Hello, once again! We've officially reached the one/third point for Children of Elm Street. Now, things really begin to pick up, and in this interlude, we learn about what happened to Amy during her time inside Westin. Those who read my short story The Last Meal already have an idea of what happened, but here those events are told from Amy's perspective. Also, I'd like to take a moment to announce that my next story, Final Destination: Derailed, is coming along nicely and will see publication beginning in July or August (can't be more specific right now, but look for it around then). Until then, don't fall asleep...


INTERLUDE II

THE ASYLUM

The first thing I remembered when I woke up was attempting to open my eyes. My right eye opened just fine, but I had difficulty seeing out my left one. I tried to remedy this by blinking a couple times, but I still had no vision in the eye.

It was about then that I came to the realization that I had something covering the eye. I could feel it over my skin, and I instantly knew that the entire left side of my face was bandaged. I reached up and touched it with my fingers, and could feel every fiber of the bandages on my fingertips. I wanted so much to rip the bandages off, I began feeling around for the edge…

''Be careful with those bandages, sweetie,'' came a soft female voice.

I tried to speak back to her, but the instant I opened my mouth, I struggled to form words. I realized my mouth was bone dry, and figured I should ask for a drink.

''Wa… Water…'' My voice was dry and harsh, making any noises difficult. Fortunately, the nurse was apparently a step ahead of me and I quickly felt a refreshingly ice cold cup of ice water in my hand. I tried to lift it to my lips, but the nurse again stopped me.

''No, don't move. Hold still.'' She held up what looked like a rubber tube and placed one end in the drink and the other to my lips like a straw. I eagerly sucked in the ice cold water, like it was the first thing I'd had to drink in…

How long had I been out? It couldn't have been very long, could it? It felt like only a short time ago since I called Cameron. And after that... Did I fall asleep? What happened last night?

''Excuse me, nurse...'' I asked, my voice still weak. ''Where am I?''

''You're safe now,"'' she said rather vaguely. I wasn't satisfied with that answer.

''How am I safe?'' I asked her. ''Where exactly am I?'' I was becoming increasingly irritated, and I wanted answers. Why did I have a bandage on my face? Where was I? And why wasn't she telling me?

She walked over to the right side of the bed so I could see her properly, and she pushed the tube straw back to my lips. I was too dehydrated to push it away, so I took another long sip; the water tasted like nectar of the Gods, it was so delicious.

''What do you remember?'' she asked me. I started to reply, but I suddenly couldn't remember anything.

''I think… I remember calling my boyfriend, Cameron. And after that, I think there was water. I don't believe I was drowning, but…''

An image flashed in my head: I was drowning. In fact, I had drowned, I thought. I was lying on my bed and I felt myself become wet. My mattress suddenly turned into water, and I sank down into it like a stone. I had struggled against... I don't know. Something was keeping me underwater, despite all my struggling. I looked up and saw the surface, and desperately clawed and kicked my way towards it. But I just kept sinking deeper and deeper, and the water kept getting darker.

There was a laugh, evil and demonic. I then became aware that there was a hand on my ankle, dragging me down into the dark water. I was filled with fear, and I fought for my life to get back above water. But I inhaled, and my lungs filled with water; I stopped struggling and accepted the fate that awaited me.

My fingers broke the surface first, and I was suddenly filled with a second wind. Literally. All the water was gone from my lungs, and I jumped up and inhaled crisp, clean air. I thrashed about the water attempting to get to the sides of the bed.

When I did, I pulled myself over the side, and tumbled to the floor. Everything went black for a moment. I then remembered lying on the ground, my shirt ripped open, and a man straddled on top of me. He slashed at my arm with his hand, which was covered in four long and sharp claws, and sliced my arm open. I screamed and kicked at him, and he responded by swinging his gloved hand at my face.

''No, get off me!'' I screamed, but the nurse held me down tightly. I threw her off and sat up, leaping off the bed and bounding for a corner far away from the nurse. I had previously been unaware that I was attached to an I.V. drip, only finding out when I pulled the I.V. pole down with a crash near me and nearly yoinking the needle from my hand.

''I need help in here!'' the nurse screamed. I reached up and grabbed at the bandages and ripped them away. I knew now that I had both eyes open, but I couldn't see out my left eye! Why couldn't I see?

''I can't see!'' I screamed at the nurse, terrified out of my skin. ''Why can't I see?''

Suddenly, this enormous black man with a shaved head was on me, picking me up off the floor and wrestling me back to the bed.

''Calm down, you're alright!'' the nurse screamed at me. ''You're safe now; he can't get you.''

I felt a needle go into my arm, and I was overcome by a rather euphoric sensation all throughout my body. I stopped struggling physically, but still fought off unconsciousness with every ounce of will I had left. Which, as it turns out, wasn't much.

Nighty night…

A couple days later, I was standing in the same room as before, staring out the window at the yard. I had come to learn that the place was called Westin Hills Psychiatric Hospital. A fucking mental asylum.

The large black man who had wrestled me to the bed was an orderly named Max. He'd been here for well into three decades, and all the patients here seemed to love him. He was very kind and gentle with the other patients, most of whom were around my age.

I stared out the window and watched as a young girl ran across the yard towards a pair of adults I assumed were her parents. She embraced them both as Max came up behind her with a suitcase, her belongings I believe they were.

I heard footsteps come up behind me, and turned around. It was Dr. Gossard, a man who was older than my dad with a graying beard and balding hair. I had seen his name on many of my surgery papers.

After my episode, I was sedated and strapped down for twenty-four hours until they made certain I was no longer a threat to myself. During that time, Dr. Gossard had come in and explained to me what had happened. I was told that the four cuts on my arms required about ten stitches each, and that my face had also been sliced open as well. According to the medical reports, which Dr. Gossard actually let me read, much to my surprise, there had been four large gashes running in parallel from the top left side of my head down the left side of my face and ending at my chin.

I'd also suffered a small concussion after the attack, and had gone into seizures. It was pretty gruesome, and had sent me into a coma I stayed in for five days, though most of that was from the sedatives the doctors used during the surgery.

There were even pictures, which showed just how gnarly the attack really was. A couple of the cuts were so deep into my face that the blades had scratched into my skull. That had required more than two hundred stitches on my face alone.

The blade had also cut through my left eye, which was why I couldn't see when I ripped off the bandages the other day. According to Dr. Gossard, I'd never be able to see out of that eye again; however, he said that they could either leave it there or, if I wanted to look somewhat normal, they could remove it entirely and fit me with a glass eye. I decided to leave it.

I turned to face Dr. Gossard, who was holding a file in his hands.

''Your new room is ready,'' he said. He motioned for me to follow him down the hallway.

My new roommate was an older girl by the name of Karen. She'd already been here for nearly five years. While most kids were placed here voluntarily, some weren't. Karen wasn't. Some of the people here would get to go home. Karen wouldn't. Her parents had essentially abandoned her here when she was fourteen. When she turned 21, she would be considered a legal adult, and thus able to check herself out if her evaluations all came back good, but that was still two years away.

It was while I was rooming with Karen that I learned why we were all here: Freddy Krueger.

Freddy. The one I'd been having nightmares about. The one who gave me these scars. He was the reason we were all here.

Karen was one of the first friends I made at Westin Hills. She was an asthmatic, and required an inhaler at times. She was a sweet girl, and showed me around during those first several weeks. I wasn't allowed to call anyone during my first two weeks, as that was part of the 'isolation and observation' period, and she helped me through that by having me 'rehearse,' for lack of a better word, my first conversation with Cameron.

When I finally did manage to talk to Cameron, he was in utter shock. Apparently, he and the others believed I had died. Now, nobody had told him that was the case, but nobody had said otherwise, either, so I understood how that could be. But he was beyond happy to hear my voice. I swear he started to cry. Being able to call him and my parents every week or so made the next five months fly by quickly.

I didn't know how long I was going to be at Westin, but I thought it may not be so bad.

I was wrong. I was so wrong…

When I was in my coma, the doctors were putting this cocktail of drugs into my I.V. It was a mixture of normal sedatives, pain killers, muscle relaxers, the normal stuff. But I learned from Justine, our resident psychologist, that there was another drug called Hypnocil inside my drip. I asked what it was, half expecting some kind of non-answer, but she was razor straight with me: it was a dream suppressant.

The doctors at Westin knew about Freddy; they knew that he got to us through our dreams and had long ago developed a drug that could effectively stop dreaming. We don't dream, we don't die. It was brilliant.

Since I was comatose, it had to be given to me in the I.V. Now that I was awake, I just took one pill at lights out and that was it. We were all free to sleep in peace.

Except Karen. Karen had been here longer than anybody else. She had taken Hypnocil longer than anybody else. It didn't occur to anybody what happens when you take a pill for so long: you develop a tolerance for it, and it eventually doesn't work for you anymore.

Karen had become immune to the effects of Hypnocil.

I heard the whimpering and moaning, and knew what was going on before I even opened my eyes. I sat up in my bed and looked over at my roommate; even in the darkness, I could see Karen was having another nightmare.

For the last few weeks, she had been sleeping restlessly, the nightmares increasing in intensity and frequency. I wanted to tell Max what was happening, but Karen was insisting I keep it secret.

As I watched her fidget underneath her sheets, she suddenly sat bolt upright in her bed, tossing off the white sheets, which were now soaked through with sweat. Her breathing was shallow and ragged. She tried to steady her as she reached around on the floor around her bed and grasped at her inhaler. She put the device to her lips and inhaled two puffs of the albuterol sulfate before coughing hard at the taste of the medication.

''Another nightmare, Karen?'' I asked her. She seemed startled by me, but quickly calmed down.

''Yeah, it was another one,'' Karen said as she put the inhaler back on the floor. She took a deep breath and exhaled heavily. ''They're getting worse, Amy.''

''Where did you go this time?'' I asked.

''Into some sort of diner, the Crave Inn,"'' Karen said. ''He chased me into the kitchen.''

''Well what happened in there?'' I don't know why, but I was itching to hear the details.

''It started with me standing in the middle of a road. I look both ways and the road leads nowhere; it just goes on and on forever, in both directions. Across the street is the diner. I walk in; there are just two people in there: this guy with headphones in his ears and the cook. And the cook, he turns into that monster, the same one from all my other dreams.''

I hadn't told Karen that I used to dream about the same monster, but I think she knew; the scars on my face, which were at that point stitch-free, were something of a dead giveaway.

''Wow, this is getting serious,'' I was clearly concerned. ''Maybe you need to talk to Max.''

''No,'' Karen said, her voice beginning to break. ''If I tell Max, then he'll tell Justine, and she'll recommend to Dr. Gossard that I be moved to isolation. Again...''

''Maybe that's what you need, babe,'' I told her.

''No, it's not. For some reason, they get worse whenever I go into the isolation room.''

''Where is the isolation room?'' I inquired asked. ''I've never seen it, and I've been here nearly six months.''

''It's up there,'' Karen said, her voice shaky. ''In the tower."'' Karen nodded towards the barred window. I looked through the bars and up to the five-story tower that stood tall over the rest of the Westin Hills complex. It wasn't illuminated, like the rest of the building. Instead, it stood dark, somehow well defined, against the cloudy night sky. A shiver ran through my spine as I looked at it.

''I can see why,'' I commented. ''Something just doesn't add up, though,'' I added as I propped my head up with my arm as I lay on the bed. ''You haven't dreamed at all since you've been here. And now all of a sudden, you have nightmares about him for a week straight. I mean, why would they start up now?''

"''I'm not sure, Amy,'' Karen said. ''But I don't think I even want to go back to sleep.''

"''But you need your beauty sleep,'' I joked. ''Do you think maybe you've developed a tolerance to the Hypnocil?''

I looked over at Karen for a response, but she was just staring wide-eyed at me, like I had a third arm growing out of my forehead.

''What's wrong, Karen? You look like you've just seen a ghost.''

Karen still didn't respond, but her face was suddenly filled with terror; she was taking quick, shallow breaths, almost like she was having another asthma attack.

''Karen?'' I called. ''Karen, baby, snap out of it.'' I stood up and walked over to Karen and grabbed her inhaler off the floor, about to give her a couple puffs from it.

Suddenly, she flopped backwards onto the bed and started convulsing. I dropped the inhaler in surprise and began pounding on the door.

''Max! Dr. Gossard! Help!''

There was a loud beeping and the door flung open! Max charged in like the cavalry and ran over to Karen's bed. He pinned her down to the bed and placed his hands on her face to stop her from giving herself a concussion.

''What happened?'' Max asked me. I was sobbing uncontrollably at this point, but I think I managed a response something along the lines of, ''I don't fucking know.''

''Go find Dr. Gossard and tell him-'' Max didn't say anything else because at that moment, my face was suddenly covered in what felt like spit, perhaps vomit.

I wiped the spittle from my face and looked down at my hands; they were red. Blood red.

I was covered in Karen's blood.

I screamed. That's all I could do was scream. I looked at Karen's body on the bed, which was busted open like an overfilled balloon, and I kept screaming. Her insides were outside of her, the white sheets dyed red with her blood and intestines. Her lungs had turned into mush, but her heart was still beating. I watched it beat ever slower and slower, until finally, it stopped.

I backed away from Karen, into the corner, where I dropped to my knees, curled up into the fetal position, and cried until someone stuck a needle in my arm and shot me up with a sedative, and I fell asleep.

Everyone in Westin knew about Karen's death by the time breakfast came around the next morning. I don't know how I knew, because I slept through it. Max was the one who brought me breakfast, though he had broken protocol to do so by going out and getting me a McDonalds biscuit. He sat on the bed with me while I ate, and tried to get me to talk to him. I don't remember what he said, but I remember leaning on him and crying my eyes out. Again…

It was three months before I said another word to anybody other than my parents or Max. I hardly moved from my bed at all except to go eat in the mess hall. I didn't want to stay here any longer than I had to. The first chance I got, I called my parents and told them what had happened and that I wanted to come home. They said they would come pick me up as soon as they could. But they never came.

I called them back every week, and they always said that I could come home soon. But they still never came. Eventually, they stopped answering when I called. And finally, twenty months after Karen's death, I got a recording saying the number had been disconnected. I'd been abandoned, just like Karen. I was going to rot here, and I was going to end up just like Karen. Dead in a fucking mental asylum.

I cried again.

One year later, I got my first and only visitor.

She said she was going to get me out of here. That I was finally going to come home.

I asked her name.

''Alice Johnson.''

Proceed to next chapter...