To Be Granted Asylum...

Summary: Mary Alice Brandon had a secret—one that she had to keep to preserve her own life. But how do you keep that secret when you know that doing so will result in someone's death? The story of how Alice makes a decision that alters her future beyond recognition, and of the new course her future follows. I'll be writing through until she meets with the Cullens in 1950, and will try to stay as true to canon as possible.

Author's Note: I do not own the Twilight Series, nor do I own any of its characters. I simply like to play with the clay that Stephenie Meyer makes. This disclaimer applies to each chapter of this story since I'll probably forget it somewhere.

I'll be switching the POV as I write this, and may sometimes overlap POVs from different characters. The story will begin and mostly be in Alice's POV. I'm also trying to stay close to canon, so please let me know if my information is inaccurate. There are closing notes that will explain any inconsistencies that I'm already aware of between my story and the Twilight books, as I may use them to suit my vision of this story.

This is my first story for FanFiction, and the first writing of mine I've made public. Please do not let that piece of information lull you into thinking I wouldn't want to read a bad review—they're like blueberries: somewhat bitter, but they're healthy and help purge the bad stuff (blueberries are actually an excellent source of antioxidants, which reduce harmful free radicals in your body—nerd tidbit of the day). I don't know if bad reviews make great muffins, but we'll work on that later. Anyway, I'll answer every one, and I appreciate whatever comments you have!

Chapter 1: Bitter Ruminations

I awoke abruptly to the same view that I'd seen every morning for the past year and a half: the outstretched branches of the tree outside my window as it reached in futile effort to pull me to safety. The old Swamp Red Maple looked like a cat with tufts of fur pulled out as it lost it leaves, dying for the year but still remaining alive. The constancy of the tree helped me face each day. My room and person were in the same conditions as well—I wore the same set of threadbare clothing, lay on the same hard mattress, and wrapped my thin, petite body in the same coarse blanket. The attempt to block out some of the cold was always unsuccessful at this time of year—the frozen, damp air permeated my very being in this wretched place. Despite what should be a warm, humid climate in this area of Mississippi during autumn, the stone walls of my room hold the cool moisture from the outdoors. The shade from the monstrous pine trees that surround the premises also keep the sun from warming the building. My stomach twisted itself into a knot in anticipation of breakfast, but I knew the bread and water I would receive would not satiate me. The cold and hunger were expected of course, but I know that this will not be the case for all of today's events—I know that I will die today, and that knowledge makes me hate this morning more than any other in my existence.

I could feel the draft from the window on my scalp as I wrapped my body more tightly in my blanket, since my thick hair hadn't completely grown back yet. When I had entered the asylum at age 17, they had shaved my head to ensure that I wouldn't spread lice to the rest of the occupants. Since many of the patients at the asylum were previously homeless, lice were a legitimate concern. However, someone had apparently overlooked this procedure eight months ago, as some unwashed newcomer had spread the bugs to a few of other tenants of my dilapidated abode. With ruthless efficiency, all of our heads were shaved again. The approximately three inches of black hair that sprouted out of my head in various directions could attest to the efficacy of this tactic, as I was certainly now lice-free, even though I had been my entire life. This is how all of the problems here are solved: squash it completely without regard for the source or severity.

I, after 19 months of living in the asylum, am no stranger to the tactic of total annihilation in regards to a perceived "problem." For example, I'd had the most recent of several shock treatments yesterday evening. According to my doctors, my visions are a result of a moral deficiency in my character—a gift from Satan for my blackened soul. Rather than learn about why I receive my visions or about how they work, the doctors feel the need to expunge them from my being to purify me. The shock treatments are meant to loosen the grip of my resistance and chase the visions from my brain, while the ice water baths are supposed to teach me to tell the truth, and admit that I started receiving my visions when my moral fibre started to deteriorate and I welcomed sin in my life. At least, upon Jeremy's request, I was no longer restrained to my bed when I slept. The absence of my manacles allowed me to wrap my blanket around my body and try to enjoy the cocoon of warmth that my body heat had started to build.

Since I know that I'm going to die tonight, I linger on my cot for longer than usual to enjoy this warmth. I reminisce about how I arrived at the last day of my life, and a cold, choking laugh escapes my throat. It's a sound I wouldn't have recognized a year and a half ago, but I know that it comes from my mouth, and that I can't laugh properly anymore. The only time I resemble the young woman I used to be is when Jeremy visits with me. I toy with the idea of telling him why I'm here today, since he's badgered me to know since I was admitted last February. I dig through my memory to make sure I give him all of the relevant details. He'll be the only person, besides my family, who knows my story, and for some reason I must tell him everything. I need to be remembered by someone, and he's the only person who would believe me that I'm going to see before my future disappears completely.


I was 12 the last time I'd admitted to having a vision. It wasn't intentional, but I sometimes slipped up if something I'd seen was mentioned in casual conversation. Despite my young age, I'd become too aware of the conversations I had; I needed to keep myself safe. Poppa had warned me that our neighbors in Gulfport, Mississippi had become scared of me, and started spreading nasty rumors about our family, saying that we consorted with Satan and I sold my soul for visions, or that Momma was a witch who forced me to see how her spells would influence the future. I didn't understand every rumor at the time, but I knew I didn't want to put my parents or my 10-year-old sister, Cynthia, in danger. My parents enforced that my visions were detrimental, and told me that I shouldn't talk about them at all.

When I exposed my visions this time, I was with Momma and our neighbor, Mrs. Williard. Mama walked with Mrs. Williard every week, as she said it was helpful to be seen with the mayor's wife when there were rumors running about regarding our family. I felt guilty for causing those rumors, so I always walked with them in my best dress and tried to look presentable. This time, I was walking next to Momma and had become engrossed by watching a blue jay build its nest, when I'd heard Mrs. Williard talking about her plans for the next day.

"Oh Olivia Brandon, of course I feel safe driving Darryl Hammond's motorcar. Those machines don't frighten me at all. Anyway, I truly don't have a choice because my father is so ill. I need to see him at once."

That phrase and my lack of focus on the present was all it took for me to see Mrs. Williard's day. I knew I shouldn't say anything to her, but I saw her being injured. As soon as I made up my mind to tell her what would happen, I knew Mama would be extremely cross with me. I ignored it as I blurted out, "But Mrs. Williard, it's going to rain and the motorcar is going to get stuck in a rut. You'll slam your hand into the front of the car when it jolts, and you're going to end up breaking your wrist. You can't do that."

As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I felt my stomach sink down in my body. Mrs. Williard's accident was still in my vision for tomorrow. I couldn't see what decision she'd make until I told her, but I thought that surely she'd want to avoid being hurt and wrecking Dr. Hammond's motorcar.

Momma gave me a look of pure dread, and she tried to do the only thing she could think of: pretend I was crazy. She forced a hollow, mirthless laugh and said, "Alice, dear, please don't let your imagination and fear of motorcars run away and scare poor Mrs. Williard. She does need to see her father, and you're making her worry unnecessarily."

I knew I was already in trouble, because Momma smiled, but the skin around her eyes was tight; I'd seen her look like that when Cynthia or I came running inside with our knees cut up. We always got a lecture on how proper young ladies should behave, but I could see that the speech Momma was going to give me when we got home was going to be worse. I saw her yelling at me about "keeping to myself" as soon as we were behind locked doors.

Mrs. Williard gave me a peculiar look, but she didn't say anything else. When I got home, Momma told Poppa what had happened, and the two of them surprised me. Instead of sitting me down and telling me about how I couldn't share these kinds of things with other people again, they changed their minds and became very quiet. I could see several futures flashing in my head, but none of them were certain yet. Momma started busying herself with putting all of our clothes in bags. I could tell she still wasn't happy with me, and I thought I caught her crying, but she just said, "We'll try to fix this Alice. Just go on and play with Cynthia." I think that being dismissed was worse than hearing the speech she'd planned on giving. I could feel the unease spread through my body that usually came with not knowing what was going to happen. I knew I'd have to wait until they made a decision, as that's when my vision would always clear up.

Two days later, we heard from another neighbor that Mrs. Williard had broken her wrist going to see her father, and that it took three men to dig out Darryl Hammond's motorcar. As soon as my parents got the news that Mrs. Williard wanted to speak with them when she returned, I got a vision of us moving away. The very next day, we were off with everything we had for Biloxi. When I asked Momma and Poppa why we were leaving, they said they needed a change. I knew it was my fault, and I was miserable that I'd made us leave home.

I didn't truly hate myself until I saw Cynthia's reaction. As we emptied the last of our possessions from our room, she turned to me and said, "Mary Alice, we have to leave all of our friends because you can't keep your mouth shut. Can you pay attention to what you're doing for one second so you stop ruining our lives?" Hearing such harsh words from a ten year old made me realize that what I was didn't help her or my parents; it only hurt them. From that day on, I'd promised myself that I would to never again say a thing about my visions to anyone, even to my own family.


My life in Biloxi became a rebirth. Without rumors circulating regarding the status of my immortal soul, my demeanor and my entire family's personalities became buoyant. I found that I could have real friends, and if I allowed myself a chance to see my own future before I answered anyone's questions or comments, I could avoid exposing myself as a freak again. Everyone who met me simply assumed I tried to think very hard before I spoke, just as a good little girl should. Mothers were no longer afraid to allow me near their daughters, and the feeling of knowing that I could be myself without people thinking that I was some kind of aberration or that I was possessed by the devil was pure ecstasy. My family seemed to enjoy themselves more as well after they got over the fear that I was going to continually ruin our lives.

Better yet, I found out that I could suppress some of my visions, even if the stronger ones still came to me. When I felt the familiar tug on my mind to pull it away from the present, I was able to focus on something in front of me or on something tangible to avoid seeing the vision. I would see the ones that dealt with my own future clearly of course, but I could block out the visions about other people. This allowed me to invent excuses easily if the occasional glazed look crossed my face—I ran out of excuses in Gulfport when I was hit by visions multiple times in every hour.

The friends I made as a result of my sudden venture into normalcy allowed the years to pass almost effortlessly. Cynthia and I became closer, as she believed me to be cured of whatever wickedness possessed me. Together, we became social butterflies in Biloxi. We enjoyed walking through the town and greeting the townspeople, and many of our friends adopted this behavior with us. People assumed we were happy, bubbly young girls, and I did nothing to alter this perception. Our social circle grew, and Papa's business at the general store was the best it had ever been due to our sterling reputation.

When my seventeenth birthday had passed, Momma said that we'd have to announce me soon, and that young men might call on me. Since we were not socialites, as Papa's position as a store co-owner placed us directly in the middle class, I was not to have a débutante ball. I'd found a love for clothing and dressing up as I got older, so the idea of a ball attracted me; however, the idea of young men calling to court me was far less attractive. I doubted that many would call, since I looked like I was the same age as Cynthia, but I didn't want to spoil anything for Mama so I kept my mouth shut. I'd had enough practice doing so by now anyway.

Of course, I did spoil everything again a few months later. Despite having kept the promise to myself to never ruin our lives again, I came to the decision to break it after five years. I didn't come to this realization lightly, but I couldn't profess to be an upstanding person if I didn't end my silence. A life was at stake, and I loved the person dearly.

My best friend in Biloxi, besides Cynthia of course, was Vivienne Jessup. We'd been friends since I was 13, and we were different in almost every visible way. While I had barely grown, and was diminutive in stature at just under five feet tall, Vivienne was statuesque at five-feet, nine-inches. My body was petite and compact, and hers had begun to show soft curves at age 15 that became more pronounced each year. She had wavy blonde hair that sat regally below her shoulders, while my ebony curls had to be pinned up to mimic some semblance of order. The only feature that we shared was the nearly identical color of our gray-blue eyes.

Our approach to men was appropriately different as well. Although I was open and carefree with my family and friends, I had no idea how to respond to the gentlemen that came to court me.

Vivienne, of course, needed no instruction in the art of feminine wiles. She never understood my reluctance to walk or have tea with any of the young men in town, as she did not share in this reluctance. "Hummingbird," Vivienne would say in an underhanded jab at my size and appetite, "Why don't you simply enjoy the attention? How often is it that a man wants to do everything he can to make you happy?"

"Flamingo," I'd begin my verbal parry, "I don't want the attention. I'm perfectly fine with my life as it is. I enjoy your company, and Cynthia's, and I don't desire any one else's. Besides, I can't see myself with any of these men." I had to smile to myself that Vivienne had no idea of the double meaning behind that phrase.

Many of the callers that Vivienne and I received were the local boys I'd known since we moved to Biloxi, and I couldn't look at them as a husband any more than I could look at myself as a wife. I had never seen any of them in anything besides my immediate future, so I knew that they were not meant for me and I tried to redirect their attentions to other young women. Vivienne, on the other hand, welcomed their attention gladly, and acted as if they were being introduced for the first time whenever one of them asked for her company on this walk, or at that tea. She was the picture of a shy, coquettish young woman, and quickly developed a talent for flirting. I still remember how she seemed to have several gentlemen wrapped around her pinky, and the thought always prompts the corners of my lips to rise.

Even after a few months of courting, Vivienne seemed perturbed at my indifference to an activity she found so amusing, and asked me about it several times. "How do you just send them all away, Alice? Many of those men seem taken with your surprising grace and your annoying, infectious laughter." She grinned, and I knew she was goading me with candy-coated insults. After four years of friendship, I knew I could count on her wry wit to make me smile.

I of course, could not disappoint her with my own verbal sparring. "Well, my laughter seems to send them your way, and you seem to be infinitely more amusing. They all leave your company as if afflicted with some kind of drug, which is far more infectious than my laughter. I think it may be your pretension that fools and addicts them."

Vivienne giggled as she acknowledged my victory. We both knew that she put on a show of grace and manners for every man that came to see her. Of course, I had an advantage, as I knew what to say to make her capitulate to my wit. We knew that the men that met her left her company permanently impacted by her charm, but she simply moved on to the next one.

None of the gentleman callers seemed to create the same impression on Vivienne until Robert Warren had. Robert came through Biloxi on his way to Mobile from New Orleans. He was staying in Biloxi to meet with a friend before they enlisted in Mobile to fight in the Great War. At 19 years old, Robert had developed a swagger too big for his years. He was certainly charming, and had the looks to pair with the charisma he exuded. He was a lean six-foot-one, and had wavy chestnut hair. His light brown eyes always had a mischievous glint, and his face was chiseled enough to be both handsome and beautiful at the same time. His quick, violent temper was always followed by his even quicker sense of humor, and he easily made friends with many of the townsfolk.

I could tell Vivienne was immediately taken with him, as he was both handsome and out of the ordinary. As every other man did, Robert took quick notice of Vivienne as well. She was delighted by his violently quick mood swings, and thought that he kept her on her toes. However, although I could see her with him for the immediate future, I didn't see her marrying him or going past an initial courtship. At that time, I hadn't tried to have any visions, so I guessed they would break things off quickly once Robert was ready to leave for Mobile. As I look back on these events, I still experience the knife of guilt twisting in my abdomen as I realize I could have altered Vivienne's fate.

Sadly, this was not to be the case. Vivienne confided in me about two and a half weeks after she met Robert.

"He makes my head spin, Hummingbird! I'm so incredibly in love with him already. He's different from everyone I've met here—when I'm with him, life is exciting. It feels like my heart swells up in my chest whenever he looks at me." Her smile and glazed eyes made me want to roll my eyes at her, but I knew she did care for him.

I tried to temper her enthusiasm, even though I knew that the attempt was going to be futile. "Vivienne, he does have a temper. I know he always makes up for it right away, but don't you think other things like that will bother you as you get to know one another better? It has barely been two weeks since you met him."

"I don't care…I feel like I'm floating when I'm with him. He's witty, and a perfect gentleman. I know he's spoiled me for anyone else. I'm going to marry him, Alice!"

She told me they were going to run off together to be married before he left, and she didn't seem to care that she'd be abandoning her family as she rode the high of infatuation. As her decision solidified, my mind was battered with the visions that I'd repressed so aggressively. They assaulted my brain in waves, I let my mind fill with them, and Vivienne assumed I was in shock when I froze.

I saw visions of her packing her bags, telling her family that she and I were going into town with an escort to walk and have tea with me. I saw her meeting Robert and getting into the waiting motorcar. I also saw them stop at an inn on the way to Mobile, Alabama for Robert to enlist. While stopping at that inn, I saw Robert suggest that they stay together as a married couple to avoid suspicion. He got angry when Vivienne refused, as a good lady should, but she acquiesced once she saw his anger was real. Unfortunately, I also saw him say that they should act as if this charade were true while they were alone as well, a suggestion to which Vivienne replied by slapping him in the face and threatening to leave. At this point, I couldn't stop the visions, and I stood helpless as I saw Robert become enraged, then overpower her. I couldn't block the vision from my mind as he started to rip off her skirt and petticoat. To keep my own sanity, I focused on Vivienne's face as the vision continued, and then felt utterly helpless as he finally strangled her until she lay lifeless on the bed. I had to close my eyes and hold back the tears and fury that threatened to ravage my system.

I knew then what I had to do. I had to compromise everything that my family had worked for over the past five years, because I couldn't stand for these visions to come true. "Vivienne, I know you want to rush into this right now. Please, please, wait so that we have a chance to say goodbye, and consider how your family will feel if you run off with Robert. I can't lose you just yet."

She seemed touched when I admitted that I didn't want her to go, and she said that she would wait until Friday, which was two days away. I thanked her and left as hastily as I could, and practically ran the entire way home.

At dinner, I decided to tell my parents that I had to expose myself as an abnormality cast upon society again, as I couldn't allow them to be blindsided when I went to Vivienne's parents.

"I have to tell you all something, and it's going to be very difficult for you to hear." I looked around at their faces, and I knew they were expecting the worst, which was exactly what I was about to deliver to them. "I know you've all been under the impression that I haven't had a vision since Mrs. Hammond's accident, but that's not the case. I'm sorry to burden you with this again, but I've had a vision that I can't keep a secret, because if I do, it will be the same as if I've murdered someone." I then proceeded to tell them about Vivienne's impending fate.

The happiness drained from my mother's face quickly as she realized that I'd never be the perfect daughter she'd thought I'd become. Cynthia's eyes sprang tears that I don't think she was even aware of, as she stared at me like I'd become a stranger before her eyes. In a way, I guess I had. I know she felt as if I'd betrayed her by keeping my visions from her, and I hoped that she'd be able to forgive me for it. My father sat stone-faced at the head of the table. He moved only to loosen the tie at his neck and to unbutton his vest. Since he hadn't said anything yet, I decided to continue.

I cleared my throat before I spoke again, "I know this will put us in a terrible situation. Since I've made the decision to do everything I can to stop Vivienne, my own future has changed. You won't have to move away from Biloxi, as I simply see myself becoming an outcast since I'm old enough that people can see me as separate from the family. I'm sorry that I've kept this from all of you, but I'm sorrier that I'm ruining your lives again. However, I can't sit by and let my best friend experience the most horrid things imaginable in an effort to preserve my own comfortable lifestyle."

When I'd finished speaking, silence invaded the house and left a cloying atmosphere. None of us dared to move for minutes on end. Finally, Cynthia broke the silence before my parents could. As soon as she decided to speak, my heart filled up with the knowledge that she was about to forgive me for what I was going to do. Silent tears streamed down my face as I listened to her, "Alice, your talents are not a brand on your soul. They are certainly your cross to bear, and I couldn't imagine seeing something like what may happen to Vivienne happen to you. I've forgiven you for anything we'll go through already, and I hope that one day you'll look at me with the reverence with which I look upon you right now. You're making this decision willingly to save Vivienne's life, and I'm proud to be your sister. I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't love you for who you are when we moved here."

I couldn't believe these words came from my fifteen year old sister, but the gratitude that radiated through my being when she said she'd forgiven me already was more than enough to give me the strength to proceed. With that statement lingering in the air, she gave a poignant stare to my parents, and cleared her place at the table. I sat dumbfounded and overjoyed at knowing that Cynthia wouldn't hate me for making the decision reveal my visions again. I now waited for my parents to decide how to respond. I tried to focus solely on the present, as I didn't want to see what would happen before it did. After years of trying to repress my visions at my parents' requests, I didn't think they'd be pleased with me throwing their wishes back into their faces.

My father finally spoke, and his voice was quiet, but final. "Alice…we're proud to have you as a daughter. Remember that, as I know that you're probably not telling the whole truth regarding what will happen after you tell Vivienne's family. Things will probably be bad, but we support your decision." He put his arm around my mother as he spoke, and silent tears had begun to stream down her cheeks. I felt a lump form in my throat, and I quickly gave a single nod, and then moved away from the dinner table. It was very much like Papa to be so brief once he'd made up his mind. I could tell it was hard for them to accept, but I could also see the hurt in his eyes once he'd realized that Cynthia was right—they'd asked me to repress part of myself.

I knew that the hardest part was still ahead—to convince Vivienne's parents of the truth—as I went immediately to the room that Cynthia and I shared. I flung myself on my bed and sobbed harder than I could ever remember doing. I couldn't bear to tell them that in saving Vivienne, I condemned myself to a life of imprisonment, either as a supposed accomplice to Robert if I failed, or as a lunatic in an asylum if I succeeded.

The next day, I went to the Jessup house in the morning. When I told Vivienne's family that she was going to run away with Robert, they forbid her from seeing him, and confined her to the house. The vision of what would happen to her didn't change, so I knew that I needed to go further. I had to tell the Jessups how I knew that Robert would harm Vivienne, and I explained all of my visions, why my family came to Biloxi, and how I knew she would still be harmed. They were in disbelief, but the visions of Vivienne dying stopped, and I had to sigh with relief. I knew that I was making things worse for myself, but I was glad to save her life.

I went to bed that night feeling happy that I had finally done something worthwhile as a result of my peculiar ability, and lay wondering if I could now tell my family about things I saw. As I drifted off to sleep, I saw Vivienne pay one of the servants with her jewelry to send for Robert and to let her out of her house. Thinking I was dreaming, I did not take any action immediately. I saw her run to a motorcar waiting in her driveway, and the visions of Vivienne's death rushed back to meet me. I shot up in my bed, and heard a strangled, foreign cry erupt from my throat. Cynthia awoke and was next to my bed immediately, but I knew that no matter what we did now, Vivienne would be gone by the time I told her parents. I had done everything I could, and still the future mocked my efforts by taking someone I had loved dearly for over four years.


When Vivienne's parents found her missing the next morning, they whipped the servant who let her out. They waited for the news of her death, and the slight hopes they fostered were obliterated when they news of their daughter's murder reached them a week later. In a fury, they told the town of my "visions" and what had happened, saying that I had conspired with Robert to murder Vivienne out of jealously since I knew what would happen. I saw the townspeople putting me on trial and hanging me, and so I had to tell Momma and Poppa that I'd failed miserably.

This time, it was Momma that relieved my sore spirits. "Mary Alice," she'd said, "You cannot fault yourself for the evil in others. I'm so sorry that we made you feel as though you were part of that evil by the nature of your gift. You can only try to do good deeds with the abilities you're given. Your father and I have an idea that will hurt us forever, but will only help in the fact that it may save your life." She explained to me that I could enter an asylum willingly, and with tears streaming down all of our faces, I saw my new future the moment I accepted—that I would never see them again, but that they could live normal lives once I was gone.


I sensed that Jeremy would be by to see me soon, which stopped my wallowing in old memories. I no longer questioned how I could become so hard and callous at the age of 19, but I knew that I was only a shadow of the happy, excitable Mary Alice I had been in Biloxi. I turned my focus on the time at which I saw my own future dim, knowing that it meant that Jeremy would be with me. Maybe if I share those memories before I die, he will tell me why he is the one person whose future I can't see.


Closing Notes: Thank you so much for taking the time to read this chapter! One criticism my brother made (acting as a real life beta—Thank you!) was that the speech patterns of my characters are nothing like what they would actually be in Mississippi. I've done this for a couple of reasons: first, I am no Mark Twain, so I would probably butcher it in an attempt to sound like I wrote Huck Finn, and second, there are international readers for this story, and they may not understand the southern dialogue as easily.

Second, SM says Alice's head was shaved, but this practice was not common in asylums—I've been advised that a woman's hair would be cut when she entered an asylum to make wigs. I made up the lice idea to keep the story consistent with SM's ideas, as I could not find another plausible reason as to why her head would have been shaved.

I have any other sources I used on my profile if you're curious. I will be trying to update on a two-to-three week schedule, but I can't make promises and sometimes my job will take over my life for a couple of weeks. I do have an outline for this story, so I will continue soon. Again, all reviews—good or bad—are appreciated!