Yvonne finally gave up. She hadn't slept all night, and the alarm was now playing Don Henley's "The End of Innocence." You got that right, thought Yvonne. It was as if her fairytale life ended in a single night. She left her humble beginnings to become the most famous Olympic diver. Yvonne participated in two Olympic Games, winning gold medals for platform and springboard diving.

Her fame led to endorsements, an acting career, a product line, and now a talk show. She had married her manager, William, and they produced two beautiful children. But lately, Yvonne had been given the short-end of the stick. Her product line was dropping in sales, and the allure of her Olympic days was fast fading. There was the good news—Yvonne's television ratings had skyrocketed. The bad news…it was because William had been caught with a prostitute. In fact, it was revealed by the tabloids that William used the services of a certain madam. Yvonne was heartbroken and embarrassed. She had believed that he was making a lot of business trips to provide for the family. It was no wonder that they could never get out of debt. His habit was costing them their livelihood. For a month now, Yvonne and William had been living in separate homes. She wondered what the outcome of their marriage would be.

The stress was becoming too great for Yvonne. When it became apparent to the show's producers that she couldn't handle the hosting duties alone, they brought in guest co-hosts. Today, it was going to be Cameron Diaz, and Yvonne couldn't stand the bitch. Yet if William was not going to fulfill his breadwinner duties, somebody had to step up. Guess what, mom? The prince was a frog all along. I guess I'll be winging it alone…just like you did. Yvonne's mother died before she could see her daughter win at the Olympics. While she mourned her mother's absence, Yvonne was glad she wasn't around to see this aspect of her life.

After arriving at the studio, Yvonne requested the best makeup artist. The cucumbers and frozen spoons didn't do anything for her swollen eyes, and she had to look pristine for the cameras. It didn't help that all that time that she spent in the sun ruined her complexion. Sunspots were already appearing on her face, and laser treatment was now out of the question. As she watched the makeup artist do his magic, Yvonne laughed at the irony of it all. She had a friend that would've made a living on her beauty. Yvonne remembers teasing Greta all the time, making her feel frantic about any little blemish. Now it was Yvonne in the chair, and she wanted to hide her face from the world.

The morning flew by, and before she knew it, Yvonne was on the air with her co-host. The studio audience was filled with women that had nothing better to do, and just attended because of the free tickets. Yvonne let Cameron discuss the usual celebrity bullshit, as the producers flashed photographs and video feeds across a giant screen. The stage lights were immensely hot, and Yvonne felt crushed by their intensity. She was beyond exhausted, and as she listened to the audience's laughter, Yvonne buried her face in her hands.

And then silence.

Yvonne looked up and found her self alone on the stage. Everything was dark, except for a single studio light that shined on her desk.

"Hello…what's going on? Diane, Alan, where is everybody?" asked Yvonne. Her voice echoed dully in the space around her.

The giant television screen stirred into motion. Yvonne could hear a faint dripping sound. She turned to the seat next to her and gasped.

"Our next conversation piece…Springwood, Ohio," said a male voice.

There was no mistaking him. Yvonne couldn't even say his name aloud…Mark. He looked just as Alice discovered him…covered in deep gashes. Yvonne tried to look away, but she couldn't turn her attention from the cut across Mark's face—from his left eye to the tip of his nose. The severed flesh was barely hanging from his profile.

"Another casualty…a young girl just lost her mother…here are some pictures," said Mark.

A horrified Yvonne looked at the woman's corpse. She had deep incisions in the chest and neck region. The woman stared lifelessly above her.

"If you think that is bad…look at what Springwood was like years ago."

Another image flashed across the screen. It was a gargantuan mound of adolescent bodies, piled high to the sky. Yvonne wanted the panning to stop, but the camera kept going up and up until her neck couldn't take the strain.

"You see, people, this is what happens when certain individuals abandon their responsibilities," said Mark.

Yvonne shook her head. "I swear…I didn't know."

"The two people that could've stopped this from happening left for their own selfish reasons."

The studio audience was in the spotlight now. Yvonne could see them all. Greta was sitting in the front row. Every time Greta clapped, her hands would get caught in the entrails spilling from her dissected stomach. She turned her swollen face towards Dan Jordan, who sat in the seat next to her. The skin was ripped off his face, and had it not been for his eyeballs, Dan would've resembled a plastic skeleton. Her attention moved towards the other audience members. She could see a teenage boy with holes all over the front of his body. She could see a naked girl that had every appendage cut off, including her breasts and tongue. Row after row of bloody victims was giving their support to Mark.

"So, now that you do know. What are you going to do about it?"

"I—"

"Stop being a spoiled bitch, Yvonne. Do something."

Yvonne jerked her head up. She was sitting next to Cameron Diaz again. Her co-host and the studio audience barely noticed that she dozed off. Yvonne barely picked up her cue to announce the guest.

I can't go back again, thought Yvonne, as she paced in the studio break room.

All those years of the good life had softened her. She was no longer able to suffer. Yvonne was a household name now. The headstrong girl, the one that was trying to make it all the time, was gone. Yvonne would grovel in the mud if it would allow her to keep her lifestyle. All her bluster about being a single parent was a falsity. She would do anything to keep William around, even pimp out every woman that lived on her block.

The heroine role had to be passed to somebody else, and Yvonne could only think of one person. She dialed the operator on her cell phone.

"Yes, can you give me the phone numbers for any women named 'Alice Johnson' in Philadelphia…?"

"What about Harrisburg…?"

"What about Allentown…?"

"What about Scranton…?"

Yvonne tried one phone number after another, but never connected to the person that she so desperately needed.

The hours faded until Yvonne could no longer bear to speak. It was always the same negative response, and Yvonne's spirit felt dejected. She couldn't do it anymore. She had to retreat back to her fantasy world. But she had one more phone call to make.

"I need the phone number for the Springwood Police Station. The tip line preferably."

Yvonne left the following message on the tip line voicemail: "The killer is Freddy Krueger. Stop them from dreaming."

Then, Yvonne closed her cell phone. With her conscience now cleared, it was time for rest and relaxation. She definitely had to make a masseuse appointment.