STOP—do not read further without reading this first. Stop and try to remember if you read chapter 7. Go now and check to see that you did. I don't want anyone to be confused. The site was being very weird for a couple weeks. I could access the last chapter through the link in the stats section of my login page, but if I just went there normally, it wasn't there for a while. It kept showing that "file not found", or whatever it is, thing. It also didn't show changes I made to my profile for a while. But now it all seems to be working fine. However, since I got such an uncharacteristically few number of reviews and hits, I suspect other people had problems as well. So go check to make sure you read it. And then once you're sure, continue on with the new stuff.



Things Lost

1918
Natchez, Mississippi
Alice
is 17 years old.

I awake to confusion, to find my body leaned forward, hanging loosely in leather restraints, but not to any idea of how I came to be here. My eyes dart frantically about in their sockets, trying to make sense of this unfamiliar room filled with unfamiliar people. My mind is heavy and clouded.

A beautiful dark haired man unfastens the restraints and pulls me to my feet. It does not occur to me to work the required muscles to stand, and as soon as he lets go I collapse gracelessly to the floor. Two shorter, thicker men come forward and I am grabbed roughly under the armpits and brought once more to my feet. I notice a fourth man, quietly observing in the corner, eyes on his clipboard. He looks up impatiently, and without explanation, exits the room.

The two men propel me forwards, half-dragging me out a second door into a narrow hallway. I can't seem to keep my attention on anything. One moment the door is closing behind me and the next another opens before me—though I am positive time elapsed between the two events.

This new room is unfamiliar as well, and much more unpleasant. Time skips about alarmingly. The light is stained orange from the sunset, yet minutes earlier it was bright with afternoon sunshine.

Eventually I sleep.


Things are marginally less foggy in the morning. I don't have much time to mull this over because minutes later—or was it hours?—the door opens and the same dark haired man from the day before enters uninvited.

"Good morning Mary Alice," he greets me pleasantly. But I am more interested in the name: Mary Alice. I feel no sense of surprise, yet neither can I recall acknowledging any name since I awoke yesterday. I can't be certain I knew it until the words left his lips. I wonder about his name. Do I know it? Nothing comes to mind, yet I now feel certain that I do know this man. Perhaps it will come back as a reflex.

"Good morning, uhhhmmm…" I trail off, my attempt clearly a failure. "Sorry, I can't seem to remember it just now. But I know I should know it."

"No need to apologize Mary, some temporary memory loss is to be expected. Most of it should come back."

Something struck a chord within me and I spoke out, not knowing the reason for my protest. "It's not Mary. Call me Alice."

He looked at me in curiosity. "You've never told me that before. Can you remember why you want me to call you Alice?"

I struggled, though it was much easier to concentrate now than it had been the night before. "It… someone named…Otto. Yes, I'm certain that's it. He… that's what he called me."

"Was he your father?"

I shook my head.

"Well how about your family? Can you tell me anything about them? What do you remember?"

I scrunch my eyes shut in concentration. At first nothing comes, and I become frustrated. Then a tiny figment of a memory surfaces, "Cynthia. My sister. She had whooping cough and almost died. But I knew…" I trailed off suddenly, remembering the need for secrecy a moment after remembering the incident itself. To distract him, I carry on with the first thing I get a concrete grasp on. "Now I remember, Otto Norton was my best friend. But only for a month. That was when…that was when the men came." Suddenly the pieces were all fitting together, "The men who took me to The Natchez Asylum." The connections were reforming and information was gradually becoming available to me again. But every victory was a struggle.


My treatments continued biweekly for the next six weeks. The confusion afterwards never lessened, though I was often aware of what had just transpired, even though I could not recall the exact event.

The memory loss was unpredictable. Sometimes I retained almost everything and the rest came back on its own a few hours afterwards. But other times I could barely remember my name, and it would take days to reconstruct everything. And then some fragments disappeared for extended periods—Otto was entirely absent from my mind for three weeks before I managed to uncover him again—and I had the lurking suspicion that quite a few things were lost altogether.

The last session of that sixth week was particularly bad. It had taken the better part of a week to regain any semblance of my past and I was beyond pushing the limits of my patience. I looked over at the doctor, standing in front of me, prodding me incessantly with questions about a life he now knew more about than I did. And then something inside me snapped.

So instantaneous was the change in my mood that he must have been taken entirely by surprise when I suddenly lunged forward, my body crashing into his. My fists barreled into his hard, unforgiving chest and my throat expelled wordless growls of anger.

"Damn you, you're taking everything. My future has already been stolen; I'm already damned to rot in this godforsaken place."

The punches slowed and the force behind them weakened until I was only going through the motions, my anger subsiding and giving way to frustration.

"Isn't that enough? Must you strip me of my past as well? That was the only thing I had left." My voice dripped with desperation and on the last word I smacked the heel of my hand against him with all my strength.

I felt cool hands on my bare arms, and with a gentle yet impossibly firm grip, he lifted my body from its proximity to his own and placed me back on my bed, sufficiently putting an end to my siege.

For a moment he was silent, his face hard and emotionless.

"I think that will be all for today Alice."

Then he turned, and without so much as another word, left me alone in the dark.


The next morning Dr. Bolivar poked his head in to announce that my formal treatment session was over, but that I would have continuation ECT to prevent relapse. They would start off at once every three months and then, after monitoring my progress, adjust the length apart as needed. Personally I had no idea how they were going to tell how much progress I was making because, as I had expected, my strange premonitions had not deviated in the slightest for their usual behavior. And either way, it wasn't as if I had been telling the doctors about them to begin with.

I reached for my notebook, craving distraction. But when I tried to grasp the pen I felt a sharp pain and dropped it; my hands were throbbing. Each movement of my fingers was painful. I held them up into the small patch of light and was surprised to find purple bruises on my knuckles and the heel of my right hand. Strange… I did not remember feeling any pain at the time.

Several hours after sunset, Dr. Everton appeared in my room. I was unsure how to act around him after my outburst the previous day. Should I offer an explanation? An apology? I could not truthfully apologize for my actions. It was more that I was embarrassed to have shown such emotion, especially while he maintained a cool façade throughout the affair. I decided I would follow his lead, not mentioning it unless he brought it up first.

"How are you feeling this evening Alice?" he asked in his soft voice.

"Better," I said, answering honestly.

"Let's see…I wonder if sleep has coaxed out those elusive memories. Think back to your family. I want you to describe as much as you can about any serious illnesses or injuries you remember." So it seemed we would be continuing with out usual routine. Well that was fine with me. As for his question, it shouldn't be too hard. A big event like that would surely have made enough impact to be easily retrievable. And sure enough, after only a few seconds, one came to me.

"A heart attack. Father had a heart attack the day I was taken to The Nat. I found him on the floor and called the hospital. Mother was mad; she thought it was my fault. But Otto helped me. That was the last day I saw him. The men came that evening and they dragged me through the house. I yelled out for Mother, I know she was home, but she didn't answer me."

"Very good. Is there anything else you remember?"

I searched the vast, chaotic expanses of my mind, but I could come up with nothing. I shook my head.

"Think hard now." But it was useless. There was nothing.

He sighed in defeat and I knew that I had missed something.

"What about whooping cough?" I waited for the familiar wave of recognition at the words, but none came. I wrinkled my forehead in confusion. The memories had always flooded back upon his reminders before.

"I…I still don't remember it."

"That is disconcerting indeed. I did warn you that there would probably be some permanent damage."

"I know. But still, it might…" I trailed off abruptly. My eyes and mouth widened as knowledge rippled through me. Not a forgotten memory, no this was new knowledge, acquired suddenly in that moment.

I found myself unable to breathe. My diaphragm expanded and retracted, but the air would not suck down.

After a minute of sheer panic, it returned in a rough gasp. My knees curled up into my chest, and my hands lifted to cradle my forehead.

"No, no, no, no, no."

His silky hands grabbed onto my shoulders and he shook me gently. "Alice?" I pulled my head out from the shelter of my knees and found his obsidian eyes staring questioningly into mine.

"Stella is dead," I managed to choke out. Hearing the words spoken aloud somehow made it final. But then again, it might not even be final. I could feel that it was close, but if he left now…"Or at least she will be soon." I looked straight into his eyes, trying to convey my desperation so he would understand the seriousness of my request. "You have to go…there might still be time. Please."

He had the strangest expression on his face. Like I had suddenly grown a second head and he was trying to figure out exactly how it had happened without him noticing. But then he gave his head a shake to clear it and nodded.

"Alright." Then he turned and left the room. I silently thanked him for not wasting time with stupid questions. It was a quality he shared with Otto, I proudly remembered.

Once he was gone, all I could do was wait.


His was gone no more than an hour, and when he reappeared I already knew what he was going to say.

"She was alive when I got there. It couldn't have happened more than a few minutes before. I rushed her to the emergency wing, but…" he was shaking his head.

"She didn't survive the ride," I stated. He nodded, that strange expression creeping back onto his face. "What happened?" I needed to know.

"She fell." But from what? "Alice, did Stella ever tell you why she was committed?"

"No. It never really came up."

"Well, it wasn't just her penchant for rhyming, I can assure you. Her parents never knew what was wrong with her, but almost every night they would awake to her screams as she was terrified by some unseen being. She would not respond to their pleas and sometimes shook with convulsions. They thought she was possessed by the devil, so they sent her to us. I was only Dr. Bolivar's assistant then, so I was there to see her diagnosed as suffering from night terrors. It is something that is not very well understood, so we kept her here. And of course, you have probably noticed other things off with her as well. I should also mention that not every room in this facility is identical. Some of the older rooms, like Stella's, have loft beds from when patients used to share rooms." He paused, seemingly unsure whether or not to go on. But I refused to let him stop now.

"I need to know."

"A week ago, there was a loose board in her room, and two days ago someone went in to fix it. It seems they left several unused nails behind on the floor—and Stella, being Stella, had them all lined up in a neat little row facing point up. Then last night she had an especially bad seizure and fell… head first. I think you can guess the rest."

"I think so."

"Now, Alice. I think it's time you told me what's really going on. Why have you been misleading me for the past three years? And what truth are you covering up?" Dr. Everton was blunt and to the point. Yet he was looking at me with the most intense curiosity, and it was a strange thing to see on his usually impassive face.

"I'll start with the Why; that's easy enough. The only people who ever really had any idea, were my parents. You've seen for yourself how that turned out. They did send me here after all. As for the What, I wouldn't tell you at all but I gather you've already drawn your conclusions. But you have no more evidence than they did. I wonder where you will send me."

His eyes softened. "Alice, I am not going to send you anywhere. You must understand that I am not your parents, and will not behave in the same manner. There are some of us in this world that appreciate the extraordinary."

I looked at him skeptically. "You must understand…" he trailed off for a moment, as if reconsidering his intended course, "You have to understand that you are not the only extraordinary one." He looked at me significantly, and now it was my turn to examine at him with that strange, calculating expression. His hesitance and something in his tone made me realize that he had no intention to explain this statement. So I did not ask.

"You are not frightened then?" He was taken aback by my question. He gave a short laugh and muttered something too quiet for me to hear.

"Frightened? No, I'm fascinated." I could see the sincerity in his words written clearly across his face. "I'll come back tomorrow, but it's nearly midnight and you need to sleep."

"Goodnight then."

"Sweet dreams, Alice."


A/N- By the way, if anyone is interested in more information about shock treatments, I found the Wikipedia article quite informative. Or if you're wondering where I got my information, much of it came from that site. I know I looked at a few others as well. But the exact descriptions and the nature of the memory loss were my own creation and so I do not know exactly how close they are to reality, since I did not read any personal accounts or anything.

Well thanks to the few of you who did review. I'm about to go start the next chapter right now, so hopefully it won't take long.

but in the meantime, feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraging.