Survival Of The Fittest

“And, remind me, that prize was for when you killed the boy in your class with the rock, right?”

A voiceless expression of hesitancy was all she could muster in response, met with a retaliatory cough from the agent sat across from her. A gentle reminder that a nod wasn’t good enough, instead Julia opted for a softly spoken “yes”, just loud enough for the tape to pick up. The choking on the stagnant air and her own tears that followed called in the end of this session, the agents were very open about not wanting to inflict more trauma on her and the other survivors. It was very kind of them, after all, it was true that they had been traumatised more than enough for one lifetime.

They tried all they could to make the questioning feel less pressured. That they weren't there to judge, it was just a way to help them understand. Yet none of that stopped her feeling like she was facing a brutal interrogation. Perhaps because they didn't understand... they couldn't understand. The agents continued to dwell on the prize she had won for her Best Kill Award, as if the fact she had been rewarded with a meal and a weapon meant that she knew more than the other survivors. This was her third time in with agents, and each day added a further layer of intimidation, each session more daunting than the last. She genuinely didn't know anything, she just wanted the best for everybody. For the survivors to recover, for the deceased to be honoured, for her to stop feeling so distraught and useless. Even the thought was enough to bring her tear ducts to the brink. She didn't know anything, yet the longer the inquisition continued the more she doubted that they believed her. The paranoia she had endured on that island, the unthinkable type where you have to be suspicious about even your closest friends, the overwhelming fear that each minute could be your last.

Her spirit was well and truly broken.

And with that, Julia was escorted back to her room. The shrugs and sighs of the agents at her emotional instability burning through her skin like she was a witch on fire.

She had felt like a prisoner ever since arriving, a chilling irony from those first feelings of freedom from that god-forsaken island. The Interpol agents had been crystal clear with their intention, that this was nothing more than short term processing to make sure they had all fully recovered and were in the right state of mind to return to whatever remnants of normal life awaited them. Yet that didn’t stop her feeling like a prisoner, a captive animal trapped in the vicious hooks, left to wilt in self-anguish and regret. They dressed up the room and tried to add some personal touches to make it more appealing, yet none of that stopped her wallowing in the face of reality.

Julia had spent most of the time stuck within her colourless confinement in silence, second guessing every voice she heard from the corridors. Were they well-intentioned? Or were they coming to punish her for what she had done? She wasn't interested at all in eating, the bile in the pits of her empty stomach bubbling in rejection to even the thought of an appetite.

Lying in a foetal position, Julia lay in silence as she wished away the rest of the day.

Christmas Day.

Historically, a day wrapped in celebration. Her family's long history of Catholic tradition would normally fill her heart with warmth, the promise from her Nonna that one day she would take them all to midnight mass. The food, the presents, the unifying togetherness that came with that. Coming from an Italian family, it was a day that her parents, and her grandparents, took great pride in. A group photo often marking the start of the day.

This year, however, was understandably different. It was all very underwhelming, Julia wallowing in self-pity in spite of the alleged festive cheer. She avoided communicating with them as much as possible, mainly because she didn't feel like she deserved the help they were so kindly giving, but the nurse had informed her yesterday that her family were going to be allowed to visit her at some point today.

Julia desperately wished that the thought of a family visit was something to be excited about, but the stark reality was that the thought of seeing her family was enough to make her want to crumble. To collapse into the shadows, become more of a wallflower than she was before. She had stayed up most of the night, tossing and turning in her bed with intermittent staring contests with the ceiling. It was impossible for her to stop thinking about how disappointed her family would be in her actions. Their daughter; a two-time killer. It just wouldn't fade, she could almost predict the entire scene. The façade they would decorate their arrival with, of reluctant excitement to see her alive and still breathing, the awkwardness that would follow as the sadness and second-hand guilt was transcribed behind their eyes.

A slight knock of the door, different in tone and pace to the daily knock of one of her fellow survivors.

Without even waiting for an answer, the door burst open and Julia was greeted by being the shame of her family. She struggled to look at her parents in the eye as they approached her with small talk. "I'm so glad you are still alive," Julia's mother squawked, whilst "It's so great to see you," were the only words her normally sociable father could muster.

Her mom reached down to Julia, who was still curled up under the blanket in her bed, to offer up a hug, and all she could do was recoil. The disappointment in her mom's face was visible, the hesitancy in her voice palpable.

"Come on, Alba, give the girl some space," her father Roberto chortled. The warmth in his voice the closest she had been to feeling calm since the start of this nightmare.

"U-uh... of course," Alba replied, "Julia I'm just so glad to see you."

Even her affection was smothering. She didn't deserve that love, they would be better off without her.

"Julia... your sisters are here too but we didn't want to...." Julia kept her reddened sclera's fixed on the ground as her mom struggled to summon the right words, "overwhelm you."

Unfortunately it was too late for that. She had enough trouble concentrating at the moment at the best of times, her eyes constantly struggling to focus correctly as she recovered from the sheer exhaustion her aching body felt.

"I can't do this right now," Julia whimpered up to her parents as she desperately wanted to retreat back in to her own private little island of doubt. Looking up for the first time, unfortunately she witnessed in real time the crushing blow that her outburst had dealt to them both. Her mother was shaking, probably out of anxiety at being face-to-face with a monster, and tears were starting to well up in her father's eyes. She didn't want to hurt them, it was just an inevitability at this point.

Alba went to say something, but Julia spoke over her. Raising her voice to her parents for the very first time. A manic release of every frustration pent up over the past few weeks.

"Please go. I rea... I really can't do this."

After a torturous stalemate, eventually the nurse returned and suggested that her parents leave. Their long-awaited reunion, and Christmas family celebrations, lived for only a measly seven minutes. They left the room, her mom fully crying as she left. Her father turned around for a final goodbye, "Merry Christmas, Julia."

That one was a real sucker punch. The guilt she felt for sending her parents away was tearing her apart from the inside out. Once again, Julia was nothing more than a disappointment to herself and everyone around her.

"How are you feeling, Julia?"

The voice came from the corridor outside of her door, somewhat muffled but she recognised it as one of her surviving classmates. Julia hid under her duvet, using her hands to cover her ears as tight as she could.

She didn't want to face anybody. She wasn't strong enough to see the others again. Evie, Marshall, Aracelis, David, Leslie, everybody that was with her on that boat as she faded in and out of consciousness as a result of exhaustion. Hearing their voices, thinking about their names, it was all unbearable. And so she clung to her ears, drowning out any noise. Muffling even her own weeping.

Ever since waking up in the hospital ward, she had been reliving those propane nightmares. The creaking of somebody walking down the hallway transported her back to being in the bunker medical ward, her first fateful encounter with the now deceased Salem Fox. The raised voices of people calling to each other bringing back the surging emotion from her fights with Karin Han, Victor Grail, or the overt rollercoaster that Joshua James evoked in her.

The night before, one of the hospital workers had slammed a door and Julia jumped from her bed in tears. Screaming her lungs out at the reverberation of gunshots in her mind, the final few seconds of Salem before he pulled that trigger on himself. She clambered to the ground, crawling to the corner of the room behind the bedside cabinet. Her skin was pale and blotchy, her extremities still dry and off-colour from exposure to the bitter winds and temperatures on the island, her ears ringing from invisible bullets.

Her trauma made her feel unwell, depressive thoughts about not being good enough and survivor's guilt overwhelming her.

Another day in isolation had passed, her only company being the nurses and psychiatrists who came to poke and prod her throughout the day. Her bloods had been taken so many times that her veins throbbed, so many IV drips given to hydrate her that even the cannula was feeling the pain. As the minutes and hours passed, Julia's mood radically morphed between searing anger, distraught sorrow, and blinding numbness. The gradual dizziness was the worst, usually paired with heart palpitations or nausea.

Julia was having a tough time of trusting the people that were caring for her. The occasional passive-aggressive remark, the looming eyes of judgement that linger just a few seconds too long, there were lots of people that she could feel resented that they were having to look after her. After what she had done. Despite that, Doctor Miremadi was her favourite of her carers. The only person that could really get her to open up, a personality that you couldn't resist.

As she entered the room, donning her infamous pink scrubs and clipboard in hand, her usual larger-than-life smile felt a little more subdued. Julia replied with a hesitant smile, awaiting whatever news she was about to bring.

"Evening, Julia." The doctor continued, "How are you feeling today?"

Julia again gently smiled back up to her, nodding slightly to indicate that she was feeling as good as she could be.

"Great," Doctor Miremadi continued, "I'm happy to share that your vitals are all looking good, and you're responding really well to the treatment."

Julia went to speak, but no words came out. Instead a subdued croak was all that emerged. She wanted to say good, or something like that, but she really didn't feel like she was any better.

"The drips have helped hydrate you and hopefully you're feeling a bit more alive off the back of that?"

Julia mustered a muted smile.

"However, from the psych assessment and some of your symptoms -- the paranoia, the irritability, the trouble sleeping, and the depressive thoughts -- unfortunately I am going to have to diagnose you with post traumatic stress disorder."

She obviously knew what PTSD was, however it had always been seen as a taboo diagnosis. The conversation around mental health had been neglected by the American government, so the shame that she felt at her diagnosis only fed her self-doubting fears. She felt embarrassed by it all, another significant reminder of how worthless she was. She should be elated at still being alive, the stroke of luck akin only to winning the lottery jackpot. Defying odds that even the most daring of gambler wouldn't have laid a careless bet on. Not feeling happy about being alive only fed the vicious circle of heartbreak she was experiencing.

Why her? What had she done that was special enough to deserve a second chance?

Julia had known it from the moment she had been rescued, that she hadn't deserved to be one of the survivors. Of all the people that died over the last week or two; Karen, Ashlyn, Joshua, Alexander... people that might actually have made a difference. Not somebody inferior like her.

"The feelings that you're experiencing are a perfectly rational response to the one-in-a-million terror that you have had to endure, I hope you know that," the doctor added empathetically.

It didn't help her feel any less of a liability in this situation, it didn't do anything to stop the unrelenting feeling of worthlessness, and it didn't stop her believing that everyone involved would be better off if she hadn't been rescued.

Grief famously plays silly tricks on your mind, so perhaps her avoidance of reality was just a spiralling knock-on effect of that.

Since her diagnosis, Julia had been undergoing cognitive behavioural therapy at the hospital. It helped, a little, but it was difficult to be transparent and honest about how she felt. The last thing she wanted was to be locked up in an asylum for her own protection, and so she lied about how she was feeling. The therapy was helping to some extent, but Julia was acting as if the behavioural therapy was completely changing the direction of her life. A silly enough lie, but one she felt sure the nurses would believe.

She tried desperately to take the easy wins, to feel comforted by the medical staff who encouraged her and applauded the improvements to her psyche. But Julia couldn't help but just feel it all distastefully fraudulent. At the end of the day, a doctor can only treat a patient who wants to be treated, and Julia still struggled with the notion that she wanted to be helped. Commons symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder are the heightened senses of guilt, fear, and shame, but it was the bipolar mood flips she was really struggling with.

Every moment of joy quickly wilted away. Melting into grim misery repeatedly.

By the second Thursday of quarantine in the hospital, the therapy sessions had started to make a little difference. She could see the improvements and was starting to will herself on to take those small steps. Her anxiety felt calmer, although that may just have been the cocktail of pills they were giving her daily, and the shakes that were brought on by the slightest unpredictability in her surroundings. She still hadn't strayed from her room to see her compatriots, nor had she really heard much from them. Whoever it was who had been knocking and calling out to her every day had stopped since Christmas, through no fault of their own as Julia had made it clear through her silence that she didn't want to make small talk with any of her classmates.

She was learning more about herself through the therapy too. In some ways it was like holding a giant mirror up to her face, each session reminding her jigsaw piece by jigsaw piece just who Julia Rosalie Guercio actually was. Those innocent ambitions she once had, her naivety almost down to a fault. Whilst those days were long gone, she felt stronger and stronger about returning to the outside world. The thought of seeing her family still brought a blistering nausea to the pit of her stomach, but maybe it was about time to go home.

Her limited belongings had been bagged up, and Julia knew that it was time for her to leave the hospital ward. The night before, during her final interview session, the Interpol agents had finally made the decision that she didn't actually know anything. There was nothing to withhold, she simply just wasn't brave or clever enough to be able to assist them in their investigation. All she knew is what they already did, that she had no contact with anybody, even when collecting her prize meal. There was nothing in there to indicate she had any knowledge, and so eventually they were content and discharged her from interviewing toward their investigation. She told them about her interactions with Lily Larsen on the island, that it was her who had a reckless master plan to bring about change.

"I think.... I'm ready to go home."

She was trying to be brave, even though it didn't come naturally. Leaving the room properly to integrate with the others for the first time since the day of the rescue was a lot for her to handle. Her social anxiety was peaking, palms sweaty and skin flushed as a result. She knew a lot of the other rescued seniors had also committed one, or more, murders. The likes of Matthew, even her old swimming buddy Evie, were not to be trusted. No matter how rehabilitated they said they felt. Julia wasn't able to just move on from that, and made a conscious decision to distance herself from all of the survivors as a result. This wasn't a game of happy families, this wasn't the time for a braindead kumbaya session like some sort of cult.

The whole story was threaded together by one nefarious output after another, and that was Julia's biggest fear. This wasn't the type of story that disappeared from the news cycle after 24 hours, hell she probably had her own Wikipedia page already. Going home was going to be a risk, too. From what the hospital staff were saying, the media were already all over reporting it and they were quite the celebrities.

Annoyingly, that was the exact polar opposite of the position Julia wanted to be in. She had mapped out her life already anyway, she wanted a quiet life with a good job that brings positivity to other people, and now that no longer felt possible. She didn't want the infamy that came with being a survivor of something like this. A burden that Julia knew she would need to carry for the rest of her life.

Some of the class had tried to speak to her as they climbed into their designated vehicles, but Julia gave everybody the cold shoulder. Of course, some were less deserving of that than others, but Julia had no interest in being friends or keeping up appearances with anybody. She needed to go home, emotionally reset, and figure out what to do. She felt terrible for rebutting her family's attempts to be there for her on Christmas Day of all days, but she just was not in the right headspace for that whatsoever.

She felt relieved that was in a better place mentally now. Not perfect, hell, not even close to recovering, but better. Julia's heart was racing, her messy hair scraping across her eyes to shield her from the gaze of those around her. She felt even more nervous about boarding this plane. Transportation and mass transit like this felt like too easy of a target. The trauma of being abducted on a bus, the burning sensation like piercing indigestion in her chest. It all felt a little too like that scene in the Final Destination movie when the main character had a premonition of what was to follow.

But she knew she had no other choice; she couldn't just stay in Washington as much as she wanted to hide from the world. And so she boarded the plane, took her seat, tightly wrapped the belt around her and clicked it in to place. It was a new year, a new day, hell, even a new dawn.

Julia was finally going home.


-to be continued-