Once upon a time in a land you've never heard of a girl of fifteen picked up a paper and pen, and wrote the title, "What Ever Happened to Blanche Hudson?".

Now that the formalities are over, let's get down to business. I've been working on this story since August 2018, so you can probably imagine it's going to be a long one. If you've a mind to follow me through, I am probably going to start uploading new chapters weekly.

Let us just assume that Blanche Hudson didn't die in the end of "What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?". This is the story of how she started a new life after the events of the book/film, although fate was never very kind towards her. I have based my story on both the book and the 1962 movie, so if you're only familiar with the latter, don't be surprised when some things don't add up.

I hope you enjoy this story of mine, and I would be delighted if you left me a review to let me know what you thought! :)

Hours seemed like days, and days like months as Blanche Hudson lay in the hospital bed. At first the people around her had all been a mute and busy blur. Rescued from the agonizing sun, she had been moved into some cool room where there was fresh air coming in as a soft breeze from the windows.

The first days had been the worst. Blanche had been too exhausted to open her eyes for more than a few moments, and even then all she'd seen was a dim and unfamiliar room.

Somehow it had felt like the danger was over. Jane wasn't here. Briefly, Blanche's blurred thoughts had returned to her sister, to her tearful and frightened face, to her harsh voice. And then it had all faded away again into comforting emptiness.

The pain in her back, her side and everywhere else in her body had slowly started to fade. At some point a pleasant voice had told Blanche she was doing well.

And then, all of a sudden, she had understood everything. She'd understood where she was, who was talking to her, and most importantly that everything would be all right now.

It had gradually stopped hurting when she ate, although every time she was offered something, a sickening feeling of dread would fill her at the prospect of finding out what it was.

After a while, Blanche had begun communicating with the nurses. Every now and then she would ask them for something to help her with her horrible headache. And each time they would tell her to be patient and wait for her body to recover—it would take time, they said.

It got awful lonesome here. No one ever visited Blanche. And although she had known no one would, it made her feel miserable. The nurses were doing their best to help her, but Blanche sometimes found herself wondering what it was all for.

She missed Jane. Even after everything that had happened, Blanche thought that it would make her feel a whole lot better if Jane were here. If she were sitting in that empty chair by the window or perhaps at the bedside. Even Jane's brooding frown would have been more comforting than the empty, silent shadows Blanche had grown accustomed to in her new room.

She'd heard the nurses talking about all the visitors the other patients were receiving, and she'd felt just a tad hurt. But in truth, she knew she really didn't have anyone who'd want to visit her, anyone who'd even care she was here.

The sensible side of Blanche had returned to take command of her mind, leaving the feverish but truthful one cast aside again, hopefully for good this time. She couldn't be sure if she had really finally told Jane the truth about the accident or had it all been part of a hallucinatory dream. She figured it didn't matter whether Jane knew or not; she wasn't here any more. Blanche would forever have to live with the suffocating knowledge that she had let her hatred for Jane ruin her sister's life. And that no amount of love she had shown her for the last three decades could make up for it.

The nurses didn't allow Blanche to leave the bed. At first it had made her feel sick to see the wheel chair in the corner of the room, just out of reach, like freedom had been for her for those last agonizing days at the house. However, soon Blanche had started to see her condition from the nurses' point of view. Nurse Merrick, the kindest and most patient of the nurses, had told Blanche that she needed rest more than anything else. Blanche had therefore given up on insisting she leave the bed.

The nurses bathed and fed her well. After living with Jane for so long, it felt so good to finally be cared for properly. Blanche could finally sleep peacefully.

One day nurse Merrick surprised her by telling her there were people there to see her. Blanche had known, of course, that it couldn't be good news, but dubiously, she'd told the nurse to let them in.

"I can't. I just can't do it!"

"Miss Hudson, think about it. Think about your sister. She needs help, and we want to give it to her. We only need you to give us permission to heal her."

"But how could I be so cruel to her? To put her in such a place… To make her a mental patient. She'd never forgive me."

"But could you forgive yourself, Miss Hudson, if Jane got worse and did something to hurt either herself or someone else? What happened to you must have alerted you."

"Jane was just confused. She didn't know..."

"Miss Hudson. Your sister is already a mental patient. If you won't allow us to help her, she'll simply be mental. We've been looking after her ever since you were hospitalized. But we haven't had a chance to try and help her, and we won't have. Not before you commit her."

"But I… I can't." Never mind how many times the thought had crossed her mind previously, it now seemed utterly senseless. She couldn't be so cruel to Jane.

"Miss Hudson. We are holding your sister without your permission; it's illegal. But if you refuse to commit her, the authorities will take over. Your sister is wanted for murder, attempted murder and kidnapping. In the worst instance, she could be sentenced to death."

And so, against her will and better judgement, Blanche forced her hand across the document, a twinge of pain rushing through her chest when she saw her signature on the paper. Above all, she wished she could just stop thinking, stop caring, stop feeling so terribly guilty.