Author's Note: Hi! This is just kind of something that was on my mind. I'm really not sure how it's going to turn out. I'm definitely not even going to be updating this one a lot because I'm in the process of writing it, rather than waiting until I'm completely done and THEN publishing it.
It's going to be a scary story, so if that's not your thing, then don't read this. It's not going to be super terrifying or anything, but definitely dark. At least, I hope it comes off as dark.
It's going to have a lot of different monsters in it, and I can't tell you everything right now because I'm not even sure about everything but I wanted to mention it was a supernatural story.
It's rated M for violence and language.
Oh, and Jace is evil and Clary is crazy.
Or IS she?
Dun, dun, dun...
Read on please! (:
"Just calm down, Clarissa," the orderly says, slow and even. Trying to give comfort.
It's not comforting, and she won't listen. She can't.
She just keeps thrashing and crying.
"Trapped," she says as her eyes close tightly, flashes of things she's never seen playing across her eyelids like a fragmented movie. "They're trapped—sad, burning, evil, so much darkness. Darkness!" she screams, kicking out and clawing wildly.
"We're going to have to sedate her," the orderly says with a sigh.
The other nods, producing a diabolical looking syringe as the mayhem of the institution ensues around them, people crying, screaming, laughing—and everything in between—all because she started crying herself.
"Hold her arm steady," the needle-wielding orderly says to the other.
The girl's head tips back, her back arching and her eyes rolling up to just show whites as she shudders a few times. Her arms and legs jerk at odd cadences, unpredictable and wrong. She starts slamming her head back into the floor, and the orderlies struggle to control her, even though she is tiny in comparison to their hulking frames.
"Make it stop!" she screams, the pictures in her mind getting more vivid. Pictures of evil things, monsters that lurk in the dark, usually in between the pages of horror novels, but are real—they're there. They're here. They're real.
Memories that are not her own dance in her confused and crowded mind, making her head split. She wishes her skull would open so that the darkness could wash out and leave her blissfully numb, without anything—either good or bad. She'd be free.
She wants freedom.
And so do they. They want to get out.
"Help me!" she screams as the whispers in her mind begin, evil voices begging and pleading, sometimes yelling. It's too much.
It's too much until she feels a prick in her arm, and then, she stops moving. The orderly's think they have put her to sleep—helped her, even.
But the don't know that she's still awake. She can never go to sleep, not until it's done. All they've done is trapped her in her own personal hell, and all she can do is scream on the inside and pray someone hears her.
"How are you feeling today, Clarissa?" Dr. Carmen asks.
I sit carefully on the edge of huge leather chair, feeling uncomfortable. "I'm fine," I say softly. My eyes drift over to the window in her office. It's the first time in a few days that I've seen the outside. The sky is gray and the grounds are a vibrant green, a product of all the rain we'd had this summer.
I love the rain, the feeling of cool water running down my skin as it eases the thick Georgia heat. It's the best feeling in the world, to dance in the storm as it roars around you. I feel at peace when I'm with nature.
I glance back over to find Dr. Carmen smiling softly. I know she's been speaking to me, and I've gotten lost in my own head. It happens a lot now. Sometimes it happens, and I don't even realize it, I don't even remember what's happened.
Which is why I'm here now—because I had another episode.
"I'm sorry," I say.
Dr. Carmen has a sweet, soft face. She's not very pretty. Her ears are too big, and her skin is a little too freckled. Her frizzy red hair is pretty, though, and when she smiles really big, it squints her eyes up and shows her laugh lines. I like her. She reminds me of someone, though I can't remember whom.
"Don't be sorry, sweetie," Dr. Carmen soothes; looking down at the papers she has spread over her wooden desk. "You're here today because of what happened Friday. Do you remember what happened?"
I shake my head.
"Did they tell you anything?" Dr. Carmen inquires, looking up at me and lacing her fingers together.
I nod quietly and look down at my plain white scrubs. I pick at the hem of my shirt, hating the color and everything about them. They aren't my style, at all. I like bright colors. Or…at least I used to. I thought I did.
I can't remember sometimes.
"They say I started screaming and convulsing," I whisper down at my hands. "They had to sedate me."
"What's the last thing you remember that day, Clarissa? Let's see if we can find a trigger for these episodes."
I inhale deeply and think back to that day. The memory is slightly off because sometimes I have a hard time distinguishing reality from my dreams. My days here have all blurred together, until it's difficult to pick out certain days.
But I try my best, and I soon remember sitting in the common room with the other patients. I had been sitting in the corner with Aline and Simon. Simon had been twitching and rambling and laughing like usual. Aline had been saying strange things, also a common occurrence. That day she'd been very fascinated by aliens. And that had prompted Simon into a long rant about how the aliens built the pyramids and they'd come back for the smartest humans and save them from the impending apocalypse.
The word sends a fresh shiver down my spine as it did then, a few days ago. I repeat it, under my breath, three times. Each time, I feel a little sense of foreboding ease into my stomach.
Something bad will happen.
It's because they want out.
Who are they?
I'm snapped out of my thoughts at the gentle prodding of Dr. Carmen. When I look up at her, I'm relieved to find I'm in her soothing office, with the window letting in so much natural light.
I'm safe. I'm okay.
There's no such thing as monsters.
"Who is evil?" Dr. Carmen questions.
"What?" I ask in confusion.
"You were talking to yourself again," she says calmly, as if I'm not strange, as if I'm not crazy, as if my own family hasn't thrown me in here because I was becoming dangerous. This is why Dr. Carmen is so good at her job, I think, because she doesn't see craziness. She only sees sickness that needs to be cured.
You can't be cured, a voice whispers into my head, a voice that isn't mine.
I ignore it.
"You said they're evil," Dr. Carmen goes on, frowning. "You said 'they want out.' Who wants out? Who's evil?"
I start rocking back and forth before I realize it, and I gnaw on my bottom lip. "Can't tell you."
"Why?" Dr. Carmen's intent, leaning forwards slightly, a curious light in her eyes as if she expects me to suddenly make a break through.
"Because I don't know," I lie. Some things I keep to myself, even though I know I shouldn't. If I'm not honest—completely honest—with Dr. Carmen, I won't even get better. That's what everyone says. But some things I can't tell her. Some things I can't tell her because I truly don't know, some things I can't tell her because it's dangerous—dangerous for everyone.
Dr. Carmen nods and purses her lips for a moment. "All right. That's okay, Clarissa. Why don't we go back to the start of what seemed to trigger you Friday? You kept repeating the word apocalypse over and over when I first asked you about what had happened Friday. That seems to be a fairly common theme in your past episodes—some mention of doom or the world ending. Are you religious?
I nod once. "Yes."
"Are you afraid of the apocalypse mentioned in the Bible?" Dr. Carmen cocks her head.
"No," I say. I debate before adding, in a near whisper, "It has nothing to do with religion, Dr. Carmen. It's more…It's supernatural." I realize now just how crazy I sound. No wonder my aunt and uncle put me here.
Sometimes I wonder if maybe I am crazy. Maybe these things that I dream, these memories I have—maybe they are all part of my delusion. Crazy people don't know they're crazy, right? They don't know that what they think isn't possible.
"Supernatural." Dr. Carmen nods slowly, absorbing this. "Like monsters—vampires, maybe? They seem to be all over pop culture right at the moment."
"No, no," I say, shaking my head firmly.
"Not the pop culture kind," I say softly, pleadingly almost—as if begging her to understand. I scoot closer to her desk. "Not the sweet kind or even the kind in the TV shows that turns out to be good eventually. I mean…evil. Pure evil. Unnatural."
It got really quiet then, and my mind went back to a blurry memory that wasn't mine—candelabras, long dresses, corsets, horses and carriages, and a boy…no, not a boy. Man. Not man, either.
"Clarissa? What are you thinking right now?" Dr. Carmen asks me slowly.
"I'm…I'm remembering something." I press my hand to my forehead, closing my eyes tightly as the memory takes over, and it feels like I'm standing in a castle. It's cold, but I can feel the heat of the torch I carry. I'm frightened. I can smell smoke and damp. There's someone chasing me.
I jump and open my eyes. Dr. Carmen is looking at me in concern, and I feel pain in my palms. I look down and see my fingernails have cut into my palms, almost hard enough to draw blood. I force my fingers to relax.
"Breathe, Clarissa," Dr. Carmen says in a calming way. "These memories you have—are they still in different time periods?"
I can still smell the torch's smoke in my nostrils, can still feel the tightness of my corset, so all I do is nod in response to Dr. Carmen.
"When was the one you just had?"
"I'm not sure. The 1800's, I think."
"How far back have you gone?"
"So far back that I don't really know what time period it is," I admit.
"Hm. What's the closest time period to now?"
"The sixties," I say, picking at my scrubs again. I'm not sure what this has to do with anything. I don't care enough to take the time to find out. I long ago just gave up trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Instead, I answer Dr. Carmen's questions without complaint, in the distant hope that she'll one day be able to make me normal.
"All right." Dr. Carmen gives me a warm smile. "You can go now, Clarissa. I think that's enough for today. Do you feel like going in the common room and on the grounds again?"
I nod quickly, with a small smile. It's the most exciting news I've heard all day.
Dr. Carmen laughs slightly. "Great. I think you'll be okay to get out of solitary. These things happen from time to time. Just try not to strike up a conversation that will lead to the discussion of an apocalypse." She winks.
I smile and stand. "Here, you can strike up a conversation about butterflies, and it can lead to the apocalypse. It's kind of hard to pick and chose topics for discussion."
Dr. Carmen nods. "This is true. Have a good day, sweetie."
"Thanks." I walk over to the door and pause. "You, too," I add before slipping outside. I run down the halls, quickly skirting over Magnus—who thought he was a pit-bull and would thus attack anyone that moved too suddenly—and I made my way outside, just in time for it to rain?
I stood in the middle of the shaded lawn of the plantation institute. I closed my eyes, and inhaled the smell of summer storm deeply. And for the first time all day, I feel good.