Chapter One

*Warning: story contains thoughts of/attempted suicide

“And why do you think you chose to end your life, Violet?” the hospital psychiatrist asked this with a quiet tone as if trying not to frighten away a wild animal. His legs were crossed, pen poised over his notebook as he sat in a low chair next to the hospital bed. The bed to which the attendants strapped me down to until I passed more of the doctor’s tests. Tests to prove to them I wasn’t going to do it again. And I wasn’t.

“Look, I know how this looks, and as I said before, I won’t ever try that again.” Dr. Ross raised one bushy grey eyebrow as he studied my face when I said this. This time, I turned my head to look into his eyes, showing my sincerity.

“I mean it,” I said, dropping my voice to sound more serious. “I feel…different now.” My eyes stared unblinkingly into his perceptive blue ones. After what felt like ten minutes of staring at each other, he scribbled something down.

He closed his notebook and smiled a sad, knowing smile that made me want to smack it off his old, wrinkled face. But, instead, I smiled back and took a deep breath.

“I am happy to hear that, Violet. And to do this properly, to put everyone at ease…” he paused again and made eye contact before continuing, “that you will not put yourself in danger again. I will need more than that, I’m afraid.”

I closed my eyes, putting my head back on the itchy hospital pillow, and thought of what to say. My parents were mangled to death by a snowplow last winter? My best friend, who I loved more than anything, recently ended our friendship when I thought it was safe to come out and tell her how I felt? The college where we planned to go to together rejected me? I have literally no friends or family left in this world. Who minds if I stay or go?

It sounded like a lame cliché of a teen movie. And while it was true, it wasn’t the main reason I opted to leave the theatre before the second act.

I opened my eyes and studied the hospital room I was trapped in—forced to stay alive in.

The thin door muffled the noise of the nurses rushing by outside. Wheeled tables squeaked. Bedpans clanged and clattered. Walls whitewashed except the one “Hang in there!” cat poster in a nauseating spotlight.

The small TV mounted to the wall was off, throwing a reflection of me, the good Dr. Ross, and her.

The woman who I saw before, in the last moments standing over my bathtub, stood again by the window. She stood silently, smiling behind the thin curtain as if mockingly trying to hide behind it, though seen clear as day under the morning sun filtering in through the window. By me, at least.

She wore a long black dress and smiled a simple, kindly smile at me. Her eyes bore into mine until I shut them and shook my head. I opened them again to see empty curtains bordering the hospital window. She was gone. In my head. Not real.

I turned back to face the shrink and saw the woman standing behind him. Her head cocked to one side as if curious to hear what I had to say. She stood uncomfortably close to the unknowing doctor.

He shifted in his chair and spoke again in another attempt to understand me.

“You can talk to me, Violet. Sometimes it’s good to let things out.” His brow furrowed in concern; his fingers now interlocked on his folded knee.

I racked my brain again for what to say. All I could think of was the dark-eyed woman staring down at me from behind the shrink, still as a wax statue.

“I was just…so…tired,” I said, giving the only honest answer I could think of.

Dr. Ross pursed his lips and nodded, waiting for me to continue. When I said nothing else, he took a deep breath and cocked his head to one side before beginning his next shpeel.

Behind him, the woman mimicked his head motion, turning her own to the other side as if playing a game of copycat.

“It is quite common for people to feel life can be too tiring to go on. Too…tedious. But it is vital that we do not give up. We keep fighting.”

The woman behind him nodded her head in mock approval of his words. Her face was painted with a mask of serious agreement.

“We must find the things we care about. People, passions, hobbies, and interests….” He trailed off, noticing my attention on the air behind his chair. He turned around and, seeing nothing, turned back to try a different tactic.

“Can you tell me…” He paused, opening his notebook again and flipping through it until he found a specific note.

“You mentioned that you feel ‘different’ now. Can you explain how?” He clicked his pen and sat there waiting.

My mind flashed to the last moments of consciousness. First, my wrists bleeding out into the hot water of the bathtub, staring up at the chipped ceiling tile. Then, a face entering my vision. Her face. Her smile and her big unblinking eyes. Then darkness.

Without thinking, I began speaking out loud. “Just before I…went under, I thought I saw….”

“Yes? What did you see, Violet?” Dr. Ross waited eagerly, pen at the ready and all but licking his lips in anticipation. All the while, the woman in black moved her head from side to side as she held a finger to her smiling lips.

I can’t say why I listened to her message or why I trusted her, but I did. And the message was as clear as day. Don’t tell him the truth. Don’t tell him about me.

“Darkness. I saw a deep darkness that felt different than the normal one. Different than when you close your eyes at night. This felt…I don’t know. Different.” The woman nodded once in approval and winked at me before looking down at the now frowning doctor.

As he closed his notebook, he placed his pen in his shirt pocket. The woman reached down and caressed the side of his face with her slender fingers, as a mother might comfort her baby.

Dr. Ross shivered and scratched where her fingers grazed his face a moment before. He abruptly stood up, visibly uncomfortable by the contact.

“Well, I must go. Apologies. I feel unwell, though I will be back to visit in a few hours. Your nurses will check hourly on you.” Dr. Ross held his fist to his mouth as if about to vomit before gaining his composure again.

“If you assure me you will do no more harm to yourself, I see no reason to keep these restraints on you for now,” he said, sweat beading on the brow of his now ashen face.

He undid the straps around my hands with shaking fingers.

After he did this, I could feel him studying my face as if unsure of his decision.

“You’ll stay here, in the hospital, until you get better and heal. Though please, as discussed, take your prescribed medication, Violet. It will help ease the pain until we finish our sessions.”

He nodded down at the small paper cup still containing the blue antidepressant pill, which sat defiantly unswallowed on my bedside.

If it gets me out of here sooner, fuck it, I thought as I knocked back the pill and washed it down with a glass of water. He studied my face again, making sure I wasn’t hiding it under my tongue. I wasn’t.

He nodded in approval and left the room in a rush. The woman in the black dress was nowhere to be seen.

II

One day before.

The old and small yet extremely loud landlord hobbled up the narrow stairs. She clutched a brown paper bag of groceries. She grunted with each step, each movement of her plump legs a life struggle. Then she paused on the landing to catch her breath.

While she stood in front of door 213, it was then that the bottom of her bag ripped, spilling the contents across the hall. Her jar of blood-red tomato sauce spilled on the threshold of 213, oozing under the door and into her tenant’s room.

She half hobbled, half-ran down the hall to her own room. She fumbled her keys into the door and returned moments later with a mop and rag.

She muttered words that would make a sailor blush as she cleaned until she could clean no more of the sauce without getting the door open.

She knocked once. Twice. Then pounded her fat fist on the door several times before shouting, “Violet? Are you home? I spilled sauce under your door, dear. I just want to clean it up for you!”

She waited for a response, but silence ensued.

She banged at the door again. “Violet?” Deeming it a vacant apartment, the landlady hurried to her room to retrieve her notepad. She scribbled down a note to leave for Violet, explaining her reason for entering. She knew the girl after all. Left all alone to live last year after the accident. The least she could do was not leave a mess for the poor girl to come home to.

The old lady ripped off her note and pulled out her ring of master keys before selecting Violet’s. She would just be in and out and clean before Violet returned home.

The woman opened the door and proceeded to mop the last of the sauce from her tenant’s floor. She tried not to be nosy, though she couldn’t help but notice the horrid mess that was Violet’s home. Empty wine, whiskey, and vodka bottles littered the floor. Half-eaten Chinese food containers complemented the scattered bottles. She clicked her tongue in disapproval before turning to go.

That’s when she heard glass breaking in the kitchen. She ran to the source of the noise. Fisted hands raised, expecting a burglar. When she reached the kitchen, she stopped. Nobody was there. A cabinet was open, and broken glass sprinkled the linoleum floor. That was all. The cabinet must have been overstuffed and pushed the door open, she thought to herself.

The landlord let out a breath of relief and walked slowly back toward the door to grab her broom.

Passing by the open bathroom door, she saw her in the corner of her eye and turned.

Her heart froze over as she stopped breathing, standing over Violet.

The girl’s naked body lay in a bath, deepening with crimson blood. Blood which she would hear, later on, was spilling from Violet’s slashed wrists.

III

I suppose I should have left a note or something for Old Lady Meyna. After all, I had guessed she would be the first one to find me when she came around for the late rent. Part of me felt bad for the fat little lady, while most of me couldn’t give two fucks.

I lay in my bed still, now at least able to scratch my damn nose if I pleased.

I was still locked in this room like a jail cell, nonetheless—a thought which didn’t escape me for a moment. I’m not paying for this, by the way. I didn’t sign up to be brought back.

But, though I couldn’t put my finger on it yet, most of me was glad I was back. Even if I was trapped until deemed not a danger to myself or others.

I still couldn’t explain the woman in the corner wearing black. She was back, staring at me with those unblinking eyes. A smile twitched on her blood-red lips.

She glided over to the end of my bed, sat down, and began to speak in a hushed whisper.