Alyssa

For six years now, we had waited and searched for her. She just disappeared, there one moment, gone the next. People were starting to loose hope that she would come back. The constant stares were starting to fade. But I couldn't loose hope. For me and my parents, I had to keep hoping that she was fine. She would come home. My baby sister would come home. Alyssa would come home. Although I couldn't shake the terrible feeling that something bad had happened. Was happening. She was the responsible one. She didn't just run off like everyone seemed to think. Something happened.

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I ran like the wind. I screamed, I yelled. I couldn't stop the tears that kept falling out of my eyes and blocking my vision. Had Alyssa gone through the same thing? Oh god, it was like no one could hear me. Should I stop? Should I confront the crazy man chasing me with a gun? I have to be crazy to do that right?

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Never have I felt so helpless in my life. Ever. Then again, I have never been this brave either. Always the quiet, observant person. I stoppped running. I stopped, and I turned to face him. If he had Alyssa, God help him. I didn't know what I would do, but I wouldn't be a victim. Not when my sister needed help. I turned to face him. He stopped running, almost disoriented and confused by my sudden courage. He looked disappointed, like he'd have enjoyed a good chase. He had a deranged look on his face, eyes frantically darting about. His smile made my skin crawl. I could see, as he slowly approached me, how his pupils looked dilated and he had a dark look on his young face. Then he did something I didn't expect. I cut himself on his arm, looked down at the gushing blood, and then stared straight into my eyes and smiled. I backed away a step, my heart rustling. That was all the reaction he needed. He grinned, an evil grin.Who was he? What did he want? Did he have my baby sister? Why did he start chasing me after calling me "the troublesome one?" He had to know Alyssa. Right?

Then he raised the gun, and the world stopped moving. My heart sank. I was going to die. This was it. I was stupid. I had to ask him before he pulled the trigger. I looked up at his face again, at the same unfamiliar, horrifying smile. Something in me paused. I knew this man. I didn't know how, but somwhere, somehow, I knew him. He held the gun up in front of him and I heard the trigger snap into place. My feet trembled against my wishes, my voice stuck in my throat. I started to speak, but then he stepped forward into the streetlight. The world stopped moving. He wasn't a he. It was a she. It was Alyssa. No, no, NO! It couldn't be. It didn't make any sense. The nightlight had to be playing with my eyes. I wasn't thinking straight on gunpoint. But then she spoke. A rash, confused grumble came out at first, like her voice was stuck in her throat and she had forgotten to hydrate all day. The crazy look in her eyes faded for just a second, when she seemed to recognize me. She looked scared. "It's okay, you don't have to love me," she whispered in a rough voice, through tears. Before I could respond, she suddenly looked up and was confused again. The distant, deranged look was back in her shining eyes.

She was lost again. She stared into my eyes, and pulled the trigger. I moved, but too slow, in shock. There was a blunt force on my shoulder, and then a numbing pain. I felt the warm blooze ooze out of me and fall everywhere. My vision blurred and I heard myself faintly scream. I fell to my knees and looked up into her eyes. The eyes of the person who was not my sister. Alyssa was there, but only physically. Then she raised the gun to her own forehead. I screamed, and she shot, still smiling. For a moment, everything stopped again. Nothing moved, and Alyssa and I stared at each other in silence, tears in both our eyes. She didn't know me anymore. Then she fell to the ground, and the pain from my own gunshot kicked in. I couldn't process anything. The next thing I remember is waking up in a bright white room, scared, being calmed by the doctor keeping the Police at bay, my distraught-looking, tear-stricken parents running towards me from just outside the glass door.

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Split personality disorder, they said.