Nalene was a perfectly healthy, hard-working and gentle person. She was always more empathetic than her two older brothers; the kind of person that would go out and buy coats and gloves for the homeless during winter. Somehow, despite my shitty past and god-awful personality, I'd managed to mold her into the person I'd always wanted to be.
But my baby is gone.
And I don't mean physically...I can still see her with my own two eyes, but she's just not there. Nalene was destroyed by simply being at the right place at the wrong time. It just goes to show how life is infinitely more terrifying than any old ghost story.
Life as Nalene knew it effectively ended November 19th, 2008. Before she lost her mind, the police managed to get her statement through her loud, desperate sobs. Along with the tapes collected from the crime scene, the police were able to piece together the trauma my girl experienced. My poor baby girl... I don't want to believe it was fate that made her class run late or cause the bus to break down, but after all these years I'm starting to wonder.
Nalene arrived at the station just after seven p.m. dressed in the dark-grey trench coat and brown boots I had gotten her for her birthday just three weeks prior. Nalene wore a black JanSport backpack filled with insanely overpriced textbooks that cause her back to ache, but ultimately made her feel "more weighted" to the ground. Despite all of her good qualities, Nalene was always paranoid; worried about what may be hiding around the next corner. She liked to be prepared for anything, but nobody could've prepared for that. I know how convoluted this may sound to some of you, but it's important. You need to know how she was. Or maybe I'm just trying to remind myself that she was better. Human.
The station wasn't too full at that time, with about thirty feet between each person on the platform. In her immediate vicinity was a large black man with a trimmed beard. He was wearing a beanie, a business suit and was situated to her left. To her right, a very old Korean woman was clutching her purse tightly, bundled up in knit everything. But then there was this guy, this white guy in his early twenties or so that was pacing back and forth behind her. When they showed me the tapes, I immediately felt uneasy upon spotting him. My eyes were glued to his back the entire time, waiting to find out exactly why my twenty-two year old was committed. They wanted, pleaded with me to just listen to the story, but I had to know what she saw. It was the only way I could truly understand her. Once the lawyer was called, the authorities complied, reluctantly pressing play after forcing me to sit down.
For the first two minutes nothing happened. Each person in the shot either check their phones, shifted their weight to the other foot, or leaned over to see if the train was coming. Everyone except the guy in the back. He was visibly shaking, quickening his pace as he walked from one end of the screen to the other. His lips began moving rapidly. He was speaking audibly enough for Nalene to notice and turn around. She took a wary step forward and asked him if he was okay (as secured from her statement). He nodded his head, shaking his hands in front of her as to say, "Don't worry, I'm fine." She pressed on until the blaring of the train's horn filled the air.
Nalene returned to her former position behind the yellow line and waited patiently for an express train to pass through the station. Behind her you could see him roughly hitting the sides of his head with his tightly balled-up fists. The train was fast approaching and so he jumped up and down on his toes; preparing, psyching himself up. He briefly leaned backwards before breaking into a sprint straight for the oncoming train. Nalene saw him and managed to grab his and tug as hard as she could. But she wasn't quick enough.
The sheer force of the train obliterating his body made her fall to the floor. Her and the woman on her right were completely covered in sticky, crimson blood. Had she noticed him even a split second earlier, she may have been able to save his life. The police say it was nearly impossible for his left side to stay as intact as it did. It was an almost perfect split down the middle of him. When Nalene fell to the floor, she brought him down with her, brain matter and intestines spilling out and pooling around her face.
It took her a moment to realize what happened. The old woman, Mi-Yun, went down due to a heart attack. But don't worry, she survived and is still kicking today. Victor the businessman, rushed to Nalene's aid, checking her for injuries and picking her up off the floor. Once she was standing she began to scream. Her face was contorted in agony, staring terrified at the bloody hand that was still clasped around hers.
She began flailing her arm around, trying to get it off her. However, all this did was spray more blood around, coating the off-white walls. It was at this point that I vomited on the commanding officer's shoes. I sat with my head between my knees, spitting the leftover bile from my mouth and attempting to control my breathing. My poor, poor baby.
Apparently, once in the ambulance Victor stayed by her side, holding her tightly while she screamed until they arrived at the hospital and were able to sedate her. He's the only one she'll talk to nowadays. He's the only one that is safe to be alone with her.
In the past six years she's been institutionalized, she's attacked ten orderlies and killed one of them. Poor bastard wasn't properly briefed on her case and was left to administer her antipsychotics alone. Once he touched her hand she lashed out violently, tearing her long nails into the flesh of his throat and ripping out anything she could get her tiny hands on before a security guard pinned her down and called for help. They threw her into solitary confinement where she proceeded to cover the walls in her bloody hand prints while she cried, "It was so easy!"
When they called me in to explain what happened, they showed me the live footage of her in the room. She was sitting cross-legged, facing away from the camera and rocking back-and-forth. After a minute or so of breathlessly watching her, she glanced over her shoulder, staring directly into the camera. It was then that I knew I had finally lost her. And as fucking terrible as it sounds, I wish that her murdering that man was the worst thing she did.
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