Where is Lucy Knight?
AUTHOR:
Kovacsgirl
E-MAIL:
CATEGORY:
Lucy
Knight
RATING:
PG-13
SPOILERS:
Season
6.
ARCHIVE:
E-mail
me if you want this for your site.
DISCLAIMER:
I DO
NOT OWN ER!!!
AUTHOR’S
NOTES:
I
came up with this one while reading “Girl Interrupted.”
SUMMARY:
What
is Lucy survived and Carter didn’t?
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We
all wonder exactly how it came about. And no one really knows for sure. Dr.
Deraad thinks it was during my recovery. But that’s assuming I had a recovery,
of which I’m not convinced. Kerry figures it was while I was working, and there
was no Carter around. I got lonely, and then I broke. I don’t agree. It began
on Valentine’s Day, 2000. They day we were stabbed. Everyone was certain we
would both make it through. Or, if anyone would die, it would be me. That
wasn’t what happened. Carter died. I survived. So that leads us back to our
original question. How did it happen? Well, after the stabbing, the first think
I remember is Elizabeth leaning over me and telling me that I had lost my
spleen. Maybe that’s what sent me over the top. A missing spleen. A scapegoat.
No, that’s not it. Well, Elizabeth was going to go into another surgery when I
went into PEA, then I passed out. I awoke to find that I was in the post-op and
Carter had died. That’s the first thing she told me. “Lucy, Carter… Well, he
didn’t make it.” She went on to tell me about myself. But I didn’t care. I
didn’t even listen to her. All I could think was “Carter’s dead, Carter’s dead,
Carter’s dead…” but then it occurred to me:
No.
He’s not dead. I am. I’m imagining this. Maybe I’m not out of surgery yet. Or maybe
I’m dead. Yes I’m dead.
I
think, no I believe that that moment was the time when I broke. I knew then, it
was all over.
That
was wrong too. The hours turned to days, days to weeks, and weeks to months.
And I hadn’t woken up yet. What I had told myself was a lie. Carter was totally
gone. And I wasn’t. It wasn’t right. He was innocent. I was not. He came in
there because of me. He was attack because of me. Guilt. A nasty word. To those
who have it. And those who don’t. Those who have it, suffer from it. It’s an
illness. One could even go so far as to say it’s a mental illness. It’s
painful, and no one wants it. To those who don’t, they think of those who have
it, people like me.
Things
when down hill when I came back to work. I was on meds, but never took them.
Sometimes I wonder if they could have been my salvation. Probably not. Unless
they were to null the second “me” that was developing. Things at work
deteriorated, changed. First it was the lights. The lights changed colors.
Sometimes they were their normal color. Other times they were fluorescent
orange, or green, or pink. Sometimes they were neon colors. At first they
changes slowly, and I didn’t notice, but later they flashed before my eyes and
gave me migraines. Sometimes nausea. Next, it was voices. Luka’s was Kerry’s,
Dave’s was Benton’s, and Deb’s was Romano’s. They changed on me, and they
twisted and turned on me. Soon, I couldn’t tell Luka from Kerry or anyone from
anyone else. They were a chaotic mess. My consternation at the voice changes is
what drove Kerry to refer me. Next, were the voices, in my head. They spoke to
me. Some were calming, others infuriating. They all were double-crossing,
telling me how to do my job wrong. I couldn’t stand them. And Kerry sent me to
Deraad.
He was
nice about it all, but quick. Kerry had already told him about me. He just saw
me and decided I needed to get out of there.
“You
need to see someone about those migraines,” he said slyly. He didn’t want to
tell me the truth.
“Yeah.”
He was right. Maybe I would ask Deb to look me over after the interview.
“And
that nausea.”
“Yeah.”
Why did this seem familiar? “Maybe it’s meningitis.” The voices kicked in
again.
*What?
You’re agreeing with him? He wants you locked up!
*No,
you’re fine Luce. He’s concerned.
*He’s
a fucking psychiatrist! He’ll lock you up faster than you can say your name!
*No.
No, no, no!!! You’re fine. Don’t believe it.
Yeah,
he’s concerned, that’s all. But still one had to wonder…
“Perhaps,”
he said, looking over a chart. Why do psychiatrists scare me? “Miss Knight---”
“Doctor,”
I reminded him. I was a doctor now. I probably shouldn’t have been, but go
figure. I hate when people forget my title.
“Doctor
Knight, I think you need to see someone else.”
That’s
all he said. Kerry went with me later to the hospital, but I never was told by
Deraad. In later years, I found Kerry was primarily responsible for my
hospitalization, imprisonment, use your own term.
It’s
Poetic Justice.
They
always say schizophrenia is non-communicable. I guess they were wrong.