Letters from Allison to herself — part 3

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Dear Allison,

This is the last letter you will likely read from me. I’m running out of time and I need to get back to New York City. Now that you are in D.C. please let me explain. I have been using the time you are missing to help the FBI solve serial killer cold cases in analyzing their data and looking for patterns. I have solved three cold cases in the past six years, but I found one that might explain why I (and you) have split into two personalities.

Often a split personality has been said to arise due to trauma that is so great that the mind cannot handle the memory and it splinters to protect itself. You may have remembrances of a dark maze like room when we were children and trying to find our way out. Often I would wake up in the middle of the maze feeling hungry and disoriented with no one around. I would have to find the pattern of the maze, unlock its secret, in order to get out.

This wasn’t always for a five year old in the dark. I remember going two days before finding a way out and who I can only assume to be our father standing over us smiling. I guess he assumed if a child could find her way out of a maze than so could an adult.

I’m not sure if this was our father or not, but recently the FBI has stumbled upon abandoned factories with maze like structures set-up inside and at times a skeleton inside trying to get out. Often these people have a broken tibia. When I saw the case file the memories came flooding back. I only brought you here to try and help the FBI solve these cases. I think it’s our only chance to heal and be one.



Allison put the letter down and finished her sandwich that was in the refrigerator. She felt a cold shiver run under her skin.She had a vague memory of dark mazes being a nightmare. Allison remembered waking up in a cold sweat in her bed throughout middle school feeling thirsty and hungry. She always kept a bottle of water next to her bed.

She picked up her cellphone and dialed the number on her previous letter.

“Cold case office,” A deep voice greeted her.

“My name is Allison Hendrix and I’ll need an escort to the office,” Allison replied still feeling the cold shiver under her skin.

“Good to hear from you again Allison. An agent will be by your house shortly. We have all of our information set-up in your favorite conference room.”

“See you soon I guess,” She said with a bit of surprise that it worked out so easily.

The line clicked and she put her phone down. Allison sat on the couch in the sparse apartment until the doorbell rang. She picked up her bag and went to meet the life her other self had been living.

If you liked this please give me a follow Anthony Maiorana

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Writer of The Polymerist newsletter. Talk to me about chemistry, polymers, plastics, sustainability, climate change, and the future of how we live.

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