Van De Kamp Entry #95
Case No. 111093
Evidence No. 163.95
When the visions started coming to me as a child, there was never any doubt in my mind where they were coming from. Who she was and the level of importance she would play in the future wasn't necessarily spelled out to me in any traditional sense. I just knew.
Every psychiatrist and counselor I have seen over in the last 8 years has described my visions as delusions of grandeur — a fancy way of saying that my visions were projections of fantasy created as means to fulfill my need to belong, feel less abandoned, and to give a higher purpose to both myself and the woman who had chosen a life without me. And were it not for the supernatural power I had found within myself, I might have just believed them.
Either way, the hurt and confusion associated with being different, feeling abandoned, and seeing the things I've seen resulted in a wall being built. This woman wasn't my mother. She wasn't even Dana. She was red. And after Game of Thrones aired, she became The Red Woman. It was just easier that way.
My early impressions of her were mixed. There was an air about her that signified control, authority, and caution, but there was also fire. A fire that embodied compassion and raw emotion buried just beneath the surface. Even at a young age, I saw the complexity and contradictions within her. What 8 years of visions lacked was an explanation, but after today I can't help but wonder if that was by design.
Over time, I've become accustomed to the déjà vu-like effects that my abilities produce. I no longer get goosebumps or dismiss the knowledge that comes to me so readily. Experience has taught me that it's not delusions of grandeur. It's real. When meeting a person, I see all of them. Their thoughts. Their fears. Their secrets. Their desires.
I had anticipated meeting The Red Woman to be the same, but it was not. In her, I gathered nothing I expected. As soon as our eyes locked, all of my preconceived notions were turned upside down and one thing above all became clear.
She was not the projector. She, like me, was being led. We were both sheep.
"Genetic power is the most awesome force the planet's ever seen, but you wield it like a kid that's found his dad's gun … your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should."
— Dr. Ian Malcom, Jurassic Park
Latitude: 37° 14' 3.60" N
Longitude: -115° 48' 23.99" W
It's all she's known for the past 8 years, 92 days, 14 hours, 35 minutes, and 6 seconds.
It's not the kind of cold that sends shivers down the spine or tightens the ties of coats.
It's the kind of cold that creeps down and takes residency deep within the bone. It's all-consuming and dominates the cortex, driving away all conscious thought aside from the primitive need for warmth.
Her creators had given her a name at birth, but the girl she once was no longer exists.
For all intents and purposes, her existence has been erased — banished into a frigid, dream-like world void of sound and light.
The fear she evoked within her captors as they attempted to exert control over her would be comical if it weren't so devastatingly tragic. Grown men and super-soldiers struggling to contain an 8-year-old girl. Monsters creating monsters that they neither possessed the power nor the intelligence to control or understand — the ultimate definition of irony.
But her time in limbo has been well spent. She cannot be destroyed. Destroying her would destroy them all.
And today, day 92 of year 8, for the first time in over a decade, her brow rises, and she smirks. Those who created her had restrained her but were powerless to contain her.
The domino has been tipped, and soon she will rise to a new name. One given to her by those she is destined to protect.