Disclaimer-As every other chapter of every other one of my stories, I don't own a thing. The only things that I do own are my ideas, my mind, and my computer.
A/N-This is the sequel to my other story She Destroys with Another, so if you haven't read that, I can guarantee that you will not understand this story. This is just a warning: If you haven't read the prologue to this, you should do so.
Chapter One
Washington Psychiatric Hospital
Patient Information:
Number: SM015
Name: Keller, Rachel B.
DOB: 6/15/76
Date Registered: 11/08/03
*Found in car on side of road in Illinois
Problem: Patient never sleeps
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Rachel Keller stared up at the blinding-white ceiling; the black circles under her eyes were so vivid that they appeared to be a dark blue. "Aiden," she mumbled, "don't worry baby, I'll find you."
Doctor Murphy watched Rachel through the observation glass and listened to what she was saying. "'Aiden,'" he repeated, scribbling the name down in a small, yellow notebook. "Have we discovered who this Aiden she keeps referring to is?"
Dr. Murphy's colleague, Dr. Emerson, looked away from Rachel to respond. "Yes. Ms. Keller's sister, Ruth, told us that Aiden was her son, but no one knows where his whereabouts are at this time."
"Have we assembled a search team and notified the police about his being missing?"
"Yes we have. So far, there have been only a few very . . . how do I put this? . . . odd results."
Dr. Murphy looked up from his notebook and raised his eyebrow. "'Odd'?" he repeated. "How do you mean?"
"Well, about a week ago, there was a death of a teenage boy. The strange part about the teenager's death was that there was no act of violence; the boy's heart simply stopped, and apparently his face was . . . unnaturally deformed.
"Now, there was a girl with the boy when he died. She was found in the corner of a closet; she was absolutely terrified, and when she was found, she was mumbling something, and whenever she was questioned, she always responded the same way."
"And what way is that?" asked Dr. Murphy, beginning to believe that this story was simply some rumor that his co-worker heard about.
"'They never sleep. They'll never stop. SM . . . AK . . .' And then, she'd go into a horrible shock and begin screaming."
Dr. Murphy shook his head. "Lou, I don't know where you got this story from, but it sounds a little far-fetched. Besides, how does this relate to that Aiden kid?"
"Aiden Keller; 'AK,'" replied Dr. Emerson, matter-of-factly. "Now this story does seem a little strange, but it does relate Ms. Rachel Keller and AK. Every day, when I go in to talk to her, she always says 'They never sleep, so I'll never sleep. Samara has him. I have to find him. This is out on a limb, of course, but that 'S' in the 'SM' could stand for Samara as in Samara Morgan from the Morgan ranches all those years ago."
Dr. Murphy shook his head in pity at his colleague, smiling. Dr. Emerson was still so young, so full of energy. He could be conned into believing anything.
A scream broke through the air as Dr. Murphy began to turn away from the observation window. He turned back around to find Rachel curled up in a ball in the corner of the room. "This is the forth time this month," he groaned, unlocking the door to Rachel's room and rushing across the floor to her side.
He kneeled down next to her. "Rachel, are you okay? What's wrong?"
Rachel did not look at him, but pulled her knees even closer to her chest. "It's happening again . . ."
"What is?"
"The little girl . . . Aiden . . ."
Dr. Murphy felt a wave of confusion surge through his stomach. He had never asked Rachel what had been wrong the past three times she had began screaming, and now he felt that he needed to know. "What about them?"
"The tape . . . a woman watched it . . . seven days today . . . they're coming . . ."
"Who's coming?"
"Samara and Aiden; they're coming . . . Dr. Murphy, please make this stop!" Rachel burst into tears and collapsed on the floor on her right side before screaming once again.
"Rachel, I can't help you unless you tell me what to do." Dr. Murphy looked down helplessly at the woman on the floor, who was shrieking in horror.
Rachel acted as if she did not hear him. "They . . . they . . ." Her breathing slowed, and she regained calmness. "They're done," she said, breathlessly. "The woman is dead."
Later That Day . . .
"She said that Samara and Aiden killed a woman?!" asked Dr. Emerson, loudly.
"Shh! Yes, and I think that you may be right about her and the relations to the past three deaths," replied Dr. Murphy.
"Frank, you don't know that. Besides, I was just kidding around. That Samara girl is just a rumor. There's no need to get all worked up about it."
"Oh no? Look at what is on the news." Dr. Murphy picked up a remote and changed to channel three, where a Cindy Cashton was reporting in an apartment.
"This breaking news story occurred about three hours ago, police believe. A woman was killed in her bedroom this very day. There were no witnesses, except for a young couple next door who heard some strange noises through the walls. They described the noises as 'static, water, and a small yell of pain.' They did not want to interfere, so they did not notify police until hours later, when the woman did not show up at their apartment, as they had planned.
"While the cause of death is unknown, the police say that the body appeared to have been severely burned, although there are no burn marks on the body. This is the forth of unusual deaths around the country. Similar cases arouse a few months prior, such as a Noah Clay, as well as a few high school students whose parents would like them to remain nameless. The causes of death are all similar: their hearts seemed to have simply stopped. We will keep you updated as we receive more information. This is Cindy Cashton reporting, Channel 3 News, Washington."
Dr. Murphy turned off the television and turned around to face Dr. Emerson, who was staring at the television, his mouth agape. "Do you really think that they're connected to Rachel?"
"I really don't know, Lou. Maybe we should try to talk to Rachel about it."
Dr. Murphy and Dr. Emerson stood up from their table and walked towards Rachel's room. They looked through the observation window. Rachel was sitting on her bed, staring at the ceiling with her blood-shot eyes. From what the doctors could see, her lips were moving, as if she was praying, or simply talking to herself.
Dr. Murphy unlocked the door and entered the room. He sat on the bed beside Rachel. She slowly turned her head to look at him.
"Rachel, we have some questions for you, is that okay with you?" Dr. Murphy asked.
Rachel stared at him, a lost look in her eyes, for a few seconds, before nodding her head slowly. "Okay," began Dr. Murphy, taking a quick glance at Dr. Emerson, who was watching them through the glass. "Now, you know that woman that you said died earlier today? How did you know that she had died?"
Rachel opened her mouth, but closed it almost immediately. She opened her mouth again, emitting a small whimper. "She showed me . . . like Rebecca told me."
"Who's Rebecca?"
"She's-she's a girl who . . . who was with my niece, Katie . . . the night Samara killed her."
"Samara killed her, too?"
"Y-yes. Because Katie watched the tape-that's why she killed her. She wanted to be heard. Noah died because I was wrong. Aiden's gone because I was wrong. M-my fault." Rachel arose from the bed. "IT'S ALL MY FAULT!" she shrieked, beginning to tear away at her hair. "AIDEN, COME BACK! P-please, come back . . . I'm so sorry."
Dr. Murphy watched as Rachel dissolved into tears, and began to wrench at her hair, screaming aloud, not from pain, but from utter melancholy. "M-my fault . . . this is my entire fault. I-I shouldn't be here. I should be out there, looking for my son!" She spun around, and ran at Dr. Murphy. As she threw her arms around his torso, Rachel began to hiccup. "Dr. Murphy, please, let me leave this place. I have to find my son. I don't care if I die; I just have to see him again." She squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear erupting and gliding down her face. "Please," she whispered. "Let me go."
Dr. Murphy, who had remained silent while Rachel had been thrashing about, took a deep breath. "Rachel," he began, pushing her away from him and holding her by her shoulders. "I can't just let you leave. You're under medication and you need to be observed so that we can figure out what's wrong with you."
Rachel jerked away from Dr. Murphy's grasp. "Don't speak to me like a child, Dr. Murphy. I don't 'need to be observed.' You can easily find another test subject for your college students to use as an essay thesis. I'm not insane; I'm just a good mother."
"Rachel," breathed Dr. Murphy, attempting to keep his temper. "We have many police officers looking for your son, and I would appreciate not being talked to in that fashion by a patient. We're just trying to help you!"
"'Help me?'" repeated Rachel, astonished. "I wasn't aware that you were here to 'help me.' The last I checked, you were forcing food down my throat and shoving needles into my arm. Samara was right; this is worse than death."
"There is no Samara, Rachel. She is simply a figment of your imagination. We've been over this. Samara is your way of getting all blame off of yourself."
"Bullshit!" screamed Rachel. "What was I doing just a few minutes ago? Oh, right! I was blaming myself for getting my ex-boyfriend killed, and letting Samara take my son!"
"Rachel, 'Samara' did not take your son. You lost him after you ran off of the road in Illinois and fell unconscious. I don't blame you for not remembering, seeing as how you were thrown into the back seat, obviously from not wearing your seatbelt."
"Is this how you treat all of your patients?!" shouted Rachel. "Do you treat them all like some science project? Everyone here is a person, not a lab rat!"
Dr. Murphy stood up, over sizing Rachel by almost a foot. "Do not speak to me that way. I think that it is time for your medicine." He beckoned for Dr. Emerson to come inside with the needle.
Dr. Emerson entered the room, carrying the needle behind his back. Dr. Murphy grabbed Rachel by the arms and slammed her onto the bed. "Now," he said, teeth gritted. "This won't hurt a bit."
Rachel struggled a bit, and Dr. Murphy placed his knee on her back, to keep her down. Dr. Emerson kneeled beside her, and revealed the four-inch needle from his back.
Rachel's eyes widened as the needle neared her arm. As it pierced the skin, she screamed out in pain. As the needle was slowly pulled out, a drip of blood slid down her arm . . .down to her elbow, where it hung over the ground, watching . . . waiting . . .
Dr. Murphy took his knee off of Rachel's back and stood upright, grinning wickedly. Rachel relaxed and the two doctors left the room. She lifted her head just in time to see Dr. Murphy, still smiling, wink at her, before he disappeared from sight.
Rachel did not move. Everything seemed to have stopped; time, life . . . everything. The room was dead silent; Rachel's ears were ringing from the silence that had taken over everything.
The drop of blood fell from her arm and plummeted down to the floor. As it hit the cold, steel floor, Rachel heard a faint splish.
The sound caused her heart to skip a beat as Samara's horrid face appeared in her mind. 'Is this what Samara went through?' Rachel thought, sitting up on the bed once again. 'Why didn't she just kill me? Will she ever give me my son back?' All of these thoughts ran through her mind about a thousand times, each with the same answer: "I don't know." Rachel wanted desperately to know, but had a feeling that she never would. She hid her face in her hands, not knowing what to do.
Some time passed before Rachel looked up. She felt dizzy, sick. She was not hungry, that she knew for sure. She rubbed at her temple, wondering, 'What was that medication they gave me? I've never seen it before.' The medication she usually took was to simply calm her down, because of her frequent 'panic attacks.'
Rachel felt nauseous; her stomach heaved in and out as she collapsed on the floor. Her heart began to race . . . sweat appeared on her temple, sliding down her face and falling on the floor . . .
Splish. . .
A chill was sent up her spine and she shuddered, hugging her abdomen tightly. "Oh, God . . ." she whimpered as a shooting pain was sent throughout her stomach. Tears of pain sprang into her eyes. The pain was nearly unbearable; it was as though the injection needle was being pressed into her stomach over and over again.
She gritted her teeth together as she slowly pulled up her pale-grey t-shirt that the psychiatric hospital had given her. She fell immediately ill at the sight of her abdomen; it was horribly bruised around the spots where her old medication had been delivered. She had never looked at the injection sites before.
Rachel yanked her t-shirt down and let her eyes drift to her arm, where Dr. Emerson had injected the medication not five minutes ago; the spot was swollen and red. She placed her index finger lightly over the red skin. It stung so terribly that Rachel began to blow cool air on it.
Rachel sat up and looked around the room. Her vision was getting fuzzy and she felt lightheaded. She laid down once again and let her eyelids slid shut . . .
Before she fell unconscious, Rachel's heart flew into her throat as she saw Samara and her own son standing above her. Samara had a small smile on her face . . . and Aiden looked . . . dead.
A single tear of sadness and wanting slid down Rachel's cheek . . .
Splish . . .
To Be Continued . . .
A/N-This chapter was sort of a Prologue. Well, review!!