Chapter 1

Rose’s eyes fluttered open under the stark white lights of the hospital. She blinked against the stinging brightness. Her temples burned. Blood pounded violently in them. She felt a tightness around her head. Her body ached with increasing pain. She could barely lift her hands.

She turned her head just an inch. She could see the blurred vision of a woman that seemed to be that of her mother. But how could that be? Her mother was suppose to be sick, in the hospital. That’s what Iris had said.

Rose grew weak and weary with fatigue. She forced herself to remember back to the night before. It had been raining. The rain had lulled her into a peaceful sleep. But the phone had rung just before midnight and startled her awake. It was Iris, a nurse at the hospital. She had said that her mother had taken an overdose and the doctors were working to revive her, but things did not look good. Iris claimed her mother might die.

So how could her mother be here with her now? She was sick, she was dying.

Rose closed her eyes against the pain that assaulted her. Her throat was dry. Her breathing was labored and excruciatingly difficult. How long had she been here?

Somewhere to her left she could hear the constant beeping of a machine. She heard the almost silent humming of another machine. Her hand ached where the dozens of needles and tubes were fixed under her skin. The room was cold. Too cold. But she couldn’t speak to let anyone know. She cried out in silent misery, then closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

Doris slept off and on. She kept having the same dream over and over again. It kept her unsettled and she woke from it every few minutes. She noticed that Rose had awakened for her position had changed ever so slightly.

Doris had prayed a number of times throughout the last few hours. She didn’t understand why she prayed, for God never seemed to listen to her. He had never listened over twenty years ago when she was slowly going out of her mind. She had prayed for the visions to stop, but they hadn’t. They tormented her day after day, causing her great pain and distress. She’d talked to the doctor’s but they just thought she was crazy, delusional. All they wanted to do was pump her full of drugs. And the sad thing was Doris had begun to believe she was crazy.

Yet, God had had his chance to heal her, but he had turned away from her, allowed her to suffer. Even today, the visions were still with her. How she hated them, despised them with every fiber of her being. But she no longer prayed about them. It was useless to pray. So she drank instead. It was the buffer between her and the pain and torment that was inflicted upon her, even after all these lonely years.

Doris shifted her thoughts back to Rose. She could not understand why her daughter had been driving at such a late hour and on a rainy night of all things. It puzzled her even more to know why she had been driving so fast. The investigating police officer had informed her that Rose’s speedometer had stopped at a hundred and ten miles per hour. It was a miracle that she had not died in the collision or suffered more injuries than she did.

Doris blamed herself. She always blamed herself. No matter what the circumstances were, she always found a way to blame herself. Tonight was no different. Rose was her daughter. She was beautiful, intelligent and quite successful. More successful than Doris had ever dreamed of being.

But in away Rose had turned out to be just like her. It was one of the things Doris could not stop blaming herself for. It would have been better if Rose had been raised by someone else. Doris had begged her husband to take Rose with him when he had left. But he had refused for reasons she could not understand, nor forgive him for.

But Doris had ultimately been forced to deal with her unforgiving nature, as she understood that it displeased God. So eventually, as Rose grew and matured, she had set aside her grievance with her husband and had forgiven him at last.

Doris leaned back in her chair thinking back over the last few years. She loved her daughter. She had never shown it with words, or expressed it with feelings. She just wasn’t that type of person. Doris had shut herself off from the world and from God too. She was crazy and she knew it. People laughed at her. They avoided her where ever she went. People did not like those who often mumbled to themselves and saw things that were never really there.

Doris knew that Rose never understood her illness either. She also realized that Rose was a lost soul, that she had never accepted Christ as her Savior. This troubled her daily. It was another fault that Doris blamed herself for. Had it not been for her, maybe Rose would have accepted Christ along time ago.

Doris had never given Rose the true Christian upbringing that she deserved. She’d never taken her to church, or taught her how to read the Bible. She hadn’t been the perfect role model either. Her faith, through the years, had waned. Her faith and trust in God had evaporated. Doris had only recently begun to come back to God again. Ever so slowly. Ever so carefully.

Doris didn’t understand her condition any more than the next person. And the doctors.... The doctors sure didn’t know how to deal with her or to treat her. Through the last five years she had been on so many types of medication. None of them seemed to work. She still saw things that weren’t there and talked to them as if they were. Over the last three months Doris had stopped taking the latest medication that had been prescribed to her. Though she still drank, she tried to control how much she consumed. Sometimes she was successful, sometimes not.

She tended to drink more heavily on the days the visions appeared. She did not know why they came to her as they did. She did not know what they wanted from her. The not knowing is what drove her to drink. The drinking is what drove her husband away. If she could change the things she had done and do them differently, then she certainly would. But unfortunately one could not change the past, but could merely alter the future.

The visions started over twenty five years ago, when Rose was just two years old. If she wanted to be honest about it, it had started long before that. But she wasn’t honest. She was never honest. She had lied to those around her including her husband.. She had lied to herself. And most of all, she had lied to Rose. It was the lies that kept her from facing the truth. And that she could never do. Facing the truth meant accepting fault, accepting a small part of the responsibility for what had happened so many years ago.

Doris shut her eyes hard, shutting out the memories, the pain, the guilt. It never happened, she tried to tell herself. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t.

Doris heard something, a scratching sound.

When she looked down at Rose, she was thrashing beneath the sheets. A bead of sweat had formed over her forehead. Her damp hair clung to the side of her face. She gripped handfuls of the bed sheets with white knuckles.

Rose began to groan. Her thrashing grew more pronounced. The machines and monitors started beeping in protest. Loud, quick, horrifying.

Doris was not sure what to do. Her heart beat in alarm. Within a few minutes one of the night nurses came rushing into the room. She lifted Rose’s arm and felt for her pulse. She checked the monitors, listened to the rapid beating of her heart, then quickly left the room.

Rose began to cry out loud, a deep wrenching sob that tore at Doris’s heart. She grabbed Rose’s hand in hers and held it against her own chest. By now her body had become completely drenched in sweat. The monitors were beeping more rapidly. Rose’s chest rose up and down with brutal intensity as if struggling for air.

Doris was on the brink of panic. She ran to the hall way and peered down both ways looking for the nurse that had come in earlier. She did not see her or any of the nurses anywhere.

She ran back to Rose’s bedside listening and watching frantically.

Rose’s body began to tremble uncontrollably in the bed, jerking and rising off the bed several inches. Doris tried to restrain her daughter with the weight of her own body. But she was small and frail and her efforts were useless.

Rose let out a chilling scream then shot straight up in bed. Her eyes flew open, but she just stared straight ahead as if seeing nothing.

A moment later a nurse came running in with a small alcohol swab and a injection of some sort.

Doris was confused, concerned. She turned to the nurse with wide, questioning eyes.

"What is that for?" she asked the nurse as she slowly eased the needled into one of the IV sites.

"I’m sorry it took so long to get back in the room," the nurse explained. "I had to get doctor’s orders. Dr. Livingston believes your daughter could be suffering from Post Traumatic Syndrome. He ordered a sedative to keep her calm."

The nurse patted the sheets around Rose as she quickly succumbed to the medication. Her body became lifeless as she fell back against the pillows into a calm sleep.

Over the course of the next few days, Rose was constantly having unexplained tantrums. She was kept heavily sedated by order of the physician on call. This worried Doris, but she said nothing. She had stayed at Rose’s bedside at all times, except for those few times she desperately needed a drink.

The vision had appeared once, just outside of Rose’s room, as if watching over her. It had appeared briefly then was gone. She expected that it would soon return. She was sure she had not seen the last of it.

It had been a few hours since Rose’s last injection. Doris was hoping that it would wear off soon. She would then insist that they give her no more.

The waiting was interminable. Doris could do nothing but pace the small expanse of the room. Pace and wait. It was driving her crazy. She was a bundle of nerves. She wished she had brought her tranquilizers. But she hadn’t. Now she had to suffer through the ordeal without them. If Rose was not awake in another half hour then she would sneak off to the lady’s room and drink.

Drinking was her solution to everything. It dulled the senses, and made her forget everything. At least temporarily. She knew eventually the memories would come back to her. That one day the truth would be known. It was inescapable, inevitable. But at least for now, she was safe. For how long she wasn’t sure.

Rose awakened to her mother’s head resting on her chest. She could smell the faint hint of liquor. If she were correct, it was Scotch.

She was still in a state of lethargy. She no longer felt the tightness around her head. But there were things she could not remember. Like what day it was. There were other things she could not forget. No matter how hard she tried.

"Mother," Rose whispered, her mouth dry. "Mother, please wake up."

Doris awoke to the urgent cry of her daughter. Her eyes sprung open with a mixture of surprise and delight. She gently brushed away the strands of her hair from her daughter’s face.

"How long have I been here mother?"

Doris did not hesitate before she answered. "Five days, Rose. Five days."

"What happened to the girl, mother? Is she alive?"

"What girl is that?"

A deep male voice appeared out of no where startling Doris. She turned around to see a tall man in his late fifties standing in the doorway. He was stout, with hollow gray eyes that seemed to penetrate beneath your flesh and read everything there is to know about a person. His face was heavily wrinkled. He did not smile His expression was grave and menacing.

Doris stiffened immediately as the man entered the room.

"What girl is that, Rose?" the man asked again, coming to stand beside Rose and her mother. He wore a thick, long white coat. A blue name badge introduced him as Dr. Troy Livingston.

Doris knew he was from Winterpark Sanitarium. She didn’t like him the instant he walked into the room. She trusted him even less than she despised him. For her Winterpark held some very bad memories. Memories that would never go away. And he was responsible. Partly responsible anyway. And though time had passed swiftly, the pain and sadness had not lessened. It was because of him that she grieved, that she could not cope with life as it was today. It was because of him that the visions came to her and never left.

"Don’t speak, honey," Doris softly commanded her daughter. "You should rest awhile."

"No," Rose started to protest. Her eyes grew wide as she tried to raise herself up in the bed.

Doris gently pushed Rose back against her pillow, stroking her cheek with one finger. When she looked up at the doctor, it was as if he had an evil grin on his face as if he, too, still remembered that night so long ago. That night twenty-five years ago when her world ended and the pain began. And it seemed as if he were reveling in her misery.

"Perhaps you are right, Ms. McKenna." He took one large step backward, his massive figure dominating the room. "Your daughter must rest."

As he started to back his way out of the room, panic set in for Rose. She brushed her mother’s hands away and scrambled to a sitting position. Just as Dr. Livingston made it to the door, Rose shouted out. Her tone was urgent and pleading.

"I hit a girl," she confessed, tears spilling onto her cheeks. "She was a young girl. The night of the accident." It was when she looked at Doris straight on that it dawned on her where she had seen those eyes before. They were they eyes of her mother. Deep-set and hard. Dark-circled. Emotionless.

Doris became frantic. "Hush, my child," she scolded. "Hush now."

"No," Rose screamed out. "I want to know if she is alive. I want to know her name."

Dr. Livingston strode back into the room. Thoughts were spinning rapidly in his mind. Doris could see the glow of those thoughts shining in the depths of his eyes. She swallowed hard, meeting his stare with her own. She never wavered. She did not show signs of cowardice. Instead her hands curled up into tight fists, her nails digging in the flesh so deep that blood began to drip onto the floor. None of this went unnoticed by Rose as she sat quietly by and witnessed the exchange that was sure to have some hidden meaning. What, she was not sure. But she would find out as soon as she and her mother were alone again. For now, she chose to heed to her mother’s wishes and she remained silent.

Dr. Livingston grinned wickedly, an evil haze washing over his grim face. "My Dear Rose, I’m afraid to say this to you, but you must be mistaken about the events of the night of the accident."

Rose’s brows furrowed as she once again relived that horrible night. She remembered all to well the incident. The girl’s face was clearly embedded in her mind. The rain, the wet hair, the dress. She remembered slamming into the girl. She remembered seeing her lying on the street not far from her car. Her mind began to whirl in confusion. She couldn’t be mistaken about that.

"What do you mean?" Dr. Livingston. "How can I be mistaken about anything. I was there. I remember seeing her lying on the ground."

"When the police arrived, there was no one around but you." Dr. Livingston edged up to the bed glaring down at Rose. Doris was just a breath behind him, fuming in irritation. "There was no sign that another vehicle was involved in the accident. No sign of another person . . ." He let his words trail off, allowing his words to put doubt in Rose’s mind.

"But there was," Rose cried out, turning to face her mother with eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Her voice was pleading for her mother to understand. "Mother, you believe me, don’t you? Maybe she survived and got up and walked away. She could be out there somewhere and she could be hurt. You must find her."

It was clear that Rose was getting upset again. Doris knew this was Dr. Livingston’s sole intent. If only Rose had listened. If only Rose had obeyed. But Rose was always determined and headstrong, never giving up and facing adversity with the tenacity of a hungry lion. She would not give up until everyone believed her story. But no one ever would.

Doris knew too well the horrors that dwelled in the halls of Green Lake Hospital. The nightmare was just beginning. Next it would be Winterpark. If Rose was sent there, she was doomed to a living torment. Doris could see it all now. It was all happening all over again. Just like it did twenty-five years ago.

The pain and tears were coming back. Doris felt herself becoming increasingly agitated. She couldn’t catch her breath no matter how hard she tried. She could do no more than take small, shallow gasps of air into her lungs. Her head began to whirl and she grew dizzy. She stumbled backward, reaching for support. But there was nothing there. Nothing but a void to which she plunged headlong into it.

Rose gasped in alarm, screaming, watching as her mother’s eyes rolled back into her head. Her body convulsed Her head flew back as saliva began to spew from her mouth. Doris began to choke and this frightened Rose even more.

Dr. Livingston just stood there, calm, unmoving, as if he intended to do nothing for her mother. Rose kept waiting for him to move, to do something, anything to help her mother. Time dragged on. Endlessly. It was frightening and Rose flashed a worried, confused look at Dr. Livingston. But he paid her no mind. It was almost as if he’d forgotten that she was even in the room. He had become withdrawn, slipped into a world all his own.

Rose lunged from the bed. "Somebody help my mother. Please."

Alarms were sounding. The halls were suddenly alive with the thunder of rushing feet. Dr. Livingston quickly knelt down at Doris side, taking her face in his hands. Rose noticed how old and wrinkled they were. She notice more how strong and menacing they could be. She wondered what secrets her mother knew. What secrets Dr. Livingston didn’t want her to find out.

Rose stood by, watching over Dr. Livingston’s shoulders as he began ministering to her mother’s needs. His hands worked quickly, deftly as he made an incision at the base of her throat. With slow, precise movements he slid a small tube into the incision so that her mother could breath again.

It all had happened so suddenly that Rose felt her knees start to shake and give way beneath her. She groped for the edge of the bed and lowered herself down. Her hands began to tremble.

A gurney was brought into the room. Doris was lifted off the floor by two strong men, then in a bustle the nurses followed as the gurney was rolled down the hallway.

An aftermath of silence and tension was left behind. Rose and Dr. Livingston were the only two left in the room. It took only a moment for Rose to calm down. Once calm, realization dawned on her. She was outraged, angered beyond rationalization. Her hands shook with the force of her anger.

Rose planted her feet on the ground and shot upward to face Dr. Livingston eye to eye. He could see the fires of rage blazing in the depths of her eyes.

"Why didn’t you help my mother?" Rose demanded. "Why did it take you so long to help her?"

Dr. Livingston’s expression softened, playing Rose’s emotions. "My Dearest Rose," he said softly, "You have been through quite an ordeal. I will send a nurse in to give you a sedative."

Rose was outraged. "I do not need a sedative. I asked you a question and I want an answer. Why didn’t you help my mother?"

Dr. Livingston patted Rose across the shoulder, easing her gently into the bed. He lifted her feet and pushed them so that they sat in the center of the bed. "You must rest, Rose. You are upset."

Rose was obedient. She knew she could not play this game and win. Dr. Livingston was much too coy for that. She was beginning to see things that unsettled her. She watched sullenly as Dr. Livingston strode out of the room with a haughty arrogance she found distasteful. Impatiently Rose began to wait for the nurse to arrive with her sedative. A sedative she did not need, nor want. But a sedative she would be forced, nonetheless to take.

Green Lake Hospital was not very big. With a city as small as Crompton, a big hospital was not necessary. Most of the people who lived there were in the lower class, working in steel mills or on farms. They could not afford the amenities of larger hospitals. Those with insurance could well afford to travel to the next big town to the larger hospitals for more adequate health care. Those left were forced to come to Green Lake.

The only reason Rose stayed in Crompton was to be near her mother. Her mother was sick, mentally ill. Constantly fighting the battles of depression and suicide. Her mother had raised her all her life. Though she and her mother were not kindred spirits, or soul mates, or anything close to that, she still loved her and would dedicate her time and energies to helping her mother any way she could. Staying close was one way of doing that.

Yes, Rose had sacrificed so much for her mother. She was dedicated to her in every way. She had once tried to take her away from this place, but Doris was adamant about remaining in Crompton.

Rose hated this placed. She hated the hospital just as much as she hated this grubby little town that didn’t even belong on the map. The people were unfriendly. It rained far too often and the weather was always dismal and dreary. There was hardly a day of sunshine except beyond the city limits were the farms were. It was no wonder her mother fought depression so much of the time.

Crompton had many industrial companies on the east side of it. The residential homes were near the south end. Most of the homes were old and decaying, just like the people who lived in them. The homes were made of wood structures, mostly two bedrooms, with peeling paint and boards that badly needed replacing. They were crammed so close together that barely an inch separated the house one from another.

Most of the people of Crompton had lived their wholes lives in this tiny forsaken town. They were poor and had no means of finding a better life. Rose was different. She had, in her own way, found a way out. A way to succeed where others had failed.

She had often wondered, through the years of her young adulthood, why people chose to stay in a town that held no future. A town that bore the marks of poverty. The children being raised in Crompton were uneducated or had the intelligence of a third grader. Shoes were a luxury and the clothes the men, women, and children wore rarely saw the inside of a washing machine. Most families could not afford dishwashers and washing machines. Most washed their clothes by hand and hung them on lines out in their back yards, if they had one. There were those who did not.

Children maybe bathed once or twice a week if they were lucky. They were also fortunate if they were given two good meals a day. Some received meal rations from the local churches, others received food stamps, while those who could get neither stole from the grocers or from each other.

Drugs had not found its way into this crummy town, but Rose knew it was merely a matter of time before it did. The crime was kept to a minimum as there was not much to steal and people rarely left their homes after dark. There was an occasional rape, sometimes a murderer, but not often.

Most of deaths were related to medical malpractice right inside the walls of Green Lake Hospital. Over the past twenty years Green Lake had had more than its fare share of casualties. Just last week a small infant only three months old died while seeking treatment for a severe case of bronchitis. The boy had been found dead in his crib one Monday morning. The hospital blamed it on SIDS, Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.

The papers had reported the death, but no one believed it. Especially the parents. But they could not sue the hospital. They could not afford a lawyer. The hospital didn’t have money any way, except that which came from Medicare or Medicaid. Insurance was a rare commodity and those who sought medical attention could not afford to pay for it.

Doris was on Medicare. Rose had also purchased her mother a hefty insurance policy some years ago. Doris was never to be admitted in to Green Lake without her permission. If her mother was suffering from too much alcohol, or from depression she was permitted to stay only as long as it took to get her stabilized and/or sober once again.

If there was a serious health concern, Rose saw that her mother was transported to another hospital in the next town. Or she drove her their herself if an ambulance was not available to make the trip. Whatever it took, she would see to it that her mother was well taken care of.

Rose was baffled by everything in this town. If she could find a way to succeed, why couldn’t others? Why did they choose to stay? She would never truly know the answer to that. Nor did she really care. All she cared about now was finding that girl on the street. Until then she would never rest again.