Jean could say exactly when everything had changed. It had been a little less than six months ago, the day she'd seen her best friend hit by a reckless driver. No, not just that, because that was too simple. The day she'd felt her best friend in her head, her fear and her pain. Her death. Behind all of that had been the driver's panic, her mother's concern for her and her father's anger at the man who had killed Annie. The grieving thoughts of Mr. and Mrs. Richardson had nearly choked her, and she'd passed out when faced with the wave of thoughts and emotions at Annie's funeral. It was all there, and it was all just too much, and she couldn't turn it off. She'd tried, but she just couldn't manage it. And so she stopped trying.
She'd spent weeks in the hospital after that, but it didn't help. Nothing helped and she hated the pitying looks she got from the nurses and doctors when she talked about the things she heard in her head, especially when their minds told such different stories. Apathy, disdain and impatience. They called her a freak and other names that made her want to cry and scream, except she couldn't because they never said those things out loud. But that didn't mean she didn't hear them. She didn't trust the doctors because they didn't really want to help. She withdrew into herself because anything else hurt too much, and it was crushing to be so isolated. She couldn't even be around Sara, not like she used to, and that hurt the most. She adored her sister and she felt a distance building between them, between herself and all her family.
She wondered during nights spent curled in a ball on her bed, desperately trying to block the noises out so that she could sleep without having to take the pills she hated for doing absolutely nothing, how long it would be before they stopped fighting it and gave into the Doctor who smiled at her but thought awful things. He wanted to stop her brain, because he didn't care enough to try anything else. This was easiest. He didn't actually care about helping. But, again, that was all in her head. She was delusional, which was a word she'd only learned because of how many times she heard it thought. She'd looked it up, and wondered to herself how she could imagine words she didn't even know. At moments like that, she wondered if all grown-ups were stupid, or if it was just doctors.
She was alone in the house, which she liked best because it was quieter, when the man came. Her parents had taken Sara and Julia to Sears Roebuck for some shoes, and they had known better than to ask Jean to come along. The last time she'd gone to a store, she'd felt sick within five minutes and they'd had to go home. The doctors attributed it to her depression. Her doctors were really dumb. Normally, she would have ignored the person and waited for them to leave, focusing on her book and not on the nearby press of thoughts, but this person was different. She just knew it. He would help. Shutting her book, she set it neatly on the table and made her way to the front door. Standing on her toes to reach the lock, because she still hadn't quite reached five feet, she unlocked and opened the door, staring solemnly up at the stranger. He felt different than the others.
"You're like me," she said, in lieu of a greeting. She realized that was probably a little rude, but he wasn't really here for pleasantries. "I'm not supposed to let strangers in," she continued calmly, "but you're safe. Mom and dad are at the store, but they should be home soon."