I opened my eyes. The sunlight was slowly creeping through my window. I was pretty tired, being up crying half the night and all. Tear tracks still etched their ghosts upon my sallow, pasty face. I could still taste the salt.

Who was that man, Dr. Michaels? Why did he leave such an impact on me? His beauty was not all that captivated me. I sensed something deeper, though I could not place what it was.

His eyes were startling. They had crimson irises, as though dripping with blood. Out of all of his features, his eyes seemed to have burned themselves into my mind. They had been... so deep and never-ending. Human eyes had one sole purpose- to see. But Dr. Michaels, who looked like a statue of Adonis, had eyes that could hold my attention for hours. And they were frightening, which excited me.

Suddenly, the door click!ed, yanking me out of my reverie. I jumped. Could it be? Was he coming back?

No. The door opened and a middle-aged woman walked in. She had auburn hair tied in a long plait down her back aand tawny hazel eyes. On her face a kind smile was plastered, but her eyes showed signs of nevousness. Right. I'm the crazy girl with the visions.

"Good morning, Mary," she said, her smile still glued to her face. Ugh, the whole "Alice, not Mary" argument was about to come, and, quite frankly, it was getting old.

"Good morning," I muttered, my voice cracking a bit from lack of use. The woman placed a faded book with large letters on my nightstand.

"My name is Dr. Reilly," she said pleasantly, and I had to admit that I was shocked. Women in hospitals were one of two things- nurses or secretaries. It was the 1920's, and women had not become acustom to the role of 'Doctor'. "I will be visiting with you every other evening for the duration of your stay here. We are going to become very good friends, Mary." Uh oh. I put on the best smile that I could manage and pulled myself up in bed, trying not to act rudely.

"Actually," I began, for the tenth time that day, "I prefer 'Alice'." Dr. Reilly smiled at me, her hazel eyes confused.

"It says-" she replied, glancing down at her clipbord, but I interrupted her.

"I know," I blurted out. "It says Mary Brandon. But I'm not Mary. I'm Alice." The woman seemed pleased with my answer.

"That's a nice place to start," she pointed out, "If we're going to get to know eachother well, then I should know the meaning behind your name." I considered her question. I had begun calling myself 'Alice' the day after my first vision. I had been six years old, and it had only been half of a vision. Well, it hadn't really been a vision at all. It had been a voice, and just my eyes. The most beautiful voice in the world, a man's voice, had whispered 'Alice, I am going hunting this weekend." I had ignored the voice for a while, unsure what it had meant. My father had hunted some, but I had always detested it when he brought home the bucks. Their eyes had bothered me; they had been so... so empty. It was as if these poor animals, for the thrill of the game, had been robbed of their lives, and they were hallow and transparent like an infant. But the 'hunting' part had not bothered me that much. It was nothing compared to the voice. That voice, it was like silk. Velvet, even. I had thrived on that voice for ages, until the visions started coming more frequently.

"I don't like 'Mary'," I replied simply, and Dr. Reilly frowned in dissapointment.

"That's not a reason to change a name," she rebutted, furrowing her brow, "Miss Brandon, it is my job to uncover deep psychiatric problems, and I cannot do that without your honesty." I bit my lip, rarely angered. I had never had much of a temper.

"You won't believe me if I'm honest," I argued, pulling my raven black hair off of my neck. "Nobody does." Dr. Reilly reached out, touching my knee consolingly. I jumped at her touch, startled. I was not used to soft pats on the knee; my father had always resorted to fierce blows to the face.

"Alice, I will believe you," she replied, and then seemed to rethink her thought. "Well, if I don't, then we'll fix that problem. That's what your here for, sweetie. We're going to fix your problem." I tried not to laugh. Fix my problem? I liked my 'problem'. It was a part of me, a part of who I am.

"Alice, honey, we're out of time for today." Dr. Reilly said sadly. "I hope you will trust me enough to tell me why."

As she started to stand up, I suddenly remembered something.

"Wait," I said. She turned back to me. "Who is Dr. Michaels?"

Dr. Reilly looked me in the eyes and replied, "Sweetie, there is no Dr. Michaels."

With that she locked me in my room and left me to deal with the fact that I might really be crazy.