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Theresa Terri Dolan’s scariest moment in life was her summons to Jury Duty. To everyone who simply passed Terri on the street or who knew her about as well as someone she saw briefly every morning, they thought she was well off and lived a decent life and if Jury Duty was the scariest moment in her life, she must be doing something right!

Her life was well off, she was not rich but she was not poor either. And for a fleeting moment, if Jury Duty was the worst thing to happen since her father died almost ten years ago, Terri had little to no room to complain. But she held a secret away from the people who passed her by on the street, the people she saw everyday, her friends, everyone.

The only person to know was her sister. It was almost as if her sister never found herself in the darkest danger, much unlike the children Terri went to school with. There is no tyrant as merciless as pain. Theresa Terri Dolan was a Paranoid Schizophrenic.

The darkness of the previous night remained in the room, and the silver sky beyond her window was starting to brighten, the sensitive nerves along her spine started to prickle. Terri’s alarm had gone off on a new time, a time just for today and God willing, just for today. The air felt bitterly cold and her body, small and lithe, screamed, the muscles, tight and stiff.

Terri grabbed her dress from the table, along with the leggings and the cardigan and went into the bathroom. The Jury Duty tension she had been feeling for a month had gathered in her throat and was slowly strangling her.

Day light was creeping over the small town where she lived. All Terri could concentrate on was the knot of worry in her stomach. She cupped both hands together and gathered water in her palms, a knock at the door scared her and made her dribble some of the water down the front of her dress. “Shit!”

The door opened and in poked the head of her older sister, Jo Ann Hazel Dolan. Jo Ann could be, at times, a rude domesticated beast, subtle as a splinter. Jo Ann Hazel Dolan was not a Paranoid Schizophrenic. “You almost ready, Terri?” Jo Ann asked. Terri nodded, soaked in sweat. “Aw, c’mon, my Schizo Sister, today is the day! After today, no more of this!”

“But what if they know?” Jo Ann reeked of coffee and stale cigarettes.

“Know what?” snorted Jo Ann. “That you’re bisexual?” Terri found no humor in her sister’s words. “That you’re Schizo?” Terri nodded. “Dude, they will only know your name, and age. They won’t even know your job!”

Terri knew how Schizos were seen, a bunch of broken humans that were both sinister and dangerous. Which was not true, but it was fact. Terri didn’t seem to ease up at her sister’s words but nodded, applied some medicated chap stick; if there was ever a time a cold sore should rear its ugly head, now was a great time, plenty of stress.

She clicked off the bathroom light and closed the door, oblivious to the man with red eyes standing in the darkness of the bathroom.

Jo Ann and Terri stuck out like sore thumbs in Santa Ana, California. White people were not exactly welcomed with open arms in Santa Ana. Santa Ana had been claimed by the illegals. The sisters could not blend in if they tried, they were white. Whiter than white. And the illegals hated people who were whiter than white. That much was obvious by the rising crime rate in Santa Ana.


The sisters both thought Santa Ana was beautiful but were rather bummed by how unsafe it was, all because of the color of their skin. The city always sent Terri into a paranoia attack, afraid of drive bys and car jackings. And today they had to stop in this city. Walk the streets. Put themselves at risk for rape and or other gang violence. Jo Ann parked the car.

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