by Amy Cross
"Hey," says a voice behind me. "You okay?"
Spinning around, I find that she's standing right behind me, smiling in the doorway. All the blood is gone, and her wrists look to be completely normal again. She's smiling as if nothing strange has happened.
"Where did you go?" I ask. "What... What did you do?"
"Nothing," she replies, "I just..." She pauses for a moment, frowning as she glances down at the floor. "I was just..." She smiles. "Huh. It's weird, but I don't really remember. I was helping some of the residents, and then I..." She shrugs. "I don't know. I guess I've just been rushed off my feet all night. It's just been one crazy thing after another."
I stare at her. "Jennifer Mathis," I say eventually.
"Yeah," she says, smiling. "I'm really sorry, you're going to hate me, but your name has totally slipped my mind."
"Juliet," I say, taking a step back. "Sorry, I really thought you were called Lizzie."
"Lizzie?" She pauses. "I don't know anyone called Lizzie. I don't think there's a Lizzie working here."
"You're..." I take a deep breath, trying to work out what I'm getting wrong. There has to be a simple explanation for this, something that makes sense, but right now I can't shake the feeling that I'm talking to a dead woman. Either that, or I'm losing my mind. "Earlier," I continue after a moment, "you were on the floor. Your wrists were all cut up, and there was blood everywhere."
"Oh," she says, looking a little troubled. "Yeah, I guess maybe that's right. I think I remember something about... you were kneeling next to me, weren't you?" She holds up her wrists and stares at the pristine, undamaged flesh. "I came in here to end the loneliness and..." She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the same knife that was on the floor earlier, except this time it's completely clean. "I don't want to keep going like this. The darkness and emptiness all around... It's too much. Don't you ever think it's too much?"
"I..." I pause, not sure what to say. I want to get the hell out of here, but I'm so scared, I can barely even breathe.
"No-one should have to go through life in pain," she says, resting the blade of knife against one of her wrists. "It's always -"
"Stop!" I shout, running forward and grabbing the knife just as she seems to be on the verge of cutting the skin. "You can't do that!" I say. "You..." I look over at the floor.
"I remember the blood," she says. "I remember feeling the blood as it flowed out through the holes in my body. There was real force behind it, as if it wanted to get out, as if it just wanted to get as far away from me as possible." Her eyes are so alive right now, as if the memory of all that blood is giving her some kind of thrill. "You have no idea how good it feels," she continues. "Do you want to try?"
"I'm going," I say, determined to get out of here.
"Once you decide to end it all," she continues, "you see the world in a totally different way. You realize you have total control. For the first time in your entire life, you have power. Don't you want to have power, Juliet? Even if it's only at the very end, don't you want to be in control of your life."
"Whatever this is about -" I start to say.
"Do you want to know something kind of sad?" she asks. "You're the first person I've spoken to properly for such a long time. It's so good to finally meet someone who cares."
"I'm going to go and check on the other wards," I say, carefully edging my way past her without actually making contact. "Maybe you just want to wait here, okay?"
"You don't want me to come with you?" she asks. "Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"Yeah," I say, backing into the corridor. I feel like I just need to get rid of her and go back to the rest of the building. "I'm totally fine, so you can just wait right here and I'll be off checking the wards. Yeah?"
"Okay," she says with an uncertain smile.
"So you're going to wait here," I say. "You promise that, right? You won't follow me?"
"Of course I won't," she says. "I'll just stay right here, like we agreed."
"Great," I say, turning to walk away. I only make it a few steps, however, before I suddenly feel a kind of wrenching sensation in my gut. It's as if, out of nowhere, I've started to feel this inescapable sense of dread. After a moment, I stop as I realize I have nowhere to go. I mean, I could go through to the rest of the building, and I could run away, but at the same time I feel like there's no real point. I'm only here to keep my father happy, and even if I quit, I'd just sit around in my room, doing absolutely nothing. I've spent my whole life just floating along, entertaining myself with stupid, juvenile crap, and there's no way anything's ever going to change. Even if I go to college later this year, I'll just get a pointless degree and then some kind of shitty job, and then eventually I'll end up like all the old people living here at Crestview. No matter what I do, I'll be old one day, and I'll probably just waste away in a little room at a retirement home. All these negative thoughts, which I can usually ignore, suddenly seem so much more powerful in my mind.
"Are you okay?" Jennifer asks.
"Yeah," I say, even though I feel I'm rooted to the spot.
"I thought you were going to check on the residents?" she says.
"Yeah," I say. "I was. I mean, I am. I just..." Suddenly I feel this huge wave of anguish wash over me. It's as if a current of sadness and despair has flooded my body, and all my long-simmering fears are coming to the surface. For the first time in years, I find myself thinking about my mother, remembering all the times I saw her in the hospital, and thinking about how slow and painful her death must have been; I think back to her ruined, bleeding gums, and the pain I saw in her eyes. For the last year of her life, she spent all her time in hospital, having various drugs and chemicals pumped into her body; she was poked and prodded by doctors, and she underwent countless operations as various experts tried a series of increasingly desperate measures to save her life. She must have been so scared, and she must have realized after a while that all the pain and torture was for nothing.
"Juliet?" Jennifer says, stepping closer to me. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sad? It's okay to feel sad." She reaches out and places a hand on my shoulder. "Everyone feels sad sometimes. Let it all out. Embrace it."
"Nothing's wrong," I say, as tears start rolling down my cheeks. "I just..." I pause for a moment, realizing that I can't even speak right now. It's as if all the fears and worries I've had in my entire life have suddenly come crashing down on top of me, all at once. Finally, I have to sit down on the floor of the corridor, and it's as if the weight of all my fears is crushing me into the ground. "Fuck!" I say, wiping the tears from my face. This is so unlike me. I've always kept this kind of stuff bottled up, and now it's exploding.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" Jennifer says. "You spend your whole life trying to ignore the futility of existence, pushing all the fear back, and then one day you realize you can't ignore it anymore. It just destroys you, and no matter what you do, no matter how you try to forget the darkness, it wraps itself around you and never, ever lets go." She pauses for a moment, and then she holds the knife out to me. "Finally," she continues, "you realize there's no way to escape the pain, and you decide you'd rather not live a miserable life. Not when there's an easy way out. Once the dam has burst, Juliet, there's no way back. Don't fight these feelings. Let them flow through you. They've always been a part of you, but you've learned to suppress them."
As I stare at the knife in my hand, I start to sob uncontrollably. I swear, I've always been able to keep my emotions in check, but it feels as if all my strength has ebbed away. These fears have always been inside me, but until this moment I was able to keep them under control.
"Think about it, Juliet," Jennifer says, standing over me. "You could live another seventy or eighty years, but so what? Is that the point of life? Are you just here to cling on for as long as possible? What if all those years are just a crushing, humiliating experience? What if you end up like your mother, suffering in a lonely hospital bed? Or what if you actually manage to have a vaguel
y good life? It still doesn't mean anything, because ultimately everything has to end. You'll still die at the end of it, so really, what's the point? All you have to do right now is make the brave choice, and end the pain."
Squeezing my eyes closed, I try to ignore what she's saying, but in some weird and twisted way it all makes sense. I open my eyes and examine the knife, staring at the sharp, polished blade. The thought of slicing the metal into my skin is terrifying, but the thought of trying to keep living is much, much worse. If I just focus on getting through the moment, I can do this. All the pain, all the torment, will be gone, and I'll just be able to slip into permanent darkness. Death is inevitable for everyone, and I might as well just get it over with. Right now, I'd do anything to end this pain.
"What are you waiting for?" Jennifer asks. "It won't get any easier. Trust me, it doesn't hurt as much as you might think. You just slip the blade through the skin -"
"I don't want to," I say, my voice wavering through the sobs. I've thought about doing something like this before, and I've always been terrified that I might end up killing myself one day, but I always felt I could keep my dark thoughts under control.
"You do," she replies. "You really do, Juliet, you really, really do. Think about your mother. If she'd had the courage to end her life when she was your age, she'd never have endured all that pain. She'd never have suffered unending agonies in a hospital bed, with chemicals being pumped into her body. She'd have avoided all those terrible things, and her life would have been much happier, even if it would have been a little shorter. She'd have never had to die a slow, agonizing death."
"I don't want to die," I whisper through the tears.
"Your have your mother's genes, Juliet," she continues. "You're just like her. You'll end up with leukemia when you're older, the same way she did. You'll end up in a hospital bed, being filled with the same chemicals. You saw how much pain she was in. You saw it, but you bottled it up inside because you couldn't face it. Do you really want to end up going through the same agony? Why bother breathing another breath when the misery is so inevitable?"
I nod, realizing that everything Jennifer is saying is true. I've always been scared of ending up like my mother, and this knife is the one thing that can guarantee I'll never, ever meet that fate. At least this way I'll be in control.
"Do it," Jennifer says.
"I can't," I whimper.
"You can."
I shake my head. "I can't."
"You can, Juliet! All it takes is one brave moment."
"No," I whisper.
"Just do it," she insists, leaning closer to me. She reaches out and gently puts her hand on mine, pressing the knife against the skin of my wrist. "A little more," she adds, as the blade pushes harder. "The difficult part is getting through the skin, but once you've made the first incision, all the blood just comes flowing out and you can sit back and watch. I promise, the pain is over quickly. The final minutes are like a dream. A beautiful dream that eventually slips you into eternal darkness." She pushes the blade, and the tip makes a small cut. "Just a little more," she says, grinning as she stares at the tiny trickle of blood. "Soon you'll hit an artery," she says. "It'll spray and -"
"No!" I shout, throwing the knife across the corridor. I get to my feet and start running, determined to get away from her. I run as fast as I can, but after I've turned a couple of corners, I pull up short and realize that I'm totally lost. I swear the exit should be right here, but I just seem to be in yet another corridor. I pause for a moment, trying to calm down and get my thoughts together.
"Don't fight it," Jennifer says, having caught up to me. "You were so close."
"No," I say firmly, turning and running to the next junction. As soon as I go around the corner, however, I find myself face to face with Jennifer once again. She's smiling, as if she's enjoying seeing me like this.
"Just do it," she says, holding the knife out to me. "All the pain and fear will be over. You know it's the only option."
For a moment, I'm tempted to take the knife, but finally I turn and run. When I go around the next corner, I realize I'm trapped in some kind of loop, constantly running along the same corridor over and over again. I pause for a moment to catch my breath, and I remind myself that I don't really want to die. Finally I turn and see that the exit is right next to me, even though I swear it wasn't there a moment ago. I take a step forward, but the wave of despair becomes much stronger, almost like an invisible barrier, and I drop to my hands and knees, shaking with fear.
"You're not leaving," Jennifer says, standing right behind me. "You don't get to leave." She places the knife on the floor next to me, and she uses her foot to slide it over to my hand. "Everything I've said is true. You know it deep down. Just get it over with. Share your pain with me."
"What are you?" I ask, staring at the knife.
"I'm just someone who's been through the same things you've been through," she says. "I've been sitting here for so long, waiting for people like you to come and admit the truth. Jennifer also needed a little gentle persuasion, but eventually she understood that it was for the best. I've got to admit, you're putting up a lot more resistance than I expected, but I know you'll come around. All the pain is inside you. All this fear and anguish has been inside you since you were younger, but you learned to crush it into a little ball and hide it away in your soul. Just let it free."
"You're not Jennifer?" I ask, trying to stop crying.
"I look like her," she says.
"But you're not her."
"I might as well be," she continues. "I've taken her form, and I have all her thoughts and feelings. When you step up and make the right decision, I'll have yours too."
I take a deep breath. "You made her kill herself?"
"I didn't make her do anything," she says. "I helped her, just like I'm helping you, and just like I'll help other people in the future. I've made myself look like Jennifer for you, and I'll make myself look like you when the next girl comes along."
Picking up the knife, I slowly get to my feet and stare at the door. Tears are flowing down my face, and I can feel the morbid dread and anguish getting even worse. I try to step forward, but it's as if some kind of force is holding me in place, preventing me from leaving the ward.
"Do it," Jennifer whispers in my ear. "Let go of your fear. Embrace the end."
"No," I whisper.
"Do it," she says again, sounding as if she's enjoying my pain.
I close my eyes for a moment. There's a part of me that wants to surrender, to cut my wrists open; at the same time, just as there's a barrier preventing me from leaving the ward, I feel as if there's another barrier preventing me from killing myself. After all, if I was going to do something so drastic, I would have done it long before today.
"Do it," Jennifer hisses.
"No," I say, reaching out and pulling the door open before I finally manage to step out into the corridor. As soon as I've crossed the threshold and left the abandoned ward, the feeling of fear and dread vanishes completely, and I'm back to normal. As the door swings shut behind me, I open my eyes and the tears stop flowing. It's as if the ward itself was exerting some kind of power on me. I turn and look through the window, seeing nothing but the deserted corridor stretching ahead. There's no sign of Jennifer. It's almost as if the whole thing never happened.
After a moment, I open the door again and lean through so I can drop the knife onto the floor; as soon as I'm back over the threshold, I feel the dark emotions rushing back into my head. I drop the knife and then I pull back and close the door, and once again everything goes back to normal. It's weird, but I feel as if every time I step through this door, I become suicidal. Whatever's going on in the abandoned ward, it's as if the ward itself is affecting my mind and trying to get me to kill myself; it's as if something was able to reach into my mind and dredge up all my fears, and then use them to drive me insane. She might have looked like Jennifer Mathis, but that woman was someone or something else; she wa
s some kind of emotional vampire, bringing all my buried fears to the surface so she could feed off them.
After a moment, I turn and hurry along the corridor, heading back through to the red ward. By the time I get to the main reception area at the front of the building, my hands are shaking.
Chapter Six
Eleven years ago
It's weird seeing my mother with so few tubes and pipes going into her. For the past year, the doctors have been filling her with lots of different chemicals and liquids, and it's always been kind of interesting to see what new things they've have hooked up each time I come to visit. Today, though, most of that stuff has gone, and it's just my mother in the bed, wearing a bandage around her bald head and with a single drip connected to her pale, bruised wrist.
"We're not going to stay too long," my father says, his voice so low it's almost a whisper as he holds my mother's hand. "We don't want to tire you out, but we wanted to come and see you."
As she smiles, her dry, chapped lips start to crack, revealing little red lines of blood. To be honest, I'm glad she isn't talking much; lately, her gums have become so bloody and nasty, I feel a little sick whenever she opens her mouth. Most of the time, she just smiles and listens to other people. I don't think I've heard her voice for weeks.
"Juliet wanted you to see her new dress," my father says, smiling at me. His eyes quickly dart to the two small ketchup stains. "We went out yesterday and bought it at a new store in the mall," he continues. "Juliet, take a step back so your Mom can see your new dress."
I step back and give a little twirl, so she can see it all the way around. Realizing that she's too weak to say anything, I walk back over to her and I sit on the edge of the bed. I reach out and put my hand on the side of her face, feeling her cold, almost white skin. It's so obvious that she's going to die, and frankly I don't see how my new dress is going to cheer her up much. Sometimes my father makes odd decisions.