Chapter One: A Petite Blonde


It didn't matter what anyone else said; in Freddie's mind, Sam Puckett was still alive and kicking.

It had been about three years since the terrible news came in: Samantha M. Puckett was dead, having drowned in a river near her mother's then-boyfriend Diego's home sometime during the summer vacation. Following the news came floods of tears, bulged eyes of shock, speeches of pain... Freddie couldn't help but think how it was not only a painful aftermath, but a frustrating one. People Sam had never liked - people Sam had openly hated - were now suddenly expressing their love for the girl, and Freddie couldn't stand it.

Freddie couldn't stand knowing that all these people were faking mourning at a girl who didn't even like them.

At a girl he was certain wasn't even dead.

The idea had crept up on him slowly at first. He would just lie awake thinking sometimes about how much he missed her, how badly he wanted to see her, touch her, hear her again. He remembered all the little things about her, how she wasn't just an aggressive eater but how she was pretty damn intelligent a naturally gifted athlete, especially when it came to swimming.

Especially when it came to swimming. So how could she have drowned?

Carly assumed that Freddie was just going through a stage of denial in the grieving process, and shrugged it over. "He'll get over it eventually," she said to Spencer one time, when she thought he wasn't listening.

But the feelings never did fade that maybe, somehow, Sam was still out there. Still living, still breathing.

Even weirder was the fact that they'd never found Sam's body. Somebody had found a bloody shoe and some torn, bloody pieces of clothing either in or around the river - Freddie couldn't really remember - and got suspicious. Had someone been beaten? Was someone running away? Searches conducted by the police indicated that she had drowned, but Freddie couldn't buy that knowing that she could've just been trying to get away from something - or someone. Freddie knew that Sam's father was a sketchy guy. Maybe he'd come back, tried to hurt her and her family again, and she'd just run instantly.

That made more sense to him than anything else he'd heard on the matter. Made more sense than her being dead, at least.

But eventually, Carly, Spencer and Freddie's mom agreed that Freddie's obsession with finding Sam - and his insistence that she was still alive - was all just getting out of hand. He should have accepted her death by now. He should've been okay with it by now. And the fact that he wasn't? Well, that was just crazy.

Crazy enough, it seemed, for Troubled Waters.

Freddie had only been here for a week, but already it was torture. And now they were introducing some sort of Buddy Program, too, for reasons he didn't understand or care about. He just wanted to get out. Get out and look for Sam. Get out and find Sam and prove that he wasn't actually crazy, that he was actually the only sane man.

"...why we've decided to introduce the Buddy Program," continued a curly-haired intern in a bored monotone, reading from a page on her clipboard. "We believe that this will help all of you to better adapt to your environment and to gain inspiration by learning of other's struggles and how they're getting through the most difficult and painful moments in their treatment. You've all been paired up randomly with a fellow patient of the opposite sex - however, as there are a few more men than women here, there are a few exceptions to this. So without further ado, here are your buddies." She cleared her throat as she flipped the page on her clipboard. "Jenna Aarons, your partner is Marcia Lewis. Leslie Aniston, your partner is Dylan Storm..."

Freddie looked around the room. Most of the other patients ranged from the mid-twenties to late-thirties. He didn't really know who he'd be able to actually form a bond with if he got paired with anyone. Nobody would understand him, really, and he wouldn't understand them.

"Freddie Benson, your partner will be..." The intern looked down briefly, but met Freddie's gaze almost immediately after. Freddie was surprised the intern even knew who he was. "Melanie Puckett."

Freddie's eyes widened. Melanie Puckett. Puckett. Were they serious? Why do that to him? Put him with a Puckett, no less!

And then he remembered something. That specific name. Melanie Puckett. Who was Melanie -

Sam's twin sister! No way. That ... that was just strange. Maybe Melanie knew something about Sam - what had happened, whether she really was alive, where she could be...

But then again, he wasn't sure how much of that story had actually been true, and how much of it had been fabricated. Maybe this was actually the real Sam Puckett, just going by a fake identity.

But ... why would she do that?

Freddie couldn't think about it too deeply, because in the next minute, one of the other interns was dragging him along the hallway, and he was thrust into a tiny room that smelled of dirty socks.

And a petite blonde followed immediately after.

Melanie Puckett.

"H-hey," Freddie stammered. He stuck out his hand awkwardly. "Freddie Benson."

Melanie stared at his hand and nodded, saying nothing. Freddie allowed his hands to drop, and took the opportunity to size Melanie up. She appeared to be slightly shorter than Sam, her skin was more tanned, and her hair was far straighter. But somehow, Freddie knew that Melanie was the real deal, that she was Sam's twin if she ever really had one. Somehow, doubt still lingered, but mostly because Freddie was still deciding whether this was Melanie or Sam. He so badly wanted it to be Sam. He would give anything for the scenario.

"What are you here for?" asked Freddie, trying to keep the conversation going.

Melanie looked up at him and spat, "None of your business."

"Well, if I'm gonna be your buddy, it kind of is my business."

Melanie rolled her eyes and sighed. "Fine," she said. "I'm here because ... well, I don't remember."

"You don't remember why you're here."

"No. I just don't remember. Anything. They told me my name was Melanie Puckett, but I'm still not sure if that's true." After a small pause, she asked, "What about you?"

"The forms will tell you it's depression or PTSD or something like that," he said. "But the truth is, I..." He stopped and looked at her, suddenly not sure how to go on. I think your sister - who's been dead for three years - is secretly still alive and somehow on the run? Yeah, no. "Well," he said slowly, "my friend supposedly died a couple of years back, but I ... I have this idea that maybe she's still out there somehow."

Melanie's eyes widened slightly. "What's your name again?"

"Freddie Benson." He was curious as to why she so suddenly seemed very interested in him.

"Oh, wow," she murmured.

"What?"

"Huh?"

"'Oh, wow' what?"

"Oh. Um. Nothing." Melanie shook her head furiously. "Forget I cared."

"Why do you care?"

"I said, forget about it!" The death glare that followed this encouraged Freddie to shut his mouth.

"Well," said Melanie. "I guess we should get started explaining our 'battles' and all that crap. I'll go first."