Darkness

Written By:Lilia-Rose
You can read the Original Here:
All Credit Goes to the Original Author

I see darkness. It surrounds me, pushing me closer and closer to insanity. If I’m not there already.

The air around me is filled with the crazed screams of inhuman voices, calling out in tongues unknown to man.

Why am I here?

Well, I know why I’m here. I’m here because my parents can’t deal with me any more. They’re embarrassed by my black outs. So they stuck me in here. Bedlam. Mad house. With the crazies. I’m not crazy.

I’ve been here for a long time. I don’t know how long. Days merge into nights merge into days in the darkness. Nothing changes. Ever. Alone in the blackness, it feels like I’m drowning.

Light flashes into the room.

“Mary, honey? Mary? Time for your medication, honey cakes.”

A falsely cheery voice blares close to my ear.

“I don’t need medication.” My voice is raspy, a thin echo of the trill it used to be. They only give me water with the tablets…

I shut my mouth, but the nurse, used to my stubbornness, clamps my nose until I’m forced to breathe. Quickly, she pushes the pills between my lips, tilting my head back so I swallow.

No.

I’m not taking them any more. I’m leaving this place, going off into the sunlight, away from the wails. I will be free. I spit the pills at her, jump from the bed and run for the door. For such a small person, I’m surprisingly swift.

Not swift enough. Obviously.

Once in the corridor, I stop. The great flaw in my plan. I have no idea where to go. The corridor stretches, bright white to the left and right. I blink stupidly.

And fall.

The blackness closes in. A face, hazy in my mind, swims into view. It is a man’s face, the most breath takingly beautiful man I’ve ever seen. His skin is perfect ivory, his brows perfectly arched, his nose in perfect proportion, light brown hair gracing the sides of his face. I look into his eyes, expecting the blue of an angel – am I dying?- seeing instead the intense blood red of the devil. The man’s perfect mouth cracks into a smile, a leer, and suddenly he pounces -

Andthen I am back in reality. And somehow, back in my cell. I try to sit up, but I can’t. Why? A voice calls out above me, “Doctor? Doctor? She’s awake.”

I try to speak, but there’s something in my mouth stopping me. I gurgle instead. What on earth is happening? And then someone puts a cloth over my eyes, and I hear a man’s voice. “Prepare the machine.”

Machine? I know what that means, and I shan’t let it happen again. I try to twist, but my arms are secured, my head, neck, legs and torso are secured.

“Apply the swabs.” The male voice commands. I feel the cold round plastic being held to my head.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

And then comes the pain. It’s like a fire in my head, burning. I can feel my body shaking, feel my mind slipping into unconsciousness. I want to scream out, but I can’t. The pain burns bright before my eyes.

And as suddenly as it started, it’s gone. My body relaxes. But all too soon, it’s back, the fire, burning through me. And this time, it lasts so long, I sink once more into blackness.

“Mary? Mary?” Once more, a voice calls through the blackness. I open my eyes. The darkness doesn’t lessen at all. I peer through the gloom as much as I can – not that that’s much really. My whole body is still restricted by the heavy leather straps. The disembodied voice seems to float in the air above me, so light, so beautiful I can almost taste it. Coconut, but at the same time, stewed apples and custard. So exotic, so…English. I try to answer, to call out to what could only be God, but I can’t speak. Yet whoever the speaker is, he seems to know I can hear, for he carries on speaking.

“Mary, do you know where you are? This is a psychiatric hospital. Your family had you committed because of your visions.” At his final word, I flinch. My visions had been the cause of many an argument at home lately. And many a beating… He senses my fear, and his voice becomes honeyed.

“I believe you Mary. I believe that your visions are coming true. I believe you.” At his words, my soul soars. Nobody had believed me, nobody. They had thought I’d killed Billy, but I hadn’t.

“How did you know? Mary Alice Brandon, you told us that Billy was going to die. How the hell did you know that Billy was gonna die if you didn’t do it?”

Finally, someone believes me. I feel like crying, but I don’t have enough liquid in my body to do so.

“Thank you.” I croak, summoning enough saliva to whisper the barely audible word. But he hears me anyway, and is by my side immediately, running soft hands through my cropped black hair. Who is this man? I don’t recognize his voice, and he is much gentler then the other doctors. He leans over me, and I see a startlingly beautiful face, so pale he is almost luminous in the shadows. Every aspect of his face is beautiful, he is like an angel in a Solimena painting. But what holds me transfixed is his eyes…mesmerizing to the point of holding me in a trance, the deep topaz irises imprint themselves in my mind.

“But Mary, you need to tell me what you saw…back in the corridor…yesterday.”

Yesterday? It was that long ago? I try to remember, but my mind is fuzzy after what they did…that I remember all to well.

The man speaks again, gently, but I can hear frustration in his voice. “Mary, I want to help you. Truly I do. But I can’t do that unless you tell me what you saw in your vision.”

Slowly, the picture of that angelic face, achingly beautiful, swims into my mind. And the blood red of the eyes. I open my mouth. And hesitate. What if he’s trying to trick me into sounding mad? Almost as if he can hear what I’m thinking, he speaks.

“Mary, do you know what a frontal lobotomy is?” I try to shake my head, but the heavy leather keeps me from moving. He takes my silence for ignorance. “They operate on your brain, removing part of it.” I must look as horrified as I feel, since he continues in a softer tone.

“Mary, there’s a doctor in this hospital. He’s new. He’s very interested in your case. Have you seen him?”

“No. No one new.” I croak back.

“I didn’t mean in reality. I meant in your visions.” I swear I can almost hear a smile play on his lips.

I think back to the face. “Mary, I need you to think. I need you to try to remember. It’s very important.”

I hesitate, and say “I saw a man. I – I don’t know who he is.” The man’s hands stop stroking my head, and he leans closer to the bed, whispering in my ear.

“What colour are his eyes, Mary? What colour are his eyes?”

“Red.” I whisper, knowing instinctively that this is the answer he least wants to hear. He groans.

“Mary, I must go.” He says, suddenly. “But I shall be back soon.” And then he is gone, so quickly I don’t see him leave the room.

The next day, my vision comes true. I wake to find someone has removed the leather straps at long last. And someone has left the window in my door open. I peer through to see the intense white of the corridor. As I watch, one of the most beautiful humans I’ve ever seen comes into view. He has light brown hair and pale skin. I watch, though at first, I don’t know why. It’s as if I’m drawn to him somehow. I watch him talk to some other doctors. They gesture towards my cell, and he turns. And that’s when I see, the blood red eyes. I shrink back instinctively. He strides confidently towards my cell, sniffing the air as he walks. I scramble off the bed, my legs feeling like jelly as I try to hide. Why am I hiding? Is it his eyes that have scared me? I dunno – all I know is that every single one of my instincts is roaring at me to run, hide, and not let him anywhere near me. Like when they came for me.

It was the middle of the night when they came for me. I was asleep in my tiny attic room when they arrived. They came up to my room, two strange men, and my father. It was he who shook me awake.

“D-dad?” I asked, still blurry with sleep. Lately, my dreams had been so intense, and scarily, they kept coming true. “Dad? What’s wrong?” Then I spotted the men. “Who are they?” I asked, suddenly terrified.

‘Thank you, Mr. Brandon. We can take it from here.” One of the men spoke firmly. My dad glanced at them, nodded, and left the room. The same man approached me.

“Mary Alice Brandon?” he asked. I nodded dumbly. “Mary Alice Brandon, you are being committed to the Biloxi psychiatric unit. Come quietly and you won’t be harmed.”

“What?” I was so confused. What on earth was going on? “Mother? Dad? What’s going on?” I shouted, struggling out of bed towards the door. As I struggled, the men grabbed me.

“Miss Brandon, don’t make this any harder then it has to be.” The second man said. They drag me out of the attic, down the steep narrow stairs. I was screaming, screaming for my parents to help. But I couldn’t see them. Instead, it was Cynthia who stumbled out of her bedroom, confusion written across her face.

“What’s happening? Who are these men? Where are you going?” she asked.

“Cynthia, help me. They think I’m crazy. Tell them I’m not crazy.” I shouted over my shoulder, craning my head to look back at her. Then I realised she was acting, and my hope faded. But she’d fooled these men, just like she fools everybody, including our parents. They pause, holding me firm whilst I try to squirm away.

“Don’t worry, little lady. We’re going to help your sister get rid of her paranoia. Then she’ll be back home.”

“Oh good.” Cynthia pretended to shiver. “I’ve been so scared of Mary lately. She’s so violent when she goes crazy. She bit me, look.” And my darling little sister offered her arm to the nearest man. He bent closer, looking at the scar our old dog, Billy had given her a few months ago. The man recoiled, disgusted, tightening his grip on me.

“A regular little wildcat, Miss Brandon.” He tugged me once more down the stairs, his partner following. The last memory I have of Cynthia is of a beautiful blonde sixteen year old, smiling a very vindictive smile as her older sister was dragged down the stairs and outside by strangers.

In the kitchen, the second man bundled me into a straightjacket. My father watched, a blank expression on his face. I turned to him.

“Daddy, please don’t do this to me.” I turned to him, imploring. “If this is about Billy, I swear, I didn’t do it. I swear.” Tears were streaming down my cheeks. He stared back. “Please Daddy. Don’t do this to me. I’m your Mary. I’m your little girl.”

“You are not my little girl.” He exploded. “You are NOT my little girl. Mary Alice Brandon is DEAD, d’you hear? Dead! And she can never come back.” He stormed out of the room, slamming the kitchen door so hard the saucepans jumped, and a plate on the sideboard fell and smashed on the ground.

“Daddy, please. Daddy, come back. Please. I’m sorry. I’ll stop having visions.” I sobbed. It was only then I noticed my mother sitting quietly in the corner. “Mother, please.”

“You are not my daughter.” She said calmly, her voice quiet. “You killed Mary. You killed her the day we found George. You can’t stop your visions. But we can’t help you. You are not my daughter. She is dead. Dead, dead, dead, and that was your choice. And this is ours. Goodbye, Mary.” She turned away, as if oblivious to my sobbings. I hadn’t realised how much my forthcoming marriage to George Halloway had actually meant to her. “Take her now, please.” She said firmly to the guards.

The doctor unlocks my door, closing it carefully behind him. “Mary? Miss Brandon?” I huddle into a tighter ball beneath the bed, willing him not to find me. But of course, he does. In a locked and empty cell, there aren’t many hiding places. He bends down to me immediately.

“Boo.”

I can’t help but scream. He laughs.

“Hello Miss Brandon.” I stand up so quickly I am dizzy, and have to clutch the bed for support.

“Who are you?” I ask, suspicion lacing my voice.

“Have you not worked out the routine by now, Miss Brandon?” he asked, almost lazily. “Doctors ask the questions. You answer them.”

Don’t I know it, I thought bitterly. And my mind flashed back to that first awful night.

“Mary Alice Brandon?” A bored looking woman addressed me.

“I shouldn’t be here.” I muttered. Yet I was helpless, not only restrained by the straight jacket but strapped so tightly into a chair that I couldn’t move. I suppose this was my fault; I’d tried to escape constantly since leaving my home.

The woman ignored my reply, narrowing her eyes. “You are Mary Alice Brandon?”

“Yes, Okay? I’m Mary Alice Brandon.” I conceded.

“And you are how old?”

“Nineteen. At least I will be on the 29th.”

“29 January, hmmm?” she muttered, scribbling away on a pad. Then she looked up, her expression serious. “Miss Brandon, do you know why you’re here?”

I look at her. “I’m not mad.” I said evenly.

“Prove it.” She challenged, knowing full well that I couldn’t prove it. How does someone prove sanity? I remained silent, and she smiled in triumph. “You can’t, can you?” I remained silent. Suddenly, her attention switched from me. “, take her to the bathroom.”

The bathroom. That place still brings shivers to my mind. In the bathroom, they made me shower, blasted me with freezing cold water whilst I stood in a cubicle, naked and defenseless, my long lack hair plastered to my head. They did tests, checked for syphilis, as this can make you mad. And then they cut off my hair, my pride and joy. My gorgeous black hair. Gone.

The new doctor drags me back to reality. I can feel his crimson eyes boring into my skull, can sense an almost hunger as he looks at me. Hungry? What a strange emotion. He says no more, just stares. And suddenly, he’s gone, and I’m alone. I begin to wonder if I’ve hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe, eventually, I’ve been driven truly mad by this god-damn place?

That night the blonde angel is back. “Mary? He’s been to see you, hasn’t he?” This time I can sit up, and what I see startles me. Tis man is even more beautiful then I thought.

“Yes. He came.” I answer. The angel is silent.

“Who are you?” I ask, eventually.

“I am your savior.” He answers simply, after a long pause. And then he leans over and bites me.

And once more, the blackness consumes me. The last thing I hear before I fall under is, “I’m sorry.” And the angel holds his head in his hands.

***

I feel so guilty about creating another vampire. That girl, that poor girl, she doesn’t deserve to be doomed like me. But what sort of life would she have in the asylum? Branded as a lunatic. And now with James on her track, she would have been dead before the week was out. I had to do it, for her own protection. She was going to die. Like Edward. I’m just sorry for the agony she has to go through now.

“Doctor Cullen?” I turn, jumping at the voice. It’s James. “Where is she? Where is the girl?”

“Girl?” I feign ignorance. “What are you talking about?”

“Damn you, Carlisle. One day, one day, I will have my revenge.” He growls, stalking out of the room.

Yes, Mary will be fine. At least she won’t suffer the tortuous death James had in mind for her. Yes, Mary will be fine.

As for me, it’s time to move on. Again.

***

I wake up, and my senses are amazing. It feels like I’ve bee burnt alive, but it was worth it. But there’s one problem. I have no idea who I am for that matter. Except that my name is Alice. But Alice what? For now I am overwhelmed by a burning thirst, and I realise I need a drink. But not any old drink. Blood. Now I’m scared. And I’m off and running, faster then light itself.