March 1918

I woke with a start. Had I heard something? I was balled up, shivering in the corner of my smelly straw mattress with the itchy wool blanket wrapped around me.

I heard it again: a key turning in the lock of my door.

The door creaked open and a nurse walked in; she was large, wore a disinterested expression, and appeared authoritative. "Come with me," she demanded, "We've got to get you cleaned up."

This news baffled me. I was probably the cleanest thing in the room. But I got up anyway. She seemed like the kind of woman who didn't take argument well.

She marched me down the long hallway, back toward the large entrance, and into a large steamy room. I was instantly grateful. It would be nice to soak in some warm water and fight off the chills from last night.

"This way," my nurse barked. She was leading me towards a strange chair. There was a medical-looking tray next to it with... scissors... and clippers.

"What?" I asked, baffled.

"I need to shear ya."

I just shook my head, backing away slowly. I must have misunderstood her. That was the only explanation.

"Get your skinny arse in that chair or I'll have to strap you down in it!"

"You're going to cut my hair?" I gasped.

She just rolled her eyes and lurched at me.

Before I knew it we were in an all-out wrestling match. I kicked and screamed and tried to drag myself away. If I could just get free, I thought, I'd make a run for it. I didn't care that I was only wearing a thin nightgown and was miles away from anywhere.

"No! No, I won't let you! Get away from me!" I screeched.

"I need some assistance!" the nurse called. Two more nurses came in and I was overpowered. They forced me - screaming and crying, -into the chair and strapped my arms, legs, and chest down with leather restraints. The two new nurses held my head still while the large one snipped my long hair close to my scalp with scissors. Then she took the shears and clipped the rest off. I felt the cold metal pressing against my scalp followed by the cool air. When she was finished the two assistant nurses released me. My head felt oddly light. I wasn't struggling any more. I just sat there, letting sobs shake through me while tears streamed down my cheeks.

"Clean this up while I get her to the tub," the larger nurse instructed the two assistants.

She took me by the arm and dragged me to the other side of the room where a large bathtub waited. I looked back and saw all my beautiful long black hair lying in a pile on the floor.

I wasn't even allowed to bathe alone. The fat nurse stripped off my gown and helped me into the water. She lathered up a sponge and began scrubbing me, but I was too miserable to care very much.

When I was "clean" she helped me out of the tub, toweled me off, and gave me a fresh gown to wear.

She walked me out of the room and was taking me somewhere new when a voice stopped us.

"That's all right Miss Margaret. I'll take Miss Brandon from here."

It was not the voice I was hoping for. An old man was approaching us. He was short, almost as short as I was, and very thin. His face and neck were creased with countless lines and wrinkles, his head nearly bald except for a ring of white hair just above his neck and around his ears.

"This one can be a bit feisty, sir," the nurse, Miss Margaret, warned.

"Ah, you'll be a good girl for me, won't you Miss Brandon?" he asked.

I just nodded. My dejection was slowly turning into a cold hatred of this place and everything in it. But I could promise not to attack this old man at least.

"All right, then." He held out his arm for me and Miss Margaret watched us carefully, ready to intervene if need be.

I took his arm, feeling a little sick at the contact. I was pretty sure I didn't want to have anything to do with the doctor after what I'd been through so far.

"Where are we going?" I asked quietly, trying not to let the hatred seep into my voice.

"There is someone here to see you," he answered.

Instantly my mood shifted. It was my family! Maybe Father had come to see that I was settled in? Maybe It was Mother? Maybe Dee was with them? I could ask them to take me out of this place! We would take my trunk and leave immediately. My hair would grow back eventually and all this would be just a horrible nightmare!

"How are you finding your accommodations?" the doctor asked.

My mood was so much lighter that I was actually willing to speak to him.

"I honestly don't care for my room much. It was very cold last night. Also my mattress smells bad. And there isn't anything to do. And I haven't eaten since yesterday morning so I'm very hungry."

"I'm sorry your room isn't to your liking." He sounded sort of detached, like he hadn't really been paying attention. "I'll see what we can do to make it better for you. Ah, here we are."

We arrived at a room and Dr. Gorton opened the door for me. I rushed in only to skid to a stop when I saw who was in there.

There was a rectangular table with two chairs, one on either side. The chair nearest the door was empty. In the other sat a large man with a dark complexion, dark eyes, dark hair and a mustache. He seemed to be about in his fifties. He looked vaguely familiar.

The man looked at me then raised an eyebrow to the doctor.

"This is the girl?" he asked in a deep voice that I recognized. The same voice that had been with the doctor's that morning when he was discussing having me brought here with my parents. It seemed so long ago.

"Yes, of course," The doctor answered. "I would appreciate it if you kept this visit brief. She had only been here less than a day and the whole thing can be quite traumatic."

"I'll be the judge of how long my visits are to be," the big man snapped. He motioned for the doctor to leave. When we were alone he looked at me again.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" he asked me as I sat in the chair across from him.

"Not really."

"That is unfortunate. My name is Mr. Matranga. You may consider me your patron in this hospital."

"I already know it's not a hospital." I scowled, refusing to feel threatened.

"Clever girl." He smiled, but it was a sinister smile. "I'm here to see you because you have something that might be useful to me."

I stared at him blankly for a moment. I didn't have anything anymore. Everything had been taken from me. What could he want?

"The last time I saw you, you saved a colleague of mine from being poisoned. You remember this?"

Then I remembered where I'd seen him before. That night, right before Mr. Carlotta had left the table he'd caught the eye of another man. They'd exchanged a meaningful look. This man, Mr. Matranga, had been at the hotel that night!

"Yes, I remember."

"I want you to help me. It seems you can know things that are going to happen. I want you to tell me what you see, everything. You will be... my oracle." He smiled greedily. "In exchange, I will make sure you are very comfortable, you will want for nothing. You want nice food, it's yours; beautiful dresses, they're yours; lavish furnishings, jewels, anything you want, it's all yours."

I scowled at him. "And if I refuse?"

He scowled back. "I'm sure you have been here long enough to know how unpleasant it can be. You would not want to spend the rest of your days here, alone, would you?"

"My family will come for me," I challenged, "When I tell them I want to go home they won't let you keep me here."

"Ah, my dear." Mr. Matranga smiled and shook his head as if he were embarrassed for my slowness. "Your family will not come for you."

"Of course they will! They didn't dump me here to get rid of me!"

"They won't come for you because you are dead."

This stunned me for a moment. I felt like I couldn't make my voice work, so I just stared at him.

"That's right." He smirked. "You died yesterday. The doctor was attempting a dangerous experimental treatment. There was a tragic accident and you lost your life. They should be receiving the news shortly."

"But... You can't!" I wailed, tears beginning to trickle.

"I can. I already have. Very conveniently there was a fatality here the day before yesterday, so we have a body to bury. All the paperwork is drawn up. I will, of course, provide for a very nice funeral. And your family will have no reason to visit this dark place."

"Why are you doing this to me?" I wailed.

"I already told you," he answered. "It is not my intention for you to suffer. I'm sure I can make you quite happy, if given the chance."

"Telling the people I love that I'm dead does not make me happy!" I sobbed.

"What's done is done," he said, in an offhand tone. Then he just silently watched me weep for a minute. "It appears that you may need time to consider my offer," he said when I didn't immediately accept the proposal. He stood and lumbered towards the door.

"And, of course, this must all be very traumatic for you," he added as he stepped out. "It would be best to keep our first visit brief."

When he walked out the doctor came in.

"Now, my dear," the doctor said, barely noticing that I was crying. "I hope that wasn't too much for you. Mr. Matranga is an intimidating man, but he is funding your treatment and a good deal more. So it's best to let him have his visits."

I was beyond responding. I just followed him lamely, thinking and crying. There had to be something I could do.