The Intruder

Summary: Crossover with The Ring. Becca gets transferred to the psyche ward in Kingdom Hospital to continue her treatment for severe trauma and delirium. But somehow, the haunted videotape that killed her friend, Katie, has found its way into the hospital closed circuit TV, putting everyone on the ninth floor in danger. However, when Paul and Dr. Gottreich realize that it's a ghost that's causing all the damage – a ghost that wasn't part of the Old Kingdom – they see her as competition and set out to destroy her before she can hurt anyone else.

Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to Stephen King or Lars von Trier; and to Koji Suzuki or Ehren Kruger, depending on whose side you're on. (So nobody sue me!)

Author's Note: I've taken a few liberties with the details of both stories, partly to keep things tidy, partly because I don't want to deal with the prospect of Samara's not being bound to the tape, or with her mother. Also, I've taken it upon myself to answer some of the questions I still had after watching the entire Kingdom Hospital mini-series and reading the accompanying book, The Journals of Eleanor Druse. I might be wrong, but I'm willing to take the risk in exchange for a good story. I'm writing this because I always felt that Becca needed her own story. She has so little screen time, but she makes a terrific impact, and she's the only one in the Ring saga who was profoundly affected by Samara without ever actually watching the tape. Oh, and we authors live for feedback, so please don't be shy with that 'review' button!

Preface

It had been a bad idea to move her. Becca Jordan was mentally unstable enough without being suddenly relocated from Seattle, Washington to Lewiston, Maine. But the family had no choice. Money was tight, and most of it went to keeping Becca in the psychiatric facility. So when a business opportunity arose for Becca's father, even though it was on the other side of the country, they took it.

They didn't think it would make much difference. Becca's mind was nearly gone as it was, so the move couldn't harm her but so much more. And even if it did, they would just deal with any problems the best they could.

They told themselves that the change of scenery was good for her. It was good for her to get away from the trauma and the memories that haunted her day and night in the city. They told themselves that, given a little more time, and a little better treatment, and a little more money, she might even get better.

They didn't know they'd been followed.

Day Zero: The New Arrival

Paul sat on an unoccupied hospital bed, hands folded in front of him, watching the new girl sleep. Her face was lined prematurely, her full lips were dry and cracked, and her thick brown hair was monstrously tangled. She was only seventeen, but she looked like she'd weathered the years of someone many decades older.

She wasn't really asleep. Her eyes were closed, but the lids flickered restlessly, and her breathing was ragged and shallow. The nurses thought she was just a fitful sleeper. Paul knew better. This one hadn't slept in almost a year.

He had looked at her file already. It said she'd been mentally traumatized after her best friend had died under mysterious circumstances. Becca had found the body. And allegedly, it had been so grotesque that the sight of it had instantly sent her into shock. She hadn't been right since. What did it say exactly? "Prone to incoherent ramblings, sometimes with morbid undertones . . . Prone to fits of violent hysteria . . . Probable danger to herself and to others, must not be left alone," etc., etc.

So much for not leaving her alone.

Paul was debating whether or not to bother toying with her. If she scared that easily, she might not be worth the effort. Still, there was no telling if he didn't try. . .

Paul stood up and moved to the bedside. Quickly, he scanned her memories, looking for something that might confuse or frighten her. At the top of the pile was other girl's body – horrible, flesh red and blistered, jaw hanging open half-off its hinges, eyes popped and rolling – but that was too easy. He kept looking.

Further back was her old self, buried deep under layers of delirium. She'd been a bright girl, brimming with potential but lacking in motivation. Schoolwork and creativity took a backseat to fashion and T.V. She'd been a follower, modest and unremarkable. Her only vice was gossip. She was a junkie for a good story.

How sad. It was so much more poetic when the crazies had something worth losing when they lost their minds. No stories would be written about this one. She'd be a footnote in the story about the death of her poor friend; nothing more.

Paul kept looking. He went back to the images of that last night – it was a cop-out, but it was the best he could do. Most of it was a flashbulb memory, pristine and unchanged, but there were pieces that didn't seem to fit. There were things that didn't match the setting of the dead girl's bedroom, where Becca had found her. A long wooden ladder, a stone well in the middle of a field, a lone tree standing at the top of an otherwise barren hill. And a figure, something or someone, dressed in a long white hospital gown, with long black hair. None of it made sense. Why were these mismatched images thrown in with Becca's memory of the girl's death?

Suddenly Becca's eyes snapped open and she bolted upright in the bed. Paul took a step back, startled. Becca's hands went over her ears and she started rocking back and forth. Her lips were moving, but no sound came out. Her face was gaunt with terror. Paul looked down at himself to see if he'd transformed somehow without meaning to – he'd been thinking about taking on the shape of either the dead girl or the black-haired wraith, but he hadn't done anything yet. And then he heard it: ringing phones going off in the corridor outside. He turned away from Becca and slipped out into the hallway. The harsh, electric sound was even louder out there. It seemed as though almost every phone on this floor had gone off at once. The linoleum floor was wet.