A blood curdling scream intermixed with hysterical demonic laugher echoed through the long narrow corridors of the asylum. Somehow the faint sound of a chirping wheel from a medicine cart was still audible. It found its way to a young girl's ear, as she lay curled up on a mattress in a dreary small room, half the length of the building away. To most, the disturbing vocal medley would be all they could hear or tolerate, but this child seemed to be accustomed to these disturbing sounds, as if they were a regular part of her life for a long time. One would only conclude that she subconsciously had learned to filter the unpleasant noise and tether on to any sound that wasn't repugnant.

The faulty wheel of the cart, the source of the chirping, was a familiar as well as an anticipated noise for the child. Her eyes opened wide and she sat up in bed. She knew it announced the arrival of a tall nun. Medications were distributed each and every morning before breakfast to the patients to whom they were prescribed. The sister would dispense the tablets through a slot in the door and remain peering through the small security window, long enough to view the consumption, before moving on to the next door.

The cart finally rolled in front of the little girl's door, but instead of pale blue pills in the paper receptacle, it had a Tootsie Roll candy. The contents slid through the slot in the door and a tiny hand reached out to collect the chocolate prize.

Her eyes sparkled with delight and a smile took form on her face as she examined the candy. The observation window in the door was too high for her to see out without standing on a chair, but the six inch slot was not, so she drew her face close to catch a peek at her kind friend. Oddly she saw nothing but the metal cart. She tilted her head to peer in the other direction but still, no nun.

Surmising that the nun surely could hear her, even though she was out of sight, the child raised her head slightly so that her mouth was now in front of the slot. "Thank you," she spoke No reply. Well for good measure, she'd try again, "Thank you, Sister," at a louder pitch. Still, no response. With a smile on her face, staring at the candy in her hand she kept her head within inches of the opening listening for the nun's return. There was the chirp again! Once again, the girl leaned over to convey her appreciation when a hand shot through the opening, grabbing her by the throat, lifting her to her toes and pulling her to the door. Her head crashed against the door and her arms began to flail sending the roll of chocolate flying.

Carolina sat straight up in bed, her sheets already kicked off by the thrashing of her legs, her face glistened and her sweat soaked nightshirt clung to her frame. She took a deep breath to gather her wits and settle her pounding heart and then turned to glance at her clock on the nightstand. Exhaling a breath, she ran her hands through her hair then crawled out of bed. It was a little earlier than she normally woke, but there was no way she could sleep after this dream. She cautiously walked to the window and opened the blinds introducing the early dawn light to her dark room. The natural light exposed the clutter of boxes and articles of clothing that littered the floor, reminding her of the unfinished task of unpacking.

Carolina was a new resident to this apartment. Her new casa was merely a cubby hole of just three rooms, a bedroom, a small kitchen and a bath, but it was convenient and cheap. It was located directly above a quaint bicycle repair shop and a short bus or bike ride to her new job at the Denver Post. She stared out the window, but was oblivious to the view. She might as well have been staring at a bare wall. She was intensely preoccupied with analyzing her dream, the same reoccurring dream that started soon after she moved to this new place. It was terribly chilling and surreal, she thought, every night a different scene from the same saga and always involving the same little girl. But why?" Carolina struggled for answers.

Carolina broke from her deep self psychoanalysis by the buzz of her alarm clock. She would have to wait until later to search for answers on her subconscious brain behavior, at this moment she had to get ready for work. "Work, indeed! Three months into my new career, overflowing with enthusiasm and armed with a fresh degree in journalism from the University of Notre Dame and all I have to show for it is a story on soccer moms, new grade school lunch programs and a missing cat." Carolina smiled, climbing into the shower, thinking of her email she sent to her sister the day before. When she climbed out of the shower, she mumbled her sister's reply. "Patience and perseverance, Carolina!"

With lip-gloss in one hand and her cell phone in the other, Carolina shot out her door and down the outside staircase. As part of her morning routine she floated past the bicycle store window to give a smile and flirtatious finger wave to her not so inconspicuous bicycle mechanic fan club waiting for her procession. As she strutted past them, they waved back in unison and gawked at her all the way to the corner bus stop.

For as long as Carolina Paige could remember she wanted to be a journalist. No one in her family was a journalist, none of her friends were journalists, she never even met a journalist until she interned as a Senor for her home town newspaper. Never the less, at an early age, she had a strong desire to find out the truth and then write about it.

Carolina's parents conceived her while on a camping trip to the Outer Banks, nine months later they had no choice but to name her Carolina.

By the age of eight she grew into a real nuisance for her brothers and sister. Carolina followed them around with pencil and paper, jotting down everything they said or did and leave copies of her report on her parents bed, as if it were her editor's desk. Two years later and with the chagrin of her parents Carolina cracked the Santa Claus mystery wide open. Christmas mornings were never the same from that point on. Of course her early prowess followed her through academia; she was the editor of the school paper at high school and at Notre Dame.

Getting accepted to Notre Dame and finishing Cum Laude was no easy accomplishment but it was a paramount step toward achieving her goal of landing a job at a major paper or television news network. Carolina's ambitious objective was ultimately becoming syndicated as her own entity, but she knew that would only come with years of seasoned experience. She had several job offers from papers in large metropolitan cities such as Chicago, Pittsburgh and her hometown of Indianapolis, but she chose the Denver Post after her research revealed that a couple of senor journalists were near retirement. Carolina felt she could advance up the ranks quicker there.

"Paige, see me in my office in five!" This poignant statement from Carolina's boss penetrated the elevator compartment before the door had a chance to completely open. Being greeted by the managing editor, Martin (Marty) Whitten first thing in the morning provided more stimulus than four cups of coffee. His spontaneous command caught her by surprise as they passed almost brushing shoulders at the opening of the stainless steel doors of the elevator.

"Yes Sir!" She replied, turning and watching him push the button to his floor. Carolina remained poised waiting for further directions that never came before the door shut.

"This...