“How does one tell a well-structured story, when life is absolute chaos?”

The professor paused for dramatic effect and paced slowly at the foot of the auditorium. The sleeves of the button-up shirt under his sweater vest were rolled halfway up the forearm. His peppered hair hinted at his years, but it was said he had an appeal that improved with age, like a fine wine.

It wasn’t because of his looks, however, that his students held their breath, waiting for his answer. It wasn’t because of his discourse either, despite how spellbound it kept them. Maybe the number of bestselling authors who credited him in their books had something to do with it.

Chaos. That word, which automatically brings a tag of negativity, can be a welcome thing to the right person. The professor opened the door to his large, Victorian home. He hung his umbrella on the hook and closed the door behind him. The click of it latching shut echoed through the house. The man hung his jacket and scarf on one of the other hooks and changed from his shoes to his slippers. The insistent tick tick tick coming from the clock on the mantle in the living room joined the shuffling of his slippers on the oak parquet floor from the hallway to the kitchen.

He did the same thing as he did at the end of every work day: Heat up water in the kettle; get out two saucers and a tea cup; pull a bag of Earl Grey out of the tin and place it in the teacup; put two cookies from the jar on the other saucer; support himself on the counter while waiting for the water to boil; support himself on the counter while waiting for the tea to steep; stare into the teacup and watch the swirls of dark, tea-tainted water permeate the clear until the entire volume turned to a rich brown.

You may wonder why he just stood there rather than distract himself with something else while the water boiled and tea steeped. Why didn’t he hire a housekeeper, preferring to clean the seven bedrooms, seven and a half bathrooms, princess room, master bedroom, great room, dining room, study, sauna—which never gets used, nine fireplaces, parlor, living room, two sets of stairs, hallways, and kitchen by himself? It gave him something to do on the weekends and hours from 4:30 to 9:00 PM. That isn’t to say the professor didn’t read, but nothing modern inspired him, leaving plenty of hours to sit and listen to the clock.

It didn’t used to be that way. When he and his wife moved into the house with their two children soon after he got his teaching job, he pictured seeing his kids and grandkids enliven the rooms through the years. After one too many of his tirades, however, his pregnant wife took their two children and left. Because he was not one to give in or admit fault, they didn’t even speak again for eleven years following their divorce. Any efforts he made to connect with his grown children after his wife passed away lead to one misunderstanding after another and far too many arguments, driving further wedges between them.

Now he had plenty of time to sit in his chair in the living room by the floor lamp, and stare into his tea with only the clock and his tears of regret to keep him company.

She felt every bump and carving in the glass as it slid through her fingers and onto the floor as a wave of dizziness washed over Esmy. If it wasn’t for the ensuing feelings of loss and fear that later a shard would unsuspectingly lodge itself in the soft, sensitive skin of her feet, the beautiful sound of the delicate crystal shattering to pieces sounded almost melodic.

Esmy grasped the cold, granite countertop, trying to steady herself as feelings of remorse made their way through the fog and nausea. It was her favorite glass, the only one left of a set that had been passed down through generations. The original set had a permanent place on the table through the years, picking up whatever light was in the room and scattering it in an array of sparkle. Now it was reduced to a final, silvery orchestra as the pieces fell over each other on the way to the dustpan.

Her clarity was starting to return to her by the time she eased her way into the lofty, modern living room and onto the sofa, laying over to rest her head on one of the decorative pillows. She replayed the last few minutes in her mind, trying to make sense of them. She didn’t think she was anywhere near the age of getting dementia, but there was a shift in her memories, a deviation from actual events as a teenager.

Esmy’s mind drifted back to her troubled teenage years. She grew up in a very traditional family of four daughters, all of them dearly loved by their mother and father. Despite that, Esmy preferred spending her time alone, indulging in her curiosity and fascination with death. At first she started finding various ways to trap and kill smaller animals, observing them as they would take their last breaths. Her curiosity then proceeded on to any stray animals who wandered into the neighborhood.

One warm August day, she walked her way through the neighborhood and out the road to the adjacent farmlands, then up the trail to a secluded pond - one of the many places she would scour for a new victim - when she suddenly stopped in place. Just a few yards in front of her and through the trees, a young man sat at the pond with his back to her, lost in thought while keeping a fishing line securely in place.

She stood there in wonder as she took in the picture, marveling at his light hair, blonder than she had ever seen before. She continued to watch, as if in a trance, as he quickly reeled in the line, removed the shiny little fish attached to the hook, and gently tossed it back into the water.

“Why do you catch it if you’re just going to set it free again?”

The young man jumped and turned to look at her, clearly unaware up to that point that she was standing there. She plopped down beside him on the grass and hugged the lacy black hem of her dress around her ankles and locked eyes with him, marveling at the different shades of green in them while she waited for his reply.

The young man regained his composure and looked away. “Fishing is fun, but I hate seeing a fish struggling to breathe. It’s not fair to the fish to make it suffer for my amusement.” Esmy’s face turned red. She wondered if he observed her before without her knowing it. Her mind was put at ease when he turned to her again and smiled. “What brings you here?”

Esmy suddenly felt self-conscious in her black dress and cold soul, which stood in sharp contrast to the young man’s brightness and warmth. She was embarrassed by the real reason she was there and came up with a different excuse. “I’m out for a walk.” They continued to sit in silence after that, and she closed her eyes and absorbed the sound of the cicadas and bees, the occasional plop of a fish poking its head out of the water and the even, relaxed breathing of the boy beside her. “Are you from around here?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“I’m here for the summer visiting my Papaw.” His stare left the sparkling water to look at the girl beside her, studying her symmetrical features and the seemingly unending depths of her brown eyes. Her features were soft and feminine, but her eyes betrayed a mind that was anything but. He finally looked back at the water, smiling to himself. He was caught off guard when the girl put her open hand in front of him, waiting for him to shake it.

“I’m Esmeralda, but those closest to me call me Esmy.”

The boy took her hand. “I’m Grant.”

“Grant. It’s a nice name. I like it!” she exclaimed. Grant snickered good-naturedly, amused by her enthusiasm. “Would you like me to show you around the town?” she offered.

He looked back at his fishing line in consideration. He had all summer to fish, but he didn’t know when he would get another invitation like this one. “Sure,” he agreed, and then reeled in the line.

The afternoon was fun for both of them, and they bonded quickly. The next day, she made her way back to the pond, hoping to see him. He was already there when she arrived, and he turned and greeted her when she was still several feet away, as if anticipating her arrival. Wearing her sister’s soft yellow dress, she felt much more at ease with him than she did the day before. They stayed by the pond together the entire afternoon, exchanging stories and giving more details into their lives - with Esmy conveniently failing to mention her gruesome pastime.

Those days sparked a change in Esmy. Her mother was all-too-ready to comply when Esmy asked her to take her shopping for some sunnier clothes. And rather than tormenting animals, Esmy preferred spending her time with Grant. Her heart gradually thawed as she watched Grant playing with his papaw’s golden retriever or gently pick up and awe over a kitten they just found. As Grant stroked the soft fur of the kitten, Esmy’s happiness felt all fuzzy for the first time as she watched the two of them, taking in the kitten’s tiny paws and hearing its little meews. She warmed at Grant’s loving look of concern for the kitten as he examined its health.

Esmy and Grant gradually became inseparable. Rather than returning home at the end of the summer, Grant took on a job at the local newspaper while Esmy completed her last year of school. Not long after her graduation, they were engaged. Then that autumn, all of Grant’s family came into town for their wedding, which was held in the spacious back yard of her parents’ home.

Esmy pulled her mind back to the present and sat up, retrieving a large photo album from the rectangular ottoman that doubled as storage. She turned the large pages one by one, wistful as she looked through highlights of their life together; her in a pale blue dress and holding their son, Jack, fresh home from delivering him at the hospital, her smile glowing with the warmth of the new experience of loving a little human more than herself; Jack’s smiling face as a toddler with baby food smeared all over his face; her in a pale pink dress and holding Jack’s hand while Grant held newborn Lucy, who was home for the first time after being delivered at the hospital; Jack and Lucy’s toothy smiles and frothy hair in the bathtub; herself in a bright red dress, embracing Grant in front of the Eiffel Tower - and countless photographs of the whole family together throughout the years, chronicling their vacations, happy moments, and the growth of Jack and Lucy. Esmy’s fingers caressed Grant’s picture wistfully and lovingly. She missed him so much. Things just weren’t the same after he died of cancer a few years prior.

That night, Esmy kept waking up with seemingly fresh memories, which she could only assume were very vivid nightmares. It was as if her dark childhood - which she considered repulsive and embarrassing from the moment she met Grant - was coming back to haunt her. The first “memory” she had was of jumping forward in time to the current year. She wandered the streets of the city, marveling at how much it had grown from the small town she was accustomed to. That memory was the first one earlier that day. The next memory woke her up in the early morning hours. She “remembered” visiting modern clothing stores for the first time, ignoring people’s stares at her strange appearance. Seeing the endless variety of clothing, she hoped she would never return home. The pants, boots, and jackets appealed to her so much more than the Lacy black dress she was wearing. Choosing some combat boots and leather pants, a black biker jacket and black see-through top, she left the dress she was wearing in the changing room and walked out of the store, feeling more like herself than she ever did before.

And yet, Esmy learned, that wasn’t actually who she was at all. Something had to be wrong with her mind to remember feeling so at home with her darker side. Once the sun rose Esmy called her doctor. “I need to make an appointment as soon as possible please.”

“The first thing we have available is eleven weeks out. Should I go ahead and schedule you?”

Esmy’s heart dropped. Even just making it through one hour was hard. She didn’t know how she could continue in that state for eleven weeks. “Is it possible to get in to see him any earlier? It’s urgent.”

“We can put you on the cancellation list. If something becomes available, we’ll give you a call,” the receptionist said sweetly.

After agreeing, Esmy hung up, dejected. The new memories continued to flood in uninvited, each one leaving her just as dizzy and faint as the day before. She pulled herself out of bed just long enough to inform the housekeeper, Sarah, that she was ill and wouldn’t be eating breakfast, then unsteadily made her way back up the grand staircase and to her bed. As she drifted in and out of sleep, the memories just kept coming - herself as a teenager, in those stolen clothes, wandering the streets day and night asking anyone and everyone if they knew where she could get a job; also asking anyone and everyone for a little bit of money to get something to eat, but ending the day with a hefty wad of dollar bills; getting hired for small odd jobs and getting paid cash; eventually having enough cash and making enough friends-in-the-wrong-places to get a fake ID; staying with some of those friends and gradually building up a large variety of clothes, none of which she paid for; lying her way through job interviews before getting hired as a legal assistant at a prestigious law firm.

As Esmy started to wake up from her dreams, the sounds of women making plans on what to buy for lunch, the frequent echoing of footsteps in a loud hallway, and electronic beeping made their way into her consciousness. She brought her hands up to scratch her face but immediately stopped when a sharp pain and pulling in the back of her hand stopped her. She opened her eyes at the pain and looked down, confused at the medical tape holding a needle in place in a vein in her hand, with some of her blood working its way back up through the IV tube. A chill ran through her, which was no surprise when she discovered how thin the hospital blanket covering her was.

Wondering how she got there, she looked around. She was in a large, private hospital room. Jack was sitting in a large recliner, typing on his laptop. She couldn’t be happier of the man he had become and admired him proudly and lovingly for a moment, happy to have this rare chance of seeing him, before the confusion again took over. Jack’s attention turned to her when she asked him, her voice surprisingly unsteady, “What am I doing here? How did I get here?” She glanced down at the hospital gown she was wearing and her eyes widened. By then, Jack was at her side, and she asked, horrified, “Who changed my clothes?”

Jack laughed. “Sarah called for the ambulance when she couldn’t wake you, and don’t worry, a couple of nurses changed your clothes. It’s something they do all the time, so they’re used to it,” he reassured her.

“D-did they say what is wrong with me?”

“They will take you to do an MRI in a few minutes and then run some tests, and we’ll go from there.” Jack let go of the hand he was holding and headed to the door. “I’ll let the doctor know that you’re awake.”

Esmy didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed when all her tests came back normal and her brain looked healthy. It was nice to know that everything was in good shape, yet it didn’t explain what was wrong with her. She was discharged and sent home a couple of days later after they scheduled an appointment with a psychiatrist and prescribed medications for the dizziness. Once home, she still ate very little and stayed in bed, the near-blackouts affecting her regularly.

Her memories were getting darker and more nightmarish, waking her up in a cold sweat at night. In her memories, she began paying her newfound friends to find her. Then she recalled her excitement at finding out her older self put out an add to hire a full-time nurse. She jumped on the chance, filling out the application with fake information and receiving the email saying she was hired. At that point the memories seemed to blur together, because then in her mind she walked up to her front door, as if it was her first time, marveling at the size of the house.

As she was laying in her bed and letting the “new memories” play out, her thoughts were interrupted by the chiming of the doorbell. In the far distance a few moments later, Sarah was talking to someone, followed by a couple sets of footsteps making their way up the staircase, over the carpeted hallway, and finally appearing through the doorway of her room. There, staring back at her, was a young lady whose appearance matched both the pictures of herself in the pages of her parents’ photo albums and the reflection that used to stare back at her in the mirror. Esmy froze. Her mind spun and she instinctively brought her hand to her forehead as if that would steady it. At the same time, she was remembering what she looked like laying there, and how she looked like such a drama queen in the process.

“I’m Esmeralda,” the girl said, introducing herself sweetly. Surprisingly, she was wearing grey slacks and a white button-up blouse, which Esmy knew were stolen.

She looked at Esmeralda with a mixture of fear and disgust before turning away. Esmeralda stared back at her, smirking, as if challenging Esmy to know who she really is. Esmy’s mind refused to believe it was real. She got out of bed with as much speed and strength as she could muster and walked over to face Sarah and Esmeralda. She rose her hand in the air and struck Esmeralda’s face as hard as she could. At first Esmeralda clutched her cheek in shock, but then she looked at Esmy with a cold, humored, knowing smile while Sarah exclaimed, “Mrs. Crawford!” dumbfounded. Esmy now had a new memory of the pain from that slap and the rush of adrenaline and excitement at realizing Esmy knew who she was - and she didn’t like it.

In the days that followed, Esmy would either pretend to be asleep, refuse to look up from a book, or turn away whenever Esmeralda would enter the room. Between finally coming to grips with the fact that the memories are real and adjusting to constantly having new memories, the dizziness and near-blackouts gradually subsided, and Esmy settled in with her new normal. Satisfied, she wasted no time in informing Esmeralda that she was no longer in need of her services.

Things seemed to be going well until Esmy again woke up one night in a cold sweat, bolting upright. The dark in the room felt suffocating and she covered her ears as if trying to block out the new memories streaming in. In her memory, Esmeralda is laying on a small bed in a dank basement room, too wrapped up in enjoyable thoughts to notice the springs of the thinly-padded bed working their way into her back. She was too busy fantasizing about how to carry out the perfect murder on Esmy, her first - and probably only - human victim, just to see what it’s like.

Esmy’s heart started racing. She jumped out of bed and stumbled as she made her way out of the room and down the stairs. She clutched the railing as her breaths came faster and faster and sharp pain and fear gripped her heart. Reaching the ground floor, the cold from the marble tile floor traveled up her ankles as she bolted into the kitchen and found a paper bag to breathe into. She desperately tried to slow her breathing as she made her way to the medicine drawer to find her anxiety medication. Shakily, she opened the bottle, but her anxiety intensified when the bottle fell to the floor, scattering pills in all directions. Esmy crumpled to the floor and felt around for the nearest one, putting it in her mouth and swallowing it without water.

Not having the strength to stand, she stayed there, her legs twisted sideways, palms up, with her head resting back against the cabinet door. She was unaware of the passing of time as the perfect plot for her death took shape in Esmeralda’s mind. She didn’t realize she drifted off to sleep until Sarah’s shriek off “Mrs. Crawford!” startled her awake. Esmy put her hand up to shield her eyes from the morning sun streaming in through the kitchen window before struggling to stand.

“I’m alright I’m alright,” she reassured Sarah. “No need to call the ambulance again.” Sarah helped Esmy to her feet, fully concerned. Esmy grasped Sarah’s arm and looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m okay. Really.” Then she followed Sarah’s gaze to the floor. The pill bottle was still on its side, and little white pills surrounded them. “I didn’t get around to cleaning those up yet,” she said wearily, starting to bend over until Sarah caught her by the arm.

“I’ll take care of those. Go sit down,” Sarah said, guiding her over to the couch. Esmy complied, not having the energy to argue. By the end of the day, however, Esmy’s strength returned. Along with it, though, came the knowledge that now Esmeralda had the perfect murder plan for her and was itching to carry it out. Her heart again started racing, and as her breathing once again sped up, she muted the TV and shouted for Sarah, who came running.

“Get me a paper bag and… my pills.”

Sarah rushed off and returned half a minute later, helping Esmy breathe into the bag and take her pill when she had enough space between breaths to swallow it. Sarah calmly waited with Esmy, smoothing her hair until her breathing returned to normal. Esmy turned to Sarah. “I will pay you triple if you stay here around the clock, starting tonight,” she offered desperately. Sarah at first seemed hesitant. “Okay, quadruple,” she offered.

“I’ll do it,” Sarah finally conceded, “But just pay me double and we’ll call it even.”

Esmy tried to stay calm the rest of the day, but it wasn’t easy considering the fact that Esmeralda was coming for her that night. Esmeralda didn’t even quit her day job, thinking it would be easy to carry out her plan that night. Esmy alternated between pacing the living room and sitting on the sofa, trying to find something to distract herself with to stay calm. She found, however, she couldn’t even focus on her favorite TV shows or new book, the newest sequel of her favorite series.

Esmy let Sarah have one of the spare bedrooms and made sure she changed the code to all the locks on the doors and set the security alarm. Despite that, she was too terrified to fall asleep. She knew Esmeralda was already outside, for in her memory she was watching her house from a distance, ready to enter the house once the lights were off. Too anxious to lay still, Esmy got out of bed and walked over to the tall window of her room. Moving the curtain aside, she could make out the outline of Esmeralda in the dark. Chills of fear crawled up Esmy’s back and broke out in goosebumps on her arms. She rushed to the bedside table and grabbed her phone, dialing 911 as she returned to the window.

Minutes waiting for the police to arrive felt like hours to Esmy. When the flashing blue and red lights were finally visible and started scoping out the neighborhood and her property a few minutes later, the outline of Esmeralda disappeared into the dark. Esmy’s frustration, fear, and disappointment grew every time they passed by Esmeralda without seeing her, eventually showing up at Esmy’s door without results. Two older officers, who looked like their coffee break was interrupted, had her give a statement anyway. Esmy’s fear overtook her when the officers turned to leave. “She’s hiding behind the wall across the street! Please!” she begged, but it was useless.

“Ma’am, that’s someone’s gated property. We can’t just enter because you think it’s where someone is hiding.”

“But she’s there! I know she’s there!” Esmy dropped to the floor in hopelessness and defeat when the officers ignored her and walked back to the patrol car, exchanging glances with each other. She could see their backs as they walked away while a new memory also played out of watching from a distance as they left. She also remembered her teenage self smiling in delight at the terror she saw in the old lady’s face as they watched the officers pull away. Seeing her squirm was half the fun.

The fresh routine played out the same way the following night. This time the officers on duty came directly to her house rather than searching beforehand, one of them being a kind and concerned young woman. The other officer looked nervous, as if it was his first day on the job. They promised to patrol the neighborhood all night and check on the house occasionally. Esmy walked into her dark room and went straight to the window rather than her bed, occasionally seeing the car drive by on patrol occasionally and feeling like a mouse trapped in a cage. She couldn’t see Esmeralda, but she remembers watching the house all night from the nearby woods, knowing that her very presence was terrifying her older self and reveling at the excitement of what now felt like a hunt.

The third night, it was the same. This time however, the officers didn’t even bother to come to her door. Rather, from time to time throughout the night, she would see them slowly drive by. That continued for another couple of nights, until the officers stopped coming altogether. Esmy lived in a constant state of fear. She stayed awake by the window at night and then let herself fall asleep during the day when she knew Esmeralda was sleeping in that dank little room. Being as young as she was, however, Esmeralda needed much less sleep than Esmy did, and Esmy started noticing herself succumbing to fatigue and nodding off unexpectedly, day or night.

When she started having memories of watching the house also during the day, and when Sarah happened to mention running into Esmeralda at the store and how they happily chatted for a while, getting caught up on how the other was doing, Esmy had all she could take. She got the idea to hire a couple of bodyguards to watch the house one night while she slept. Then, waking up very early the next morning and while knowing that Esmeralda was asleep, she grabbed her cards, money, overnight bag, and after calling a taxi, she urgently knocked on Sarah’s bedroom door. A minute later, the disheveled housekeeper opened it, and Esmy asked her to watch the house for a few days while she went on a trip.

Any grogginess Sarah had quickly vanished at that, and she didn’t even have time to reply before Esmy turned and headed toward the stairs, already wearing her shoes and a light jacket and carrying her purse. Sarah rushed back into her room and grabbed her robe, putting it on as she walked, then stopped at the top of the stairs. Through the large window over the front door, Sarah saw the back of Esmy’s head in a taxi that was getting ready to turn onto the road.

After a couple of miles, Esmy finally breathed a sigh of relief. She was even more relieved when, twenty-five minutes later, a bellhop was taking Esmy’s bag from the trunk of the taxi and leading the way into the Grand Plaza hotel. Feeling the best she had in over a month, she was too excited to figure out what she wanted to do first, but then the growling of her stomach made the decision for her. She ordered room service, later marveling at how her stomach didn’t hurt like she had gotten used to, despite having eaten far more than she was accustomed to lately in one sitting. Satisfied, she pulled her eReader out of her overnight bag and made her way to the indoor pool, choosing a lounge chair in a nice, sunny location surrounded by plants.

In the following days, she stayed in touch with Sarah by text and even sent her pictures from inside the hotel, never actually telling Sarah where she was. Her new memories of Esmeralda still watching the house day and night actually gave Esmy added peace of mind and a sense of vindictive satisfaction. She even remembers Esmeralda getting bored and frustrated and trying to figure out the key code to get into the house, but Esmy wasn’t worried since Sarah changed the passcode daily. Sarah still kept the house tightly locked and the alarm set every night, while quickly building up a nice little nest egg from being paid four times the normal amount 24/7. Each day Sarah’s question was, “When will you be returning?” and each day Esmy’s reply was, “I don’t have a set day yet.” Sarah was getting bored of having nothing to do, so she started spring-cleaning the house, despite the house already being spotless, and Esmy was enjoying the respite so much that she didn’t intend on going back home.

Throughout the leisurely days, Esmy would let the memories play out, no longer giving much attention to them. On one particular afternoon, between the stretching of her skin from the massage, the aroma of herbal oils, the trickling from a nearby fountain, and the slow, musical notes from a flute, she didn’t pay any mind to the new memories, finding them easy to block out. She would miss about her past and wondered if it was past Esmeralda’s time yet when she was supposed to meet Grant, or if she would ever even meet him at this point. When the voice of Esmeralda’s friend suddenly broke through her memories though, Esmy’s face quickly left the massage table in shock.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” The voice of the masseuse brought her mind back to where she was, momentarily.

She lowered her face back into the table. “No. I suddenly remembered something.” The irony of those words wasn’t lost on Esmy. As she tried to relax, Esmeralda’s friend continued: “You know that old lady you wanted us to find a while back? She’s staying at the Grand Plaza I work at part time.” Esmy’s face bolted from the table and, in a panicked pitch, she begged the masseuse to bring her clothes. The gentle trickling of the fountain suddenly felt like it would drown Esmy as she stumbled into her clothes, and it felt like the high notes of the background flute were giving away her location.

Esmy didn’t bother putting her shoes on and looked crazed as she desperately ran barefoot to the elevator. She didn’t even notice the unpleasant glances of others in the elevator as she tried to slide her shoes on, working the last one on as the elevator doors opened and a couple of the occupants got out. Following them, she heard the doors close behind her before realizing she got off on the wrong floor. Her forehead started to bead up with sweat while seconds felt like minutes as she waited for one of the elevators to reach her.

Esmy’s mind followed Esmeralda up the basement stairs, through the front door to the depressing apartment complex, and into a taxi that was conveniently waiting right outside. Esmeralda simultaneously got into the taxi while Esmy got onto the elevator. As Esmeralda gazed at the tall buildings of the city in excited anticipation, Esmy was frantically throwing her belongings into her overnight bag in no particular order. Esmy was waiting for the elevator when Esmeralda pulled up outside. Not wanting to run into her in the elevator, Esmy chose to instead take the stairs. The sound of the heavy metal door to the stairwell closing behind her was amplified throughout the enclosed space, as was every single, rapid step she took down the stairs.

One half-flight followed another for Esmy as Esmeralda glanced at the note her friend gave her and pressed the numbered button for Esmy’s floor. Esmy suddenly froze, her hand clinging to the cold, cylindrical railing when Esmeralda’s singsongy words filled the empty elevator and drowned out any thought in Esmy’s mind. “I know you’re hiding, old lady, and I’m going to find you,” she said gleefully. Esmy could practically feel Esmeralda’s calloused smile, and she wondered how and when she ever got so sadistic. Esmeralda left the elevator and casually walked down the hallway to the room. “You might as well stay in place and get this over with. I will never stop coming for you,” Esmeralda reasoned aloud.

Esmy’s stomach churned in terror. Esmeralda pulled out a keycard and entered her room, but Esmy was too distracted to notice, trying to make it outside and around a corner before vomiting. Shakily, Esmy straightened up. She felt too weak to continue fleeing, but she didn’t have a choice. She grabbed the nearest taxi and told the driver to just start driving while she figured out where to go. Knowing that going outside anywhere would be too risky, she finally decided on another hotel for the sake of room service.

When she arrived at the hotel, the taxi driver removed the bag from the trunk handed it to Esmy. Then wearily, Esmy went to the front desk to book a room. She begged the clerks to get her a room that was available immediately, even offering to pay extra, but the answer was the same: He room would be available at 3:00 at the earliest. Her stomach was too raw from vomiting too eat at the adjacent restaurant, so she opted for one of the chairs in the lobby and pulled out her eReader for distraction. Her new memories wouldn’t let her concentrate on what she was reading, however. Esmy could see in her memories as Esmeralda contemplated where to go next. As Esmy finally laid down on the bed at 3:10, Esmeralda had already been to two other hotels, showing the clerks Esmy’s picture and asking them if her “grandma” was staying there, telling them Esmy had Alzheimer’s and got lost - or something to that effect. Esmeralda looked so much like the picture she was carrying that they didn’t question the validity of the story for a second, doing everything they could to find out if Esmy was staying there.

Esmy slept uneasily that night and, the next day, she stayed uneasy while Esmeralda visited several more hotels with the same story as the day before. As Esmeralda started closing in on Esmy’s location the third day, Esmy checked out of the hotel and left for one Esmeralda already visited, hoping she wouldn’t check the same hotel twice. As Esmy settled in her new room, she was aware of Esmeralda approaching the clerks at the front desk of the hotel she left that morning, as well as Esmeralda’s glee mixed with dismay when they informed Esmeralda her “grandma” checked out that morning. She could hear Esmeralda laughing coldly as she left the hotel. Wanting some time to silently congratulate herself for being on the right track and to “talk” to Esmy, Esmeralda started down the sidewalk toward the city, stretching out her arms to absorb as much sunshine as possible.

“Are you getting tired yet?” her memories questioned her. “Do you have any family? Did you ever get married? Do you have kids?” Esmeralda would stop talking whenever someone passed by, going in the opposite direction. Then Esmeralda’s irritation was vivid when someone got out of a nearby parked car and followed behind her, interrupting Esmeralda’s solo conversation with Esmy, until Esmeralda got a bright idea. “You can still hear me, can’t you?” she thought, before getting really excited at the possibilities that opened up before her. “Whoa! So you can see me coming up behind you with a knife in my hand in my mind, can’t you?” Esmy bolted up in her bed and screamed when Esmeralda stabbed her in the back in her imagination.

Esmy’s heart started racing. She fortunately learned in recent weeks to keep her anxiety medication always in her pocket and a paper bag nearby, which came in handy in instances like this. Esmy quickly swallowed a pill and grabbed the bag to keep things from getting worse. As Esmy rode out the panic, Esmeralda’s thoughts continued: “How old would your kids be about now?” Her next thoughts stopped her in a fit of laughter, and Esmy’s heart froze in terror. “Now THAT would be the perfect murder. How will the cops follow the fingerprints of the killer, only to find out that she died a couple of months ago? I would leave my fingerprints all over your kids’ place just to confuse them.” Esmeralda laughed again at the thought. “That would be so much fun.” For the first time ever, Esmy let those old sadistic tendencies seep back into her mind before quickly dismissing them. The temptation to pull a fast one and end Esmeralda’s life was strong, but then she realized doing so would also end the existence of Jack and Lucy, and there was no way she could bring herself to do that with her own two hands.

That game of cat and mouse continued, one day bleeding into the next and stretching on seemly endless. Esmy’s cash was starting to run out, and she was afraid to give away her location by using her cards. She finally contacted Sarah, who at this point was rarely at Esmy’s house and took up another part-time housekeeping job. Through Sarah, Esmy conceded and booked the nicest hotel in a small city a couple of hours away under a different name. At first she still felt uneasy, but as Esmeralda continued to search for her in the usual places, Esmy started to relax and once again catch up on her sleep.

Esmy just called for breakfast and was especially looking forward to one day when she realized Esmeralda was walking up the sidewalk to her house. Through Esmeralda’s mind she heard the grand chiming of her doorbell, and then her eyes widened with shock as Sarah opened the door and greeted Esmeralda warmly before inviting her in. Esmy quickly got up from her chair and rushed over to the bed and grabbed the cellphone that was laying upside down on it. In her haste to turn her phone on, it tumbled out of her hands before hitting the edge of the bed and then onto the floor. Esmy leapt for it again and then quickly called Sarah. Her memories watched as Sarah followed the sound of her phone into the kitchen, then Esmeralda as she wandered into Esmy’s office and looked casually through the papers, finding the hotel she was staying in on the credit card bill. Esmeralda whistled quietly as Esmy hung up on Sarah. “Something came up,” her younger self said to a confused Sarah as she left.

“Time too run, old lady. I found you,” her memories taunted her. Esmy felt too mentally exhausted to keep fleeing. She checked out of her hotel room and went to the adjacent restaurant, finally using her card for the first time to get something to eat. She stared out the window while she splurged on lobster and wine, taking her time to eat. When Esmeralda was less than an hour away, Esmy took a taxi to the bus terminal, again using her card to get a ticket home.

Being one of the first to get on the bus, she chose a window seat near the back of the bus and then watched absentmindedly as it filled with people, but her mind was barely registering what was going on around her as a hopeless resignation started creeping in. She thought that her life couldn’t get much worse at this point, but when a burly man who smelled like body odor claimed the seat beside her, she ruefully corrected herself. Esmy turned to watch out the window as the bus pulled away, but then things went to a whole new level when the man decided it was time to finish reading his newspaper. Under normal circumstances, Esmy would have given him an earful or paid him to sit somewhere else, but this time she edged as close to the window as she could and watched everything go by while she again tried to figure out where to stay for the night.

It was dark by the time the bus arrived back home, and Esmy knew she would be safe for at least one night while Esmeralda tried to figure out where she went. Esmy punched in the current code to her home and happily breathed in the familiar smells that greeted her. Sarah quickly rounded the corner from the kitchen. “What the… oh! It’s you!”

“You have no idea how good it is to see you,” Esmy returned.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“It’s been a while.”

“Okay. I’ll go make something real quick.”

Sarah left for the kitchen, and Esmy took her bag and her purse upstairs. Her room welcomed her, and Esmy wished more than anything that the past several weeks were just a nightmare and staying there wouldn’t be a threat to her life. When she was finally in bed for the night, she started wondering if she should give up and stay in place no matter what happens, but Esmeralda’s earlier threat of finding her children kept her from entertaining the idea.

The next morning she woke up alarmed, realizing that Esmeralda was already back. Esmy got out of bed and cleaned up before going down for breakfast like she used to. She ate leisurely while Esmeralda worked a couple of odd jobs to get some cash, and as evening approached, she repacked her overnight bag, adding in some jewelry this time to pawn for cash, before finding Sarah to tell her she was leaving again.

The look of resignation on Esmy’s face told Sarah that this wasn’t a vacation at all, and Sarah started bombarding Esmy with questions. “All I can say is that I’m being followed and that someone is trying to kill me,” Esmy confessed. That was met with another round of frantic questions, but Esmy merely smiled sadly and turned to walk out the door and get into the waiting taxi.

“Keep me updated!” she could hear Sarah saying as she closed the door of the taxi. Esmy stayed in a small hotel that night, and then took the risk of pawning off the jewelry she brought with her the next day. When she was settling in for the evening, one of Esmeralda’s friends told her that grandma in the picture she carries around pawned a bunch of jewelry at his pawn shop earlier and that she was there for over an hour, desperately trying to get as much cash as possible before reluctantly settling on a price.

Esmeralda stifled a laugh until she was alone in her room. “Running out of options, old lady?” Then, feeling energized by the thought, Esmeralda grabbed the picture from the top of the small dresser and left with some cash, walking out into the night. As Esmy drifted off to sleep, Esmeralda was again visiting the hotels, frantically searching for her “grandma”. A few hours later, pounding on the door woke her up. She moved the blankets aside to get out of bed but then stopped, one foot on the floor and the other almost there. In her memories, Esmeralda waited outside the door to her room with the hotel staff, hiding her glee when they opened the door and she saw the old lady staring back at her in horror.

Esmy’s mind raced for options as Esmeralda gushingly thanked the hotel staff over and over. She started gathering up Esmy’s things and putting them in her overnight bag while the staff left the room. “There you are, Grandma! We were looking everywhere for you!” she said loudly. She brought Esmy’s shoes over to the bed for her to put on. Esmy refused, knowing that the safest place for her right then was in the hotel room. Esmy grabbed her phone to call the police, but Esmeralda whisked it out of her hands and then bent over to say quietly in her ear, “If you’re a good girl and come with me, I won’t look into your children after you’re gone.” She straightened back up and smiled sweetly, and Esmy bolted off the bed and to the bathroom, making it just in time before the dinner she ate revisited her. As she leaned over the toilet her memory taunted her: “You move fast for an old lady,” and Esmeralda busted out laughing in the next room.

A few minutes later, Esmy was walking through the lobby, her own thoughts of “dead man walking!” looping over and over in her mind. Esmeralda’s arm was linked seeming-lovingly through hers, and Esmeralda kindly carried her overnight bag for her. They were almost to the door when Esmy’s knees buckled at Esmeralda’s fantasy of how she was going to kill her. She didn’t have the strength to stand until Esmeralda thought, “Remember. Your children.” Gathering every ounce of strength she had left, Esmy pulled her legs underneath her, and Esmeralda helped her up. “Are you okay, Grandma?” she asked when one of the front desk clerks headed their way.

Esmy grabbed hold of the woman’s arm. “Help me, please!” she begged. “This person is trying to k-kill me!” Esmeralda started imagining a man and a woman, using the pictures she saw on the walls of Esmy’s house as reference. She imagined them enjoying coffee in the outdoor seating at a café. She then imagined herself watching them from across the street. At that, Esmy released the woman’s arm, and Esmeralda silently apologized, at which point the woman gave her an understanding look.

As they made their way out into the night, Esmy breathed in the cool autumn air. “The city really is beautiful at night,” she thought.

Esmeralda dashed through the doors of the hotel and up to the counter. The clerks looked at her in surprise. “Can you help me?” she pleaded. “I left my grandma alone for a minute to go find a cab, and when I came back, she was gone!”

The woman who tried to help them earlier immediately picked up the phone and called 911. The other left with her to help her look for Esmy. When Esmeralda saw a couple of patrol cars arrive at the hotel and the clerk who was accompanying her head toward them, she quickly ducked out of eyesight and headed back to where she was staying. The sun was up by the time she descended the basement stairs to her room. Exhausted from the long hours, she tried to sleep but found it impossible. Finally giving up, she found her friend who originally gave her Esmy’s information and paid him some of the money she kept from where Esmy pawned off her jewelry, asking him to keep tabs on everything involving Esmy.

“Mimi, did you know that woman you wanted me to find died?” he asked her a few days later.

“No! Really?” She mirrored his astonishment. “How?”

“She was strangled to death a couple nights ago!”

“Do they know who did it?” she asked, playing along.

“It doesn’t seem like it.”

“That’s a shame,” she said, trying hard not to smile.

A few days later, Esmeralda entered the funeral home in a new dress, paid for out of what remained of Esmy’s cash. She was very surprised at how well-liked the old lady must have been, because the place was so crowded that it was hard to move. People were grouped together throughout the place, and as she made her way around them through the lobby and into the auditorium, all of them were conveying their own stories of how kind and wonderful she was, and how much she loved those around her and ’didn’t know a stranger.’ Very few of the people she maneuvered around had a dry eye.

When she got within view, a man and a woman whose faces matched the pictures Esmeralda remembered were standing by a closed casket. Sarah was holding the hands of the man and woman in hers as they cried together. For the first time in her life, Esmeralda felt a twinge of shame. As she watched them, she found it hard to believe that the man and woman were biologically her children, and she felt a sudden and astounding fondness and protectiveness of them. Having seen enough and not getting any of the satisfaction she thought she would out of being there, Esmeralda made her way back through the crowd and outside.

By the time the mass of people arrived at the graveyard, Esmeralda was already waiting for them, out of sight. She continued to wait until the people gradually left, the coffin was lowered into the ground and covered, and she was finally alone. She sat down beside the grave, reveling in her victory, hiding her laugh under a guise of sobbing as someone walked by. Her fingers smoothed the dirt as if it was a blanket. “You can finally sleep without worrying you’re being chased, old lady. How does it feel?” she thought, but this time she knew that Esmy couldn’t hear her, and her thoughts felt hollow. She got up and moved over to the gravestone, running her fingers over her name and date of birth, and her feeling of victory was replaced by emptiness and loss.

As she laid in her bed and couldn’t sleep that night, the musty smell of the room and the thick darkness closed in on her suffocatingly, and she turned on the lamp by the bed when she couldn’t take it anymore. Laying back down, she turned to face the wall and replayed the past couple of months in her mind, trying to find enjoyment in the memories as she finally drifted off to sleep. The next morning, however, she was jolted awake by her sister slapping her arm, telling her Mom was telling for them to get up for school.

Opening her eyes, she looked around her room, disenthralled to see she was back at her house. Through the following years and in and out of bad relationships, she wondered when she was going to get that big break that set her up in the large house Esmy lived in. She eventually started scoping out the place and managed to get hired as its housekeeper after several years. Through every difficulty and all the mistreatment she received, she stayed on, thinking that was how the house eventually became hers. She was always waiting for that day, those friends who flooded her funeral, and the man and woman to be born whom she felt an instant attachment to when she laid eyes on them, and as the years stretched on, she wondered if she would ever see it.

As Esmeralda prepared dinner for the family one evening, she felt particularly rattled. When she put her hair up that morning, her reflection looked unusually sophisticated and distinguished, and it alarmed her how exactly she looked to what she remembered Esmy looking like. She realized that she no longer thought of Esmy as a clueless old woman, and she didn’t for some time. Feelings of superiority were long-replaced by admiration and remorse. Those thoughts were still plaguing her that afternoon while she shopped for the family’s groceries, causing her to think she was seeing things when Sarah passed by the grocery aisle she was in.

“Sarah?” she called out, following her. Sarah stopped and turned around, looking for whomever called out her name. Esmeralda made her way over. “It is you!”

Sarah looked around, but the woman wasn’t talking to anyone else. She smiled politely. “I’m sorry… I don’t recall the name.”

“I’m Esmeralda. How have you been? Where are you working now?”

“I… think you have the wrong person. If you will excuse me-“ With that Sarah walked away, and Esmeralda suddenly felt lost and embarrassed, realizing that she and Sarah never met in this time.

The next day, Esmeralda was putting away the dishes when a wave of dizziness washed over her, causing the glass she was holding to slide out of her hand and onto the floor. She gripped the cold, granite countertop to steady herself, the feel of it reminding her of her tombstone that she traced her hands over all those years ago. Esmeralda pushed through the nausea to get the broom and dustpan out of the pantry. She sighed as she swept up the shattered crystal, wondering how she was going to explain it to her employer.

She headed to the living room to sit down until the dizziness passed, but on her way back through the kitchen, a shard of glass she missed pushed into the soft skin of her foot. She sighed as she pulled it out of her sensitive skin and hobbled over to throw the shard away and grab a paper towel to dab the blood with, trying to keep from having yet another mess to clean up. Knowing that she wouldn’t make it to the couch without getting the blood from her foot everywhere, she sat down where she was and leaned her head back against the cabinet while pressing the paper towel to her foot. As her head started to clear, she realized with horror - she had a new memory.

Dear Audra,

I know this is almost impossible to believe, but I am you, just… in an alternate reality. As proof: I know what is in Locker 5878. Only we know that there is a Locker 5878 and why it is necessary.

Now that that’s out of the way, I need you to get to Chicago ASAP and meet with Professor Jace Hale. Give him the attached page to this letter. If you read it, don’t panic. We have successfully kept your world from imploding over a dozen times already, so we’re pros at this now. However, because of a shift between our worlds, I have lost touch with him. Now the only way to communicate with him at this point is through our alternate selves, and I don’t know how much longer that will last.

In view of the above, I am going to need to communicate with him frequently through you while there’s still a connection. If we’re successful, our two worlds will merge and no one will know the difference. If we fail, your world will cease to exist.

I know I can count on you.

With warm regards,

You

Junpei was leaving, and Asahi wondered if he would ever see him again.

On a warm spring day, Junpei stared hatefully at his books. He didn’t understand why he had to be stuck in that shut-up little room, memorizing text, when he could have instead been out with his friends. It had been a particularly cold winter, so he already spent a considerable amount of time inside. It didn’t seem right that he was still stuck inside, despite the branches of the cherry trees being covered in light pink blossoms and the forests showing subtle shades of light green. He also didn’t understand why he had to babysit his baby brother while he napped, considering that their mother was right outside, caring for household chores.

He glanced up angrily when he heard the door open, and he tried to hide his displeasure and respond respectfully when his mother peeked her head in to tell him to stay with Asahi and that she would be right back. He hated studying, but he didn’t have anything better to do, so he figured he might as well get something accomplished in the meantime —not that he could keep his mind on it.

He stared at the page, but his mind was focused on the sounds and smells coming from outside. The crystal-clear birdsongs seemed to echo inside his head, and the air was thick with the perfumed fragrance of the cherry blossoms. He sat there trying to count how many different birds he could hear when he started to hear screaming in the distance, and it wasn’t coming from just one person. He then started to hear the shouting of men and sharp sounds of metal on metal along with with the screaming. He bolted out of the room and into the warm sunshine to figure out what was going on, but the screams and shouting were rapidly getting closer. Without thinking, Junpei grabbed Asahi and took off for the woods as fast as he could go. He tried to make as little sound as possible through the leaves and sticks on the ground, and he kept running without even looking back. It took everything in him to try to figure out how to quiet the startled Asahi while crashing through the woods as soundlessly as possible.

He didn’t want to go too far away — just far enough to where the men wouldn’t see them or hear Asahi’s crying. Junpei assumed everything with their family would be okay and that he just had to wait out the soldiers who were passing through. He stayed where he was until it was fully dark, not wanting to take any chances. Asahi had cried almost the entire time, finally stopping from exhaustion alone.

When the moon was high in the sky, Junpei cautiously carried Asahi and made his way back toward the village, coming up behind their house first. There was no candlelight coming from any of the rooms and no one was in the yard, so he continued on toward the village. Junpei was numbed by shock as he made his way along the roads, stepping over bodies illuminated in the moonlight, checking each one to see if it was anyone he knew. What felt like an icy hand gripped his heart when, up ahead, he saw their mother laying in the road, and the basket she carried was mangled beside her and stained with red.

Asahi was still quiet as Junpei slowly and apprehensively walked over to their mother and turned her over. He was too numb to feel anything when her unseeing eyes stared blankly ahead. In shock and not knowing what to do, Junpei carried Asahi on his back and started walking, without purpose or direction. He had no reason to return home. There was nothing of value there, and they haven’t heard a thing from their father since he went to the war.

Junpei didn’t stop walking until he reached the closest city, a day and a half away by foot. Not very far into the city, Junpei’s legs started buckling on him, so he made his way over to the side and put Asahi down before collapsing and closing his eyes. Both he and his baby brother were too exhausted, tired, dirty, and hungry to make a sound. Junpei doesn’t know how long they were like that. He thinks he remembers at least one whole night and morning passing before an elderly man in stately robes approached him. He vaguely remembers the man trying to talk to him. What felt like a little while later, he remembered bits and pieces of the nausea he had from the unsteadiness he felt while being carried on a stretcher, and the panic that tried to break into his consciousness when he didn’t know a thing about where Asahi was or if he was even still alive.

When he finally woke up, Junpei had no idea where he was. The fact that his surroundings were completely unfamiliar suddenly lost importance when the memories of the past couple of days flashed through his mind. This time, he didn’t have the cushion of the shock and numbness to dull his pain, and he curled up into a little ball, screams intermingling with his sobs. The older man from the street came rushing in, and he slowly and reassuringly patted Junpei’s back while he sobbed.

In the days that followed, Junpei would sit under the trees and stare blankly at other boys his age training doing their training exercises in martial arts. Day after day he sat there until one day, the older man came over and tried to talk to him. Junpei still stared straight ahead, but the man was able to draw him to his feet and over to the boys who were training. The boys huddled together and watched as the master requested for one of the wooden swords be brought over, and then he placed it in Junpei’s hands. Reflexively, Junpei’s fingers curled around the wood, and he broke his fixed gaze to look down at the training sword. The master stood beside him and walked him through the training exercises as the instructor led the rest of the boys.

What started as a mindless activity for Junpei became his life. It began as repetitive motions, but soon Junpei was coming to life by those motions. He caught on quickly, and he would spend endless hours training outside, even while the other boys ate and slept. With fury and hatred, he sliced, pounded, and kicked until he was covered in wounds and bruises. Out of pain, he twirled and leapt faster and higher than anyone else. And then with coldness, he quickly far and above outmatched any other person there.

He was trapped in his own mind, and his training became the rope that kept him anchored. As he grew, Asahi would watch Junpei train. He knew that Junpei was his brother, but he didn’t know anything else about him. Junpei in the training yard was a fixture in Asahi’s life, a fixture that he only ever saw from a distance. Master was the one to raise and educate Asahi in right and wrong, and Asahi was learning and working for as far back as he could remember, stopping only occasionally to watch Junpei expertly handle weapons of every kind, and he would wonder what kind of person Junpei was while he watched.

He didn’t know why, but he longed for his brother to look at him, and he knew his dream of talking to his brother was probably too much to hope for. One day though, while Asahi was bringing some books to his master, he stopped briefly at the training yard to see if his brother was there. Junpei was about to start a training match with an instructor but, upon seeing Asahi, he made his way over to him. Asahi stared up at his brother in wonder, but then Junpei crouched down to be on eye level with Asahi. What felt like the best day in Asahi’s life quickly became the worst, because Junpei told him that he was leaving to go to the war as an elite soldier.

Asahi just stared at his brother for a minute, but then he felt his eyes starting to tear up. Embarrassed, he dropped the books and ran off to hide. Asahi didn’t want his brother to see him as a baby anymore. When he found a quiet, secluded place, he dropped to the ground and didn’t stop the tears anymore. He couldn’t believe that after tomorrow, he wasn’t going to see his brother there in the training yard every time he walked by. He would no longer have a reason to keep glancing at the doorways, wondering if this would finally be the day he would see Junpei come through the door.

The day Junpei left, outwardly everything seemed normal. Boys trained. Other boys wished they were training. Leaves rattled as they were scraped along the paving stones, gathered together by the stiff bristles of the brooms. Asahi watched as Junpei respectfully said farewell to Master, and he hoped that one day Junpei would return for him.

What do you think you would do if you fell in love with a criminal? That was the problem Grayson was confronted with when he met the serial killer who wouldn’t leave his mind. It was his job to find her and lock her up, but something in her eyes the first time they met made him sympathize with her. Can he help her give up her destructive ways and let him save her from herself?

January 17th

I tried to get some time alone with the case worker, but Jonas followed us around the whole time. I really need to leave this place. It is so embarrassing going to school with bruises on my arms and face. It’s bad enough that the other kids call me “Twiggy” and “Garbage Truck” already and make fun of the holes in my shoes, but the bruises must be a big sign to Weston and his friends that says “Punch here!” My ribs still hurt from the multiple kicks I got last week, and my eye keeps watering where they punched me today. I wish the teachers would stop it. Do they not even see my bruises? There’s a rumor going around though that Weston’s father paid the teachers to not do anything about it. That doesn’t surprise me. It’s probably why Weston is the way he is. He has his father bailing him out of everything. Even if he didn’t, everyone is always sucking up to him. They’re so proud of the fact that ‘the mayor’s son goes to our school.’ Not all of Weston’s friends beat me up though. Devin always leaves when they do it, looking annoyed every time. I don’t know why he is friends with them. They aren’t anything alike except for their families being wealthy and influential. I have to admit, Devin is kind of cute. Not everyone can pull off curly hair, but other guys are even starting to copy his style. I imagine though that being tall, his fashion, and his light-brown eyes that are always accented by the light of the sun doesn’t hurt. : )

January 25th

Maybe if I cry, Weston won’t try so hard to get me to break. Every time Jackson would hit me, Weston would ask, “Are you going to cry now?” “How about now?” “If you cry, we’ll leave you alone, Chicken Legs.” I just don’t see the need to cry. It isn’t actually going to solve anything.

January 31st

I think I could consider today a good day. Weston tripped me in the cafeteria, but Devin told him to “stop it” and “grow up” right before Weston tried to dump the rest of his food on me. Devin looked so gorgeous when he held on to Weston’s arm and stared him down. I can’t believe Weston actually listened to him. I even managed to keep most of the food on my tray when I tripped, and Jonas was too passed out from drinking to beat me or Natasha. : )

February 7th

I don’t know how much more I can take. Things were getting better when Devin would stop Weston from hurting me, but now he’s doing it when Devin isn’t around. My throat hurts. I thought I was going to die. I don’t know how long I struggled to breathe. It felt like forever. My head hurts too from where I hit it on the table when Jonas knocked me to the floor after we got home. And I swear, it sounds like the bathroom door keeps opening and closing whenever I take a shower. It’s creeping me out.

February 16th

I don’t even know where to begin. Today was horrible and wonderful at the same time. It was actually warm enough to go outside for lunch, but as I was walking past the basketball courts to get to the bleachers, out of nowhere a basketball slammed into my head and I was knocked to the cold ground and my nose started bleeding. That was it. Weston finally got what he wanted, though I held those tears in as long as I could. I couldn’t believe it when Devin came over and helped me up. He even smiled at me! I didn’t think he even knew I existed. I thought he was only getting fed up with Weston’s stupidity before today. Devin even carried my backpack and helped me walk to the nurses office. I’m sooo embarrassed though. As soon as I got inside the school, I couldn’t stop crying. I’m sure my face looked red and blotchy, and I had nothing to blow my nose with. It was loud, too. Fortunately everyone was either outside or in the cafeteria, so I think Devin was the only one who heard me sobbing. He actually sat quietly with me the whole time I was in the nurses office, and he offered to take me home when I wanted to leave. He even grabbed my hand and took me back to his car before I could make it inside the house when we heard Jonas yelling at Tiffany and breaking things.

I had no idea Devin was so rich. He took me to his house instead and gave me some of his clothes to wear and let me clean up in his bathroom. The size of his shower alone is almost the size of the room Natasha and I share. Devin’s room is AMAZING. He has a spiral staircase to a balcony that goes all the way around his room and shelves of books from the balcony to the ceiling. His room is even big enough to park his Kawasaki motorcycle in, close to the doors that go out onto the patio. I think I saw him looking at me once in a while as I sat by him on the couch and read one of his books. He was going to let me keep the clothes I was wearing, but Jonas would have beat me for sure if he saw that, and I would never see those clothes again.

I don’t know how I’m going to act if I see Devin tomorrow. I think I’m in love. <3

February 17th

I can’t believe it!!! I am now Devin’s girlfriend. He was waiting for me when Natasha and I came out of the house this morning, and he gave us a ride to school. There was a brand new outfit in his car for me to change into at school before anyone saw me. I felt like a whole new person in those clothes, and it was so funny when I walked into the school while holding Devin’s arm and every person stopped what they were doing or saying and stared. I think we gave them quite a shock. lol Not a single person said or did a thing to me the entire day, and I even spent every minute out of class with Devin. It all feels like a miracle. <3

Our mom tried to forget us, but couldn’t. But did she really want to?

Our lives were brief. We didn’t even make it more than six weeks and never were bigger than a blueberry. If we were still alive, we would have heard the shock in her voice when the doctor told her there were two of us. Her worry would have been palpable when the technician told her we still didn’t have heartbeats, despite our expected age. We would have heard and felt her grief the next week when we still hadn’t grown any more.

Everything was a waiting game to her and our father - waiting to see if we’ve grown and they made a mistake; waiting to get closure when we should have greeted them for the first and last time. When she finally did get closure though, it wasn’t what she really wanted. What they wanted was us: Twice the diapers to change, twice the exhaustion as we scrambled to get into stuff, twice the giggles, and twice the hugs.

The pain that was left behind when we weren’t was unbearable. It still is. She’s gotten good though at trying not to think about it. She grew a thick skin - she had to, just to be able to go on living. She tried to forget but didn’t at the same time. For those brief few weeks, we were very precious to her, our father, and our brother.

But she can’t forget, no matter how hard she tries. She can numb out to it, but only until she sees another baby, a cute video, an expectant mommy-to-be, or other twins. She still cries way too easily, even though she hates to cry.

If we were still be alive, we would have just turned a year old.

“I think I just met the happiest person in the world!” Landon said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Being at the DMV was already bad enough, so it was more than he could take when the teller at the counter was getting smart with him.

He’s normally an easygoing guy, but this teller seemed to be on a mission to have a bad day, and he decided it was only kindness on his part to help her out with that a little. After all, it seemed like she had a big sign on her head that said, “Tell Me How Your Experience Was Today.” He was expecting some kind of backlash, eye roll, or “Sir, step aside please. That is not how you treat people.” Instead, he was thrown completely off guard when the woman started crying. It came silently and out of nowhere too; first one tear rolled down one cheek, then a tear rolled down the other cheek. As she said, “Sir, you need to sign here and… here,” her voice was quivering. He slid the paper back to her through the window, at which point it was instantly hit by one of the large drops running down her face and soaking into the paper, the circle of discoloration rapidly expanding outwards. She quickly slid the paper in line with the rest as if trying to hide the telltale mark before wiping her jawline dry with the back of her hand in frustration. “Sir you— have a good— day.” She was now holding back sobs, and it seemed to take every bit of strength she had in her. As he walked away, he turned to look back - still flabbergasted and not really believing what just happened - and he saw the woman bolting up from her chair and taking off in the direction of the exit.

Outside, Landon sat quietly in his car for a minute, filled with regret. “And yet she was rude,” he thought, but then a different thought chimed in as if now he was having a two-way conversation in his head: “Yeah, and she clearly had a reason, you idiot, and you just made it worse.” He wasn’t sure whether or not he should go back inside and apologize, but the revved-up adrenaline and lingering resentment inclined him to ignore that thought.

He was still thinking of that encounter as he pulled into the parking lot at the funeral home that evening for the viewing. His dad’s friend and coworker was found collapsed at his home in the middle of the night early that week, and his dad was taking it really hard. It was a shock to everyone really, because his coworker was one of the healthiest people they knew. He was always involved in running marathons and giving health and wellness advice on YouTube. Whenever Landon’s family would all get together for a family dinner, his dad would also invite his coworker, and they would all be entertained for hours as he would relate stories of marathons he participated in around the world. His adventures even inspired Landon into taking up running, though not to that extent.

Once he made it inside, Landon wove his way through the clusters of people in search of the rest of his family. It was standing room only, and the din of chatter seemed to keep getting louder as people tried to be heard over the noise. Not seeing any of his other family yet, he started searching some in the other lobbies and hallways. Thinking it led back into the main auditorium, Landon opened a door off one of the hallways but found it to be another auditorium, this one dark and not in use. He was about to close the door again when he noticed a chair off to the side and someone sitting in it. He was frozen, as if in a trance, as he watched a woman sitting there, her face lowered and hidden by a curtain of hair. Delicate hands occasionally brought a tissue up to her eyes. It was the kind of beautiful yet tragic scene that inspired art.

Suddenly the woman looked up at him. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not supposed to be here,” she said while rising to her feet.

“N-no, stay,” he said, holding up his hand. “I was just looking for my family.” He quickly closed the door, hoping she didn’t realize he was staring at her. He couldn’t imagine what just came over him. Even he thought he was acting like a creeper, something he vowed to himself never to repeat.

He found his way back to the main auditorium and found a chair, not knowing where else to go until he joined his family. It wasn’t but a couple of minutes later when he saw the same silhouette of the woman walk over to the casket and take her place beside it. Immediately she was surrounded by people offering her their condolences. A pained, forced smile was plastered to her face, and in that moment he understood the solitary scene he witnessed a few minutes prior.

He was startled out of his thoughts when the shrill words of “Sorry we’re late!” pierced the air beside him. He stood up and turned towards his family as his dad’s wife removed her hand from his shoulder. Rather than respond, he accompanied them through the throngs and toward the front of the auditorium. He couldn’t help but be curious of how this woman looked up close and in the light but, as he caught a glimpse of her, he wished he could turn invisible. There, just a few feet away, was the woman he smarted off to at the DMV. The hair that was previously tied up and hidden at the DMV now fell in long layers around her shoulders. Eyes that were hidden behind the glare on the glass now shone in hues of brown and green, with the green especially bright when set to the backdrop of the red in her eyes.

Landon held his breath as his family approached her. When it was his turn, recognition and slight fear flickered across the woman’s face as their eyes met, but she greeted him as if this was their first time. “Landon, this is Sarah,” his father’s voice boomed. “She is Miles’ daughter. Her father and I have been wanting you two to meet for a long time now. It’s a shame it’s under such circumstances,” he said, the last sentence coming out sadly as he turned to look at the man laying in the casket.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Landon said, trying to hide the guilt in his voice. When he grasped her hand in greeting, it felt just as delicate as it looked in the dark of the empty auditorium. “I… am so sorry,” he said. She looked at him as if she understood what he was really trying to say, and smiled at him softly.

“Thank you,” she replied. It felt like they just carried on a secret conversation with each other under the guise of a normal one, but then he couldn’t help but secretly laugh at himself in derision for the silliness of that thought. As the rest of his family gave their condolences, she never again glanced back at him, and he was surprised at himself for hoping she would.

The girl’s long, black hair was being whipped around by the wind as she entered the cave. A couple of steps in, however, everything became still. Most of her tribe dreaded this point in their life, but she saw it as an opportunity to get to know herself better. Perhaps that was the reason for the exercise. No one is fully an adult until they are confronted with themselves. She pitied the rest of the world, who entered it without fully knowing what was at their core. Finding this out isn’t something that comes naturally. The only way to see it is too expose yourself to the heat, so to speak.

She didn’t actually know what to expect. It was common knowledge that you don’t ever talk about or listen to what happens inside the cave. That doesn’t stop the huddled conversations of the younger ones from happening occasionally, as they wonder what it is that they inevitably were to experience. They would even curiously scan the faces of those who returned to the village after their experience, but their faces were as telling as stone.

Some feared it so much they would have nightmares about it. Others would refuse to do it but then eventually comply when they couldn’t return home, find an occupation, or marry until they experienced it. Some would leave and wander for a couple of days and return, and some would enter without walking to the end, hoping to get away with their ruse. They couldn’t hide it though, and would invariably get sent back. What you don’t know until you’ve gone is that when you get back, you have a certain look. Only if you have been through it yourself do you see it, and only if you’ve been through the experience do you have it. And what you don’t know until you have the look is that the rest of your life is based on it. When you’re young you think you’re free to choose your occupation on your own, but when you get back your look determines your job, your income, and your spouse for you. No one complains, no matter what it is.

She slowly walked towards the back of the cave, more curious than afraid. The closer she got to the end, the lighter it got. Finally she came to what looked like a spherical warm glow. That was the only way to describe it. It wasn’t attached to anything, and it had no source. By all appearances, it was the source. The glow was large enough to encompass a person, and there was a platform underneath, carved out of the rock. She slowly walked up to it, and stepped into it. Suddenly it felt like her mind was inside out, despite things looking normal from the outside. Every emotion she had was amplified a thousandfold. If there was anything she hated, she wanted to destroy it. If there was anything she loved, it became an obsession. And fear… that’s the part everyone was afraid of most. Everything you fear runs through your mind. It’s as if you’re having every nightmare you ever had, but all at once.

Just when it felt like body systems are going to start shutting down from the shock of it all, the mind pushes beyond it and find its own way to calm them all down at once. As the intensity dies, what’s left is the most amazing serenity and a feeling that you have been through the worst and lived. Anything that happens for the rest of your life is nullified in intensity. All emotion and stress is permanently controlled, set at adequate levels.

The girl became reacquainted with her surroundings and stepped off the platform. She made her way towards the cave opening, eager to get back to the village. As she neared the entrance, again she heard the wind rushing, and slowly it started whipping up her hair and her long layered robes. She fought the wind as she worked her way back to the village, but this time it was without care - just quiet determination. As she entered the village, everyone looked different to her than they had before. Each one, those who already had The Experience, had varying degrees of Serenity. Some almost didn’t have any, but it was still there. Some practically glowed with it.

She noticed, though, that one by one the villagers turned to look at her. Children and peers gazed at her intently. The rest of the villagers came up to her too, mouths gaped open. As they approached, they started dropping to their knees. She joined the younger ones in their confusion as they viewed this odd behavior, for this was something no one had ever done before. She glanced up, and the village chief was walking towards her quickly. Upon reaching her, however, he too got down on his knees. Then they all collectively bowed, and the chief spoke, holding up a golden rod to her on both hands.

“My Queen,” he said.