Strange things always seemed to happen around the chipper brunette, no matter where she was. Her life was one big ball of grey, as the memories she tried to recall were hazy. Only being able to remember things from three years ago was not pleasant for the eighteen year old.

Adelaide, or Adele as she liked to go by, was here in Westaven, trying to sort out the confusion. She knew what people thought of her; of the names they called her to her back and to her face. It didn't bother her that others found her to be slightly weird, after all she acted the only way she knew how.

Adele had gotten up that morning and slipped into a rather bright yellow halter sun dress and grabbed her matching flats and sunglasses. Her mind was telling her to go for a walk and to keep waking until she couldn't walk anymore. For three years she has had this voice inside of her telling her things to do and books to read and she knows it’s not her conscience. It was perhaps the woman whose name she now possessed, the voice of the woman thought to be a serial killer decades before.

Every day that went by she was haunted by the 'experiments' and 'tests' that she had endured at the asylum where they had locked her for three years. At the age of fifteen she had been charged with two deaths and arson, but her ramblings about the house being possessed had convinced the court that she was not fit to stand trial. They had sent her to the insane asylum, expecting her to stay until she was ready to face reality and accept responsibility for her actions.

What no one was willing to believe was that she was telling the truth and that is what made her unable to trust adults. So when she managed to escape the facility, Adele had worked hard to find the one place where her past could be revealed. The voice in her head had led her to several books that had told her Westaven was the place to go to find out what she truly was.

So she had arrived here less than a week ago and somehow managed to get herself into Wilcott Academy. Apparently her name held some clout in this area as they didn't bother to ask for her academic records. The simple fact that her last name was Tompkins - the same as the school founder’s missing daughter – was enough. Everyone just assumed that she was the long lost grandchild of Jacob Tompkins, and that she had finally learned about the family that existed in this area and had come back to reclaim the glory that once belonged to them.

She hadn't yet settled into her dorm, but she had found herself in the school library. There were so many books to read through that she found the whole process overwhelming. All she wanted was someone to help her, or at least someone to point her in the right direction. Today, however, was a day she was taking a break. She had walked from campus through town with no real destination in mind. Every now and then she would hear her mind tell her to stop and look at something. She watched the scenery around her with a bit of awe, having never seen so many trees.

Humming to herself, Adele trudged along the beach at a place called The Cove. She could see the remnants of bonfires long since burned out and a few pieces of trash littered around. It was the perfect place for her to find a bit of quiet to ponder the life she was now leading. Duality was not something that Adele understood; after all how could someone could be two separate people yet only remember one of them? Perhaps she was simply named after the infamous serial killer and nothing more. It was all so strange for her. The only name she could remember was Adelaide Ava Tompkins, but there had only been one record of someone born with that name and she had died eighty years ago.

Westaven seemed to be the place that held all the answers, now if she could only find them. With a population of three hundred it was one of the smallest towns that Adele had ever seen. There were stories that she could vaguely remember about life in small towns. Everyone seemed to know each other, as if each individual member was famous. Any death and birth was recorded and celebrated by the whole of the city because it brought with it changes. Like every other city though it shared the same secrets and hidden horrors, murders and mayhem. Secrets were kept to the grave and outsiders were frowned upon.

Quaint was the word used on the ‘Welcome to Westaven’ sign. Apparently it was the quaint little village with all the answers, but that was to be seen. Adele had followed the voice in her head some three thousand miles to this tiny stretch of an island out in the Pacific Ocean. Knowledge had always been important to Adele as a driving force for her, even before she lost her memory. Now it was the most important aspect of her young life. Discovering the reason why her brain was clouded with memories that seemed so foreign, yet familiar was all that she desired. Nothing would come between her and her goal.

Squish! Squish!

Soft yellow shoes squished around in the wet sand as Adele walked aimlessly around on the beach. To the left was the endless Pacific, nothing but water as far as the eye could see. On the right was the ‘Old Craven Mill House’ or so the historical sign read. So much about the true history of the town was cloaked in secrets and darkness. Adele wanted nothing more than the ability to pierce the veil of lies and deceit and get to the heart of the matter.

How could she a lowly eighteen year old girl, all of a sudden look exactly like, and possess the name of a serial killer that died eighty years ago? It just didn’t happen, at least not in reality. It was something that seemed to only be conjured up by the minds of fantasy authors as a means to scare their readers. Only Adele wasn’t scared, choosing instead the emotion of frustration. It was easier for her to be frustrated rather than angry, because anger would accomplish her nothing. It was there in that moment that a vision from the past flashed through her memory..

Rain pounded the wooden walls of the cottage nestled deep in the Westaven Mountains. Heavy drops cascaded down the single pane windows, creating unique figures in their wake. Thunder boomed in the darkness lighting the night sky in brief increments. Moisture filled the tiny crevices around the front door, and the minute cracks in the walls created puddles through the room. A roaring fire burned high in the fireplace and kept the hearth warm and inviting. Dirt and leaves led a trail through the front of the cottage leading back towards the great room.

Wrapped up in a much used blanket was the figure of the lone woman that occupied the cottage. Blue eyes incessantly traveled from the window to the fire and back again. This place was her haven, the one location where she could go to escape the persecution of the town folks.

Her own life was important to her, but not more than the life of the one she had saved. How was she to know that by saving the life of a slave that she would end up being hunted? Over the pounding rain and the booming thunder she could hear the hooves as they beat her way. She wished that their shoes would get stuck in the slick mud and halt the approaching mob.

For you see, the town thought that Adele was a murderer, that she had killed the magistrate and his family. The opposite was in fact true, for she had saved their murderer only days before from the lashings were to be given. Adelaide had never been able to stand by and watch others be mistreated so when she convinced the magistrate and his wife to give their slave a second chance she had hoped that she was giving the woman a second chance at life. After all, her indentured servitude would end in a few months and she would be a free woman, able to own land of her own.

It was that woman, Ellbeth they called her, that had summoned Adele to the magistrate house those two fateful nights before.

Adele was a healer of sorts, someone who used natural herbs and remedies passed down from for generations to treat people. She wasn’t a doctor, no that would have required money and schooling and she possessed neither. Her talents were appreciated because the nearest doctor was over a thousand miles away on the mainland. Island living wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be after all.

This night, Adele would regret her choice of going to the magistrate’s house. Never had the woman been able to ignore someone in need and even now, facing her death because of it, she didn’t regret her actions in trying to save the man’s wife.

She could hear the hooves beat closer, watch the fire in her hearth die out faster and faster; casting the room into darkness. They were close, just outside the door. She could hear their shouted words, the hatred and venom pouring from their lips, the same lips that they used to praise their Maker.

Shattering glass and splintering wood caught her attention and she knew that her time was almost up. Darkness ebbed into her vision as she urged herself to die faster. Her greatest victory would be in not allowing them to take her, not allowing them to do the horrible things they dreamed of doing. Puffs of air filled her lungs as she fought the urge to breathe. Her eyes were glazing over as the blood trickled down from the gaping wound in her chest. She had taken her own life, decided that death her way was the only salvation she would find in this time.

Shuddering a moment, both from the cold wind that blew by and from the memory, Adele wrapped her arms around herself. This lonely walk was the only thing that she had to cling to the first time that a memory came through so strong. A part of her wondered if being here on this island was the key to unlocking it all.