Hope everyone likes this new chapter. Read and review please.

Special thanks to my beta, VivyPotter, who is a lifesaver.

Edited Nov 23, 2014

Chapter One

Shattered

England

September 15, 1980

The smell of sweat, and other interesting things, permeates my room on the first floor of the Sunnybrook Psychiatric Facility in London. My hair feels itchy at the nape of my neck, and the strands stick together in damp clumps. It's to be expected, especially as my hair hasn't been brushed properly in a week. The cotton sheets were changed five days ago, but they're stale now. With the higher-ups understaffing the facility, I really can't blame them. Most of the Aides find caring for me difficult, mainly because of my age and unresponsiveness. They don't see me as a person, only a patient in the grips of Catatonic Depression.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing will ever matter again.

I wonder idly who my Health Care Assistant will be today. Will it be Muriel, a lovably pudgy, older woman, who smells like confectionery and chatters about everything? Or, will it be the nineteen year old college student, who chews neon pink, bubblegum? Pushing the curiosity aside, I label it unimportant. It's not like I can respond to either one of them. I guess being catatonic can have a silver lining that way. After all, who in their right mind would willingly tell their story if it was like mine? Oh, I better not ask, considering the fact that no one is in their "right mind" here.

In the recreation room, I can hear a party. "Unchained Melody" is playing. A balloon pops… and then it starts. First, the flashes of green, then comes the sounds of my seven-year old sister's cries. Each memory flays another piece of my heart into crimson ribbons and I die a little more on the inside. The only response this body makes is my eyes begin to dilate. Silently, I scream and scream as my mind sucks itself back to the scene of my nightmares. Where it all ended, and where my agony began.

California.

May 31, 1980

Dad had pushed Dianne out of her self-exiled stint of non-stop "Pac-Man" and we all ate on the beach. The picnic lunch—which Dad put together, because the results of Mom's skills as a cook could definitely be labeled "Hazardous Waste"—was a hit. Mom grumbled about not being able to help, but we all knew where those kinds of thoughts led: a one way ticket to listen to the choirs of Heaven. This was proven by our cat Spoof, who tragically died after he foolishly ate one of Mom's biscuits.

Let's not go into how all his fur fell out and his last agonized mews.

Poor Spoof.

After lunch, everyone left me to my ocean. A few hours later Mom walked over to my fashionably sunburned self.

"Come on babe, it's time to go back. You've been out here all day. I'm surprised you haven't turned into a prune with all the swimming you've done."

Sadly, I slowly emerged from the water and toweled my hair dry. A wicked idea crossed my mind and I grinned, squinted my eyes, and said, "Mom, remember when you joked that I should start to behave like a 'normal' teenager, not some old Grandma?"

Mom scrunched up her eyebrows.

"Yeah, what about it?"

An impish smile sailed smoothly over my face as I said, "I think I've found my inner rebellious teenager." Without any more warning, I grabbed a discarded sand bucket and threw the wet sandy contents over Mom's head, ruining her white tee-shirt.

There were a few seconds of silence. Then Mom, with precise, determined movements, wiped the sandy mud off of her face. She looked up, her chin raised in challenge. I dissolved into helpless giggles and ran into the water with a shout of, "You'll never take me alive!"

After the sun began to set, and an hour of fruitless attempts to catch me, Mom finally convinced me to go back to our rented beach house. It was only about a hundred yards away. And by "convinced me," I meant that she called out the big guns. She dared to use Daddy against me. He threw me over his shoulder and hightailed it to the beach house. I screeched "Kidnapping!" while I spanked his rear end in protest.

He dumped me next to Dianne on the couch who shouted "Hey!" She gave me what she thought was an "intimidating" look, but it only served to make her brunette, pig-tailed self, seem pouty. "Dad, don't just throw any kind of trash next to me!" Even if her words were rude, the amusement in her tone told a different story.

My face flushed because of all the laughter of my impromptu kidnapping and I was thoroughly drenched as well, thanks to Mom's revenge. I pointedly ignored Dianne until she once again became immersed in the wonders of "Pac-Man." Our parents bought her the first Atari game console and she was hooked. The moment was perfect for a sneak attack and I proceeded to tickle her senseless. A warm emotion filled my heart as we rough-housed. Dianne and I hadn't been able to bond like normal siblings due to my lengthy hospital stays, but I vowed that would soon change. I'd make the effort to get to know her better.

It happened a few hours later. A strange buzz began to flutter on the edge of my awareness, like when the inner ear hasn't popped yet. This bizarre kind of static electricity filled the air and drizzled over my skin, something in my body rose against it and left me slightly numb. Oddly, the feeling disappeared as fast as it came. Then the atmosphere became heavy, the lights flickered out, and all the electronics burst into showers of sparks and small explosions.

Five pops sounded. Men, who wore black cloaks that seemed to suck up the light around them, casually invaded our home. Their masks reminded me of Jason's mask in "Friday the Thirteenth." Everything happened so fast. Dad yelled for us to run as he cocked his hidden police pistol. The moonlight filtered through the sunroof, which allowed me and Dianne to watch in horror. We huddled together behind the love seat as they pointed strange sticks at him and he went down before he could even let off a shot. Mom grabbed a frying pan and managed to knock one unconscious before they got her too.

I picked up Dianne and ran towards the open bay window. The door was too far away and the window was our only option. We nearly reached it, only to be stopped and somehow thrown into a wall by an unseen force. My skull made impact with a loud crunch. Before I became completely unconscious, something tugged hard on my navel and I knew no more.

Three days later, I was found in England among the burnt ruins of ten square blocks, unburned, no identification, unresponsive and staked to the ground with metal posts through my hands and feet. Everything had been utterly destroyed. My physical pain couldn't even compare to the mental trauma I bore. I could only repeat in my mind, "All for me" or "My fault."

There really wasn't much point in speech then or now. What could I say that the Police would believe? How could I make them understand, when I didn't even understand it myself?