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In The Windmills Of Her Mind

Chapter Two

Like a snowball down a mountain or a carnival balloon, like a carousel that's burning, running rings around the moon

Sister Mary sat on the wooden chair that was resting beside the bed of her nameless patient, she had been a nurse for twenty five years; she remembered her first day in the hospital as a young, innocent seventeen year old. Nothing in all of these years could prepare her for what she saw now, the girl who no one knew, the face without a name, the one no one could care for. So Mary sat here, day after day, watching her, waiting for her, just hoping that this poor girl could awaken one day, that one day she would be able to be normal again, that her body wouldn't be beaten and bloodied, that scars wouldn't cover her pale skin, and that a smile could rest upon her face once more.

Mary looked down at the body before her, when it had arrived she could barely recognise it as a human, let alone a girl. Mary had decided she couldn't be any older than nineteen, she picked up her file and began to read, each injury chilling her soul, each wound sending rage pouring through her. As Mary flicked through she could feel phantom pains riding through her from each injury she read, twelve broken ribs, a ruptured appendix, a crushed lung, a broken collar bone, a fractured skull, burns and bruises that darkened her skin – but one wound, the deepest of all, Mary could never know of, for she couldn't see her broken heart.

Nor could she know of the girl's twin – not her physical twin, but her mental twin, the twin who was as battered and broken as her, the twin whose soul matched hers, the twin whose hand fitted perfectly into hers, she couldn't know of the twined soul who cried out begging for his girl to return to him.

So Mary sat beside her, day after day, gently washing her face with warm water, wanting so much for the blood beneath her skin to disappear, but each day it got worse and worse, each day her bruises darkened and her wounds wept with blood, each day her body remained still as she throbbed inside, her blood slowly swam around her, slowly trying to heal her. Sometimes it succeeded and sometimes it leaked away into the sheets; sheets which Mary was waiting to change. Mary sat with her and thought of her past, of the girls' mother, of the girls' father, of the girls' lover and the girls' friends – she didn't know if they existed, but in the life she had dreamed of for her patient they did, in her dream this was a tragic case of mistaken identity, and the girls family would come and rescue her, she would run into the arms of her lover, he would hold her tightly and promise to kill whoever harmed her, and they would all live happily ever after. She dreamed these dreams because the girl couldn't dream them herself, and because Mary knew, somewhere deep inside of her, that the truth was more horrific. She knew the signs of prolonged abuse, of starvation and of torture, and she could see them all on the broken body of the girl. The only part of her identity that remained was a tiny silver key that hung from a chain on her neck, Mary had studied it intensely and knew it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen – this was all that remained of the girl, and she wasn't going to take it.

'How's our Jane Doe then?' one of the Doctors called from the doorway, his face was weary, he'd been on the team of Doctors who fought for her life for hours, he'd spent each day at her bedside waiting for her to regain consciousness – but she had failed him. Each day he visited, hoping for his miracle case to awaken, hoping for her to look up and smile and thank him, hoping for her to remember what happened and put her attackers away.

'No change' Mary said quietly as the doctor's dreams faded away. He nodded and turned away from the door

'Doctor Kent?' she called out, he turned around

'Yes Mary?' he sighed.

'Can we give her a name? A real name? Not just Jane Doe?' she asked, wanting to give this girl a meaning, to give her an identity. The doctor looked from the girls' body to Mary's hopeful face and nodded before walking out of the door.

'Hear that my sweet?' she asked, 'I'm gunna give you a name' she told her as she sat beside the girl. She thought of many names and tried each of them, but nothing seemed to fit, Mary sighed knowing nothing would sound right – nothing would be right for her except for her own name – and that they couldn't find out until she awoke.

'Oh my lost little lamb' Mary murmured as she gently brushed her golden hair away from her face, she looked down into the pale face of the lost girl and knew not what to do. She watched as drips fed slowly into her veins, filling her with much needed nutrients, with pain relief, with water and with medicines. She watched the other drip which continuously filled her body with blood as her own slowly bleed away through wounds that broke through her damaged skin. Mary watched as her chest slowly rose and fell, as her machines beeped telling of her progress, as the sun rose and as the moon took its place, she watched as the girl made no progress, as she made no signs of life. Mary watched as the last of her hopes drained away.

The whiteness was all Rose could see, within her mind everything was blank or dark, she knew not who she was or what she was. All she knew was the pain and the fear that shot through her, all she knew was the tears and the blood, all she could hear crying through her mind was the voice of a frightened girl calling out, begging

'Doctor' the voice cried, and within a flash it was gone, she was alone in her mind again. Just her – no memories, no lies, no laughter, no faces and no happiness – she didn't even know herself anymore, all she knew was the pain. Slowly she began to cry, her lifeless body sobbing along with her empty mind, crying for everything she had lost, crying for the girl she no longer was – the girl she no longer knew. She cried for her past and she cried for her future, she knew she was alone from here out – and that scared her like nothing else.