Caroline

Caroline nervously played with her hands. "Caroline, would you like to share?" said Dr. Jensen, the group leader.

Caroline didn't belong here. She wasn't like these people. Surrounded by schizophrenics, paranoids, delusionals, and other severely deranged individuals, she felt like a small seed tossed into a blender with a bunch of nuts. "Not really," she said softly.

Dr. Jensen wasn't pleased with her answer. Looking down his nose at her, he said, "Caroline, you are expected to participate in groups. It's part of your treatment." Softening, he said, "Why don't you tell us why you think you're here?"

Blinking back tears, Caroline thought back on the events that had brought here here to Bellevue...

Caroline was the pride of her mother, the apple of her father's eye, and occassionally the teacher's pet. Popular and happy all throughout her childhood, she was clearly destined for great things. Her senior year was just a stepping-stone to a wonderful future, until that night.

She wasn't sure exactly how it all began. She guessed she could trace it back to the dream. Thursday night, right before the big "Senior Day" football game, she woke up in a cold sweat. Looking at her bedside clock, she saw it was 2:34, but she couldn't go back to sleep that night. The dream didn't seem very sinister--just a single image spinning and twirling through her thoughts.

The image was that of an ornate, silver-handled knife. A dual-edged dagger, the knife had carved knotwork on the handle, reminiscent of the Celtic jewelry one of her classmates wore so frequently. About 7 inches long with a 5-inch blade, it could easily have found a home in a historical museum. A beautiful knife, she had no idea why the image filled her with such fear.

Her exhaustion made cheering difficult, but she put on a happy face that day for the pep rally, the game, and the after-game "Senior Day" festivities. At the party that night, her vision became cloudy. As a cheerleader, she went to all the post-game parties, but she avoided the drugs and alcohol and was always known as the "sober" one--the designated driver and "responsible adult". And yet, when she looked at her best friend, she didn't see a beautiful young woman in a blue and white cheerleading uniform.

Caroline saw her friend dead, stabbed in the chest with the knife. Her face was ghastly white, her eyes rolled back into her head and still open. A pool of hot, red blood spread on her sweater, and the antique hilt protruded from her heart. Caroline gaped, horrified. She blinked, and saw her friend sitting before her telling a dirty joke and drinking a beer. She tried to put the incident out of her mind.

On her way home from the party, her best friend was killed, murdered by an unknown killer. The pictures she saw at the police station were identical to the image she saw earlier that night.

Caroline told no one about her vision, hoping that perhaps she was simply imagining things. On Monday, she had lunch in the school courtyard, trying to find some time alone. One of her classmates brushed by her, bumping her arm and causing her to spill food on her lap. "Hey! Watch it!" she said rudely. When he turned to her to apologize, she saw his throat slit from ear to ear, the antique dagger sitting beside his head. The next day at school, she found out he was dead.

Caroline feared to go to school. She was beginning to think she had somehow caused these deaths. Pleading illness, she skipped school on Tuesday. As her mother brought her some hot chicken noodle soup, she saw a vision disturbing enough to make her spill scalding soup down her chest. Instead of the healthy mother she knew, she saw her mother dead, with multiple stab wounds to the chest.

Wednesday morning, Caroline ran. She fled, running far from friends, family, and loved ones. Late Wednesday night, Caroline walked aimlessly down a busy street, trying to avoid looking at the prostitutes and drunks. Her eyes landed on a drunken man, shuffling about slowly in his blankets. The top of his scalp was cut away from his skull, and he bled slowly to death. Caroline began to run.

That night, the John Doe was picked up by the coroner's office with a dreadful injury. He had the top of his head cut off, and because of the high concentration of alcohol in his blood, he bled to death very quickly.

Police put out a missing persons report on Caroline. Her father was lost without her, not knowing where his beloved daughter disappeared to. When they finally found Caroline, the madness already took hold of her.

The police took Caroline away on Monday morning, ranting and raving about being cursed, and checked her into Bellevue for evaluation. Caroline fought and struggled with them, speaking incoherently about needing to guard her mother from something.

Caroline didn't belong here. She wanted out. She wasn't crazy, and she needed to go protect the people around her. All she wanted was to go home. Yet, the medications they forced on her did help. She mostly felt sleepy, and she didn't have those visions anymore.

Speaking to the group, she spoke of having visions, but didn't go into any details. Dr. Jensen made some notes on a notepad and nodded politely. After that, they began giving her the red pills in addition to the ones she was taking, and she began to feel better.

After many long years of treatment and medication, she was finally released with a clean bill of health. Back home in her room, she marvelled at the fact that everything was exactly as she had left it. Her cheerleading uniform still hung neatly in her closet, and her blue and white "team spirit" comforter was still on her bed the way she had left it.

Caroline determined to make a fresh start, and decided to begin with clearing out her room. Late that night, the cleaning almost finished, Caroline lied down in bed. Letting her eyes close, she sighed contentedly.

The next morning, Caroline was lying on top of her comforter. Although the bed was still made, the blankets were in disarray. Beneath her was a pool of dark red blood, mingling with the blue and white of her hometown team.

It was an apparent suicide. Caroline bled out onto her sheets after her wrists were slit. Her father was beyond consolation, and the doctors at Bellevue said they didn't understand how this could have happened. She had been given a clean bill of health, and the doctors had no idea that she had any suicidal tendencies.

The police and coroner moved efficiently but carefully around the bedroom, gathering evidence and processing the body. Her beautiful blonde locks were matted with smeared blood, and her face took on the pallor of white wax. The coroner bagged up the body for removal, and the police picked up a new piece of evidence, hidden underneath her body.

"This is probably how she did it, don't you think?" asked one rookie to a seasoned detective, holding up the knife he found.

"Maybe so," said the veteran, fingering the ornate silver dagger. "Maybe not."