Jane's identity crisis

"Me?" asked the blonde girl.

"Yes, you," said Jane.

"But I've never seen you before in my life," said the blonde girl.

"Yes, you have," said Jane. "You saw me earlier tonight when you gave me food and water."

"You must have me mistaken for someone else," said the blonde girl. "I've never been here before."

"Don't give me that, Sarah," said Jane. "You know full well that nobody gets into this place unless you and your two friends allow it."

"I don't know who this Sarah is but I'm definitely not her," said the blonde girl. "But I'm guessing I look like her. Is that what you're trying to say?"

"No, what I'm trying to say is -- Oh my God!" cried Jane. "What am I saying? I didn't mean to yell at you, Sarah. Please don't punish me. It was a mistake. A mistake. I didn't mean to ruin your trick. I'm sure you worked very hard on it. I'm sure it's quite good. I mean it even fooled me. And I'm not easily fooled."

"Punish you?" asked the blonde girl. "I'm not going to punish you. And I'm not trying to play a trick on you. I just want to know who this Sarah is."

"You're Sarah," said Jane. "Why do you keep pretending otherwise?"

Then Jane turned toward the red-haired girl. "And you must be Barbara. In disguise, of course. I would have never guessed that it was you but then I guess I'm not as smart as you two girls. That accent of yours was an especially nice touch. And I'm guessing Winona is in hiding."

"Hey, I'm not Barbara," said the red-haired girl, "any more than my friend over here is Sarah. And we don't even know a Winona. I can understand you being suspicious of surprise visitors but here's the thing -- that device behind me and my friend is a time machine."

"A time machine?" asked Jane. "What's a time machine?"

"A machine that travels through time, silly, " said the red-haired girl. "Want to come take a look inside?"

"No, thanks," said Jane. "For some reason, I think I would be safer out here. But thank you for the invitation, Barbara."

"Hey, you goofball!" cried the red-haired girl. "I'm not Barbara. I'm -- Of course! That's the answer."

"What do you mean?" asked the blonde girl.

"I know where we are," said the red-haired girl, turning toward her friend. "I know why she's like that."

"And where exactly are we?" asked the blonde girl.

The red-haired girl smiled. "Isn't it obvious, Yank? We're in an old-fashioned mental hospital. And that girl in front of us is a mental patient."