She was alone.
It was a Saturday – the last Saturday of the fifth month – and yet she sat by herself beneath one of the beech trees along the lakeshore. Gently closing the book in which she had lost interest, Nicole absently traced the raised letters etched across the leather cover, as her eyes continued to watch the violet bud sway softly. A gentle drop of rain splashed against her arm and she blinked, lifting her eyes to see a grey cloud rolling across the sky. Another drop landed atop her nose, slipping down her lips and landing silently in her lap. A shower of cold rain washed across her still sitting form, raindrops clinging to her eyelashes and blurring her vision as salty tears mingled and faded against her cheeks.
Brushing matted locks of honey-blonde hair from her brow, Nicole clutched the book in her arms against her chest, her legs trembling as she stood upon them. Dropping her eyes, turning away from the wind-lashed lake, she stepped away from the lakeshore, away from the vague sanctuary of a beech tree, and into the howling winds. Quivering steps led her to the shelter of the aging, stone building and she entered into the doorway, her body racked with shuddering tremors, her arms still clutching at her book.
She was alone.
Pressing her back against the shadowed wall, Nicole slid to the floor, drawing her legs to her chest. Peering helplessly into the sheet of rain, she bit her bottom lip to silence the cry coiling about her tongue and pressed her forehead to her knees, wrenching her eyes shut. Behind her aching lids streaks of white flashed in her vision and pulsed dully, eliciting a series of sharp twinges just above her temples.
It hurt. She hurt and yet no one had taken the time to notice. No one had paid attention to the dark circles the hugged her swollen eyes each morning. No one seemed to care that she had stopped eating, stopped sleeping, stopped trying. The spark of life that had once burned blindingly in her eyes had been snuffed out and not a single person bothered to ask why. She moved through each day like a hollow phantom – a mere fraction of the girl she had been, once upon a time. She went through the motions, as she was expected to do, but she no longer held the same passion, the same vitality.
What was required of her, she did, nothing more and nothing less. Beyond that, she was simply a fragile, forgotten, porcelain doll locked behind a case of glass and set out for display – no one allowed to touch, no allowed to truly see the broken pieces wrongly glued back together.
Footsteps echoed through the empty corridor and Nicole stiffened, her breath holding within her chest. Her eyes filled with horror at the thought of being caught alone in the aslyum. Standing, her legs shaking beneath the sudden weight, she silently ran the opposite way into the pitch black darkness.
Dr. Gregory stared into the shadows that Nicole had just dissapeared into. It had only been a week since Dick had removed himself from her life, but her mind was beginning to come undone once more. It seemed that he was the most influential part of her condition improving. Dr. Gregory spun around, knowing that she would be found by another doctor, and began to head back to his office. However, his eye was caught by an object that was half concealed by shadow. He leaned down and picked up the book. Nicole's book. The one she had clung to like life. Intrigued, Dr. Greogry flipped open the cover.
At the bottom of the page, drawn in pencil rather than ink, was small sketch. Lifting the book closer to his face, he turned it slightly and narrowed his eyes. It was a woman with striking resemblance to Nicole. Her head was turned to the side, her eyes half shut and her lips parted. Curls of unknown color lay plastered to her forehead and a light smudge tainted her cheek. But what brought a chill to Dr. Gregory's neck was the thin trail of blood rolling down her chin. Nicole had drawn a portrait of a dead woman – of herself – in perfect detail.
Thumbing quickly through the pages of, what he presumed to be, Nicole's journal, he caught brief glimpse of a group of letters addressed in Captain Diver. All fifty of them sat neatly folded in the book, all of them waiting to be read again. Shutting the book, he glanced at the cover and carefully traced the lettering: Memories Will Last Forever.