A/N:
I'm so sorry I didn't give this to you yesterday. I don't know where I had my head!
But here it is now, although, I am scared I'm slowly making you guys more depressed since this story isn't getting any lighter any time soon :/
Title: Origins: Living in my Future
Author: MarieCarro
Beta: Alice's White Rabbit
Pre-reader: BitterHarpy
Genre: Supernatural/Mystery
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Mary Alice Brandon had always been different. She seemed to know things that had yet to happen, and the people in town avoided her at all costs. But the cries of "Witch" or whispers of "Changeling" weren't her biggest concern. Someone much closer to her than the townsfolk couldn't accept her differences, and it put her in life-threatening danger.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
CHAPTER 5
EARLY SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 15th 1920
It was cold in the back of the marshal's vehicle, and it didn't take long for my teeth to start chattering. The thin dress I was wearing didn't provide much warmth, and because my hands were cuffed, I couldn't rub my arms to create friction either.
The marshal never said a word to me. Not about where we were going or how far away, but the journey definitely surpassed three hours. It was too dark for me see any signs so I was basically left to my own imagination.
I was almost numb on the outside but my mind was racing with a thousand questions, yet my visions were completely absent.
What would happen now? What would happen at home? What would they tell Cynthia when she asked about me? Would she believe them? What would they tell the people in town? Would anyone care?
No. Only Wilson and his family would know something wasn't right, but what could they do? They wouldn't even know where I was taken. I didn't know where I was being taken.
Was this the end of my life? Had the monster I once thought was my father given me a death sentence?
The vehicle finally stopped, and the marshal walked around to open the door. When I met his eyes, he narrowed them at me. "I'm goin' to open your cuffs, and I don't want you tryin' anythin' now. There's no use in runnin'. We're miles from Biloxi."
I nodded slowly in understanding. The cold had seeped all the way into my bones, and I knew my legs were in no condition to even attempt an escape. They were aching from all the running I'd done earlier, and when the marshal ushered me out, they almost folded underneath me.
It was still dark outside, but the sky was beginning to lighten as the marshal led me toward a large, imposing, rectangular building with lots and lots of window. The gravel crunching underneath the marshal's shoes was the only sound I could hear, and I had a disconcerting feeling of being led into my tomb.
A sharp stone on the driveway jabbed into my bare foot, and I yelped out in pain, but the marshal just impatiently continued to pull me with him without showing any concern. I was starting to hate him almost as much as I hated my father.
The marshal had delivered the news of my mother's death. He hadn't even considered my story but believed Father instantly. He hadn't shown me an inch of kindness or sympathy since he threw into the back of his vehicle. He was also a monster.
He and Father made an excellent team. For all I knew, he was involved in Mother's murder as well.
Just before we entered, my eyes zeroed in on the sign above the large wooden doors.
MISSISSIPPI STATE INSANE HOSPITAL
Everything clicked in my head as I finally understood what was going on. Father had finally succeeded in sending me where he thought I belonged, and I whimpered in fear, my body instinctively attempting to prevent the marshal from taking me inside.
"Please, sir, don't," I pleaded, but his hold only tightened around my upper arm. "Don't take me in there, please. I'm not insane. I'm not."
He continued to ignore me and tears pushed their way out of my eyes and ran unhindered down my cheeks.
Inside, there was a reception desk with a lone woman wearing a nurse's uniform, sitting behind it and reading a book. When she heard us enter, she looked up with a surprised expression, but when she saw me squirming and crying, her face smoothed out, and she stood up to greet the marshal.
"Sir?" she said.
"I've got a 211A apprehended by police action," the marshal replied, and the nurse took out a ledger.
"Name?"
"Brandon. Mary Alice."
I shook my head, hoping I could convince the nurse. "No, this is a mistake," I told her. "There's nothin' wrong with me."
She, like the marshal, ignored me. "County?"
"Harrison. Biloxi City. I'm the local marshal, and it's under my authority she's being committed. Urged by the girl's father, Edgar J. Brandon. He's stated she might be a harm to herself and others."
"No, no, no, please!" I exclaimed as my frustration toward not being listened to built up. "Please! He's lyin' to you to protect himself—"
The nurse locked me in with a hard glare. "Miss, if you don't calm down, I will have to put you in a straightjacket. Do you want that?"
"No, ma'am," I replied pathetically.
"Then behave yourself," she ordered and finished writing in the ledger before coming out of the enclosed reception area. "Follow me, sir."
I couldn't concentrate on my surroundings as the nurse showed the marshal where to take me. I only had the basic awareness of walking up a couple flights of stairs and going down several winding corridors, but everything else was a blur. When the nurse unlocked a heavy-looking metal door and gestured for the marshal to go in first with me before she locked it again with an ominous, echoing sound, my despair threatened to choke me.
On the way to wherever we were going, we met two men wearing orderly uniforms, and the nurse stopped us to turn to the marshal.
"Sir, we'll take over from here," she informed, and then nodded toward the orderlies. "Code 211A. Please, take her to the washrooms for examination."
The two men took over from the marshal and grabbed one arm each. In desperation, I looked over my shoulder toward the marshal being escorted back out, but I couldn't get out a single word or plea.
{=LMF=}
I shivered in the clothes I'd been given—a scratchy, shift-like dress woven in a very sturdy material—as they didn't provide much warmth after the cold wash I'd been subjected to by a different nurse.
She and the two orderlies were leading me down yet another corridor, this one littered with doors on each side, and while it was mostly quiet, I could hear the occasional moan as we passed.
My tears continued steadily down my cheeks as we walked. I had been poked and prodded and examined for at least an hour; they had drawn my blood, combed my hair aggressively to look for lice, cut my nails, and the nurse had even examined me in-between my legs.
I felt violated and abused.
My entire life had been filled with berating from my father. He'd said horrid things that haunted me at night, but after he abandoned the belt, he hadn't touched me physically, except during those occasions when he got really furious.
But this was different. It didn't matter that the nurse had washed me. I felt dirtier now than when I first entered the building.
We stopped in front of one of the doors, which the orderly unlocked, and the nurse gestured for me to go inside.
"This is your room. The doctor will meet with you in the afternoon to talk about your stay here. It will give you a chance to sleep and settle in. You don't have to be present for breakfast this morning," she said, almost pleasantly, before the orderly closed the door between us.
I turned around and noticed the room had two beds, one of which was occupied by a crying woman wearing a similar gown as myself. She was turned toward the wall and didn't even look up at me as I sat down on the other bed and scooted back to sit against the wall.
My situation felt hopeless, but I had to believe I still had a chance to get out. My father couldn't have convinced an entire building I was insane when I clearly wasn't. Once they realized their mistake, they would let me go.
It was no use in trying to sleep even though my head felt heavy and was pounding from all the crying I'd done. Instead, I just sat and watched as the sky grew lighter and lighter outside of the barred windows.
"You should sleep," the man I hadn't even heard enter said quietly as if to not disturb my crying roommate, but his low tones didn't even make her react. "Or they will drug you, and that's never pleasant."
I was startled by his sudden appearance and whipped my head away from the window. The man wasn't wearing an orderly uniform, but he clearly worked for the hospital since he had the keys to the rooms.
"I heard the nurses talking," he continued as he emptied my roommate's used bedpan. "You're here as a 211A through police action?"
I opened my mouth and it felt like it was filled with cotton. My throat was hurting after all the loud protests and crying. "I don't even know what that means," I rasped out.
"Systematized Delusional Insanity," he explained and gave me a sympathetic look. His eyes were so dark they appeared black in the dim room. "I'm afraid that means you'll stay here for as long as they please."
"There's been a mistake," I insisted. I was relieved to finally talk to someone who listened. "I'm perfectly sane, and when they realize that, I'll be let out of here."
"Mistake or not, the doctors, the staff, they figure that if the police brought you here, there must be a good reason for it."
I wrapped my arms around my knees and looked back out the window. "There isn't. My father has always hated what I can do, but I'm not crazy. I didn't ask for this ability."
The bed dipped next to me, but somehow it didn't creak. If the mattress hadn't shifted with his added weight, I wouldn't have realized the man had sat down.
"My name's Micah. What's yours?"
I looked back at him, surprised he didn't instantly ask what ability I was speaking of. "Alice," I replied. I couldn't bear giving him my full name because it made me think of Father.
"Alice," he repeated and smiled. He was easily the most handsome man I'd ever seen in my life, but there was something else there underneath the friendly surface—something dark. "Like 'Alice in Wonderland'. It suits you."
I had to smile back because I was named after that book. It was Mother's favorite book. "Thank you."
"Do you want to tell me why you're here?" Micah asked softly, but he wasn't prying. In a way, he reminded me of Wilson.
But I didn't dare tell him. He worked at the asylum. Maybe he was collecting information for the doctor. "You won't believe me. No one does."
He chuckled. "You'd be surprised with how open-minded I am."
An overwhelming feeling told me I could trust this man and that he wouldn't betray my trust. Something made me believe he had a big secret of his own, and an errant thought made me certain I'd had a vague vision about him once. I remained hesitant, though. My visions were warnings of horrible things to come. Very rarely did they mean anything good.
Still, if I didn't tell someone my story, I would go insane.
"I have visions," I started. "I know things that are yet to happen, and I saw my father was plottin' to have me killed … as he had my mother killed."
"So he sent you here because you could expose him," Micah stated surprisingly steady.
"You don't think I'm a freak?" I asked, not at all used to someone accepting my ability at face value. Not even Wilson had at first. He'd thought I was making it up until I'd proven the truth of my words. "Or that I'm lyin'?"
"No," he said with a smile. "I have my fair share of experience with real freaks, and you, sweet Alice, are not one of them. Few of the patients in here are."
The latter part of his statement made me confused. "What do you mean? This is an asylum. I thought most people in here were insane."
He directed his eyes to look outside and sighed. "Unfortunately, you're far from the only one in here committed against their will because they got in the way of someone powerful." His eyes connected with mine again. "The patients have tried everything to show they don't belong here, but when the doctors' minds are made up, everything's a sign of mental illness. The more you try to act sane, the crazier you start to look. If you smile too much, you're delusional or you're stifling hysteria. If you don't smile, you're depressed. If you remain neutral, you are emotionally withdrawn, potentially catatonic."
With every word that passed Micah's lips, my dread increased. "But how can they help someone if they don't believe them?"
"There's only one answer to that question, Alice," he said, and then stood up, once again not making a single sound. "They don't. All you can do is endure your time here and remember who you really are."
From the pocket of his trousers, he pulled out a small piece of paper and a pencil, which he gave to me.
"I suggest you write down things you want to remember and recite them to yourself once in a while. The treatments here"—he stopped to shake his head in disgust—"they make you forget."
Micah left and locked the heavy door behind him.
I looked over at my still-crying roommate, and for a second, I saw that as my future if I succumbed to the walls locking me inside until I was nothing but a non-stop crying shell of myself.
My hand shook as I put the tip of the pencil against the paper.
My name is Mary Alice Brandon
I was born on September 22nd 1901 in Biloxi, Mississippi
I have a little sister named Cynthia Pearl Brandon
My mother, Lillian, was murdered on my father's orders
I am not insane
A/N:
I do believe most of you immediately understood who Micha is ;-)
Until next week,
Stay Awesome!
