Ask Alice
Chapter 1: Beginning
The first time it happened, I was seven years old. Mother had me and my sister, Cynthia, out in the yard, just to keep us as attentive as possible. Cynthia and I held hands as we played in our plain white dresses, as it was Sunday, and we had not yet had the chance to change out of our Sunday best.
My hair was long then. Mother always played with it, enjoyed to shape it prettily, as she loved how much it resembled hers. Cynthia's hair was more like that of our father; still dark, but brown rather than black. Her hair had not quite grown to the length mine had, as she was younger than I. Her hair, her violet-flower eyes, and her smile were to match that of my father, always. Cynthia had a calmer nature, though. I had the wild, care-free heart of our father. Though, I could be as cold-tempered as Mother, if given the chance. Cynthia was far too sweet to ever be mad at anyone for too long. In that way, again, she matched Father.
Mother had finished up with her 'indoor duties,' as she referred to them, and had decided to join Cynthia and I for a chance at relaxation. We hadn't been doing anything of particular interest, dancing, as always, when suddenly my eyes weren't seeing what they should. My mind flashed to a new scene, with such strange faces I had never seen before.
There were many of them—five or six—all with the faces of ghostly angels. They seemed afraid, tired—from the dark circles under their eyes—and were as worn and ragged as Mother after Grandmother Amelia Brandon's visits ended. I heard them speak of unfamiliar things, and they were wearing clothes that indicated that they must be from some different country, because I had never seen anyone wear clothes like they wore—and the females wore clothes too similar to the males for them to have much class. One of them, whose hair was bronze with an accent that proved him to be American, spoke "Bella,"—a name that was unfamiliar to me.
"Bella?" asked Mother. "Mary, who are speaking of?"
"Those people I saw," I explained, "they said her name."
Mother turned as white as a ghost—almost as white as the people I had seen in my mind. Cynthia barely noticed. She released my hand and continued to pounce around the yard in a graceful, but slippery lope.
Mother warned me severely to never say such things, that I was getting too old to play such games. She swore that if I ever pretended to see people again, that she would call Father to give me a rash beating. I didn't want that, so I promised never to tell her about seeing things again. Although, I didn't promise I wouldn't see things again.
When I was thirteen, the war started. The war to end all wars, or so they said.
When I turned thirteen, I found that I had taken a real liking to Caspar Parker, who had a real high status and a large amount of coin to his name. My father worked for his father, and that was how we met. Father took us into the city, where the Parkers lived, and that was how I first met him.
Caspar was polite and smiled at me when he thought no one would see—and I would smile back, whether I thought anyone was looking or not. I was so smitten that I imagined I would marry him someday. Mother with her keen eyes could tell by the way I blushed that my heart raced for him and she had no doubt in her mind that I was a perfect match for him. She said it was my wildness that attracted him; he disagreed.
The one time we had been given time in private, while our father's discussed private business in the next room and Mother scampered away to check on Cynthia, he told me that I was graceful. Caspar said I had the lithe grace of a ballerina. I was so tongue-tied by his kind comment that I blurted out an excuse for my grace. I told him that Mother had been a dancer, before she sprained her ankle, that she had been permanently discharged after that. I told him that she taught me what she knew of dance, that Cynthia and I had practiced dance everyday when we were young; it never mattered if there was music or not.
Mother stormed in, furious at me for mentioning her past. She sent me to my room, and didn't call on me for supper. My stomach rumbled to fiercely—both from lack of supper and from the memory of Caspar's sweet comment—that I didn't get much sleep that night. When I did fall asleep, however, I did not dream of what Mother could have cooked, the meat sauce that had spread its rich smell up to my room, or of Caspar; I dreamed of different names than I knew; I dreamed of a pair of eyes of dark, burgundy, staring at me.
Mr. Parker sent invitation for my entire family to see the ballet in the city the next day. Mother couldn't decline; she loved the ballet; she loved being part of society. With Mr. and Mrs. Parker, Caspar, Juliet (their daughter), Cynthia, Father, Mother, and I, the ballet was a ball. I had never seen a professional dancer, and seeing them move was so inspiring. I was awe-struck by their grace, beauty, and the power that they held inside their sleek frames. I saw tears shine from Mother's eyes, like memories trapped in diamonds, as they rolled down her cheeks. Her smile was radiant for the first time, as far as I could remember. The lines from being a middle-class man's wife, the stress of raising two daughters as the money ran out, and the visits from disappointed relatives—all of it was gone. With the tears, I saw the trace of a woman I had never known, someone who wasn't my mother. I saw the beauty of a girl who could have joined the dancers onstage, drawing all eyes to her. I saw her; and I wanted to be her.
It took only a year to convince my mother, to arrange meetings, auditions, to get the word out about me. The Parkers were of a great help to me. Cynthia was supportive, although jealous. Grandmother Amelia Brandon visited, and though she was normally an old crabapple, she seemed impressed by my efforts. She looked at her daughter-in-law with reverence for the first time in who knew how long.
I met a man, a dancer, who spotted talent, raw talent, and made that talent into trained beauty. He was stern, from what I had heard, and from the scowl that touched his lips. Mr. Parker had arranged a meeting with him, and he said he was impressed by my energy, although he seemed as off-hand and stern as ever. I danced for him, and the scowl faded. His eyes lit up and for a second I thought I saw a trace of a real impression.
Within a year of that, by my fifteenth birthday, in the year 1916, I had been onstage four times. I was always in the back, never the star, but I was there. I was the talent that everyone said had promise. I was the girl who the dancers stared at when I walked into the room. But, above that, I found I was the girl who could make them smile, and take their jitters away before every performance.
I had made a promise to my mother to never share what I saw, but she hadn't made me promise to not tell anyone else. So, as subtly as possible, I warned the other dancers when trouble was afoot. When a runaway dancer's father had come to the audience, I warned her so that she could avoid him when the performance ended. When a friend dancer of mine had replaced another because she was too unmanageable, I moved my friend's shoes before the scorned dancer could sabotage them.
Armand, one of the male dancers, who took my breath away when he somehow managed to lift his partner into the air, was the hardest case. I had seen him sprain his ankle; I knew it was going to happen onstage, with everyone watching. I was afraid for him; I was afraid for his partner too. Both of them seemed at risk, and I couldn't bear it if in a single night both their careers ended. So, I chose to warn him.
It was that decision that I believe changed the course of my life.
He was stretching when I found him alone. I drew a steady breath, trying to muster enough courage to warn him. He looked up at me, catching me with my mouth open and eyebrows plastered into a determined expression.
"Alice, what is with that face?" he asked laughingly, using the name I had asked all my fellow dancers to call me by.
"I have something important to tell you," I announced.
"Then tell me," he encouraged. "I must be going soon, as you know, since we start in little less than half an hour."
"And that is exactly what I am here to discuss with you," I continued. "It is under a most unfortunate circumstance in which I tell you this—and if my mother ever finds out I will never see the light of day again, I swear—but"—I sighed, catching my breath, as Armand straightened and looked at me inquisitively—"I am going to tell you, because I believe that you will not recover if I do not tell you."
He stared at me blankly. "Is this about what Parker said?" he asked coolly.
"Parker," I muttered. I shook my head slowly. He seemed unconvinced.
"Of course not," I said. "Whatever Mr. Parker said is between the two of you. He's a fine man, and I have no intention of getting in his business. All I have to say is that you are going to endanger yourself—and your partner—tonight."
I gently turned to close the door behind me, knowing that I had a long explanation in front of me. When I faced Armand, he was angry. I, on the other hand, was shocked.
"Are you trying to be funny, Alice?" he questioned hotly.
"Do you not believe me?" I guessed. I had a feeling this wouldn't go over well.
"You know about it," he accused. "You know what Parker asked me to do for you. Don't deny it."
I shook my head again, quicker this time. "I don't know anything about it," I assured him.
"You mentioned that I am going to injure my partner tonight, Lauren," he reminded me. "So you must know. Are you here to tell me not to? Or are you selfish enough that you wish to put future here above her safety?"
"I don't have any idea what you are talking about, Armand," I insisted. "I wish Lauren the best; she is a wonderful dancer. That's why I'm here; to make sure she's safe—that both of you are."
He fumed silently for a minute, but there was no arguing with my own expression, which was the epitome of self-confidence.
"You really have no idea?" he asked quietly, in a rough, but polite tone.
"No, I don't," I repeated. "I am only here to warn you of an impending danger. Now I know this must sound insane,"—and he did roll his eyes—"but I assure you, Armand that I am the picture of sanity, and that this is no joke. In all seriousness, I have to tell you that tonight you will sprain your ankle, and drop Lauren, right in the middle of the performance."
"We've practiced many times together, so why would I drop her?" he rationalized. "This is a simple step; I know its insides, outsides, topsides, and downsides. I know everything about it. In fact, we're old friends. I'm not going to drop Lauren."
"But you will," I stated.
His smile faded; he had thought I was joking still. I remained motionlessly, holding my petite frame as tall as possible to keep authority in my presence. I was one of the smallest dancers, usually casted at the part of child or fairy, since I was less than five feet tall. Armand was a head and a half taller than me; it was hard to be confident when he was so much older and taller.
"Why are you saying this, Alice?" he wondered. "Have you really lost your mind or do you know something I don't?"
"I know a lot that you don't, Armand," I added slyly. "But this isn't the best time to explain all that."
"I must ask you something in confidence," he requested, stepping closer.
I nodded. "Of course; I won't tell a soul and I'll answer you as truthfully as I am able."
He came close to me, resting his hand on my head. His dark eyes narrowed, testing me, to see if he could read in my eyes if I was as trustworthy as I had said. He combed his fingers through his dark hair, glancing cautiously at the closed door behind me. He glanced at me, then back at the door, and then at me again. He pulled my further into the room, and then inclined his head so that our faces were close.
"Does Parker have a plan to force an injury on me?" he whispered.
"I wouldn't know," I gasped. "He's never been anything but kind to me, so I doubt that he would do something so unthinkable."
"He threatened me, saying I must drop Lauren tonight," he confided hoarsely. "He swore that if I did not end her career to increase your chances, he would end mine quickly."
I was appalled. This was the man I had intended to be my father-in-law. I knew he had influence and money, but I never suspected him of earning his power through dark politics.
"That can't be true," I mumbled.
"But it is," he insisted. "It's as true as your name is Mary Alice Brandon, and not just plain old Alice Brandon as you tell everyone it is."
I bit my lip. "Yes, my initials are M.A.B.," I admitted. "But how can I believe that someone so kind is actually someone to cruel?"
"I'm sorry, kid," he sighed. "But it is the truth."
I closed my eyes. I couldn't bear to picture Caspar's father as a man who would threaten Armand, to injure Lauren just to get me ahead.
"All I know is that you are going to sprain your ankle tonight, Armand," I recited, trying to hide my shock. "So you must be careful."
"I will," he promised.
"And I will do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen," I assured him.
He nodded.
There was a tap on the door. Both of our heads swung around to see the door open. Our bodies flew apart, as if we had been conspiring something wicked rather than planning to save Lauren.
"I was told you were in here," Caspar smirked, entering the room. "I know there isn't much time, but I have some important news for you."
I smiled, seeing the man I was so smitten with. Although I was only fifteen, and he was four years older than I, already working a right and proper job, when he looked at me I felt like age didn't matter. I was as old as I needed to be and perfect because I was reckless and filled with youthful ideas. The warmth that touched my cheeks when he smiled just so was enough to last a lifetime.
I stepped lithely on my toes, racing toward him.
"What's the big news?" I asked. "Anything that will brighten my day? There's been an awful amount of clouds today, and I sure need a silver lining."
"Sure will," he swore, putting his hand over his heart. "I swear on my life that this will be the second best news you have ever heard."
"Only second best Caspar Parker?" I teased. "Where's the first best?"
"That comes after tonight's performance," he said. His bright, gray eyes seemed to sparkle at the very idea of the news, getting me excited.
"So where's the great unveiling?" I mocked. "Or are you not going to give me any news at all?"
"Calm, Mary," he chuckled, touching my cheek softly with his hand. "I only wanted to tell you in private."
He took my hand and led me out of the practice hall. He brought me into the manager's office, a place I had so rarely been. The rare times were to pay for all the many rehearsals, and all the other bows and horns that had made me into the dancer I was. That, and to receive the few payments I had earned from amazing performances. Sometimes it paid more than roses to be in the show. (Although it was fun when the audience tossed them onto the stage, being in love with the leading lady, always.)
Caspar closed the door behind us, still keeping my hand in his. He faced me, beaming with the pride of the news he was about to share. I smiled intently back at him, although I was impatient to find out.
"Congratulations, Mary," he said. "You are going to be the star from now on. You're the lead. The last girl—the one who is performing tonight—she's had some troubles and has to leave for a while. Due to certain events, you're the next in line."
But his voice faded at the end, and I didn't quite catch it. In the loudest tone and the greatest clarity of sight, I saw Lauren just leaving the theatre. She was with her husband, and her cousin, Valarie. They were laughing, at first, and then, went quiet. Their eyes turned to see two broad-shouldered men in dark clothes, with hats on that shadowed over their faces…
"Mrs. Parousky," one of the men said. He was lodged in their way, so that they couldn't pass. "We have come with an offer."
"I wouldn't refuse it," the other suggested. "It could mean all of your deaths."
"What do you want?" Mr. Parousky, Lauren's husband, asked.
"You can take our money," Valarie cried. "Just don't hurt any of us."
"We do not want your money," the first snapped. "We want Lauren Parousky to not come back to the ballet."
"What are you talking about?" Lauren demanded. "I could never do that. And this can't be about how well I did out there. I could hear from their applause how wonderful I did. It required standing ovation, in case you weren't paying much attention, sir, to congratulate me."
"Lauren," Mr. Parousky hushed, squeezing his wife's arm tightly.
"We do not care about how well you did," the second one scoffed. "We only care that you quit. There will be another to take your place."
Lauren's face paled. "Is this about Alice?" she whispered. "About what Mr. Parker told Armand to do?"
The two dark-clothed men shifted, and looked stiffly at each other.
"This is most certainly about Alice, Mrs. Parousky," the first one admitted reluctantly. "How you seem to know about that, I am uncertain. But, no matter. What is your choice, since you know about our offer already?"
"I won't," she said, stiffening her lips. "I refuse to cave into you, sirs. You or Mr. Parker."
The two looked at each other again. Valarie grabbed hold of her cousin's arm and Lauren held her husband's hand tighter. Mr. Parousky put his arm behind Lauren's back, as if to steady her.
"Final decision?" the second man asked, a smile creeping over his lips as he spoke.
Lauren nodded stiffly.
"Good," the second man laughed. He lifted his arm and held out a small, but deadly looking gun. His finger twitched eagerly at the trigger.
"Goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Parousky, Ms. McGivney," the first man smirked. "Mr. Parker and family send their regards."
The shots echoed as they fired. The three innocents fell, one by one, as they tried to run, tried to struggle, tried to save one other, but nothing helped.
"Mary?" Caspar called, from somewhere far away. "Mary?" He was frantic when he called now. "Mary? What's wrong?"
I gasped and ripped my hands away from the desk. They had been so tightly holding to it that the circulation had begun to cut out.
"Mary!?"
I looked at him, wide-eyed and stricken so tried and frightened by the force of the vision I had had, that I couldn't talk.
This day was getting worse and worse, just as the sky outside got darker and darker, as if the nighttime was exposing all the lies in my life.
"Do you know why Lauren is giving up the stage, Caspar?" I questioned icily.
He didn't know how to answer, or maybe—I hoped—he honestly didn't know the answer.
"Do you know what your father is going to do?" I demanded.
"Mary, my father isn't going to do anything to Lauren," he swore.
I gritted my teeth. "I never said he was."
He noticed the trap I had set. He was the one to connect the idea of Lauren leaving with his father so quickly. I saw the panic in his eyes; there was no denying the truth I saw there.
"Are you in on it?" I raged. "Did you ask for this?"
"For you," he cooed, taking my hands, and pleading with me, his eyes too honest.
I ripped my hands away from him. "How could you?" I wailed. "How could you plan to murder her? Did you really think that sort of cruel game would impress me, Mr. Parker?"
His jaw tightened. He grabbed my wrist, and his fingers constricted tighter and tighter, so that it hurt.
"Let go of me!" I hollered. "Caspar! You're hurting me."
His grip loosened. "Mary, I want to explain things to you, to explain what's really happening," he reasoned. "If you listen to me for just five minutes, oh I swear you'll forgive me this."
"I'm not so sure," I muttered under my breath.
"Just don't tell anyone," he begged. "I will owe you my life, Mary, as long as you keep this secret. You can't tell anyone what my father has done."
"The only thing I know of him is,"—I cut off, though, because my eyes clouded over again. By Caspar's touch, and the fresh memory of Lauren's upcoming sudden death, my eyes saw something else of Mr. Parker.
"Parker," laughed a stout man in dark, fancy threads that only the most elegant of the rich wore. He was not of America, as his thick accent proved. "Thanks to your supplies, we'll be ready in no time, I promise you that."
"So long as you give me what I was promised," Mr. Parker uttered.
"No worry there," the stout man bellowed, taking a slow, thorough whiff of his cigar. "Your business, my business—we work together well. Both of our fortunes are building quite nicely. I told you that inconvenient people are easily taken care of."
"How right you were," Mr. Parker agreed. He was looking at the newspaper, smirking at an article about an old investor, one who had refused to invest in one of Mr. Parker's companies, in an earlier year.
My heart pounded and my head reeled as my vision cleared once again to reveal Caspar's face, that what I had seen was another glimpse into what was to be.
"Your father is going to kill—oh, his name was—Mr. Curran, right?" I blurted.
Caspar's eyes widened. "H-he mentioned it," he stammered. "How do you know about these—?"
"It doesn't matter," I said. "What matters is what your father does."
"But he wouldn't. I know him, Mary. He does what he has to, and nothing more."
"But he will kill him," I seethed. "And I can't allow that to happen. So long as I live and breathe, I will not let your father kill Lauren or Mr. Curran."
"You don't even know Mr. Curran," Caspar argued. "How can you stand between my father and some old man who can't mind his tongue?"
I blanked. "What do you mean, 'can't mind his tongue'?"
"He's been advising other investors not to count on my father's businesses," Caspar explained slowly, reading my expression cautiously. "Because he heard of my father's…less than orthodox methods of dealing with the dirtier side of good business."
"That's all?" I retorted. "You kill a man because his has a conscience? How can you agree with that?" I took his hands and stared pleadingly up at him. "I thought your father to be a respectable man, and you to be as gifted with kindness as with dashing looks, but have half a mind to end our charade right now."
"What charade?"
"If you are half the man I think you are, you will end whatever your father has planned for the murders of Lauren Parousky and Mr. Curran," I demanded. "Or else, I cannot love you as you expect of me."
His eyes, once beautiful to me, were torn. I could read in them his struggle to say yes and obligation to say no. I waited, and watched for any sign of the man I had fallen so strongly for. But, as the seconds ticked by, I lost him. All I could find were the physical reminders. Just the eyes, his light hair, and his open expression.
"I can't," he said finally, weakly, but decisive.
I sighed and closed my eyes. My heart slowed its beat, and the anticipation that had heated my insides vanished. I opened my eyes to face the stranger I had once loved.
"Then I can't do this," I replied. I released his hands and stalked out of the room.
I raced to find Lauren, to find Armand—to warn them, if they would let me. I wasn't sure quite where they would be, since the hour of opening the show was so close. Would they still be rehearsing? Or would they be already behind the closed curtains, ready to show their final finale?
As far as I was concerned, I wasn't going to let this be their last night. I was going to ensure that Mrs. Lauren Parousky didn't dance her last duet tonight.
It took me forever and a day to find them, but I did. They were lined up behind the curtain. I rushed to meet them, onstage. I knew I wasn't allowed to walk to meet them, but I ignored as the other dancers yelled at me for interrupting their line, just so that I could sneak up to Armand and Lauren.
"Alice?" Armand recognized the worry in my expression. "What's wrong?"
I looked warily at Lauren. "Does she know?"
Armand nodded. "Everything…and I repeated our conversation to her," he answered.
"Good," I said, relieved. "But there's more now." I paused. "Someone…is planning to kill you, Lauren."
She laughed. "What kind of game are you playing here, honey?"
"No game, Lauren," I insisted. "I'm…well, I can see things that will be."
Her face paled. "Are you being serious? Or just pulling my leg?"
I shook my head solemnly.
"This is dead serious, Lauren," I continued. "Tonight, after the performance, you, your husband, and your cousin—Valarie, right?—you are all going to get shot outside the theatre. I had to warn you, to stop you, before it happened."
"What are you talking about?"
"I can see what will be," I rephrased. "I know that it is going to happen, and I know that Armand is going to drop you tonight when he lift's you—and that he's going to sprain his ankle—and that it doesn't matter how extraordinary you are tonight; someone wants you dead."
"Who?" she whispered.
"I don't know," I lied. "But it is very important that you do not leave by the back entrance, and that you leave with the crowd, and not after. Got it?"
She nodded her head slowly.
I turned to Armand, who was staring at me like my head was on fire. "Don't hesitate," I warned. "Turn right, not left, no matter what the right choreography is. You can catch up to the right place when the moment is right."
"Alice, I want to believe you, even though this is crazier than this war we're in," Armand muttered. "I know there's conspiracy and smoke overseas, but I like to think that there's nothing wrong over here."
"There is something wrong here, Armand," I admitted reluctantly. "But I have every intention of fixing it, if I can."
He released a long, tiresome sigh. I waited. Lauren waited. Whatever his decision was, I knew it would alter Lauren's decision for the better or for the worse.
"I'm doing this for you, kid," he warned me. "If anything bad happens, I'm blaming you."
I smiled. "Thanks."
"Now, get offstage, I can hear them settling down on the other side," Armand ordered.
I quickly waded through the lines of dancers again, and made my way out of the view. I still wasn't ready for my part. I rushed to the dressing room, where my tutu and outfit were waiting for me. I received a scolding from the dance master, the costumer, and a stern look from the other ballerinas from my group.
I lined up with them waiting for my turn in the spotlight.
When the show ended, we celebrated with smiles, as always. Save for me, for I worried my hands and prayed the good Lord that Lauren would make it out alive. I had been right about Armand, and he had gone right, just as I had asked, but what about Lauren? Were my efforts in vain? Was her fate inevitable? Or had I managed to save her?
Caspar and his family were waiting with my family as I came out to meet them. I didn't acknowledge him any more than courtesy required. I didn't acknowledge his father at all. I respected Mrs. Parker and Juliet, but I didn't mind their family more than that. I engaged with my family and was relieved to go home with them. Caspar's ashamed, pleading eyes had become too much for me to bear.
I was restless that night. I tossed in my bed, while Cynthia's muffled snores sounded beside me. Nights like those always made me wish I had my room all to myself. I had an inkling that Cynthia would not be so kind as to keep silent if I chose to sneak out, to call of Armand or Lauren, so see how both of them had fared.
But I couldn't wander off, so I remained in my bed, dreadind the coming day. Never in my life had I wanted to see the sun as much as I wished it would never dawn.
When it was finally time to rise, and Mother attempted to force me into calling on Caspar, since he had already tried to call on me (but I had refused to see him). I would not see him though. I would not tell of his father's dark deeds, but I would not see him. That was the deal I made myself. He knew this; so why would he call? I was not going to buckle under the pressure; I would shun him as long as needed before he gave up on me.
As it turned out, it took weeks before he stopped calling on me. But, by that point, it didn't matter.
Although my father and I had never been especially close, we had loved each other as deeply as any father and daughter would. When the day came that he was forced into the war, called upon to fight for our freedom, I nearly crumbled. I hugged him as tightly as I could, trying not to squash Cynthia in the process. When he was gone, I cried for days, while I held my mother and her quivering frame. I took care of Cynthia for days while Mother recovered from her worry. When at last she did recover, I took my turn to fall into a wholly other mess of despair. I stared at the walls of my room, starving myself, for I felt no need to be hungry. For the more I worried over him, the more I would see him, see what was to happen to him. I watched as he murdered soldiers unwillingly, as the ground around him exploded, as those he had been smiling at one moment were so suddenly gone.
It got so bad that Mother came up one day, to let the light in for the first time in days. Cynthia had become frightened of me, and frightened of the things I mumbled in my sleep, so that she refused to sleep in our room anymore. She stayed at the door when Mother entered, her worried eyes fixated on me. Her hair had grown long, and she was beginning to take on the shape of a lady, just as I was. She was getting taller than me.
Mother questioned me on what I had been dreaming of, of the nightmares that had slipped from my lips. I told her reluctantly, that I was worrying over father. She assured me that he was fine. I said he wasn't; that she would never know how far from right she was. In fact, she was the far-left.
Mother said I was silly, that there was nothing to worry about, but her reassurances were directed at Cynthia more than I. For I was sixteen, and I knew how to read Mother when her worries encrouched her eyes so. Adults who hid their emotions were just as easily read as a child's, whose eyes were open and honest.
"The things I have seen, the things I have seen," I began to mutter.
Mother's eyes widened. "No, not you," she whispered.
I rolled my head toward her. "I knew you were going to say that," I said. "But I don't know why."
Visions of Mother's worried visits to my room had been wedged in between visions of my father's horrific world. This was the one I had been waiting for though.
"Your grandmother, my mother," Mother choked out. "She saw things too. She was killed for it, Mary. So don't you dare go there. Don't you dare lose yourself to whatever you are seeing. Demons are sending you visions, straight out of hell. Ignore them."
"I can't ignore them," I argued, feeling frustration crumple my brow. "Father is facing horrible things! I need to watch out for him; I need to know if he's safe."
"You promised!" she reminded me. "You promised me to never mention what you've seen!"
"But Father! What if soemthing bad happens to him?" I shouted.
"We'll hear about it then," Mother sobbed. "I can't lose both of you at once. I can't raise Cynthia alone, Mary. I need you to come back to your senses." Her eyes pleaded with me, and I felt guilty for abandoning her, but I couldn't abandon Father.
I closed my eyes. "I'm sorry," I mumbled through my dry lips. "I have to know if he's safe."
"He'll survive," she promised me. "This war will end."
I jerked my head toward her and opened my eyes. "Yes," I agreed hastily. "It will end; I've seen it. But where does Father fit into that outcome? I haven't found him yet. I need to know if he's safe!"
And immediately, my mind was pulled backward, upward, thrust into a new setting. I smiled as I saw Father, but the feeling washed away when I saw the blood pooling around him. Another shot was fired, and he dropped to the ground. Soldiers ran around him, pushing forward, although they were ragged and weak. Father fell and didn't get back up. His grip loosened, and his muscles went slack. I couldn't bear to watch, but I found that I had to. I found that I had to watch hours of torture.
My vision let me go, and I escaped to a worse scene. There was a doctor, a priest, the Parkers, and my mother surrounding me.
"She's awake," the doctor announced in surprise.
"Thank heavens," Mother sighed.
They all looked so relieved. Seein their joy, it reminded me that I wasn't allowed to tell them what I know knew for certain. My vision was blured by burning tears. I wiped at the tears, and the cold sweat on my face. I sat up and hunched over and began to weep.
"Mary, what is it?" Mother asked in concern.
"Is there pain?" the doctor demanded.
"No," I sobbed. "Not the kind that you can fix, sir. Not that anyone can fix."
"Then what is wrong?" Mother scowled. "You should be pleased that you finally snapped out of that fit you were having. You were panting something horrid, and your eyelids were fluttering quicker than a hummingbirds wings."
I moved my arm from in front of my eyes and made eye contact with her. It took some effort to steady my lips, but when I did, I was ready to tell her, despite my promise.
"He's dead."
Mother's eyes were wider than I had ever seen them. The doctor was puzzled, as were Caspar, and Mr. Parker. Mrs. Parker looked astounded and ashamed to even know me, as if I was insane, and not grieving.
"Who is dead?" the priest questioned.
"My father," I answered, as my lip trembled again. I wiped my eyes. "Or at least he will be," I corrected. I glanced out the window, seeing the sun set. I knew the sun set had been earlier where he was. "He will be in an hour or so."
The priest gaped at me, and then my mother. "So it is true," he gasped. "Your daughter really can see things of the future, as you said. Her visions really did put her in such a state."
"Don't be ridiculous," the doctor contradicted. "Her mind is trying to project what she believes will happen. Her reaction, and the coma she was temporarily in proves it. Mrs. Brandon, I am sorry to say that your daughter has lost her mental capabilities. I don't know to what extent, but there is obvious damage. We may have to send her...away...for treatment."
Mother gasped and her hands flew to cover her mouth.
I understood what they were saying. My tears of sorriw turned quickly to tears of anger.
"I am not crazy!" I screamed. "My father is dead! I saw it! I've seen what Mr. Parker planned to do! I know you want to put me into that place, but I can't go! Don't make me go!"
Mr. Parker's face contorted, and he looked at Caspar, who glanced nervously at the ground. Mrs. Parker eyed her husband coolly. Mother didn't seem to know where to look. The priest sighed heavily, muttered soemthing to my mother, and then was gone. The doctor wrote a few things down, and then turned to my mother.
"I think I know where to put her," he said.
"No, you can't," Mother objected. "Not Mary."
"I'm sorry," he said again. "This is best for her."
"No! I'm not crazy!" I wailed. I jumped from the bed I was in. I ran for the door. I realized I wasn't in my room again, and was unsure of where I was going. But I ran to the door, only to be caught by some muscular doctor who wrestled me back into the room.
"Let me go!" I ordered. "This is not how you treaty a lady!"
"Would an insane person say that?" Mother challenged.
"She's not yet snapped," the doctor rationalized. "I hope to keep her from reaching that stage."
Mother's face crumpled in defeat.
"This is best for her," he repeated. "This is best for your whole family. I'm sure she'll be cured by the time your husband comes home."
I screamed. They all stared. But I knew Father was never coming home. If I was to be cured from something that was incurable, I would never be able to go home.
Review/comment, please. Thanks! Next chapter: The Asylum will introduce the vampire who turns Alice.