Maplewood hadn't seen a Sunday night like that, nor would it see another like it. 

It had been an almost perfect movie with the unforgiving rain pouring down. The Parkers were old, cranky, and needed rest yet had huddled together under a comically small umbrella, and Evans, the postman, circled the crashed car as if inspecting for new dents he hadn't caught the first, second, or tenth time while red and blue lights from the ambulance danced off Mrs. Nguyen's Kiwi Night Face Mask.

Elena of course didn't have the sweet satisfaction of seeing all that play out—Grace had done enough storytelling to satisfy Hollywood, the former had seen the rush though, the stretcher rolling—no, squeaking—through the hospital hallways, the doctors huddled around it, their medical gibberish, bouncing off the sterile walls. 

Her shift was nowhere over, she knew this, though she had prepared to spend the last four hours guessing the next room the "nurse!" call would come from, and would it be a urine or blood spill, or the usual simultaneously too cold and too hot room?

As if reading her mind, 303 called. She glanced briefly at Grace and tried another attempt at wiping the sleep from her eyes before meeting Dr. Foster at the door of room 303.

He just sent her a nod and returned his nose to his notepad, not like she needed any further instruction, she was familiar with her job.

The door was wide open already, however, she knocked out of habit and stepped into the room, not forgetting to shut the door behind her. She walked straight to her patient's bed. 

303 was a girl, a girl about 15 years old. Elena couldn't see her face as her back was turned, but she could tell that much. Elena allowed her eyes to scan the girl’s body, her blonde hair was so scanty. Elena breathed with caution so as not to blow the whole thing off her scalp.

303 coughed, and Elena regained professionalism. She prepared the replacement fluids, her eyes still diligently watching her patient, her eyes widened as 303 turned and met them.

303 coughed again. Elena did the same.

Why was she coughing? Maybe it had something to do with the loud gasp that had gotten stuck in her throat. Her eyes welled with involuntary tears—her body's defense system—she clutched her chest, and 303 watched with droopy eyes.

303 was her. 

Or 303 looked an awful lot like her—the blonde hair, the acne-riddled face, the poorly chosen yellow band braces, the permanently red-rimmed green eyes—this was the 15-year-old girl straight from Elena's middle school yearbook.

Maybe she needed replacement fluids as well; the room was spinning. She tore her eyes away from herself, and they landed on her patient’s folder, she scanned it and had to hold the bed to stop herself from falling over. 303—or 15-year-old Elena Hayes—gritted her teeth as she tried to sit up in her bed.

What was happening? Was this a case of identity theft?

The door swung open, and a man walked gingerly into the room, and Elena instinctively took a step back.

What was he doing here? Was she dreaming?

He introduced himself as her patient’s uncle and stepped closer to her bedside. 

No, he wasn't. He was Isaac Taylor, the gym teacher, Isaac Taylor the molester, Isaac Taylor the abuser, Isaac Taylor the bane of her existence.

Elena, the impersonator, shifted uncomfortably as he stroked her hair, and Elena, the now pissed nurse, clenched her jaw.

Maybe she didn't need any more convincing that this was her, 303 was Elena Hayes, the quiet, abused, molested 15-year-old, and this was a second chance, perhaps, some supernatural way for her to save herself, to save Elena Hayes.

The nurse in her fought the urge to plunge a pair of artery forceps into his trachea, she fought the urge to stretch his annoyingly friendly smile all the way to his temples, she also fought the tears that itched her lacrimal glands and the hurricane of memories blurring her vision.

Hell, she had never fought a day in her life; perhaps this was her chance to finally fight his advances, fight his manipulation, and fight him off.

He was speaking to her, his lips were moving, yet she couldn’t hear a thing. She shook her head, as if manually clearing her thoughts. He was still talking, never minding that she hadn’t been listening to him before.

How is my niece doing? When will she be able to go?

Unfortunately for him though, Elena wasn’t at all ready to let herself leave that hospital. She muttered a few medical nonesenses that she knew he wouldn’t understand. Isaac Taylor wasn’t backing down though, of course he wasn't; he never knew what the word ‘no’ meant. He was determined to leave with his ‘niece’ the next morning. She was fine, according to him, “just a few scratches.”

Something foreign snapped in Elena—something sinister maybe, something irrational—but she knew she’d rather die than let 303 leave. Elena, feigning compliance, assured that his ‘niece’ would be ready to be discharged the following morning, and he left. 

Both Elenas blew out a breath.

The replacement fluid, long forgotten, was finally set up for her, after all, Elena, the impersonator, would have to be strong enough to run, to run for her life, to run for both their lives.

Elena left 303 to rest; her last four hours had somehow stretched into six, and all she'd really done in there was nearly choke to death, revisit her middle school fears, and administer normal saline.

Grace had waited back for her, endearing yes, but she really was in no mood for Grace’s inquisitive self. Grace had asked a lot of questions already, though Elena ignored all, especially the one concerning why she was pocketing the key to room 303.

Grace was annoying and didn’t know when to back down…just like Isaac Taylor,

Elena’s eyes momentarily shifted to the scissors on the table, she was more than ready to clear any hindrances in her path, whether it was Isaac Taylor or Grace, she would do anything for Elena.

She grabbed it as if inspecting it innocently and waited for Grace to say something more, to refuse to accept a no just as Isaac Taylor had done, to keep on pressing...

Grace did just that.

Elena went crazy.

No, no, she wasn’t crazy, just doing what was best for herself. Selfish or self love, she didn’t care, just as she didn’t care if the blood or body on the floor would draw attention, it would, but she was leaving anyway, every bit of her was leaving.

The hallway was dead silent, save for the gurgling sounds Grace made, that would stop soon though. Elena glanced at the square clock above the nurse’s desk. 

11:35 it read.

She was too impatient to wait for a round digit, so she pivoted and stalked back to room 303. She opened the door, and that woke 303 up immediately, either that or she wasn’t asleep at all.

Fueled with the permanent vexation of the night, she yanked the IV line out of her arm. 303 hissed, but no matter, that pain was minute compared to the pain waiting for her in the arms of her 'uncle.’

Elena started down the hallway wheeling 303’s bed along, she turned harshly at an L-bend and found herself face to face with the open staff door of the hospital. She jumped when she heard someone ask what was going on and looked to see the monster step out of his car and approach the bed.

He was so annoying, he didn’t know when to back down.

Elena glanced at the IV tubing that was still wrapped around the bed, it would waste her time a bit, but it'll have to do.

Isaac saw her coming, she didn’t sneak up on him, but she still had him writhing on the floor, clawing at his neck where she snaked the line tightly—too tightly in fact, it hurt her as well.

He stopped moving. Elena wasted no time and continued her journey to her car, 303 was in full-blown tears. 

Tears of joy, of course; she was free; Elena would make sure of that, she would free herself.

Once seated, she started her car and backed up, almost hitting the bed she had carried 303 from, the latter kept wriggling the doorknob and weakly hitting the window. 

Elena paid no mind to that though and sped out the parking lot. She had nearly reached the last open gate when a car crashed into hers, fortunately, there was no significant damage. No sooner had she had that thought did the offending car hit hers a second time. Determined though, she assaulted her accelerator pedal.

She was on the road, luckily, no one really drove at this time of the night, so she maintained her speed and racked her mind to see if she could remember how far New Hampshire was from Massachusetts.

Maybe the Elenas would have to start a new life together, in a new place, or... a new country.

She was distracted with her scheming, but she heard the sirens before she saw the blinding lights, bright enough to blind her, which meant they were close enough to get her.

She wasn’t sure her measly car could go any faster though so she screamed and swerved randomly into a tree.

Maybe Elena Hayes would have to start a new life someplace else.

…

She hadn’t died, none of them had.

She did pass out though, and her first sight after waking was Isaac Taylor holding 303 to his chest. Elena seethed and spat blood out of her mouth, she needed to get rid of him, properly, she would, but handcuffs held her arms behind her.

The officer pushed her into the back of the police car, but she held 303’s gaze so hard her neck nearly broke, and the door closed in her face.

From that moment on was bits and pieces, bits and pieces in a way that one minute she’s in the cop car, the next she’s in a smelly interrogation room, and the one after that, she’s in a disgustingly white and bright room.

She sobered up the moment she saw “mental consultation room” written boldly above the door of the new room she entered.

303 was there, 15-year-old Elena Hayes was there, and sat beside her was...

Isaac Taylor.

Elena twitched against the handcuffs; her body itched badly. 

303 coughed, and Elena snapped her eyes back to her, she looked different, her hair was blonde alright, but not like the bleached blonde she was supposed to have, her eyes were... brown.

Elena had tuned out the questions the mental examiner had been asking her, but her ear twitched when she was asked who sat across from her.

What did she mean? That was Elena Hayes.

The examiner shook her head at her and kept shaking it no matter how much Elena explained—303 was her! 15-year-old her, it said so on her file!

The same file was slid on the table for her to read, the eleven letters ‘Lily Bennett” stared back at her, and she wanted to vomit.

So she did.

Everyone drew back, disgusted. Elena remained unfazed, silent tears rolling down her cheeks, her lips quivering as she watched 303 transform right before her eyes. 30—no—Lily pushed her strawberry blond hair behind her ears, her nervous brown eyes darting from side to side, her nose was different, her braces bands were purple—the smarter choice, she was different.

Elena made the mistake of looking to her uncle—Oliver Bennett, this wasn’t Isaac Taylor, she had almost killed Oliver, not Isaac, Isaac wasn’t here, no, just Lilly Bennett and her uncle, Oliver Bennett. Isaac had gotten away with what he did to her, perhaps it was hard for her to let that go, she had projected her vulnerable self unto Lily.

Elena broke down.

The only Elena Hayes broke down.