“One of us must die,” is the mantra of Lee Thames, a bi-polar, sexually driven woman who, additionally, suffers from multiple personality disorder. She escapes from a mental hospital, where she was confined after an unsuccessful suicide attempt, and spends a reflective five hours, hiding in her home, preparing for the ‘perfect murder.’ She takes the reader on a rough ride, with her multiple personalities, through an abusive childhood, raging sexual encounters with multiple partners, and life threatening outbursts that culminate in the act she is preparing to commit.
One of us must die.
Bright lights flickered as red spots on my closed lids. I went in and out of reality. A searing pain awakened me the same as every morning, but this time it hurt worse as they removed the NG tube from my nostril.
I thought to myself, this is the first time I’d had my stomach pumped, and it hurts like hell. Horrific anguish from the endless tubes vexed every orifice. I had no idea where I was or what was going on. Groggy was an understatement.
I remembered sitting in my recliner when the phone rang. Jolly, my daughter, calling me. My mind worked, although the rest of me felt paralyzed.
“Tholly. . .I. . .uh luf. . . youfth.
I heard Jolly’s voice, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying. Soon, another vaguely familiar voice sounded loud in my ear as he shook me awake.
“Lee, wuh-wuh-wake up, can you hear me?” I recognized the voice as belonging to Tom, our local town cop whose number my daughter kept on her phone’s speed dial.
Thinking I was sipping a glass of tea, I sensed a prick and a burning sensation in my arm. That part I did remember, though I thought it had just happened. Turns out it was when the EMTs found me passed out in my chair. The pain had awakened me the night before for a few seconds. Life wasn’t fair, even in death.
I tried to open my eyes. They were too heavy to open all the way, but I squeezed one into a slit. A blinding light assaulted me, and the red spots faded. There were strangers leaning over me. The strong smell of alcohol burned my nose as a nurse unhooked the IV and pulled it out. She cleaned the stick and bandaged it.
“You know, you are wuh-wuh-one lucky lady.”
The voice I heard sounded like he screamed at me from far away. Tom’s voice again. I managed to open my eyes and look at him, and he was there this time.
“Have you returned to take me to a mental hospital?” I asked.
“I’m here mainly as a wuh-worried friend, Lee, but, yes, if the doctor decides to send you back by ambulance to Birmingham, my job is to see that you go agreeably.”
“How did I get here? What happened?”
“Jolly called me last night and said you’d taken an overdose. Wuh-wuh-when I got to the house, you’d locked all of the doors. She had you on one phone and me on her cell phone. She gave me permission to kick the doors in to get to you. I kicked in the outside studio door then the locked pantry door. You wuh-wuh-were out but still breathing. The ambulance arrived shortly after I did, and the EMTs wuh-worked on stabilizing you. They brought you to the hospital here in LaGrange. Her call saved your life.”
I was too drugged to make much sense out of what he was saying to me, but I comprehended that I’d nearly killed myself and Jolly had saved my life. The thought of Jolly was the only thing that made me grateful to be alive.