't coordinated their costumes coinciding, though she wished she had, in hindsight. She scrubbed at her tears, determined to finish the letter before they came again.

I didn't even know I had a crush on you! Amazing, that the great Caitlyn Thomas didn't know something! But you were holding hands and hugging every chance you got with Kaiylee , with an adorable little guilt look at Kaiylee for turning you down. I was so jealous, even Lily could see it! I fell back on my studies. I became the perfect student, with the perfect façade, because no one—no one ever cared about me. I was the outsider of the outsider group, with only books for company. There was a definite pattern in studying, comforting.

Caitlyn's eyes darkened at the memory. Her friends had deserted her, and that wasn't okay. Not when she had been the shoulder for Sarah to cry on when she cried about not having good friends. Not when HE had confessed that he loved Kaiylee. Not when—. She shook herself, and went on writing.

It wasn't until Halloween dance that I knew that I liked you, when you sat all alone in the corner because Kaiylee wouldn't dance with you. But I was too shy. I sat there and listened like a good friend, tearing up inside. I tried to at least give you hints that I liked you, but you just sat there, unmoving. Re-enacting You Belong With Me by Taylor Swift isn't fun, and it certainly doesn't end happy. That was the first time I heard the rhythm. That awful, repulsive rhythm.

She shuddered and looked fearfully out the window. It always came through the window in the night, when the new moon shined darkness in the sky and the stars faded in such terror of the noise. The gigantic Sycamore's branches, always friendly in the sun, were malicious, tainted. Buzzing reached her ears, and she covered her ears, but she could hear it, along with everything she had ever heard in her life. It pounded in her ears in such a weird tone, as if the whole world were composed of sound with its heart beating in a double rhythm. Dadadadum, Dadadadum, Dadadadum it said. Sudden as it began, it stopped. Shakily, she wrote again.

I don't have much time left. All I can say is that I liked you. You were a bit prickly, with a little, tiny heart of gold hidden deep, but you were there when I needed you. I loved all of my friends dearly. Just tell my parents that I love them, okay?

Love,

Caitlyn Thomas

Caitlyn set the letter down carefully. She could feel her thoughts starting to close in on herself. The beating started again, that horrible, terrible rhythm in her head. Fre-de-ri-ck. Fre-de-ri-ck. Over and over and over and over and-silence.

She woke from her nap, because it had been warm and padded where she was, with that nice, soothing rhythm that never stopped. Warm. Padded. She looked down. It was her favorite jacket, the one with blue ties, and—she peered over her shoulder, brass snaps. She smiled, as Dr. Jen and Kate entered. They were friends. Friends who made the rhythm quieter and made her thoughts floaty. She liked her thoughts. She could chase them around her head, but could never catch them again. It didn't matter if she could catch them or not anymore because she had the rhythm.

"Caitlyn, do you know where you are?" Dr. Jen asked.

"Yes, Dr. Jen. I'm in my room. It's warm and padded. Do ya wanna know about my dream?" Dr. Jen turned to Kate, and they quietly conversed for a moment.

Oblivious, Caitlyn continued "I dreamed that I was 13, and that I was writing a letter to Frederick, my crush, when suddenly there was a noise and I died and woke up here. Such a weird dream. And there was my rhythm."

"That is a very strange dream, Caitlyn. Oh, Dr. Frederick, we weren't expecting you!"

Dr. Frederick stepped into the glaring white room. "Ladies, if you'll excuse us," he said firmly.

Flustered, Dr. Jen and Kate walked away from the duo, stepping through the metal, padded doors to the outside world.

"Hello. I'm Dr. Frederick. Do you know why you are here?" He asked with a careful lilt to his tone. It helped her differentiate between doctors.

"Of course, Doc-tor. I hear the rhythm, but nobody else does." She leaned in as if to give away a secret. "People think I'm crazy." She giggled.

"And are you?"

"No, but everyone else is. See, they can't hear it! That rhythm! Dadadadum. Dadadadum. Dadadadum." She repeated the beat to herself, unknowing of Dr. Frederick asking anything else about her condition. He stepped out of the room into the corridor and put his head in his hands. She was hopeless, but he couldn't give up. Not after the years in medical school to specialize in psychiatric. Not after-. He shook his head and went down the hallway. She wasn't the only one either, he sighed, thinking of the influx of others that had come in this week with a rhythm pounding in their skull. He passed by another, the patient stomping his feet to recreate the rhythm. Dr. Jennifer walked beside him.

"Seven more patients this week, Fred, with the same goddamn rhythm in their head. Like the rhythm is some sort of contagious schizophrenia, spreading! I called Jeri, she says it's at her place too and it's in London, according to Alena. Alena even says she has to contain the media, it's so widespread!"

"I know. I know, Jen."

"So, what do you think causing it?"

"It's a transmission spread by direct contact. I'm so sorry, Jen."

"What for?"

"This."

Dr. Frederick placed his hands against her head gently. "I really liked you, Jen. You were my friend for so long, and you were fantastic. Really fantastic. That's why I'm so sorry." She screamed. This wasn't the Fred she had known. Something else was him. It had to be, because he wouldn't do this. Because he would. Wait, that doesn't make sense! Wasn't she just saying-Because He Would. She screamed, her voice echoing through the halls, mingling with others of the same caliber. Dr. Frederick gently, so very gently placed her in an empty room, warm and padded. And as soon as she was settled, and the door closed, he walked away, ignoring the new voice joining the chorus of agony.