It's not lupus, III

"Start at the beginning," I suggested. "Work your way forward. Tell me the important parts."

"What beginning? Don't know what's important."

"The first thing you can remember, from when...when everything started to go wrong."

She was silent for a long time. "First? Nightmare was first. First sign anything was wrong. Saw Him a few days later. Need details? All the same. What you'd expect. Him watching. Trouble sleeping. Doodling."

"Doodling? What did you doodle?"

"Him, and... can't remember much else. Over a year ago."

"And no doodling since?"

"No. Went away once I gave up. He made it seem right. Made me think I did the right thing."

"Do you think you did the right thing?"

"No. Maybe they were going to die. Maybe it didn't matter. But I killed them. He killed them. But with me. They wouldn't know. Dead now."

"Not all of them. And maybe if the truth goes to those who still matter to you..."

"Maybe then they'd die too."

That was true, I suppose. But I wasn't finished yet.

"Maybe not. In my experience, It...He rarely comes back to clean up his messes."

"Can't predict Him."

"Can't we? Can't we at least try? Can't we at least hope?"

"Hope if you want. But He never gave anyone else a briefcase."

"Ah, yes, the briefcase. That's true. Hm...come, now, back to the beginning. What happened after the nightmares?"

"Nightmares came after people died. My mother, my friend, my coach. Then I went to Him. To end the deaths. Didn't work. Dreams didn't mean what I thought."

"What did they mean?"

"Meant I could go with Him, not know people were dying. Be ignorant. Don't know why He had to kill them. Maybe just torturing me."

"Yes, he's good at that..." I paused. "If you could go back, and change it all...would you? Would you fix it all? Stop yourself from going to Him?"

"... All I could have done was die. Might have saved them. Can't know. Was selfish instead."

"Save yourself, Atalanta. Save yourself from the legacy you don't deserve. Come out of the pit you've dug." I sighed again. This was going nowhere.

"Told you. Too. Late."

"And I told you. Never too late."

"Go away. Don't know why they didn't kick you out yet."

"They didn't kick me out because they think I'm supposed to be here. But if you really want me to leave, I will. I can see you're most certainly alive; that was the main purpose of my visit."

"Let me just be nothing."

"Nothing...nothing. You will be nothing, then! You are nothing! But make it a good nothing."

"Whatever."

"I'm sorry, then, for your sake. My best wishes, and my condolences." I stood up. "Before I go, is there...anyone you would like me to tell what you've told me? Anyone in particular?"

"What did I even say?"

"You said a great deal. You said enough to acquit yourself - before an open-minded jury, that is."

I could see her thinking it over, her brow furrowing above the bandages. "Don't tell anybody that doesn't know about Him. No more advertising."

"No more advertising. Got it." I laughed quietly. "Today, Atalanta, you've done something right, at least." I thought for a moment. "And you finally have a bed."

The moon had begun to rise when I got outside. I got on the last bus home and stared at my notebook for hours before slipping into unconsciousness by the fireplace.

It's not lupus, II

"A minimum of no one," I said, finally. "Or, whoever you want to know. Your friends, maybe."

"Think I'm dead. Those ones. Maybe. Almost was. Did He save me?"

"You tell me."

"Don't know. Never know. That's it. All I am. Not knowing."

"You're much more than that. I see a strong young woman who...went wrong in a few places."

"Too many. Look what happened."

"Funny you should say that." Pause. "You can't keep yourself locked up forever."

"Don't have to. They will."

"On the inside. Your mind. Not your body. The mind is free to go places no body can ever go."

"What?"

"Speak your mind. Open up. Tell me what you feel. Let it out. I can help with that, if nothing else."

"Nothing left. All gone. All wrong. Made everything worse every time."

"My dear Lea, if it were all gone you wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't be talking to you, would I?"

"Right. But what do I do? He gave me back His half. Too useless for Him. That worked. And didn't. Too useless for me."

"It doesn't have to be useless. You can talk to me. Trust me."

"Why? Why do you care? Don't know you."

"Nor I you. But I am interested in you. I want to help."

"Do you have a time machine?"

I chuckled.  "If only. That could certainly solve a lot of problems..."

"Help somebody else. Too late for me. Always was. Ever since I knew about Him."

"It's never too late."

"Yes it is. Can't go back. Nothing ahead. Just death. Somewhere."

"But death as a psychopath, or death as a martyr?"

"Death as nothing."

"That's a sad thing to strive for."

"Not striving. Just going."

"Going, striving, walking, running, crawling. You might as well go out with a bang."

"How?"

"Tell me your story. Tell me who to give it to, and I'll make sure they know who the real victim was."

"Already wrote it. You saw it. Must have. But they- Regular people can't know. He'd get them."

"But what came before? And what came in between? What are the missing pieces?"

"That's too much. How do I tell it all?"

It's not lupus, I

From my home in Texas, it is a relatively short trip to Tucson, Arizona, where the marathon has come to an end. First place goes to Miss Ritter.

I introduced myself to the kind policemen guarding her room as "Theodore Teodora, pleased to meet you. I'll be taking Doctor Hanson's place while he's out today." They didn't even ask for identification - not that that would have hindered me. Inside the room, I had to button up my coat against the chill. I waited for her to speak first, checking the instruments, watching the readings.

"The other one just left." Her voice sounded scratchy and thick at the same time.

"Yes," I replied, "I just passed her in the hall." I pulled up a chair to the side of her bed and got out my notebook. "You are Lea Ritter, correct?"

"Yes. Again."

"'Again,' hm? Were you someone else before?"

"Yes. No. Only me."

"You don't seem very sure."

"Drugs. You have the charts."

I looked at the foot of her bed. "I have this one, here, hanging off your cot...oh, but you can't see. Pity."

"No. No pity."

I will admit, that surprised me. I would have relished every smidgen of pity I received were I in her position. "No pity?" I paused, scribbled in my notebook, listened to the soft beeps of the machines. "Interesting. You probably think I'm a nurse."

"Not a nurse?"

"No. Not a nurse. I am here to check up on you, though."

"Fine. No changes."

"Come, Atalanta. You must have gone through a big change to go from student to serial killer."

"No reporters. They said no reporters. Go away." I waited for it to sink in. When it did, she said, "You don't know. Can't."

"You're right. I don't know. I know what you've written, but there's more to the tale. Where is the truth?"

"No reporters."

"I'm not a reporter, Atalanta." I sighed. "Call me Ted."

"He sent you?"

"Good heavens, no. I just want to talk."

"They'll hear. Can't let them know."

"Don't worry about that right now. Focus on my voice."

"Have to plead guilty. Can't let them find out. He wants that."

"I can't help you with the law. But if you do talk to me, I promise you won't be put down as just an insane, blathering murderer."

"Who, then? You'll tell who?"

That made me think.