Chapter 3

Alice

"I'm sorry…" Jasper's last whisper to Maria and the heart-wrenching sound of her sobbing echoed through my mind while I sat on the floor, leaning against the white walls. I was scared. Totally frightened, and completely confused. I didn't know what had just happened- I only knew it was significant. I tried to make sense of whatever had just taken place, how it had occurred, and why. But they were just more questions that would have to go unanswered. I sighed, and after hours of pondering the visions or images or whatever they were, I stood restlessly. I wanted some answers, no matter how hard I tried to tell myself that I didn't need them.

I searched the house, rifling through desk drawers and peering into dark closets. I emerged somewhat triumphant from my search, proudly bearing my burden of papers, photographs, and a few garments that I deemed more suitable than my smock, up to 'my room'.

I spent an hour or so scanning the material. I was left with a small pile of photographs, and a large stack or folded together papers that were obviously a set. I scanned the photographs, and saw nothing to spark my interest. I turned my attention to the papers.

The first page read "Biloxi Times" in bold print. It had an abundance of information pertaining to the nearest town. The primary stories were that the mayor had just given a speech, that there had been a bank robbed, and that the 'state hospital' or mental asylum had been broken into and a patient was missing. I reached the last section of the paper, and a large notice caught my eyes. MISSING PERSON: MARY ALICE BRANDON. Next to the name was a young girl staring blankly at the camera that had taken the picture. She was short, slender, and had short jet-black hair. I gaped disbelievingly at the photograph, and then up at the mirror. It was me. I threw the paper off the bed. I didn't want to know.

After minutes of trying to rationalize things I dove toward the paper. I didn't want to know - but my curiosity made the information necessary. I greedily absorbed the information, and once the small paragraph was finished I remained disappointed.

The only information it had really given out was that she… I… was 19 years old, born in 1901, disappeared on October 15th 1920, and that no one had any idea how I had died, or where my body was. I laughed; I knew where my body was, because I was in it! Well, at least I knew one thing that no one else did. I scanned the scanty paragraph again, rolling my eyes. They could have at least given me more than one paragraph.

I laughed again, this time at myself. Here I was, supposedly dead (well… perhaps I actually was), alone, and knowing almost nothing about myself or anyone else, and I was irked by the fact that my obituary was only one paragraph long. I should have been in hysterics over the fact that I even had and obituary!

I sighed. I had discerned all that I could from this place. I changed my clothes and admired myself in the mirror. I wished I had more of a selection to choose from… the blue, loose silk covered most of my dainty knees, which –judging by the photographs- was too long. It was loose around my arms, and had a very low waist. Below the waistline it pleated, and as I spun unnaturally fast it swished nicely. I scrounged through the room and surprised myself by finding an acceptable pair of shoes. They were simple, black heels with straps. I twirled again in the mirror, satisfied.

I had no trouble –even in the heels- gliding downstairs to the kitchen. I glanced around quickly, looking for the purse I had stashed here after stealing it from my victim. I emptied it of all but the small wad of dollar bills; I somehow knew that I would need the cash. I sat down swiftly in one of the few white chairs next to the table. I put my elbows on the table, and held my head in my hands. I needed a plan.

My gaze fell upon the pile of pictures and scraps of paper that I had removed from the purse. I stared at the bits of the woman's identity. Where those pictures of her children? Her lover? Parents? Husband? Siblings? How many people had been hurt by my actions? She had once had a life, maybe a family and I had taken her away from all the people she loved, and who had loved her. My simple need might have destroyed families and hurt more people than I could guess. Guilt closed in on me, and I grieved for the woman, her family, and for myself. Would guilt always haunt my existence? I shook my head violently, attempting to dispel the feeling. Self-pity would get me nowhere. I needed a plan, and to have a plan I needed information. I quickly reviewed all that I knew.

My name was Mary Alice Brandon –or Alice. I doubted I should tell people who I really was. Some instinct dictated that I should hide, and that my existence should remain secret. I was 19 years old, presumed dead. It was probably October, maybe November of 1920. I was in Mississippi, near the city Biloxi. I ate blood, and that particular bit of data was making itself more pronounced. I remembered nothing about my past, and most likely the strangest piece, I had pictures of people I had never before seen –or at least I couldn't remember, in my mind.

My mind subconsciously flickered back to those images, and I was filled with curiosity. Who were those people? Why had I been with the man with the bronze colored hair? Who were Jasper and Maria? And, most important, why was I having these visions? I raised my head and smiled softly. I guess I'll just have to go find out. I looked up, and caught my reflection in a mirror over the sink. My eyes had mere hints of that brilliant red around the rims. The rest was black, and my stomach would have growled –if I had still been human. I grinned wickedly. My questions could wait a few more hours.