

# The Units

Jamie Mackay

#

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Jamie Mackay

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is entirely fictional.

Any similarities to real events or people are entirely coincidental.

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

# Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue

# Chapter 1

She stepped off the bus into the hot July heat. Coming from Illinois, she had experienced hot, but not like this. She could feel the heat of the sidewalk through the bottoms of her brand-name flip-flops and she could see the heat waves emanating from surrounding cars and buildings.

She must have looked lost and slightly stunned, because the bus driver asked "Are you alright miss?" as she hesitated a little longer than necessary when exiting the bus.

Tatum O'Neill had arrived.

Wainwright, Saskatchewan was a small town, just north of the Idaho border. It claimed itself as a city, but, all told, the population of the town was about 15,000, a far cry from the large urban center Tatum was used to. She had been born and raised in Chicago and enjoyed all the big city had to offer. Each morning started and ended with Starbucks and, in between, she reveled in the hustle and bustle of activity as only a busy metropolis can offer. She had been born and raised on the city streets; took her first subway alone at the ripe old age of ten, and had never wanted anything but. She even made certain that when she chose her place of study, she could maintain her urban lifestyle. Tatum had no experience with small town life; nor was she certain she wanted to.

.

After her long and uncomfortable bus ride, Tatum was not yet ready to work her way toward her new apartment, and still one more place to sit and wait. She grabbed the small travel bag she had packed with her few belongings and set out to explore her new home.

Wainwright was everything she imagined it to be, small, dry and dusty. The bus station was on the west side of town, if in a town this size there could be a west side. She hadn't measured it, but she was fairly certain that she could comfortably walk the perimeter of the town in under an hour.

She didn't know which direction she was intending to go, so she just starting walking along the closest paved street she could see. To her left was the edge of town; not an edge of town like the type she was used to, with the stately houses and perfectly groomed lawns that littered suburbia in Chicago, but a real edge of town.

Given her little experience with things outside of her big city bubble, Tatum had never seen the prairies. She thought they were truly something to see; just a little flatter and a little more barren than anyone could ever have described or imagined. As far as she could see there was nothing. Nothing is a hard thing to imagine until you've seen it, and now she had.

To her right, Tatum saw the semblance of civilization. Not busy streets and loitering tourists like she was used to, but at least there was some evidence of life, almost. Tatum had seem many old people in her time, but her old people were texting on cell phones and drinking lattes while they had their weekly mani/pedi at the higher end boutique estheticians. These old people weren't texting; she would be surprised if cell service was even available. Instead she saw what she supposed to be a husband and wife drinking coffee at a local outdoor eatery. They were both about mid-sixties and were significantly weathered from many, many years in the Saskatchewan heat. The woman was tanned, but barely recognizable through the wrinkles distorting her face. The man was tall and thin, dressed from head-to-toe in work greens; on his head he wore a ball cap, tilted slightly to one side. Both seemed surprised to see her. There weren't too many around these parts that these two didn't know.

Coming toward her Tatum saw a young couple pushing a stroller as they walked their other young one by his hand. Relieved by the sign of younger life, Tatum stopped to observe the family as their young son pulled at his parents to go into the eatery and get ice cream.

As she continued to work her way up the street, the scenery changed little. More old men in John Deere green, a few young families, and several people in-between; every one of them noticing the new face in town. Blocks up from the gas station Tatum had passed by the A&W, a gas station, a hotel with a restaurant, and finally what she assumed to be the local night club.

Ahead of her she only saw condo buildings and a Seven-Eleven, so she decided to turn toward what she presumed to be the center of town. Making note of the liquor store so that she could return later for some red wine, Tatum walked further into the core of her new home town. She passed a 'larger' mall on her left and a small strip mall on her right. In the larger mall, she could see yet another coffee shop, with its requisite old men in tilted hats drinking their afternoon coffee. The small strip mall was more to her liking; it seemed to have some remnants of home, a massage therapist, chiropractor, a cell phone provider and an ethnic restaurant.

At the end of the block, Tatum came across what appeared to be the center of the small town. Main Street was something to behold. She had imagined such places, but only as part of a feel-good movie about small town USA. The type of sappy story where some big city hot shot moves to a sleepy little town and falls in love, never to return to his stressful hectic city life. _This has to have been the street where every after-school special in history was filmed_ , she thought to herself.

Small shops, none of which bared the name of any recognizable franchise, dressed each side of the street. Matching green awnings covered the fronts of the shops, partially protecting the inventory and owners from the overbearing heat. As if part of a cliché, the second shop on the left side was the "Candy Shoppe", and Tatum could see that further up on the right side was an ice cream parlour that still advertised home-made ice cream floats. On each lamp post along the street, the town had placed hanging flower baskets. At the 'four corners', the four way stop on Main Street, were banners proclaiming the Saskatchewan Roughriders as '100 years Champions'.

Chicago was an old city, but Tatum had never taken the time to appreciate the history. Now, she was taking the time to admire the old European architecture evident in the buildings ahead of her. There was a bank that reminded her of the old churches she had often visited at home; "est 1904" she read as she stopped to admire the plaque placed proudly on the side.

Further up the street she passed the old firehouse that now housed a pharmacy, a doctor's office, and a few other office odds and ends. She guessed that the firehouse was about the same age as the bank, but thought it probably had more character than the previous building; fewer stately lions' heads, but more stories in the walls.

Straight ahead of her, actual neon lights caught her eye and thoughts of home crossed her mind. Attracted to the similarity of the city reminder, Tatum picked up her step and moved quickly toward the allure of the glow. She had quickened her step toward the town's only movie theatre, a theatre where a new movie started each Friday. Tatum read "One-ticket Tuesday. Movie, popcorn and pop, 7.50". A far cry from the $23.50 she had paid for the same service at home just a few days before.

Tatum paused in front of the movie theatre; she wanted to enjoy the smell of movie popcorn, something familiar. She knew, given the size of Wainwright, that she could not be far from the apartment she had rented online. She took out the printed paper she had stuffed in her bag and re-read the rental notice.

"One bedroom apartment for rent, $750.00 per month. Furnished and walking distance from everything. Perfect for student or young single. 310 Preston Ave. Wainwright."

Using the google map she had included for herself as a guide, she found herself somewhere about the middle of the small diagram. Her new apartment, relative to her current position, would be easy to find. She navigated her way two blocks up, and then over about one and a half blocks down Preston Street. In front of her she saw the 'Regency Apartments', a three story building every bit as cute and old as Main Street.

.

The sign just outside the main entrance read "For Manager, ring 101," so Tatum buzzed the button beside the number 101 and the name 'Milligan'.

Milligan turned out to be a man of about sixty with soft brown eyes. He explained that he had taken on the job of Apartment Manager many years previous; his wife had passed away and his kids had long since grown. "I enjoy people" he had said, and his kind demeanor made Tatum think people probably enjoyed him back.

"What brings you to our fair town?" he asked as he turned the key for apartment 203.

"Mostly education, partly adventure", Tatum responded sweetly as she drank in the opportunity to interact with a friendly face.

The new acquaintances continued their friendly banter as Tatum worked her way into the apartment and began inspecting her new digs. In Tatum's newest residence, the sun lit up the room to a sunny shade of yellow. Thankfully, years of experience meant the previous inhabitants had installed sun-shades and film on the windows such that the sun could shine in, letting in the light, without the burning heat. Like everything else she had seen in Wainwright, it wasn't fancy, but it had history. Consistent with the rest of the building, the inside of her apartment looked as if it had been fashioned in the early 1900s. The walls were the most appealing aspect of the apartment, some were simple gyp rock, but several remained the primary brick, with the original ornamental details intact.

Tatum had always fashioned herself as having an eye for design and she was immediately sizing up the room for her soon-to-be new carpeting and paint.

"Nicest corner of the block," Milligan said, interrupting Tatum's internal decorating.

Tatum couldn't argue. The kitchen was toward the back on the unit, leaving the living room to face southeast.

"In Chicago it doesn't much matter what direction your apartment faces," she said, "buildings always in the view".

.

After Milligan left, Tatum continued to explore her new home. It was a one-bedroom suite so there wasn't much left to explore. The bedroom was big enough for a bed, dresser and her computer desk. She wouldn't have an office in this amount of space, so room for her desk was vital. The bathroom turned out to be her favorite space of all. She thought the fixtures must be the originals from nearly a century prior; the sink was a large bowl that sat on top of the counter. She had seen similar sinks in newer homes in Chicago - they were all the rage. The tub was a claw footed unit that reeked of a century before. It needed some work, but she certainly saw potential. She found herself thoughtful and reminiscent for a moment, thinking about how many times the old once again becomes the new.

Tatum looked forward to her new found decorating project with gusto. She was so used to working at a computer that the thought of working with her hands excited her. Plus, simply being in the room made her feel as if she'd taken a step back in time, and she liked that. A step back in time was a feeling she'd have a lot in Wainwright.

***

Tatum was a middle child. She had an older sister and a younger brother. Her sister, Sarah, was two years her senior and was always considered the prettier sister, although both Tatum and Sarah would have been considered attractive by any standard. Both were tall, thin and had the look of a California blond. Compared to her sister, Tatum had softer, less defined features, less height and generally a less commanding stature.

In exchange for being the slightly less stunning sister, Tatum got the brains. She was always the family pride when it came to her studies. She was a strong, hard-working student who found school easy and was rewarded for her efforts. Besides her brains, in exchange for her sister's breathtaking beauty, Tatum was also endowed with modesty. Where her sister tended to recognize and occasionally flaunt her extremely good looks, Tatum's years of living in Sarah's shadow had blessed her with a sense of appreciation for her other gifts.

Tatum's brother, Michael, was the youngest child and a stark contrast from his beautiful, intelligent sisters. Michael was born with complications and the doctors initially called him 'slow'. Eventually, after years of his mother advocating on his behalf, Michael was relabeled Autistic.

Michael was not like what people thought about when they thought Autism. It seemed to Tatum that most equated Autism with the movie 'Rain Man' and expected that her brother would be a slightly odd, but a generally agreeable individual who was good at math. Michael was none of those things.

To start, Michael was mildly mentally handicapped. He had the capacity to learn very basic tasks, but no ability for insight. One thing did not necessarily lead to another for Michael; nothing could be taken for granted. Simply because he had learned something similar yesterday, did not mean it translated into what was happening today. Everything had to be taught slowly and then supported for him. He was generally a pretty happy guy, unless things did not remain exactly as he expected. If anything changed from his typical routine, it would mean a full blown tantrum for the family, sometimes a violent tantrum.

Sarah was six years older than Michael and although she loved him, she found him a bother. Tatum, on the other hand, was young enough to have watched him go through the tortures of everyday life, and old enough to know some of the experiences he had to endure weren't fair. At an early age Tatum had learned to guard her younger brother, from mean kids at school, and from others who didn't understand. She guided him, she nurtured him, and above all else she protected him. Tatum always knew that someday she would work in a profession intended to help and support people like her treasured Michael.

In spite of their differences, the three O'Neill children were loved and admired equally by their parents. Jerry and Sophia O'Neill had dedicated their lives to their work and their children, with caring for Michael and their restaurants taking up the bulk of their time. The O'Neills started serving dinners in a small modest space in a poorer neighborhood in downtown Chicago. But, as news of their excellent food and service spread, so did the popularity of the family restaurant. Jerry had proudly named his life's work after his life's love, and so 'Sophie's' was the name that eventually became a top-seller in Chicago. The success of the restaurant allowed the family to provide fully for the children and to situate themselves nicely within Chicago society. By the time Tatum was in her teens, the family was living in a stylish townhome right in the heart of the action. Her parents were able to afford help for Michael and the girls were able to seek out whatever educational path they chose. Tatum chose a long one.

***

Tatum started her undergraduate training with the intent to get a biomedical degree and then become a doctor. "If I just had a dollar for every student that wanted to be a doctor, I'd be able to leave this crummy job," one of her professors had once said on a particularly frustrating day. At the time, Tatum hadn't really understood what he meant.

Tatum's primary drive for university was a strong determination that she wanted to be useful, and having had much medical experience with Michael, physician seemed like a natural fit. Her mind was changed not too long into her studies when she needed an elective course that she could fit into her timetable. She didn't much care what the course was.

.

"Welcome to Psychology 301 - An Introduction to Assessment of Psychopathology," the instructor loudly announced. Dr. Zubert was a bright and boisterous woman who found entertainment of her students to be her most useful teaching tool.

She was a well-dressed forty-something who most would describe as averagely attractive. She had a reputation for making socially inappropriate comments, and the students loved her for it. "If you wanna be in my class, you must be crazy. And... at least for now... I'm the only one here qualified to make that call," she'd say with a smirk. Her students knew that her research at the University suffered because of her love for clinical practice, but they also thought that her unbelievable, but true to life, stories were worth the trade-off.

Dr. Zubert changed Tatum's life plans with her simple, delightful and dedicated teachings. Stories of patients with major depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder, schizophrenia and other serious mental health issues intrigued Tatum. But, she was especially enthralled by the stories of patients with developmental disabilities, neurological disorders, and, of course, Autism.

With respectful humor, Dr. Zubert told her tales of patients who thought they were motor boats, those who commanded space ships, and those who met you for the first time every single day. She also told tales about heart-ache, family struggles, financial difficulties, and social stigma. These tales Tatum knew all too well.

.

After taking Psychology 301 with Dr. Zubert, enrolling in Psychology 302 - Advanced Assessment of Psychopathology was the easiest decision Tatum had ever made. Not long into her second semester of learning about mental illness, Dr. Zubert pulled Tatum aside.

"So, Miss O'Neill, you seem to be enjoying my class alright?" Dr. Zubert made her comment with a grin; she knew full well that her class was Tatum's favorite.

"Of course," said Tatum shyly. She wasn't much for making small talk with Professors.

Dr. Zubert continued. "I have heard through the grape-vine that you are a biomedical student, but I was hoping that you might consider continuing with some additional Psychology classes? You seem to have a real keen interest, and, I think, a knack for this area".

Secretly Tatum was boiling over with glee; of course she had considered taking more classes, she'd never been so certain about anything in her life.

"I would like you to come and work for me over the summer," Dr. Zubert continued, "We're gonna call it a 'practicum' so that you can get a grade and some clinical experience, and I can get some free labour." She winked as she mentioned free labour so that Tatum understood it was a joke. "What do you think?"

_What do I think?_ thought Tatum, _I think YES_!

But... all she said out loud was "Thank you very much for thinking of me and for the kind offer Dr. Zubert. Could I have a day or two to think about it?"

Tatum had watched her father build his business for years; she knew all too well the value of not appearing overly excited, and the art of graceful acceptance.

Working for Dr. Zubert was all it promised to be. Mostly Tatum was responsible for office work and billing, but occasionally she sat in or assisted during a session of assessment or therapy. Her kind face and gentle personality made her popular with the patients, and, on more than several occasions, Tatum provided a kind ear to a family with struggles similar to those of her own family. The more she worked the more certain she became. Gradually, throughout the summer, one by one, Tatum changed the courses in her course schedule until each one fit some requirement outlined for a degree in Psychology. She wanted to be a Psychologist.

***

Dr. Zubert peered over her stylish strong-rimmed glasses. "A Master's degree, followed by a PhD, and then your internship. Are you up for it?" she asked, knowing full well Tatum was, of course, 'up for it'. She had excelled in her studies, was ranked within the top five in her class, and possessed the type of personality and skill necessary to become a clinician. She would be beginning her graduate training with Dr. Zubert as her supervisor and was thrilled about the opportunity.

"I've never been more ready for anything in my life," Tatum told her supervisor - much less shyly than during their initial encounter.

.

Years later, Tatum stood proudly in the middle for a picture with her supervisors. Dr. Zubert on one side and Dr. Brunet on the other. Dr. Brunet was an eminent research clinician from Harvard who had agreed to co-supervise Tatum for her PhD; he only worked with the best, and he knew she was one of them. Tatum graduated Cum Laude and was the proud recipient of a Fulbright Scholarship which would support her fully throughout her training as an intern. Only one problem... Fulbrights could only be taken by American students interested in studying in Canada.

# Chapter 2

Tatum awoke early the day after she'd arrived in Wainwright. She thought that, without the noise and sirens of Chicago, sleep would be difficult. She had found quite the opposite; she couldn't remember a time when she's slept so soundly. She had a full day before she needed to report at the hospital to begin her internship, and she was bursting with energy to start on her renovations.

Before going to bed the night before, Tatum had made herself a promise. She would be positive about her new opportunity, even if there was not one single Starbucks in Wainwright.

Tatum got up, showered and dressed in her 'uptown casuals'. She referred to her cut-offs and t-shirts as uptown casuals because, in Chicago, even a pair of cut-offs seemed to require a brand-name and an exorbitant price-tag. She pulled her shoulder-length blond hair into a pony tail and put on a small amount of make-up; she didn't need much. She wore her thirty-one years well.

Even though she knew she was heading to the hard-ware store and reasonable shoes would be much more appropriate, Tatum slipped her perfectly manicured feet back into the flip-flops she'd worn the day before. She remembered how hot she had been, and could not imagine wearing shoes and socks in that heat.

She took the stairs down two at a time and headed for the main entrance. Instead of only the few people she'd seen yesterday in the heat of the afternoon, early morning seemed to bring them out. The apartment entrance had people coming and going, most with a smile and a friendly "Good Morning," all with an extra glance for the pretty stranger who had joined their midst.

In deepest amongst the commotion was Milligan, smiling and sitting in what appeared to be his dedicated rocker at the front door. He had a small TV table beside him, one like Tatum could remember her grandma using to eat dinner once her grandpa had died and grandma had no one to dine with. Milligan's table had a much happier purpose, he used it to house the coffee pot, cups and condiments he kept fresh for his apartment patrons.

"Cup of Jo?" he asked Tatum with a smile.

"Thanks, yes; black," Tatum responded appreciatively.

If there was no Starbucks, Milligan's would have to do. She took one sip and coughed, just a little. _And people say Starbucks is bitter,_ she thought to herself. The coffee was going to take some getting used to. _How does the saying go? You can stand a spoon up in it?_

"Sit and relax for a bit," Milligan invited, hoping his newest resident would share some time. Despite her desire to get started right away on her apartment renovations, Tatum agreed. She knew that she needed someone on her side right now.

"What are you up to today?" Milligan inquired, trying to initiate conversation.

"I'm heading to the home building store. Gonna fix up my apartment. New paint, maybe some new carpet; just a little face lift," Tatum smiled.

"Beautiful room you got there, one of my best. Don't know why it needs a face-lift; but, you kids know what you like. Got any experience with renos? Need some help?"

Tatum knew that Milligan's offer was genuine. Funny, she got offers for help all the time in Chicago, but she understood that the offers were for show, not for real. This one was for real. Milligan broke her train of thought.

"What store are you gonna go to? We haven't got a Home Depot, you know."

Tatum shrugged. She had to admit, she hadn't given that any thought. She guessed she kind of was expecting just to waltz into the local Home Depot as she'd always done back home.

"How about I go with you? I know the owner of the Home Hardware. He's an old buddy of mine and I happen to know that he's a sucker for a pretty face, which you, my dear, can offer."

The trip to the building store was short - like three or four minutes short. Tatum hadn't considered how she was going to get her purchases back to her apartment and was all-at-once thankful for Milligan's kind offer to accompany her and bring his truck.

"Good morning Walt!" Milligan crowed in his usual friendly manner to the man behind the main desk. "Is Pete in?"

"In the back," Walt called back obviously familiar with the ritual.

In the back was a man of about seventy-five who smelled of old smoke and too much whiskey. Milligan had told Tatum that Pete had inherited the business from his father who had owned the hardware store since the day it opened in Wainwright, more than 100 years earlier. It was Pete's decision a few years back to agree to join the Home Hardware franchise, a decision he still wasn't sure about.

As Milligan predicted, Pete gave Tatum a once over and then let out a low loud wolf whistle.

"Wow, you sure know how to pick 'em, Mill," he said to his old friend.

"Pete, this is Tatum. She's a student doctor. Gonna be working on the units. She's moved into my building and, against my advice, thinks she needs to spruce up her place a bit." Milligan was teasing Tatum and she knew it. "Can you cut her a student deal?"

Pete smiled a sly smile and said "For the likes of her, I'll give her any damn deal she wants."

.

Tatum started by wandering aimlessly around the store. She really hadn't had enough time to plan out what exactly it was she wanted to do. But, as she browsed and loitered, her plan started to come together. She wouldn't replace or cover the old hardwood, she would restore it. In fact, she wouldn't change any of the original items in the apartment; she would just make them look fresh and new.

She told Milligan her plan with a smug smile and an "Are you happy now?"

He did, in fact, seem pleased that his room would stay intact.

With her new plan in place, Tatum went about purchasing cleaners for restoring brick, cleaners for restoring bathroom fixtures, cleaners for restoring sinks, basically any cleaners for restoring anything, and paint. She also made arrangements for some of Pete's guys to come and strip and refinish her hardwood floors.

"I suppose you're going to want a break on the rent now, with doing all this work, hey?" Milligan teased again. She knew full well he would give her a break in exchange if she wanted.

.

When they were finished at the building store, Tatum asked Milligan if they could take a quick trip by the furniture store. He complied willingly, and she suspected he loved the company, even if it was costing him some gas in his one-tonne gas-guzzling pick-up.

Tatum's apartment came 'furnished', if you could call an old futon, a worn-out arm-chair with ottoman, and a dining room suite from the seventies, furnished.

"Got an empty apartment in the building in need of some furniture?" Tatum taunted Milligan in fun.

"Oh sure," he retorted, "My best furniture, not good enough for the big city girl".

From anyone else, Tatum may have been offended at the comment, but from her kind friend, she knew everything came with a grin.

.

Tatum spent more than she intended. Although she wasn't in dire straits, she was still a student after all. 'Lowett's Furniture', the only furniture store in Wainwright, had a couch, loveseat and accent chair combination that suited Tatum just fine and was within her budget.

It was a dark brown contemporary set with beige throw pillows and details intended to complement the accompanying accent chair. The chair was one of those types with a stiff back and hard wooden arms that looked nice, but no one actually sat in. Tatum thought it would be a perfect match for the turn of the century motif she was trying to re-create.

Despite her better judgment, she also sprang for a simple bedroom suite and a basic dining room set, both consistent with her old world theme. Then, just for good measure, she picked up some wrought iron wall hangings and a few decorative mirrors to round out her look.

Once again with his perpetual chuckle, Milligan asked, "Are you sure you need all this stuff? The apartment _comes_ furnished you know."

With his truck box bursting at the seams holding all of Tatum's recent purchases, Milligan smiled and pulled away from the furniture store. Six and a half minutes later, they pulled up to Regency Apartments.

.

Milligan and Tatum started with the cleaning and reno materials, then they moved the furniture. They had to enlist the help of some other apartment dwellers to get the couch and love seat up the stairs.

Assistance of a similar sort was not to be found in Chicago. Passers-by would simply gawk at you struggling and keep on walking.

The old furniture was easy enough to move out. They just dumped it off the balcony and watched it fall.

"Your best furniture, hey Milligan?" Tatum quipped as they laughed when the old stained couch finally hit bottom.

.

After all the furniture was moved and the commotion finished, only Milligan and Tatum remained amongst the piles of building supplies and new furniture.

"Thanks for all your help today," she said to her new friend. "I didn't even know how much I needed it and there you were".

"Always willing to help a damsel in distress," Milligan chimed cheerfully as he strolled out her door still working on his last bites of the pizza Tatum had ordered to thank her helpers.

.

Once she was alone, Tatum stared around the room at the seemingly endless piles of things for her to clean, put together, take apart, organize, or paint. She didn't even know where to start, so she lied down on her new mattress, that hadn't yet been moved from the living room floor, and had a nap.

***

When Tatum woke up, she felt renewed and energized. She started organizing her apartment and putting things in, at the very least, the right rooms. She worked for an hour or so and then realized that her other task for the day was yet to be accomplished, and it was already starting to work into the late afternoon.

She had skipped her run that morning so that she could get right to work on her reno project, so she thought on-foot would be the perfect way to check out her new place of business. Tatum slid out of her cut-offs and pulled on her running shorts; she left her hair in a ponytail, but replaced her t-shirt with a tight fitted gym top. She always felt confident in her running gear, she knew she looked well-toned and she was starting to sport a bit of a tan.

.

The hospital was not far from her apartment. She had planned it that way. But despite her chosen close proximity, Tatum took the long way around so that she could get in some running prior to her tour. She timed her run.

_Yup,_ she thought to herself, _the whole perimeter of town in under an hour_.

She slowed up as she neared the north end of town where the hospital was located. She couldn't see it from the street; the entire grounds were guarded by strategically planted trees and shrubs that created a sort of fortress around the institution.

The 'Units' as the locals referred to it was a mental hospital erected by the province sometime around 1900. No one seemed quite certain of the actual date it was built. Tatum suspected that the lack of certainty was less about poor collective memory and more about the fact that the hospital had been built in stages as more need for patient room was realized.

Wainwright had been put on the map by the hospital and its proper name, Wainwright Mental Institute (WMI), proudly proclaimed the small town's ownership. About two decades previous, most of North America had adopted a policy of de-institutionalization, moving patients with mental health issues out of institutions and into the community. Few institutions had survived, and those that did housed only those with the most disturbed mental health, those with serious neurological or developmental disabilities and no family or alternate care, and those who posed a serious threat to the rest of society.

WMI was revered for its research focus intent on studying and improving mental health interventions around the globe. The institution had somewhere in the vicinity of 200-300 patients, depending on the month, and 176 staff. WMI was the primary employer in Wainwright and its presence was something that the locals held dear. They had become much accustomed to having supervised patients walking the streets and shopping in the shops. Even Wainwright's citizens themselves were surprised by their ability to accommodate to the strange sights and sounds that sometimes resulted from WMI's presence in their town.

The WMI internship had been sought by many talented potential interns; Tatum had been chosen on a recommendation from Dr. Zubert. She impressed upon the evaluation committee that Tatum not only had excellent scholastic credential, but also possessed remarkable empathy, compassion and understanding for patients, and held herself to a high level of ethical practice.

Tatum neared the entrance of the grounds with a sense of anxiety. She was both entering her new place of employment and also trying to complete a bit of a covert mission. She was hoping to get her first glance at the Units without anyone noticing her. She wasn't ready to meet her new employers and co-workers in her running gear.

It was nearing early evening and the grounds seemed to her to be a bit deserted.

_Likely a combination of dinner hour and shift change,_ she thought to herself.

Similar to her first response to Main Street, Tatum's first response to WMI was that it seemed exactly as she would have seen on a movie. Only, this time, instead of a feel-good small-town USA chick flick, it would have been one of those suspense movies where everything looks serene at the beginning but eventually all the characters go crazy and start killing each other.

The grounds were perfectly manicured and revealed acres and acres of uniformly cut grass. With the exception of the missing diamond shaped cut-ins, Tatum thought that it could have been the perfectly kept turf of a professional ball diamond.

The driveway was long and both sides were dressed with cedar shrubs that stood nearly nine feet high and had been carefully groomed into a well-shaped border for the stately drive.

Tatum caught herself gawking as she moved to the end of the long driveway and took in, for the first time, the true expansiveness of her new place of work. She had been told that WMI was nearly a mile around, but it was something she supposed everyone would have to see to believe.

The main drive was the only entrance in, but at the end of the main drive was 'Ring Road', a circular driveway that encased the entire structure, as well as a series of small jaunts and drives that allowed access to the series of buildings making up the larger structure. Like everything else in Wainwright, the institution's architecture seemed to be from the early 1900s and bricks and lions' heads were definitely the dominant theme.

The red brick buildings seemed to run into one another, but each had a large and stately marble staircase in the immediate front, allowing an onlooker to determine that each similarly situated structure was, indeed, a separate unit.

Tatum had seen lots of marble staircases in Chicago, marble tended to be the material of choice for libraries and museums. But, she had never seen marble like this. It was as if every inch had been scrubbed with a toothbrush. The glow from the staircase was so intense that Tatum was unsure whether they had been meticulously polished, or whether it was the intense Saskatchewan sun making them shine.

She wiped her forehead. She could not remember a time when running had been so hard and when she'd sweated so much. Chicago was known for its summer humidity, how could she possibly sweat more here?

Intent on continuing to say out of sight, Tatum worked her way around Ring Road concealed behind whatever form of shrubbery happened to be available. She took in the stately grandeur of the buildings and continued to admire the seemingly endless miles of flawlessly groomed grounds. Rarely had she seen something so beautiful and serene. She thought the entire place was a strange contradiction. As picturesque and stunning as any estate ever created, but with the eerie aura of a place with stories many would be reticent to hear.

# Chapter 3

Tatum had set her alarm for six, but she was awake well before. She decided she might as well get up and go for her run so that she had lots of time left for getting ready. She had discovered that early mornings in Wainwright were not only quiet, but the sunrise was remarkable and the temperature was much more bearable than it would become later in the day.

Back by seven, she stepped into the shower and enjoyed the warm water running over her face and relaxing her tense neck. Fresh from the shower, Tatum straightened her hair and put on her make-up, taking much more time and care with her appearance than she had over the past few days. She dressed in a blue tailored suit that her mother had bought for her as a congratulations gift for getting her new position.

"Oh Tatey. You'll knock 'em dead," her mother had said.

Tatum secretly hated when her mother called her 'Tatey' because she thought it made her sound like fried hash. But, at the same time, she loved that her mom had a secret pet name for her.

To complement her fitted and stylish suit, she chose new pumps that she had gotten especially for her big day. They were high, but not too high; she wanted the others to see her as a professional after all. Tatum looked at herself in the mirror and liked what she saw.

.

Unable to take the stairs two at the time as she had the day before, Tatum carefully made her way down the elevator, ensuring not to catch and scuff the fronts of her new pumps. She hadn't yet had her coffee, and she was working on the assumption that on the lowest floor Milligan would be available with a fresh cup. She was not disappointed.

"Holy Lordy!" Milligan said, "You sure do clean up good! Today must be your first day at the office?"

Tatum smiled. She like hearing that she looked good, even if the person doing the appreciating thought the world of her even when she was in her oldest grubs.

Milligan handed her a cup, black like he now knew she liked it.

"Mmmmm, Starbucks, schmarbucks," Tatum teased as she appreciated her first sip "They ain't got nothing on Milligan's."

Tatum finished her coffee down to the last drop and then picked up her briefcase. Unlike her outfit, the briefcase had been with her through all of her graduate training, and it looked like it. Still, she was unwilling to give it up. The case had been a gift from her grandfather when she started her graduate training. Her Grandpa was a quiet and gentle man who had passed away several years earlier. He had a Grade Eight education and had trouble understanding her need for "All that school". But still, he believed in her and he'd had the briefcase buckle engraved with the words "Upward and onward, baby". She would never use another case.

Briefcase in hand Tatum said goodbye to Milligan and made her way down the few blocks from her apartment to the Units. The main road somehow seemed less long and eerie as compared to the evening past. In fact, with the morning sun shining through the branches and more movement about the grounds, it seemed almost inviting.

Tatum knew just where she needed to go. She had scoped out the Administration Building during last night's run. It was the building just to the right of the main entrance, with a staircase only slightly less grand than the one that blessed the very front entrance.

Tatum started up the stairs feeling both anxious and excited. She liked the way her heels clicked on the marble stairs. Funny, back home she'd climbed so many marble stairways wearing very similar shoes, but she couldn't ever before remember enjoying the sound.

"Can I help you with something?" a friendly lady in the front office asked Tatum.

"Hello, yes. I'm Dr. O'Neill. I'm the Psychologist from Chicago. I'm here to start my internship under Dr. Fraser".

Tatum's voice wavered as she spoke; she was obviously more nervous than she realized.

"Well hello honey!" the woman said with a smile "We've been waiting for you. I'm Anne, one of the psych nurses on staff. I'm just loitering in these parts; I usually work on the wings."

Anne smiled at the younger woman who sat behind the desk while she made the comment about loitering. The young woman smiled back as if they had just shared an inside joke.

Anne was a big woman, tall and heavy. She looked to be about fortyish and had her hair cut short, in a manly sort of style. Her hair was a mousy brown and she had large glasses, the type that had been popular in the nineties and went low, as if the wearer required glasses to see through the cheeks.

Despite her overall minimally average appearance, Tatum thought that she had a few very attractive features. Her cheeks were a bright rosy red, a perfect complement to her shiny blue eyes, and she had the fullest, most contagious laugh Tatum had ever heard.

"Well, they say that possession is nine tenths of the law. So, now that I've found ya, I'm gonna keep ya," Anne said laughingly.

"First things first; let's get the paperwork out of the way. Marja?" she said to the younger women behind the desk "Where do we find the paperwork?"

.

Tatum filled out form, after form, after form. Income tax forms, beneficiary forms, non-resident forms, confidentiality agreements, blah blah blah. She had never before seen so many forms. She glanced at her watch. She had started at 8:30 and it was nearly 10:00. She hadn't even left the front office.

"Well, I think that's it," said Anne. "When you're done this last one, we can start our tour".

Tatum felt her excitement return at the thought of being able to finally see the rest of the facility.

Anne glanced at Marja, "Can you buzz us through?" she asked of the younger desk clerk. Tatum heard a faint buzzing noise and the large wooden door beside Marja's desk easily pushed open. Anne and Tatum started down a large, wide hallway.

"We'll start with the rest of the administration unit," said Anne. "Not much to see here really. Lots of office workers doing office worker stuff".

Tatum felt thankful that her tour guide was so likable. She'd started in a lot of new offices through the years, and if the tour guide was less amicable, the first day could sometimes set the tone for the whole stay.

Anne walked through the administration unit waving and nodding at the office workers littered throughout the building. Sometimes they stopped for Tatum to be introduced, and generally her introduction was met with smiles and friendly banter.

"This is Dr. O'Neill," Anne introduced. "She's our new Psych intern; it's my job to break her in." Anne made the same joke each time.

Tatum thought she had met about a hundred people. She remembered a few names, but she was no longer sure which name went with which face.

.

It had taken nearly an hour to work their way through the administration unit and Tatum was starting to feel hungry. She was also feeling a bit anxious to get on with the rest of her tour; she knew there were five more units to tour and she wasn't sure that, at the pace they were going, she would see any of them.

"How about one more and then we head down for lunch?" Anne asked.

"Sounds good to me," Tatum agreed, as they shared a laugh at the growling sound coming from Tatum's stomach.

.

_Now this is more like it_ , Tatum thought to herself as they entered Unit Two.

Everything on the Units was based on a tiered system, moving from the lowest risk to the highest. With Unit One being the Administration Unit, a non-clinical unit, Unit Two was considered the lowest risk clinical unit.

The first thing Tatum noticed was the difference in ambiance. Unit One had been decorated, obviously quite recently, in trendy neutral tones, with updated fixtures and finishing touches including some decorative artwork and furniture. In comparison, Unit Two was barren, no artwork donned the walls and there were no ornamental pieces of any kind. Tatum assumed that the lack of ornaments was likely a safety consideration.

In addition to the lack of decoration, the walls changed from trendy browns and sages to pastel green. Tatum quickly recognized that pastel green was evidently the code colour for the Unit. Patients wore pastel green issue. Charts were covered with pastel green cases. The only exception to the sea of pastel green was the ceiling, floor, and the smattering of mismatched institutional style furniture.

Unit Two was considered the 'In-patient/Out-patient' Unit. Some patients came in for therapy or medication on a visitation basis, and some were in-patients who were considered to need only a temporary stay.

"This is our lowest risk, lowest need unit," explained Anne. "Mostly people with generally treatable issues, those that need assessment, and those that feel they need some recovery time before going back out to face the world."

Tatum eyed up the activity on the unit. There were nurses, orderlies, and of course patients, all wearing the requisite pastel green. The unit was designed similar to a prison that Tatum had once visited during a practicum in forensic psych, one large common room with a kitchen and many small rooms branching off from the middle. The lower tiers appeared to be intervention rooms and the upper tiers sleeping/living units.

Tatum wandered casually into the common room, but privately she was hoping that she would get to see the goings-on in the smaller rooms. In the large common room there was a shared television, small tables filled with puzzles and other games, and large Lazy-boy chairs, each of them currently filled.

"Hello, I'm Dr. O'Neill" Tatum said confidently to one of the patients. She'd had enough experience doing clinical work that she did not feel intimidated by the relative strangeness of her current environment.

The patient looked at her with sad eyes and simply replied, "Hello Dr. O'Neill. No one will tell me when I get to leave. Can you help me leave?"

"I'm so sorry," stammered Tatum, feeling slightly ridiculous for having engaged the patient in conversation to start with. "I can't help you with that right now; but... we'll see, okay?

Tatum's heart went out to the sad stranger. She had primarily worked in out-patient wards; few times had she seen patients who were committed to treatment.

.

"Over here, hun," Anne called to Tatum. "Come meet Judy. She's unit head".

Tatum wasn't sure what unit head meant, but she was certain that in no time, talkative Anne would definitely fill her in. Judy was of an age similar to Anne, but had a much less jovial approach to life. She was hard-faced and serious and gave Tatum only a polite, but icy nod when the two were introduced.

"Unit Two is my unit," Judy stated decisively. "There's some hope for these ones."

Tatum thought she had picked up on just a hint of empathy in her voice on her last comment. She wondered if Judy's cold exterior protected her from the heartache of patient suffering.

"Come take a look," Judy instructed.

Tatum diligently followed as Judy led her to explore the outer rooms of the Unit. In the first room Tatum could see a middle-aged gentleman dressed in pastel green meeting with an older-looking, presumably experienced, male therapist.

"Jim's depressed," Judy explained. "Wife and kids all killed at once. Drunk Driver. Says he's got nothing to live for. He may have to move to U3, go on suicide watch".

They moved onto the next room. The second room housed a younger man dressed in street clothes who was meeting with an employee sitting at a table alternate to the patient.

"Sometimes we have public come in who want assessments, maybe for their doctor, or for work, or for whatever. Usually simple problems like learning disabilities. Stuff like that".

Tatum thought to herself that she appreciated the explanation for the street clothes in place of the pastel green issue.

"Onto room number three," Judy led.

In the third room Tatum observed a group session. One older woman talking with a group of about five women, ranging from maybe twenty through forty or forty-five.

"Our battered wives group," Judy explained. "Many of them come in here, not because they need in-patient treatment, but because it's safe for them. Therapy and assertiveness training while they're in here are only secondary benefits to the fact that they aren't getting the shit beat out of them every day."

Finally they moved onto room four.

"That's OCD Bob," Judy stated. "Does stuff over and over again and can't work cause he never gets anything done, but none of the crazy obsession crap that means moving to another unit. Martin's really good with him."

Tatum presumed Martin must be the other man in the small room.

"Martin's not a _trained_ anything, but he calms Bob down and can keep him from washing, even if just for a little while."

Judy paused and then said "Well... that's about it for the downstairs. Could bring you back tomorrow and it would be different people, same issues. You know; same shit, different day and all that."

The group of three slowly made their way up to the upper tiers. The rooms in the upstairs all looked exactly the same, each had a bunk bed and a small toileting area blocked off by flimsy dividers.

"On a good day we have 50 in here. That's what we're designed for. On a bad day, we stack 'em and have had as many as 75, 3 in each room."

She continued, "We don't have mandatory anything in this unit, they can move about as they please, with the exception of making therapy appointments on time of course. We also get a lot of turnover, some check-in, some check-out; only a few on mandatory commitments in Unit Two, but lots of returnees."

When Judy spoke of mandatory commitment Tatum got a shiver as she thought about the patient she'd spoken with earlier in the tour.

"Well, that's about all she wrote," Judy summed up as they neared the end of Unit Two.

Tatum and Anne thanked Judy for guiding their visit and then started to make their way back out through the main doors.

"Hungry yet?" Anne asked as they started back toward what Tatum thought was likely the Administration Unit.

Tatum glanced at her watch, it was after one, she'd completely forgotten about her growling stomach from earlier.

"You bet. Is there a cafeteria or something?"

"Follow me," Anne led Tatum back out to the area where Marja still sat at her desk answering phones.

.

Anne and Tatum grabbed lunch to-go from the cafeteria, and then Anne showed Tatum to the staff courtyard. It was similar to the rest of the grounds, perfectly manicured as if about to be the set of a movie. The courtyard had stately stone benches which provided the same type of stature provided by the marble staircases, but, as Tatum quickly discovered, they were less than comfortable to sit on. Plus, in the dry Saskatchewan heat she was slowly becoming accustomed to, they were much too hot.

She and Anne decided to pull up a spot on the lawn and enjoy their meal.

"Well, what do you think so far?" Anne inquired.

"I've never been in an in-patient institution like this before. I've worked on in-patient wards in general hospitals, but this is definitely different; the patient types seem relatively similar though. Are we going to see Unit Three next?"

"We can definitely see Unit Three this afternoon, but first I should probably take you by to meet Dr. Fraser since he's the one that hired you, I suppose he'll wanna know what he bargained for, hey?" Anne said with a smirk.

# Chapter 4

Marja had called ahead and asked Dr. Fraser to meet with Anne and Tatum in the board room of the Admin building. They met there at 2:15 and Tatum attended the meeting refreshed from her lunch and the fresh, although exceedingly hot, air.

Dr. Fraser was everything Tatum expected, she had done her homework. He was in his early sixties, but remained a distinguished and attractive man. He had a commanding presence and stood tall, showing off every inch of his six foot two frame. His hair was curly, with salt and pepper coloring and appeared as if it remained plentiful. He had a moustache, something Tatum saw rarely in these times. But, she found it oddly appealing.

_Kind of a Tom Selleck look to him_ , she thought to herself.

In place of a stuffy business suit, he wore pressed khakis and a salmon coloured button-down shirt, professional but not too dressy.

"So, you're my Fulbright," he said to Tatum as he shook her hand.

"Yes sir," she replied, "Glad to be here."

Dr. Fraser struck Tatum as someone who had often been very much in control, with a perception of power that spread over many 'underlings'. He was welcoming, but in a slightly dismissive way.

"We're gonna put you to work around here. We have a perpetual dilemma of too many in need, with too few services. You'll learn in the trenches."

"Fine by me. Looking forward to it" Tatum responded.

"Anne here will show you the rest of the place and then when you're all done with that, Anne can help you get started reviewing some charts and shadowing for a few days. A few days will be all you'll get though. As soon as we think you're ready, you'll be taking on your own case load."

.

Dr. Fraser was gone as quickly as he had come. Tatum presumed he was busy; but also that he wanted to ensure she knew he was the boss, leaving her with the perception that he 'had people' that could tend to her.

"Don't mind him," Anne explained, "He's used to all of us 'minions' cowering when he speaks". She laughed. "He's actually not a bad guy once you get past all the pomp and circumstance".

Tatum actually had required little reassurance. She was well versed in pompous middle-aged men, psychology faculties were littered with them.

***

Unit Three was their next destination and Tatum was riddled with anxious excitement. She was excited because she had never before been in a real honest-to-god mental institution, and she was anxious for exactly the same reason.

Unit Two had interested her, but it was not so much different than other places she'd worked. It was the more severely ill that she had much less experience with.

"Are you ready?" Anne asked with concern. She must have seen that Tatum was nervous.

"Never more so," was her decided answer.

.

Tatum was at first a little disappointed. Unit Three looked remarkably like Unit Two with peach as the colour of choice in place of Unit Two's pastel green. Structurally she saw few differences, the same type of large common room with a kitchen, lazy boys, small tables and a television, and then lower level treatment rooms and upper level housing units.

The first obvious difference that Tatum noticed was the noise. Unit Two appeared relatively calm; patients watched TV, played cards, talked or participated in other mundane daily tasks. In contrast, Unit Three had no sense of calm.

One patient was yelling "here they come, here they come, here they come" as he ran from one corner of the common room to another.

A female patient was sitting at one of the small tables pulling her hair and screaming something indecipherable. Another patient was beating a spoon against the table repetitively, while the patient across the table from him methodically kicked the table legs with the same rhythm.

Tatum noted that despite the incessant noise occurring in the unit, not everyone was participating in the noisemaking activities. There was a larger man who appeared to be in his mid-40s sitting in the corner simply looking out the window. A young woman was holding the mirror and was brushing her hair and singing softly to herself. A thirty-something man with a badly cleft palate appeared to be reading quietly in the corner.

Tatum continued to look around the room and take in the wide variety of patients that shared a single living space. On her second take she noticed a younger man, maybe in his early 20s, who sat alone in the corner. His behavior would have seemed fairly typical if it were not for the strange hand movements he was making in front of his face; he watched them intently. Tatum recognized the stereotypical hand maneuvers.

"Is he Autistic?" she asked as if she didn't already know.

"Yeah. Good call," said Larry, the Unit Three head she had met only a few minutes earlier. "Do you know anything about Autism?" Larry asked. "Because we sure could use some specialization around here, nobody really knows what to do. James there hasn't spoken to anyone in more than 20 years; just sits there wiggling his fingers - day in day out. We have some others like him, but at least the others interact a little. Talk a bit and such. Not James. Not ever."

Tatum resisted her immediate desire to share her full family history with Anne and Larry. Although she was not the least bit ashamed of her family's difficulties with Michael, she understood that in a professional environment it was work before family, at least where she came from.

"U3 is dedicated to patients that require long-term, full-care inpatient services" said Larry. "Not so different from U4, but no-one that is a risk to themselves or someone else. We also send any one with sexual aggression or deviance to U4. But overall, in here we've got lots of psychosis, delusions, obsessions, compulsions and anyone who has some kind of developmental or other disability that requires long-term institutional care. Like James there." Larry paused then said, "Well, wanna go upstairs? Or have you seen enough?"

Tatum definitely wanted to go upstairs. Similar to the rest of the unit, the upstairs was laid out exactly as Unit Two had been. But, again, Tatum noticed that although the structure was the same, the patient activities differed. Tatum looked through the small institutional type window that had been strategically placed in each dormitory door - the staff needed to be able to observe the residents at all times.

No-one was in the first room, and in the second the patient was having a nap, pretty mundane stuff. Then, in the third room, she saw a patient lying on his stomach beating his bed with his hands and feet. It looked like a small child having a tantrum, but it continued for much too long and the patient made no noise. In the fifth room there was a woman who looked about thirty-five sitting on her haunches rocking in the corner.

Room after room Tatum saw patients completing rituals, self-soothing and/or pacing in a desperate attempt to escape whatever voice might be in their head for the day. For the first time, Tatum knew what the inside of a mental institution actually looked like.

She had always seen her brother as severely disabled, even compared to many of those that she saw during her clinical work. _Michael would fit in perfectly here_ , Tatum thought to herself. She felt just a touch sick to her stomach.

.

"Well Hun, it's just about four. I think we should probably call it a day." Anne said. "Lucky you. You're not a shift worker like the most of us. Means you get to clock out now, but ya got be back bright and early tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is Unit Four and Five?" Tatum asked hopefully.

"Nope, sorry hun. For now your clearance is only Units One through Three. Units Four through Six you'll get access to in time. Tomorrow will be your first in the trenches. I'll meet you in the morning and then I'll place you in the capable hands of Dr. Glaser who you'll shadow for tomorrow. We'll have to wait and see what his plans are after that. I'm not sure whether he will want you to continue on with him, or whether he will pass you off on days when he has manager kinds of things to do."

Tatum heard little of what Anne said. She was still stuck on the fact that she currently had no access to Units Four through Six. She was overwhelmed with curiosity about why someone with her training and credentials would be disallowed from any part of the hospital.

# Chapter 5

As Tatum left the hospital for the day, back through the main door of Unit One, she needed to catch her breath as she stepped out into the intense Saskatchewan heat. Although WMI had few windows and tended to feel somewhat like a basement throughout the entire complex, it was also well air-conditioned and provided ample solace from the harsh exterior temperatures.

She made her way back down the splendid marble staircase and found herself once again enjoying the hollow clicking noise of her trendy platform pumps hitting the stately marble staircase.

_Sort of like putting a metronome in with a puppy to help it sleep_ , she thought.

Already by the time she had reached the bottom of the staircase, the heat was overwhelming and she found herself peeling off the blazer that so nicely finished her tailored three-piece suit. Her heels had seemed much less high when she had walked the same walk early this morning. She wished she could also peel off her nylons and her heels so that she could walk across the expansive grounds in bare feet, but she laughingly thought to herself that she had better stay dressed, for fear that she may be mistaken as a patient.

Although her place of work was only a few blocks from her apartment, by the time Tatum made it home her head was wet with perspiration, as was the rest of her body. She'd had a full and tiring day, and found herself thankful that when she arrived at the apartments, she saw no one in sight. She certainly did not feel like making small talk at the moment.

Feeling as if she was about to wither from the heat, Tatum made her way into the front lobby of the apartment building and felt immediate relief when she heard the familiar buzzing noise of the air conditioner. Feeling slightly less wilted in the cooler air, she made her way through what was becoming the familiar route to her apartment, opened her door and flopped down in the only chair not still covered with unpacked clothes or renovation materials.

.

Having regained some of her energy after a short, air-conditioned rest, Tatum slowly got up, undressed from her work attire and stepped into a quick, cool shower. She dressed in the same cut-off shorts she had worn the day before, but this time she paired them with a small halter top, the type that tied in the middle and showed her belly button.

She flicked on her cell phone for the first time that day and heard several ringing noises in a row as the messages that had been sent during the day were received. On her blackberry Tatum saw several messages from her mother, one from Sarah, and a couple of routine University of Illinois listserv type spam. None of the previous messages surprised her. Then, Tatum did a double-take. As her messages loaded, the name Niko Rodrigues slowly showed in her unread messages mailbox.

Niko had been Tatum's long-term boyfriend in Chicago. They had met during their undergrad training, she in the psychology program, and he in engineering. In engineering a Master's degree was considered a terminal degree. As a result, Niko had long since finished his education and had developed a successful career as a junior engineer working for a large engineering firm in Chicago. Tatum and Niko had shared many happy years together, and had even spoken of marriage. But upon her acceptance as a Fulbright scholar, Tatum had made the very difficult decision to break it off with Niko and experience some life unlike anything she'd ever known.

Niko was, in Tatum's opinion, an extremely handsome Latino man, with dark, curly hair, dark eyes and a chiseled chin. Although not overly tall at not quite 6 feet, Niko took pride in his physique and his dedication to exercise was obvious in the way that his expensive tailored clothing hung on him perfectly, accentuating his large strong chest and narrow waist. In his early twenties Niko had been a man with many dreams; most of them had long since been fulfilled. But, he was also the type that when one goal was reached, three more were created.

Tatum felt that she had certainly been a priority in his life, but as was typical in Chicago society, she often felt that she took a backseat to his long hours and drive for yet even more success and even more money.

.

Tatum sat her phone down. Once she'd had something to eat, she would answer her mother and her sister, and even perhaps glance at the news sent from the University. She knew she wouldn't however, read or answer the text from Niko. She was still unsure of her feelings about their possible future together, but remained confident that she had made the right decision to make her move with no strings attached.

.

Knowing she would not answer any of the messages at the moment, Tatum went to her fridge hoping to find something for dinner. Seeing nothing of interest, and generally little of anything at all, she made her way out of her apartment and toward the downtown core where she was hoping she would find something that appealed to her. Having thought little about where she was headed, Tatum found herself walking towards the small liquor store she had made note of on her first walk through town.

The heat was still intense and she was once again beginning to break a sweat, but in her more comfortable clothes and after a nice cool shower, the intense heat seemed less disheartening.

"What's your pleasure?" the liquor store clerk asked Tatum.

She must looked have looked like someone who had no idea where things were, something Tatum suspected was a bit unusual around here.

"Do you have one called 'Two Oceans'?" Tatum asked.

Two Oceans was a cheap, full-bodied red wine she and Niko had discovered on a trip they had taken to a rental cabin outside of Chicago. On the winding road into the cabin they had come across a small corner store and had stopped to purchase a few items they'd forgotten, including a bottle of wine. Two Oceans had been recommended by the store clerk and had remained Tatum's favorite since. She liked a dry red with lots of flavor, and Two Oceans sort of reminded her of a glass of wine that had been prepared starting with a sour bucket of pure Welch's purple grape juice.

"You betcha. Right over here."

Tatum grabbed a bottle of her favorite and then browsed the store for a few moments, as much to take advantage of a few minutes out of the sun as to actually consider purchasing another product.

After deliberating long enough to be prepared to re-brave the heat, she decided to add a case of beer to her purchase pile. She wasn't really sure who she was buying it for, but she enjoyed one occasionally when it was hot and she liked to have them on hand in case anyone stopped by. She knew the likelihood of anyone actually stopping by was remote, she knew almost no-one, but it felt good just to think that she was prepared if, by chance, someone did.

.

Once again Tatum caught her breath as she stepped out onto the sidewalk. She wondered whether her body would ever stop reacting to the extreme temperature differential. She thought it must happen eventually; she didn't notice Wainwright residents gasping every time they stepped outside.

Tatum walked the couple of blocks to the grocery store, and then wished she'd gone to the liquor store second. Her load was heavy and her beer was getting warm. To lighten her load, she grabbed a shopping cart, for which she noticed she did not have to deposit a dollar, and unloaded her recent purchases into the pushcart.

_That's better_ , she thought to herself as she shook out her numb beer-carrying fingers.

She had few ideas about what she was going to eat; she only knew one thing for sure, it would go with red wine. She smiled at the thought of organizing her entire menu around her favorite drink.

In an effort to be responsible, she first picked up some bread, eggs, milk and cereal. She knew she would need to eat breakfast the following morning; but she wouldn't necessarily need lunch food. If today was any indication, she would likely eat at the WMI cafeteria most days. Then, after she'd made some responsible choices, she felt free to explore the less responsible side of her palate.

First Tatum explored the cheese isle. In her opinion, cheese and red wine made a perfect pair. She chose the 'old' cheddar, the only one on the shelf. She had to admit that the cheese selection was one of the few things she had been truly disappointed with so far in Wainwright. In Chicago she could visit an entire store dedicated only to cheese, and then choose the one that went perfectly with her wine choice of the day.

Next she moved onto her choice of meat; she didn't know what she was looking for, but she knew it would be something she wouldn't have to cook.

Lost in thought she wondered through the deli section pushing her cart of booze and cheese.

"Ouch!" said a voice in front of her, breaking her state of meaningless contemplation.

"Oh my goodness; I'm so sorry. I didn't see you there," Tatum explained to the stranger over whose feet she had just run.

The stranger turned around to indicate his acceptance of her apology and Tatum saw the face of a thirty something man who was obviously a Wainwright resident. Although he wasn't wearing a tilted hat and John Deere green, Tatum recognized the look of a long-term younger generation Wainwrightion.

_Wainwrightion? Is that even a thing?_ She chuckled to herself.

The man standing in front of her was tall; she guessed definitely more than six feet, maybe 6'3"ish? He looked strong, but not the type of strong you get from working out in a gym, the type of strong you get from lifting 200 pound bales for 20 years or more. His attire consisted of worn jeans with a blown out knee, cowboy boots, and a plaid shirt with rolled up sleeves.

_He's almost a cowboy cliché_ , Tatum observed silently.

His hair was short, but his cut was similar to those worn in the mid-nineties. In her world, men wore something called a 'Caesar cut'. She had to admit she wasn't sure why it was called that, perhaps because with the blunt cut around the ears, the flat top and the wedge stuck up in front, those who wore it looked like they were in the days of Caesar Augustus? In any case, this Wainwright resident did not have his hair in any form of hair style she was used to. It was parted just to the side and was sort of feathered lightly so that it was long enough to move with the shaking of his head. She assumed that it was normally kind of a light brown colour, but having been exposed to the sun for many days, it now appeared sandy blond against his darkly tanned skin.

"Apology accepted," the stranger said with a small sideways grin.

Like Tatum, he seemed a bit taken aback by the attractiveness of a face he'd never seen before. She could tell that he was trying to be polite, but at the same time give her a once over. He seemed shy and it was Tatum who took to the first attempt at conversation.

"I'm afraid I've just gotten my license and these shopping carts can be lethal in the wrong hands," Tatum joked.

He smiled at her comment and then answered "Well, the grocery store can be a dangerous place; ya pay your money and ya take your chances".

Tatum continued, "My name's Tatum." She offered him her hand for shaking.

He responded in kind with the quiet, "I'm Jake".

"Well Jake, it was nice to meet you. I hope your foot is okay and that you survive the rest of your dangerous journey through the grocery store."

"Nice to meet you too, miss," Jake mumbled as he backed away from Tatum and worked his way back out of the deli section.

.

With a little bit of newfound skip in her step, Tatum continued in her search for all things that could be paired with red wine. She found some prosciutto in the deli section and then complemented her meat selection with crackers, olives, smoked oysters, and a jar of antipasto.

Knowing a dinner of appetizers would likely leave for wanting, she impulsively grabbed a box of ice cream cones and some frozen triple chocolate brownie.

.

Now fully loaded with liquor and grocery store bounty, Tatum stood dumbfounded in the parking lot. Used to shopping with Niko and having a trunk to carry her items, she was unsure of how to negotiate carrying all of her newly purchased rations. She stood contemplating removing her items from her shopping cart.

She must have looked truly overwhelmed in her dilemma because before she picked up a single item for her planned balancing act, the pimply faced teenager responsible for collecting shopping carts in the parking lot came to her rescue.

"Are you walking ma'am?" He asked politely.

Tatum thought to herself how it was funny that she was still a 'miss' to Jake, but to this pimply 16 year old, she was definitely a 'ma'am'.

"Yes, unfortunately, I didn't plan this very well, did I?" Tatum responded.

"Oh, that's all right, happens all the time. Just take the cart home and return it tomorrow."

Tatum was flabbergasted. "What do you mean, take the cart home?" she asked incredulously.

"Just wheel it down the street to your house," the young boy clarified with just a hint of contempt.

Tatum guessed that he figured he'd been pretty clear the first time he told her to take it.

.

So, warm beer at the bottom and quickly softening cheese on the top, Tatum slowly made her way through the streets of Wainwright, pushing her shopping cart.

_Oh, if my friends could see me now_ , she thought to herself as she gave it a double strength push to make sure it made it up the lip on the next curb.

***

Tatum found herself surprised at how good her Two Oceans felt sliding smoothly down her throat with a small bite of cheese, cracker, and olive. With her stomach starting to feel full, and a slight glow from her nearly completed glass of wine, she decided it was time to respond to the texts from home.

Still choosing to ignore the text from Niko, she began to tell her mother and sister about all that she'd seen on the units during her tour. Realizing she had more to tell them than could be comfortably written over text, she moved to her computer and started responding by e-mail.

Tatum poured herself another glass of wine and finished telling her mom and sister about her day. Then, she found herself surfing for any information she could find on Wainwright Mental Institution, especially any communications related to Units Four, Five or Six. She poured herself one more glass of wine.

# Chapter 6

Tatum had started her new position on Thursday and this meant she would only get two days of internship before she was already done for the week. Feeling slightly less anxious than she had the day before, she was able to sleep until her planned 6:30.

With just a bit of a headache from her red wine induced web surfing the night before, she rolled over and hesitated prior to raising her head off the pillow. Once her head had adjusted and her stomach had settled, she got out of bed, tied her hair back and headed out for her run. Today was only her second morning run in Wainwright, and Tatum was already realizing that the early morning in Wainwright was sure to be something she would learn to treasure. She had always run in the morning in Chicago, but that was different. People, stores, noise, cars, honking horns, yelling cabbies, etc. etc. etc. littered the streets and prevented any potential effort at solace.

At this time of day in Wainwright, the sun had just peaked over the horizon and the only sounds were the distant hums of lawnmowers and farm machinery, and the voices of shop owners getting ready to serve coffee to their first customers. Tatum was starting to develop a route. Essentially it amounted to running the perimeter of town, including the outskirts of WMI. She could complete her new route in just under an hour, a perfect morning run.

Similar to the day before, when she completed her loop, she returned to the Regency Apartments and bounded up the stairs to Apartment 203. Just like the first day, Tatum appreciated the sunny atmosphere and open view of the apartment.

She showered and then carefully chose clothes appropriate for her second day of work. She had noticed the day before that, overall, dress appeared more casual at WMI as compared to anywhere else she had ever worked. All the staff wore scrubs and the doctors and office staff tended to wear casual wear, instead of the typical dressy business attire Tatum was used to. Although she had always enjoyed dressing up for work, she found herself welcoming the notion of wearing more casual clothes. Her tailored three-piece suit had seemed much more reasonable before she had made the trek home yesterday in nearly 40°C.

Dress slacks, wedged toeless sandals and a cotton blouse ended up being her choice of apparel for the day. In comparison to the day before, Tatum was able to easily negotiate her way quickly down to the first floor of the apartment building. As was becoming her ritual, she sat with Milligan for a bit while she enjoyed her coffee. They talked about the weather and her currently on-hold renovations.

She desperately wanted to tell Milligan all about the day before, especially about the patients she had seen in U3. However, after years of training about confidentiality and ethics, Tatum knew she could speak with Milligan only about things that were already public. She talked generally about the shape of the units and about staff she had met, then she gathered up her well broken-in briefcase and began the short hike from Regency Apartments to WMI.

.

The hike to the institution was much shorter than it had seemed the day before, and Tatum made a mental note that comfortable clothing certainly reduced the unpleasantness of the walk. She did however miss the comforting click of her heels as she mounted the marble staircase. The soft soled wedges hardly had the same effect.

Similar to the day before, Anne was waiting for her in the front reception area of Unit One.

"Good morning sweetie!" she exclaimed.

_Where does this woman get her energy_ , Tatum thought to herself.

"Good morning Anne," Tatum replied.

"Looking forward to your first day of real work?"

"You bet. I'm totally ready to see some patients and get my head into some files," she replied.

"Okey dokey. Let's grab a cup of coffee first. Do you want some or have you had your fill for the morning?"

Tatum thought for a second and then decided that, given her slight red-wine induced headache that was still hanging on, another coffee might be a good idea.

"A cup would be great."

"Black, or cream and sugar? Actually, probably best just to show you where everything is, that way if you want some later, you can help yourself. So, here you are," Anne pointed to the Keurig machine on the counter and the tree of different selections set out beside. "We pay a dollar a cup. That way there's always enough in the kitty to get a new selection. Oh yah, and make sure you always clean up after yourself. Best to bring your own cup in; that way you won't get blamed for someone else not doing their part".

Tatum selected a dark roast and put it into the machine. Finally... something that seemed similar to how she'd done things at home.

Anne followed Tatum on the Keurig, and then they both grabbed their mugs and started to make their way into the filing room, a room down the hall from Marja.

.

The filing room required Anne to use her key FOB in order to get access. Tatum presumed Anne's FOB would work on any door in the institution as compared to the limited access of her own.

"Does mine work here?" asked Tatum.

"Yes, you will be able to get into the general filing area, but inside is broken down by unit and each separate filing room will require appropriate access."

_Damn it_ , thought Tatum to herself.

She thought for a second that getting a look at some files from one of her inaccessible units would give her some clues as to why she would have to wait for increased permissions.

"Our system is not rocket science," Anne said in her typical jovial manner. "We keep U1's files in the main room so that they are accessible by everyone, then all the other rooms are labeled by unit number. See, U2, U3, U4, U5, U6 are posted on the doors. Confused yet?" Anne teased. "Inside each room the cabinets are categorized alphabetically by patient last name. Our conventions are pretty typical, last name, first name, middle initial." Anne kept talking as she used her FOB to unlock the doors to U2 and U3. "I looked up Dr. Glaser's clients you'll be shadowing today and this morning you'll be completing an assessment for a new intake, so that client we won't yet have a file on. That is unless the patient is a repeat offender and no-one knew that when the appointment was made".

Tatum was quickly learning that mental institution lingo closely paralleled that of the prison system.

"If it turns out the patient is a repeat offender, I assume Dr. Glaser will ask you to grab the file. You will find it in here somewhere. As far as the other two go, the first will be a therapy appointment with a patient named Jim MacDonald who is currently on U2 and the second is a U3er named Liz Crandall, oops I mean Elizabeth; all files are under their formal names. Gotta watch for patients that use their middle name too, it's pretty common around here."

Anne and Tatum were standing in the U2 filing room as Anne finished up her explanation, so Tatum immediately got to work finding the M's and looking for Jim MacDonald's file. Once she'd retrieved her first file, she efficiently worked her way through the FOB system and fetched Liz Crandall's file from the U3 filing room.

"Okay. All set?" Anne checked with Tatum.

Tatum nodded and confidently stated "I'm good to go."

Anne led Tatum back through the U1 maze of hallways until she finally realized their destination was the boardroom in which she had met Dr. Fraser the day previous. She and Anne each pulled up a chair and finished the last mouthfuls of their now lukewarm coffees.

Only a few minutes had passed when Dr. Glaser finally joined them. Tatum thought that Dr. Glaser was about as opposite from Dr. Fraser as two people could possibly be. While Dr. Fraser had a commanding presence and a handsome distinguished face, Dr. Glaser looked like many of the really brainy kids Tatum had known in school. His hair was a mousy brown and parted to the side. It was clear he tried to keep it neat, but it sort of stuck up in a variety of different directions, making him look generally disheveled. He was a small, thin boned man, maybe 5'7' and 145 pounds. He had round silver rimmed glasses that certainly did nothing to complement his thin face and deep set eyes. He wore khaki pants, similar to those worn by Dr. Fraser the day before, but they definitely looked nothing the same. Dr. Glaser's pants were too large and cinched up at the middle, making them bulge in the front and create the appearance of a low set beer belly. His shirt was tailored to fit but was slightly too small so that it rode up his back when he sat down. Trying to find something positive, Tatum noted that despite the shirt's too small size, it was nicely pressed and its pinky tones added some colour to his otherwise grayish skin. To further reduce his overall stature, Dr. Glaser stood with his shoulders curved and tended to speak with a slightly effeminate tone.

"Well, good morning Tatum" said Dr. Glaser with an inviting smile. "I'm so glad I'm finally getting to meet you in person. I've heard good things," he winked at Tatum. "My name is Tim, Tim Glaser. I'm the Clinical Director of WMI's Psychological Services and I'm really glad to have another set of hands to help out."

"Nice to meet you sir," Tatum replied respectfully.

"Sir? Don't call me sir!" he said with a grin "Tim will do. Although we always used formalities when patients are around, right Nurse Horstings?"

Anne nodded in agreement.

"I guess Stan explained that our internship program is a trial-by-fire type of system?"

Tatum looked at Anne, "Stan?" she mouthed to her trusted ally. Anne mouthed "Dr. Fraser," back to Tatum from behind Tim where he couldn't see.

"Oh yes, yes he did. That suits me just fine" replied Tatum.

"Did Anne explain today's clients?"

"Well we just picked up the files and I haven't had a chance to read through them yet, but I will. And I understand this morning is an intake? What does that involve?"

"Our client this morning was in a bad boating accident in some lake in Northern Manitoba. As you know there are no seat belts or helmets in boats, so now he's brain injured. Family tried to take care of him for a couple of years, but he's too much for them to do it long term. Families get tired you know."

_Yah, I sure do know_ , Tatum thought, but kept to herself.

Tim continued, "Anyway, he needs a comprehensive, full cognitive, neuropsychology, family interview; the whole nine yards. You ever done anything like that?"

"For sure. I actually chose neuropsych as my specialty in my PhD. I trained first as a generalist so I could work in many different settings and could do some therapy, but I kept neuropsych as my primary area of expertise. This case sounds right up my alley."

"Well alrighty then. We'll go over the tests I would typically use. Anything that you feel you're okay to go ahead with, you can be the doctor and I'll be the observer. Sound good?"

"Nothing could sound better," Tatum replied.

Anne excused herself with a quick "Well, I've got work to do Tatum. I'll leave you in Tim's experienced and capable hands."

And with that, she grabbed the used coffee mugs and was gone.

.

Under Tim's careful watch, Tatum worked her way back to the administration unit, where she put together a new patient file. The family was bringing in the history when they came, and there was yet to be any formal assessments, so the file was thin.

Tatum had checked with Marja and all they knew for sure was that he was a twenty-seven year old man who'd been injured in a serious boating accident and that his name was Kory Atchinson. Thin file in hand, Tatum worked her way towards U2, where she now understood intake assessments were completed.

She hesitantly put her FOB up to the sensor and was pleasantly surprised to find that she seemed to have unlimited access to Unit Two. Judy, the unit head she'd met previously, directed her toward one of the smaller rooms on the bottom floor. She assumed it was typically held as a training room since it was intended to function as an observation suite with a small observation room available through one-way glass.

She had assumed yesterday that she would be the observer, but Tim seemed quite happy for her to move right in. The room was set up similar to those Tatum had worked in before, except that the table was set in the middle of the room so that she would sit on one side and Kory on the other. Tatum preferred for the table to be pushed against the wall and to test from the long edge while the client sat perpendicular to her on the short edge, but she wasn't about to exert her preference this early in the game. She was certain that at some point soon moving the table would be entirely appropriate, but not yet.

"Okay, set the file down, and I'll take you to our test library," said Tim.

The test library was a small locked storage room, just behind the observation room.

Tim explained "We leave the standard stuff right in the test rooms, but if you need something a bit less well used, you'll find it here. What are you used to?"

"Well, I would say that back home we tended mostly to stay with the Weschler cognitive and achievement stuff, and then the NAB for adult neuropsych," she responded.

"Right" said Tim as he reached up above his head. "Here's the NAB. It tends to be one of the ones that's not used so much, many of us are old school and still do neuropsych piece by piece. But, whatever's your pleasure. Okay, so WAIS, NAB, then WIAT. Is that your plan?"

"Sounds perfect," said Tatum.

She was feeling much more confident now that she knew all of her test materials would be familiar.

"So are you good to go then? I'll just watch?" he asked.

"I think so," said Tatum.

She totally understood the need for supervision time and she'd been the recipient of supervision many times in the past. But, she couldn't think of a single time where being watched wasn't just a wee bit nerve racking for her.

"We can just wait here," explained Tim. "Marja will bring Kory and the family to the unit, and then one of the orderlies will direct them to us".

Tatum busied herself with reviewing and preparing her test materials.

"Right in here, folks," said the orderly that led the Atchinson family into the testing room.

Tim stood up, "Good Morning. You must be Mr. and Mrs. Atchinson," he said.

The older people, who looked remarkably like the aging couple Tatum had seen her first day in town nodded. They looked tired.

"I'm Dr. Glaser, and this here is our new recruit Dr. O'Neill. She's from Chicago," he explained as if it meant they should afford her some kind of special respect. "She will be doing Kory's testing today, and I will observe her work from the small room that is just behind that mirror. You are welcome to watch from there as well".

They nodded again.

Tatum could faintly hear the sounds of their voices talking, but mostly she was completely distracted by the activity happening at the other side of the room. Kory, who had followed his mother and father into the room, was angrily yelling at his parents and swearing obscenities. They ignored him; it had obviously happened many, many times before.

Tatum could tell that prior to his accident he had been a young, good looking, chiseled farm boy. But that had all changed. He now had many scars on his previously handsome face, most of them disfiguring. His hair had been burned off in patches and his right arm now hung like a limp piece of spaghetti at his side.

But, Tatum supposed, his lost physical appearance was the least of the family's concerns. She suspected that his now angry outlook on life and lack of appreciation for social convention were their most difficult issues. She also noticed, only because she was familiar with potential symptoms, the top of a pair of adult diapers peaking out over the tops of his trousers.

Tatum had worked with brain injury victims before and she was really hopeful that today was going to be a good day for Kory. A bad day might mean she would need to call security for a restraint.

Mr. and Mrs. Atchinson handed over a thick pile of papers and Tatum spent a few minutes browsing through Kory's history. Not much to read really, a bunch of medical tests that she couldn't decipher and some family therapy notes. Nothing had previously been assessed with respect to Kory's cognitive functioning.

Once Tim and Kory's parents finished up making small talk, they excused themselves to the smaller adjacent room and Tatum got to work. Tatum and Tim had discussed it beforehand and decided that he would work with them on the family report stuff while they sat with him next door.

.

Tatum went through her usual process of rapport-building, making some small talk and trying to make Kory feel comfortable.

"Hi Kory, my name is Dr. O'Neill and we're going to spend several hours together today. What we need to do is probably not like anything you've ever done before, but basically I'm going to do a variety of different tasks with you while trying to figure out what areas you have strength and what areas you might need more help in, okay?" Kory nodded.

She could tell he was trying to keep himself in order. He sucked his hand in a self-soothing manner. Tatum was thankful his hand was in his mouth. _As long as his mouth is full, he can't swear at me_ , she laughingly thought to herself.

"Okay, let's get started. The first thing I'm going to show you is some blocks. Some of the things that I will ask you to do might seem kind of silly, but they all have a purpose. Also, they will all start out easier and then slowly get harder and harder. Here's the first one, see if you can put these blocks together just like this picture."

Tatum continued through her morning working her way through the variety of tasks psychologists often used to try to figure out how a patient's brain was working. Years of practica and other forms of clinical experience had taught Tatum the requisite 'poker face' required to do psychological testing, especially when working with patients will highly atypical behaviors. So, when Kory let out a random "Screw You," told her that he "Hated her and every other asshole doctor," or sucked his hand until slobber ran down his arm, she held her professional presentation and waited before providing the next task, or, if necessary, handed him a Kleenex.

.

When Tatum had completed the morning session with Kory, Tim explained to the family that he would need to return in the afternoon, but that it would be a shorter session, probably about an hour and a half. Kory responded to his request to return with a very typical "I'm not coming back here, these doctors are idiots. This is the stupidest thing I've ever done," as his parents led him out of the unit and down towards the cafeteria.

Tatum was unsure of what to do next. Yesterday, she and Anne had eaten lunch outside together, but she suspected Tim would have other ideas. She was right.

"Well, I'm off to my office to catch up on some paperwork," he said, "Meet back here in just under an hour?"

"Okay, see you then," Tatum replied as if she knew exactly what she would be doing until that time.

After Tim left, Tatum sat for a minute in the test room. She absentmindedly organized Kory's file and replaced some of the items she'd used for testing that morning. Then, she started on her way down to the cafeteria, unsure of her actual plan once she got there.

She bought the same to-go lunch that she had purchased with Anne the day prior and then, thinking that she wanted some familiarity in her day, she started navigating her way through the maze of corridors that she remembered led to the outside staff courtyard. Then, as Tatum passed by the heavy security door into Unit Three, her plans changed.

Using her FOB to enter the unit, she was hopeful that no staff member who would question her entrance was on the other side. Looking around Unit Three, she saw only nurses and orderlies going about their business. They seemed neither surprised nor concerned about her presence.

Tatum glanced around the full care unit and saw many of the same types of activities as she'd seen the day before, rocking, yelling, tapping, brushing. Eventually Tatum's glances landed on that for which she had come. James was in his usual position, sitting near the wall with his hands in front of his face.

In his own little world as always, James did not seem to notice Tatum approaching him, nor did he acknowledge her presence in any way when she introduced herself.

"Hi James. I'm Dr. O'Neill, Tatum. Do you mind if I sit with you while I have my lunch?"

Tatum pulled up a chair beside James and started to unload the to-go bag she had purchased.

She knew well that an introduction and being in his space would be more than enough for the first day, so she ate her lunch in silence, simply sharing the air. In time she would talk with him. She knew she would be back.

.

Tatum made sure that she was back at her assigned location before Dr. Glaser returned.

"How was lunch?" he asked politely upon his return.

"Very nice thank you. I just grabbed a to-go from the café. You?"

She gave no indication about her little lunchtime rendezvous to Unit Three.

"Ate at my desk like usual," he responded with a touch of sadness or frustration in his voice, she wasn't sure which.

Tatum finished setting up for her afternoon session and shortly after, Kory and his parents arrived back at the assessment room.

"Should be a bit easier now," Mrs. Atchinson softly told Tatum, "He's taken his lunchtime meds".

She was right.

_Mom's always know_ , Tatum thought knowingly to herself. She remembered in grad school Dr. Zubert teaching her that if you want to know something, always ask the mom.

At the time, Tatum though Dr. Zubert was being incredibly sexist, and remained convinced that all third-party informants should be given equal consideration. Now, with some actual clinical time under her belt, Tatum nearly always took a patient's mom as the primary source of information.

As his mom had expected, Kory did very well in the afternoon session. He only swore at Tatum three times and his hand sucking required a single Kleenex.

.

The rest of the afternoon Tatum was an observer. She observed for two reasons. First, Tim had existing rapport with his current counseling clients, and second, Tatum was generally much less comfortable with counseling, as compared to her preferred assessment.

Tim saw Jim MacDonald on U2. He was a middle aged man with depression. Not a depression attached to any identifiable reason to be sad, but just a lifelong struggle with a low mood. Tim mostly followed what Tatum knew was a cognitive behavioural approach; he tried to help Jim change the way that he saw his world.

Jim had self-referred to U2 and was not required to stay. As a result, if at some point his medication and therapy helped him get to a point where he once again could make it on his own, he would likely check-out. Tatum felt hopeful for him, but knew that even if he did manage to leave, he'd likely be back. _A probable re-offender_ , Tatum thought to herself, surprised at how quickly she too was adopting the prison lingo.

.

Liz Crandall turned out to be the woman brushing her hair and singing that Tatum had seen on her tour through Unit Three. She quickly realized that Liz was OCD and that her hair brushing was her compulsion.

From her now closer view, Tatum was able to see the blood encrusted into her hair where she had brushed until her head bled. Tim went through the motions of trying to help her with 'response prevention', in other words not brushing her hair, but Tatum could tell by his body language that he really held little hoping of being successful.

Tatum knew full well that sometimes therapy was provided primarily so that families thought that something, anything, was being done to help their loved one. Liz struck Tatum as a 'lifer'.

# Chapter 7

Tatum had asked Anne some details about life in Wainwright. Restaurants that were worth eating in, cheapest place to buy red wine, local workout areas and, most importantly in Tatum's opinion, where she could find a half decent yoga class, in particular a 'hot' yoga class.

Hot yoga had become Tatum's new favorite; basically it amounted to doing yoga in a sauna. As promised by the advertisements, she found it provided her with a really deep stretch and a more intense relaxation experience.

Anne was unable to provide any advice about hot yoga specifically, but she did know that a local group held yoga classes three times a week, including early Saturday mornings.

"They have it up at Seymour Hill," she had said, "You know, the old hospital".

Tatum actually didn't know, but she nodded knowingly as if she did. She was pretty certain that it was going to be within walking distance, everything was.

Tatum looked forward to her yoga days; she found her stretching exercises provided a nice contrast to her typical high-impact, high-intensity runs. As she suspected, Seymour Hill was not difficult to find. Back down past the A&W and the bus depot and she was able to pick out a tall building sitting atop of a small hill.

_Well, if you can call that a 'hill'_ , Tatum chuckled to herself.

Seymour Hill was a tall thin building, with architecture entirely reminiscent of WMI. Red brick donned the outside and lions' heads and marble once again provided ample ornamentation.

Wainwright now had a newer general hospital on the east side of town and, as a consequence, Seymour Hill had been retro-fitted into a multi-purpose community center.

At the main entrance the inside walls were abundantly decorated with artwork, obviously created by young children. Tatum stuck her head into some of the rooms on the main floor which had clearly been intended to service a multitude of preschool and after-school children.

She noticed the faint smell of mothballs and mildew, a particular combination only a century old building could expel. She was also keenly aware that Seymour Hill was lacking air conditioning. Even at this very early morning hour, she could feel the building's heat starting to build.

At the end of the hall, she saw a set of stairs and a small hand-made sign indicating that yoga and other fitness classes were held upstairs. Tatum followed the signs and made her way up the steps.

.

At the top of the stairs, she could see a few women milling about, organizing their mats and water bottles into a 'just-so' configuration. When Tatum entered, all heads turned and took in the new girl in town. Tatum was certain that she felt some eyes burning through her as she started to prepare herself for the class.

In a small town like Wainwright, new competition was not always welcome, and Tatum was definitely competition. Her curvy figure might have been considered a bit too-ample in comparison to her taller, thinner older sister, and may have been too ample for clothes designed by many facets of fashion-conscious Chicago high-society, but in Wainwright, her form was a certainly capable of turning other women green.

Tatum had purchased her yoga wear with great care. As a result, her gym top pushed her breasts up and together, so that just a tasteful amount of cleavage peeked out over the top. The bottom was just short enough that her tight tummy and stud-type belly button ring were evident to a careful observer. She had purchased yoga bottoms with the 'lift and firm' option so that her bottom looked even firmer and higher than it normally did, and it was already just fine in these two categories.

The instructor was at the front of the room and obviously noticed Tatum didn't belong.

She turned to Tatum with a bright "Well hello. I'm Shirley. Haven't seen you here before?"

"I'm new in town," said Tatum.

"Welcome. Glad you decided to join us today." She paused to admire Tatum's physique. "You don't look like a beginner so I'm going to assume that you'll find your way?"

Tatum nodded, "I did yoga at home. Might just take me awhile to get up to speed on your class, that's all."

Shirley was an older woman, but she had obviously kept herself in shape over the years. She still looked trim and fit in her yoga gear and Tatum thought she was an excellent example of why one would keep up with workouts well into their later years.

Tatum glanced around but didn't see anyone making any moves to include her in their pre-determined work-out circle.

Finally, she heard a voice from across the room say "Come on over here, I'll move over so you've got some room."

Tatum felt relief at an invitation, any invitation, and headed over in the direction of the voice. She finally pinpointed the woman speaking and saw another woman about her age looking at her expectantly.

"Thanks for making room," Tatum said. "My name's Tatum and as I'm sure you've guessed; I'm new in town."

Tatum noticed the other women in the room talking quietly amongst themselves, trying to make it look like they weren't talking about her.

The other woman laughingly responded, "Yah, I kind of noticed the new-in-town thing. I'm Sam, and I'm definitely _not_ new in town."

.

Tatum found herself thoroughly enjoying her yoga class both for the relaxation and for the opportunity to make a new friend. After class, she and Sam sat for a few moments on their mats and made small talk. Girl talk, even superficial girl talk, was something that Tatum missed desperately being so far away from her school friends, and especially from her mom and Sarah.

"See you next week?" Tatum asked hopefully when she and Sam reached the front door and headed their separate ways.

"This is Wainwright," said Sam, "I'll see you next week for sure and probably three times in between". She laughed out loud at her own joke.

.

Tatum walked home feeling rejuvenated, relaxed, and ready to face her day. As she predicted, Milligan was sitting outside the Regency Apartments, coffee table ready to go for the morning rush. Saturdays and Sundays were big days for Milligan. Monday through Friday residents were in a hurry, on their way out to work and other places they needed to be, to see people they needed to see. But, weekends, they were different. Residents would take more time, sit and talk a while.

Tatum was happy to engage in this change to the weekend schedule. She pulled up her usual chair, knowing this morning she'd definitely be having more than one cup.

.

Milligan was a good listener. He asked questions and he remembered a conversation from one time to the next so that he expressed curiosity about events that had occurred since his last update.

"Any update on the access issue?" he asked Tatum.

She had told him about her frustration regarding a lack of access to Units Four through Six. "Well, sounds like I might get to see some of Unit Six sometime soon; we'll see."

"And how about at home?" he continued.

Tatum had mostly talked to Milligan about work and apartment renos; she'd shared little about her family.

"You got any brothers or sisters?" he asked.

"Sure do. I have an older sister and a younger brother. My sister's name is Sarah and she is tall, beautiful and successful. I'm kind of the ugly duckling of the family," she laughed, "And my brother, Michael, is Autistic so he lives with my mom and dad. They are my two best friends. I miss them so much."

"I don't believe it," Milligan said.

Tatum was waiting for him to be astounded by her brother's Autism.

"There is no way I believe that your sister is prettier than you. Couldn't happen!" He smiled.

At that moment Tatum felt even more warmth for the kind man in front of her, if that was possible. She was so used to all the questions that followed her mentioning Michael's disability; she was extremely impressed that he had chosen to focus on something else she had said instead.

"So, your sister Sarah; you said she is successful. Successful at what?"

"She is an accountant by training, got into it so that she could help mom and dad with keeping track of the restaurant stuff. Right out of school she landed a great job with a big firm in Chicago, but then she met Peter, her husband. He's an accountant too, they met through work. They got married quickly and then had two kids, my niece and nephew, Jesse and Josh. Jesse just turned three and Josh was five in February. After having the kids, she decided the pressure of 'billable hours' wasn't for her, so she left to stay home with the kids. Since leaving D&L, she kept up all of my parents stuff and then got a bunch more contracts for other restaurants. So now she's created herself a nice little home based accounting firm that specializes in small business, especially hospitality industry stuff. Great business, beautiful kids, hard-working, sweet, handsome husband, and, she kept the grandchildren within a few blocks. See now why I pale by comparison?"

"You could never pale by comparison," said Milligan, "To anyone."

Tatum was usually really critical of others being overly complementary, she usually referred to it as 'smoke blowing', but she sure did appreciate having Milligan so much on her side right now. She only knew one other person who gave her such continual and appreciative feedback, and that was her dad. Jerry O'Neill didn't say much, but when he did, he always made her feel good.

Milligan continued, "And your brother, does he have a degree like his sisters?"

Tatum was taken aback by this comment. No one ever worked on the assumption that even though her brother was Autistic, he could actually still do normal things. Michael was not capable of getting a degree, but Tatum thought Milligan was so sweet for not assuming anything.

"No, Autism comes in many forms; unfortunately, Michael's is on the severe side. He's cognitively impaired, so we teach him even the most basic tasks. Since my parents' business has improved, things have gotten a lot easier though. They can afford some help now. We used to do it all. Michael truly is a blessing. He has taught our family empathy, compassion, and patience like we never thought possible. Sarah says Michael has helped her be a better mom and I believe her. He certainly has made me a better person."

Tatum found herself getting a little weepy as she spoke and eventually even having to wipe her eyes a little.

Milligan recognized her starting to get sad and, with his usual degree of conversational prowess, turned the conversation in a happier direction.

"Your mom and dad's business is their restaurants, right? I think that's what you've said."

"Sure is", said Tatum, "Sophie's. Named after my mom of course. It's become one of Chicago's preferred and they now have several locations."

"So, did you get your good looks from your mom or dad?" Milligan asked.

Tatum smiled shyly, "Both Sarah and I look like our mom. Michael looks more like dad."

"Your mom must be a knock-out," Milligan said as a statement, not a question.

"And they both cook?"

"Well, the cooking started with my dad. My mom has always been a great cook, but she is terrific at family home-style cooking. You know roast and potatoes, turkey and pumpkin pie, that kind of stuff. My dad was always the artsy type of cook, really creative in the kitchen. We all loved it and we were pretty sure others would too and, thankfully, they did".

"Did you all live at the restaurant?"

Fair question, lots of restauranteurs lived above or behind their restaurants.

"We did for a long time, but now they have a townhome in uptown Chicago, not too far from the original Sophie's."

"And friends," continued the skilled conversationalist.

"Oh lots, I miss them too, so much" she said. "But, it's funny how being far away shows you the special place family holds; hey?" Tatum asked, mostly as a rhetorical question to herself.

"Yeah, family is definitely the best," Milligan said.

Tatum heard a hint of sadness in the last comment of her kind friend. She was hesitant to ask about his family, for exactly that reason.

.

Tatum eventually decided that she wanted to be a part of Milligan's life like he was becoming part of hers. So, she went for broke.

"And, you, what about your family? Tell me what and who made you into the wonderful, kind man you are today?"

Tatum asked her questions lightly, hoping to lead Milligan to tell her about his family, without becoming too terribly upset by his loss. Milligan didn't respond right away so Tatum pushed, just a little.

"Got any kids? You must. You're too great at being a dad, to not have had any practice." She smirked at her friend.

"I had three kids," Milligan said softly. Tatum shivered at the word 'had'.

"A daughter and two sons. My daughter and middle son are both adults now, my youngest boy died when he was not quite three. Went into the hospital and never came out." Milligan made his last statement in a definitive manner, as if to say "That's enough of that".

Once Milligan had disclosed the death of his youngest, his demeanor improved to its normal sunny state.

"My daughter Yvonne is thirty-eight. She lives up North; she's married with three kids. Her husband is a dentist and she works as his hygienist. My son, Billy, William I guess, is still single. He got into some journalism racket and he travels around the world taking pictures and writing stories. Pretty exciting I think, but makes his dad worried of course."

"How old are your grandchildren?" Tatum asked, "You must be a great grandpa!"

"Nicole is the oldest, she's fourteen. Then, Amber who is twelve and Craig, ten. I have a picture here; wanna see?" Grandpa Milligan said proudly.

"You bet I do!" answered Tatum with real honest desire.

They were good looking kids, all three taller than most.

"Good looking family," said Tatum, "Any of them got their Grandpa's sunny disposition?"

"Well, Craig keeps them busy like I did for my mom, if that's what you mean" Milligan said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Got any more pictures in there?" Tatum asked as she eyed his wallet.

"Just one," he said, "Billy," and he took out a picture of a handsome thirty year old that looked nothing like Milligan.

Tatum could see that he obviously had other pictures in his wallet but, given his insistence that Billy was his last, she let it go.

"Handsome guy," said Tatum, "Does he look like his mom?" she said teasingly.

"They both looked like her," Milligan said quietly. Tatum silently wondered why he had said 'both' instead of 'all'.

***

Tatum had made arrangements for the floor refinishers to come at one o'clock that afternoon. It was after ten already when she made her way upstairs from her morning coffee with Milligan. She knew she had a lot of work to do before they would even be able to find the floor.

Without showering, she got right to work. She organized the boxes she hadn't yet unpacked into the correct space. Then she pushed all of her new furniture together against the wall so that it would be out of the way. She found her limited tool selection and hung her few wall ornaments and pictures on the wall.

Satisfied that she had hung her decorations straight, almost; she moved into the kitchen and started tackling some of the yet to be unpacked crates that remained on the floor.

.

Right on time Tatum's buzzer rang with a request to allow the crew from Home Hardware access to her apartment. She buzzed them in and opened the door so that they could let themselves in. Tatum continued to work at unpacking the kitchen until she heard them step into her living room.

"Well hellllo," said a small Italian looking man who was not shy about his appreciation for Tatum's appearance. "I assume you're Miss O'Neill? That's the name we have on the work req."

"That's right," said Tatum, "I'm the one with the beaten up floors." Tatum answered in a slightly condescending tone; she would not let a cocky construction worker get the best of her.

"Well, I'm _certainly_ glad to meet you. We'll get started right away. We've got a full crew today, so this should only take us a day or two. We hope to be done the sanding today so that we can do the re-surfacing tomorrow."

A teenage boy carried in a large machine with a big rounded sander on the bottom. Even though he seemed mature for his age, Tatum could tell he was a teenager because she could clearly see his underwear above his pants. She smiled at this reminder of home.

A second teenager, also with his underwear hanging out, followed him in with a smaller sander that Tatum presumed was for doing the tighter spots.

"Okay, I guess the spot that needs doing is self-explanatory, so I think I'll head back to unpacking," she explained to the workmen as she left the room.

She could feel six sets of eyes watching, as her yoga-pant covered bottom shimmied into the next room.

.

Tatum finished in the kitchen and was intending to head towards the bedroom when she heard a fourth voice in the next room. Entering the living room she saw the yappy Italian directing the two teenage boys as they sanded, and then she noticed another tall man standing with his back to her as he evaluated the job so far.

"Miss O'Neill", the Italian called, "Come meet Jake. He's the final piece of our crew puzzle."

_Jake?_ Tatum thought to herself. _Where do I know that name from?_

She quickly realized that this was the same Jake that she had run over in the grocery store earlier that same week. All of a sudden Tatum was very much aware that she had no makeup, her hair was sweaty and falling out of her ponytail, and she was pretty certain that she had obvious wet spots under her arms.

It took Jake just a moment and then recognition clearly came over his face.

"Jake, meet Miss O'Neill. Miss O'Neill, meet Jake."

"Ah... we've met," said Jake without any further explanation.

"You got to meet this little treat before me? You sly dog, you!" said the crew man that Tatum had finally determined was named Vinnie.

"Yah, I tried to run him down in the Co-op," said Tatum with a grin.

She thought Jake was holding her glance just a little too long, and she liked it.

# Chapter 8

Sunday morning was sometimes a day off from her regular exercise routine and Tatum made sure this was one of those Sundays. She knew the floor crew had been planning on putting in a longer day today, and she expected them around ten.

Instead of her typical run and shower routine, she skipped her run, showered, and allowed herself significantly more time for taking care with her appearance. She didn't want to appear overdressed, so she was careful to choose jeans and a pink t-shirt appropriate for Sunday work around home, but that still complemented her every curve and accented her rosy complexion. In contrast to the day before, she applied a light layer of makeup and curled some tendrils to frame her pony tail.

She felt good, good enough to take the stairs two at a time on her way down for coffee with Milligan.

"Just in time," exclaimed Milligan. "It's a brand-spanking-new fresh pot".

"Mmmm," said Tatum as she took her first sip from her steaming hot cup. Milligan's had definitely become her favorite coffee spot.

"So, where were we?" Milligan queried trying to re-kindle the conversation from yesterday. "I believe you were telling me about your boyfriend," he said with a smirk. Milligan knew full well they had not discussed any such topic the day before.

"A boyfriend?" teased Tatum, as if she knew of no such thing.

"Come on now," he pulled, "A pretty girl like you and not one single boy?"

"Okay okay," she said jokingly, as if it was a huge inconvenience to share the information. "His name is Niko. We met during our undergrads; he's an engineer now, on the path to becoming a big shot."

"Niko," said Milligan, more to himself, "Sounds Latino?"

"Yeah, Niko Rodrigues. Basically everything a girl could want in a man. Handsome, fit, smart, and successful."

"So, if he's all that, why are you here?" asked Milligan.

"Success doesn't come without cost," said Tatum. "Lots of nights waiting for him to come home and wondering what was more important, me or his job. I'd been in the same place with the same man for so long. I wanted to try something new, alone; see if what I had was really what I wanted."

"I see," said Milligan wisely, inviting her to go on.

"Now I don't know. He sent me a text a few days ago. Haven't had the guts to read it."

"Want me to read it for you?" Milligan kidded.

Tatum just made a face, curling up her lips as if to say, "As if," and then continued, "If and when I read it, you'll be the first to know."

.

They sat for a moment in silence and then Tatum bravely blurted out, "And you, any special ladies in your life?"

"Well, there is that cute cashier who works at the lottery ticket booth in the mall," Milligan replied.

Tatum wasn't sure whether he was joking.

"Your wife passed away, right?" another brave question.

"My wife, Jennie, was a special lady."

Tatum noticed the inflection in his voice change and his eye gaze shift to the distance.

"She was an artist, a beautiful artist. But, like many artists she struggled with her own demons. Hers was depression. From childhood, she fought her demons, and then when our youngest got sick, her demons became too much for her."

Tatum wondered why he never mentioned the youngest boy's name, but she knew better than to ask, now or ever. She was certain Milligan would someday offer the information willingly.

"She went into the hospital shortly after him and then her depression got the better of her and one day she ended her own suffering. Me and the kids went on. I raised the other two and the three of us became our own family."

Tatum felt at a loss for words. Finally, she clumsily mumbled "I'm sorry."

***

The crew arrived at Tatum's door shortly after ten and got right to work. Similar to the day previous, Vinnie and the two teenagers were the first to arrive. Tatum felt a definite pang of disappointment when Jake didn't arrive with the rest, but continued busily unpacking remaining boxes so that her disappointment would not be obvious to the rest of the crew.

"Hey Vinnie, what's your plan for today," she finally heard a deep masculine voice call into her living room.

Her heart skipped just a little.

"We're gonna finish this one up. Should be done around 3, then maybe we can move the equipment over to the next site. We won't get started there today yet though," replied the talkative Italian.

Tatum didn't want to appear too keen, so she continued with her unpacking until a suitable amount of time had passed and then moved out into her living room where she casually asked, "I'm going to have a beer break, anybody else?"

She knew that pushing beer down the street in a shopping cart would have to pay off somehow.

"Beer?" all the crew men said in unison, as if they'd practiced simultaneous answering as a sport.

_Boy_ , thought Tatum, _when you want a man's attention_...

.

After the beer break, Tatum found herself more acquainted with her new friends and much less willing to remove herself to the other room. The teenagers, who she had since found-out were of age, barely, were clearly the primary workers. Vinnie and Jake were more responsible for supervision and precision work, so they definitely had more time to sit and chat. They actually did not seem to be in much of a hurry at all.

Vinnie did most of the talking.

"So Tatum, you're here to work at the Units. Why would you wanna work with crazy people?"

Tatum was, as always, slightly offended by the comment, much more for the patients than for herself. Thankfully she was also very used to people responding to her career choice in this way, so she chose to ignore the inappropriateness of the question.

"I have a brother with Autism so I've been around people with intellectual and other disabilities my whole life. Plus, I had one unbelievable psychology instructor that sucked me in."

She smiled and followed with, "Amazing the impact a few people can have on your life."

"Yah I guess," Vinnie said, only half listening. "Like I said earlier, I'm a lowly blue collar type, worked for Pete at Home Hardware most of my life, but Jake here, he's the big shot type."

Jake blushed.

Tatum's curiosity was piqued so she casually asked "I thought you worked at Home Hardware too Jake? Isn't that why you're here, buffing my floor?"

Tatum reddened when she realized the implication of the reference she'd just made. The men obviously also found humor in her comment, but chose to let her off the hook.

Vinnie didn't wait for Jake to respond. "Nah, he just hangs out with us little people sometimes in the summer 'cause his grandpa owns the store. Oh, and the physical labour racket keeps him looking good for the ladies. Hey, big guy?"

Vinnie looked at Jake, but didn't wait for a response. "He's a big shot business guy, family's got oil money and they needed someone to manage it. Who better than golden boy over here?"

Tatum was a bit taken aback. Jake certainly didn't look like any oil executive she'd ever seen.

"You work here in Wainwright?" she asked. Again, Vinnie didn't wait for his friend to respond. "He's stationed here, but he works everywhere. See... I told you he was a big shot. Has to go all over North America to make deals with other big shots and then he goes overseas because the big shots here need to make sure big shots in other countries aren't gonna prevent them from making buckets full of money. Right buddy?"

Tatum could tell by the amount of razzing Vinnie was doing that the two men were long-time friends.

In an effort to understand how two men that seemed so drastically different could become friends Tatum asked "So how do you two know each other?"

"Friends since kindergarten. Same school, same teacher, parents were friends. You know the story." It was Vinnie talking again.

Tatum actually didn't know the story. Where she came from it was pretty unlikely that you would go to school with the same kids since kindergarten, never mind still hang out with them in your thirties.

.

Eventually Vinnie left to tend to his recruits and Tatum and Jake were left sitting alone. With Vinnie not dominating the conversation, a few awkward moments passed while the two got used to sharing some space.

"So, an oil exec, hey?" asked Tatum.

"Well," Jake answered modestly, "My good buddy Vinnie might exaggerate, just a touch."

"But you do work in the oil industry?"

"Oh yes, right out of high school I was off to my MBA. As soon as I graduated, Grandad and my father had the oil stuff together in a file folder waiting on my desk. Wouldn't think it would take a full-time person to manage a single family, but turns out it keeps me pretty busy."

"Your family has an oil business?" asked Tatum.

"Sort of. Didn't start out that way. My Great-Grandad homesteaded here in Southern Saskatchewan. His land turned out to be full of, as the Beverly Hill Billy's would say black gold. One of the major oil companies put up a bunch of wells and the rest is history. We've used some of the profits from our wells to create a system of our own, so now we represent lots of local farmers with oil under their ground. I help them lease their land, negotiate contracts, basically help them understand the mumbo jumbo of oil. Sometimes we also buy their rights if they are uncomfortable with taking the chance with the oil companies. We pay them a fair rate in exchange, and then do the work and place the wells ourselves. It's all pretty boring, really."

Tatum wasn't bored at all.

"So, you have your office in town, then? I think that's what Vinnie said, right?"

They smiled at each other, sharing a moment of humour at Vinnie's expense related to his tendency to talk too much, as well as too fast and too loud.

"Yeah, have you seen the old fire hall off Main Street?"

"I sure did. Noticed it the first day I came to town."

"My office is in there. Not much, but it does the trick."

"And, how do you still make time to do flooring?" she asked.

"Well, I'm not just good at floors, you know," he said with a smirk. "I do deliveries, put together furniture", he looked around the room at her partially constructed furnishings, "Work on the farm equipment. Try to be a jack of all trades. I grew up on the farm and in Grandad's hardware store; it's where I'm most comfortable. I mostly do manual stuff on weekends. I like it. Gets me away from my desk; you know, the paper, the guys in suits."

Tatum did know. 'Guys in suits' was Niko's life. Niko was definitely a 'guys in suits' kind of guy, and that was one of the reasons she'd needed a break from their relationship.

"My time here in Wainwright keeps me grounded. I see some guys in my business get eaten up by the power, the money, the travel, the expensive food and drinks. I just wanna do my job and help my family. I travel to do my work, but I like being here where I can still buff floors occasionally."

He and Tatum both blushed at the re-mention of him buffing her floors.

.

Vinnie cleared his throat, not because he needed to, but because he was trying to send his friend a subtle message that he'd visited long enough and it was time to get back to work. Jake begrudgingly lifted himself off Tatum's kitchen floor and moved slowly over to supervise the edge work done by one of the teenagers.

"Vinnie's already busting my chops to get back to work, and I haven't heard anything about you yet."

He paused, Tatum was hopeful she knew what he was going to say next.

"Maybe coffee sometime?" he continued.

Just like she did when she was offered the work with Dr. Zubert so many years ago, she held her composure and prevented herself from yelling out loud.

With a simple "That would be nice," she and Jake went their separate directions and her apartment renos finally started getting the attention they deserved.

# Chapter 9

Monday morning was the beginning of Tatum's first full week on the Units. She found herself once again awake before her alarm. The morning air was a bit cooler than it had been the week before, allowing her to make better time on her morning route.

After she showered, she chose a tan colored pantsuit that she once again paired with a pair of very reasonable shoes. For under her blazer, she chose a sleeveless pink blouse in place of the typical camisole choice she might have made. She was planning ahead to ensure she had something appropriate on underneath if, when, she needed to remove her blazer in the heat.

Downstairs, Milligan was waiting with a fresh cup already prepared. Both he and Tatum knew that this morning's conversation would be short, much less fulfilling than the leisurely weekend visits they had recently enjoyed. The cooler morning air had brought additional residents down for a morning java so that, even if they had more time, their discussions would have been superficial. Knowing coffee this morning would simply be a beverage Tatum finished her brew quickly and started to make her way toward what she now thought of as the Units.

.

Only two days on the job and already Tatum was expected to find her own way upon her 8:30 arrival. After saying good morning and making some polite chitchat with Marja at the front desk, Tatum swiped her FOB and headed toward one of the computer terminals in the administration office. Anne had shown her the week before how to log on with her account so that she could access schedules, files, and other hospital information from virtually anywhere in the institution.

For the time being, she was responsible to follow Dr. Glaser's schedule and she could see that throughout the week ahead her schedule would look very much like the previous Friday. Essentially, it seemed that her days would be a mix of assessment and therapy.

Tatum grabbed a notepad and jotted down the names of the clients she was to see during the day ahead, then she moved on to the filing room and went through the motions of collecting the appropriate files.

.

Tatum waited patiently in the administration boardroom until eventually Tim joined her. Typical of what she was beginning to expect, he looked disheveled, his hair poking up in every direction.

"Good morning Tatum. Do you want to wait here while I go and see what we have on tap for today?"

Tatum tapped the files in front of her.

Tim understood that she was already way ahead of him.

"Alrighty then. You tell me. What's on tap for today?"

"Well," she explained "There are two assessments this morning, but they are both mental health only, so they should be fairly quick. From the referral questions, it sounds as if the therapists are feeling a bit stuck and would like to consult on where the patients are at. The other two are your existing therapy clients, Ben and Sue if I remember correctly."

Tim nodded knowingly as he recognized the names.

"Okay then, we might as well get started. Where are we off to first?"

"The first assessment is U2 and the second, U3."

.

As she suspected, Tim followed behind Tatum on her way to U3 to meet with the first patient. Tatum was becoming quite certain that any work Tim could pass off on her, he certainly would.

Larry wasn't working so Tatum stopped and introduced herself to the alternate unit head and then made her way to the U3 observation suite. Although she had yet to complete an assessment on U3, the layout was identical to U2 making it easy to find her way around. She had no need to go to the U3 test library, for the assessments today her primary tool would be the booklet she used to guide herself through the clinical interview and her notebook on which she would record patient responses.

Tatum's first client for the morning was a 52-year-old man named Doug. Doug had been on and off the units most of his adult life but, for the last several years, Unit Three had become his permanent residence.

Essentially, Tatum understood her job as completing an assessment of Doug's current level of functioning so that his therapist and psychiatrist could reevaluate both his therapy and medication regime.

.

Doug's appearance struck Tatum as inconsistent with what she had expected. She had taken little time to skim his file prior to meeting with him, but, given the size of his file, she had expected to meet someone who looked much less typical. Although he was dressed in the peach colored issue clothing that all the patients wore, his presentation was initially appropriate and his speech articulate.

One thing that Tatum had learned during her clinical training was to never judge a book by its cover.

Tatum started with her typical questions about his social history, including some questions about his early childhood and others about his social environment prior to moving onto the unit. Doug answered Tatum's questions quite willingly, but as he answered he slid his chair closer and closer into the table so that his hands were nearly touching hers. Then, he proceeded to begin interjecting his own questions in amongst those he was being asked.

"So, Dr. O'Neill. Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you want a boyfriend?"

Tatum stood her ground.

"We are here to talk about you, not me. You need to back up and answer my questions."

Having been challenged, Doug backed off, sulking about having been put in his place.

Tatum continued on with her questioning and eventually covered her structured series of questions about depression and a variety of other clinical symptoms. Then, she followed with her usual questions about symptoms of obsessions and compulsions.

"Do you ever have any thoughts that come back to you over and over again, even when you try not to have them?"

Soon enough, it became clear to Tatum why Doug lived here on Unit 3.

"I have the typical, counting up to 24 stuff. You know. Everything had to come to 24. But that's not why I'm in here. I thought you'd know that already from my file. I'm a smearer."

"A smearer?" Tatum asked, thinking that she was fairly certain she already knew.

"Yah, you know. A smearer. I poop and smear. Oh, and, of course, I smear 24 times," Doug said with a grin.

Tatum had been right; she did know what he meant.

"I used to be able to prevent myself, but not now. That's why I'm a Unit Threeer."

Tatum found she was a bit surprised that even the patients seemed to use the descriptive lingo she was quickly becoming accustomed to.

She made a mental note that she would recommend a psychiatric consult for increased meds and some very structured cognitive behavior therapy.

.

The next patient was from Unit Two and required Tatum to once again switch meeting places. She presumed that once Dr. Glaser was no longer required to observe all of her work, she would be assigned to rooms outside of the observation suite.

Tatum suspected that she would be working independently relatively soon; Tim mostly seemed tired and distracted during his supervision times. At the end of the session with Doug, she was fairly certain she saw him napping in the quiet dark environment provided by the observation side of the learning rooms.

The day's second patient was a twenty-four year old woman who was struggling with Panic Disorder. This was her first time in the hospital. Nearly a year prior to her admittance she had stopped leaving her home to prevent her panic attacks. Her agoraphobia had become so severe that she was unable to buy groceries, take her children to school, or do any other daily task that required leaving her own home. Once again, Tatum made a mental note for medication and Cognitive Behaviour Therapy.

.

The morning had gone quickly. Tatum realized that it was nearly 1:30 by the time she was finished with the second patient and Tim finally called for her to take some time for lunch. Once again, Tatum headed downstairs, grabbed a to-go bag, this time with tuna fish, and headed back up to Unit Three. No one seemed concerned that Tatum was making a habit of eating her lunch with a patient, so she headed back over to the corner by the window and pulled up a chair.

James stared at his fingers moving in front of his face.

"Hi James, it's me Tatum. Okay if I eat with you again?"

No response.

"I'm having tunafish today, instead of egg. I get kind of tired of egg. Do you like egg?"

Again, no response.

Tatum continued, "I met a lady named Anne the first day I worked here. She was very nice, rosy, smiley cheeks. Oh, and I met Dr. Fraser and Dr. Glaser, I'm sure you know them both. I've been on Units Two and Three, but I don't yet have access to Units Four through Six. I hope I get into Unit Six fairly soon though, I'm supposed to have a research component to my program, and I understand that U6 is where all the research takes place. You'd know that. You've been here a long time, haven't you?"

Tatum rattled on for nearly an hour without any expectation that James would reciprocate.

"Well, I've gotta get back to work," she finally concluded. "See you tomorrow."

She realized at her last comment that she would be back tomorrow, and likely every day after that.

.

The afternoon was shorter. Two counseling clients that Tim saw and Tatum observed. She realized that soon enough, she would likely begin seeing therapy clients independently as well. It seemed as if Tim didn't miss a beat - the earlier she took over some therapy stuff, the sooner he would have more time during the day to nap.

***

Tuesday and Wednesday were basically repeats of the days before. Tatum saw patients, Tim napped. Thursday was different. Thursday and Friday were to be her report-writing days. This meant Tatum still saw patients if necessary, but that the intent was for her to be mostly free to do paperwork, including the research component of her program, once it started.

Report writing meant Tatum needed an office. She hadn't been officially assigned anything up until that point; she had access only through generally available computers in the administration building. So, she started her morning by going to the board room as she had all of the mornings before.

She was pleasantly surprised to see Anne walk into the boardroom in place of Dr. Glaser as she had expected. Anne came bearing a cup of coffee.

"Didn't know if you'd want this, but thought I'd bring it just in case."

Anne's smiling, rosy face was just what Tatum needed today.

"You bet I want it." Tatum sipped at the freshly brewed cup. "I have coffee with my friend Milligan every morning before work. But some days one just isn't enough," she said thankfully.

"So, I guess my job for this morning is to get you all squared away like a real doc, hey? You'll get an office, not much of an office, but, still, more than us lowly nurses," she teased.

"I'm so glad to see you," Tatum told Anne genuinely. "After spending the week with Tim, I really needed a friendly face and someone who actually talks back."

"Yah, Tim's not one for chitchat. Good heart, but lacking a bit in the company-keeping department," Anne joked.

"I think he slept most of my supervision hours away," said Tatum with a note of seriousness.

"I'm sure you did just fine," said Anne. "You certainly strike me as someone who knows what they're doing. Maybe you could've even taught him a thing or two if he hadn't been asleep."

Anne winked at Tatum in her typical supportive maternal fashion.

"Well... ready to see your 'bureau'?"

"Yeah, let's go."

.

As they walked Anne explained that throughout the years more and more administrative space had been taken up by the overwhelming demand for patient room. As a consequence, only doctors and research associates were currently allowed to hold dedicated office space. Researcher office space was all limited to Unit Six, while space for physicians, psychiatrists and psychologists was spattered throughout the units and was typically assigned according to the individual's primary patient load.

Tatum's office ended up being a small room not far from the filing room on Unit Three.

"Well, this is it," said Anne. "Not much, but it's yours."

"It will be just fine," said Tatum, trying as much to convince herself as she was her friendly compatriot.

The 'office' looked as if it was originally a janitor's closet. The space was long and narrow, just right for storing vacuum cleaners, mops and brooms, but not so much designed for desks and files. The lighting was good, thankfully, because windowed offices were obviously at a premium, and Tatum was at the bottom of the food chain. At the far end were a series of filing cabinets. Tatum presumed they were empty and for her use, as she had been clearly instructed that all client files were stored only in the dedicated unit filing room. In front of the filing cabinets, along the wall, was an old desk accompanied by an office chair and desk lamp that she was certain had been there since the early seventies. The computer on the desk was newer, probably even within the last few years. Tatum was thankful for that. An old desk was one thing, but old computers often ate up more time than they saved.

"Could spruce it up a bit, I guess," Anne said.

"Yeah, a little paint, a new throw rug, it'll be as good as new."

Both Anne and Tatum knew that there wasn't a carpet in the world that would make this place as good as new.

"Are you okay with logging on and everything?" asked the nurse.

"Mmm hmm," answered Tatum, "I've accessed the schedules and what-not from the general computers like you showed me."

"See, I knew it. You're a quick study. Got everything you need then?"

"I think so. But, is there as template or something that I'm supposed to use to write reports?"

Tatum had already looked and was fairly certain she knew where to find the template she needed, but she was desperate for a friendly face and some workplace conversation, so she wanted Anne to hang around as long as possible.

.

After Anne left, Tatum busied herself with writing reports. She started with the report for Kory from the week before. Since her assessment, Kory had been placed on Unit Three. However, a move up to Unit Four was a distinct possibility. This would be decided subsequent to the completion of Tatum's report.

"You'll learn in the trenches," Dr. Fraser had said. She had taken him at his word, but still found herself surprised at how independently she was already working at only one week into her internship.

She had always been good with words, and found report writing flowed easily. She had been given two full days to complete the reports from the week previous, but she knew that she would need much less. Knowing she would complete her duties with time to spare, Tatum resolved to complete two other tasks with the time she had remaining.

First, she would make time to review the files that remained in her inherited filing cabinet. She would do this with the door closed because she knew full well from her other placements that patient files were to be reviewed only when she had been assigned a particular patient for a given purpose. Tatum was secretly hopeful that someone had left behind a file or two from Units Four or Five. Second, she resolved to get some information, from Dr. Glaser or whoever might know, about when she could become involved in her research component.

.

With her reports almost finished, Tatum made her way down to the cafeteria and then up to Unit Three, a routine that was becoming well established.

"Good afternoon James. Mind if I sit?" she asked as she did every day.

She told him about her office, the lack of windows, the seventies decorating and the broom closet shape. Then she told him about her computer and how thankful she was that at least the computer wasn't decades old.

After she'd caught him up on the generalities of her morning, Tatum started to talk to James about some things she was wondering. She mentioned the filing cabinets containing some old information she would like to take a peek at and her intention to start pushing a bit to get involved in some research.

For the first time, Tatum thought, just for a moment, James' hands stopped moving.

# Chapter 10

Tatum left WMI that afternoon with an even more intense resolve to find out some more information about goings on at her new place of work. She knew, all too well, that nonverbal people often spoke with nonverbal means and, although she was not completely certain she had seen what she thought she'd seen, her belief that she had, was enough.

Lost in her thoughts Tatum hadn't noticed the imminent black cloud just south of her on the horizon. With no mountains in their way, thunder clouds moved quickly in Saskatchewan. Before she knew it, Tatum was being pummeled by rain and hail. Not the kind of hail she was used to, but the kind you hear about on the weather channel, "as big as golf balls," they say.

These ones weren't quite on the golf ball scale but they still stung when they hit. Tatum pulled her blazer up over her head but it offered little protection from the forceful storm.

A black pick-up with blacked-out side windows pulled up along her on the sidewalk. Tatum's Chicago upbringing kicked in and she sped up her pace as she tried, at all costs, to avoid eye contact with the owner of the truck.

"Hey! What's your hurry?" a voice called out to Tatum.

Tatum still didn't turn around. She'd had men yell at her from vehicles before. She quickened her pace even more.

"Tatum?" the voice continued softly. "Wouldn't you prefer a ride?"

Finally she turned around. Jake's smiling face beamed at her as he reveled in her unfortunate situation.

"Would you like a ride?" he asked again.

Sheepishly Tatum nodded and then made her way over to the passenger side of his pick-up and climbed up. She pulled down the small mirror on the visor and tried, without success, to clean up the mascara on her face and put her hair into a semblance of order.

"You look beautiful," Jake said under his breath, so quietly that Tatum wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly.

Then, with a little more wind in his sails he asked, "Where to m'lady?"

"I was just heading home from work, so if you could give me a lift to my apartment, I'd be forever grateful."

"You bet. Got any plans once you dry off? I could buy you that coffee I promised?"

Tatum felt her heart skip a little beat as she responded with a simple, "That would be nice."

.

Tatum invited Jake to come up and wait while she had a quick shower and got dried off. The warm shower felt wonderful against her cold wet skin and she found herself taking longer than she intended, distracted by thought of the time she was about to spend with Jake. Tatum stepped out of the shower and, once again, chose her favorite blue jeans, this time paired with a baby blue sweater; loose enough to be classy, but tight enough that she knew she looked sexy. Not wanting to make Jake wait, she blew her hair dry but left it down, and then applied only a small amount of mascara and lip gloss.

Satisfied with the result of her timely effort, Tatum entered the living room and announced "Well, this is as good as it gets, so we might as well go," with a grin.

"Looks pretty damn good to me," said Jake appreciatively.

Thinking ahead, Tatum grabbed an umbrella she'd packed in her suitcase and followed Jake into the hallway. _Never thought I'd need this here_ , she thought to herself as she stepped outside and opened it to share with Jake. But looking up at the large man having to stand really close to her in order to stay dry she thought, _but I sure am glad that I did._

.

It was getting late, and all the coffee shops that were typically open during the day had long since closed. The only spot that remained open was the doughnut shop not far from Tatum's apartment.

With an Earl Grey tea for Tatum and a hot chocolate for himself in hand, Jake found them an open table, one without leftovers from previous inhabitants. Tatum took a long deep slurp of her tea, enjoying the internal warmth that it created. She still felt slightly cold after her hail-interrupted walk.

Tatum was pretty certain that she would have to begin the conversation, so she started with an uncomplicated "So, have you been out of town this week?"

"Yeah, I went up north for some meetings Monday through Wednesday and got back this morning. I suppose if I had been here earlier this week, you would've heard from me by now," he said with a grin. "Are you happy with the floors?"

"You bet I am. Sometimes something old re-done is even better than something new. I think that's what I love so much about my apartment, all the history I can see. There is so much history everywhere I look around here, especially in the people. In Chicago, people tend to move around, there isn't as much shared knowledge about the past." Tatum stopped.

She didn't want to get too deep; she knew that she had a tendency to dive right into the type of topics that scare people off. _Religion, politics, philosophy, all off the table for the time being,_ she reminded herself.

Jake certainly did not seem to be put off by anything that Tatum said, in fact, he appeared to drink in every word. It was obvious that he wasn't much of a talker, but he seemed perfectly happy to answer questions when he was asked and otherwise let Tatum fill in the gaps.

"Family, friends?" asked Jake. "Tell me everything about your life in Chicago."

Tatum took his request literally and told him details about her parents, their business, Sarah and Michael, and her friends. When she seemed to be running out of things to say, he would ask her questions in an effort to elicit even more information about the beautiful woman sitting in front of him.

Finally, Tatum retorted, "Enough about me. What about you, what's your story? How about your family, friends? How come a great guy like you is still unmarried in his mid-30s? You are unmarried aren't you?" she teased.

"Yes, I am definitely unmarried, but I wasn't always."

"Divorced?" Tatum assumed.

"Umm, not exactly," Jake stammered. "My wife, Julia, and I were childhood sweethearts, together since we were 17. You know, kind of the typical small-town story, I was the football hero, she was a cheerleader. We got married young, right out of high school. Then, we both went to university where I got my business degree and she got a degree in social work. We fully intended to get jobs and make our home here in Wainwright. I started working for my family and she was able to get a position at WMI. As I know you know, social workers are a big part of the team up there and she wanted to help the families of the patients."

This was the most Tatum had ever heard Jake say and she found herself silent, unsure of where his story was going.

He continued, "She'd been working up there for about three or four years when she got a promotion requiring her to move into Unit Five. She was brave, confident and beautiful, a deadly combination in a forensic psych unit." He looked directly into Tatum's eyes as he said his last sentence. "One of the inmates took her compassion and friendliness the wrong way."

Tatum was sure she could hear Jake's voice start to crack.

"One day during a session to discuss access to his child, the patient, Lee Trent, was his name, decided to interpret Julia's caring nature as a come-on. Right there on the Unit, with other workers, doctors and patients continuing about with their normal activities, he raped and strangled her."

Tatum was dumbfounded. Despite her years of clinical training, and becoming well accustomed to hearing things she was neither prepared for nor wanted to hear, she had nothing to say.

The two sat in silence for a few moments until Jake finally broke the stillness with his simple inquiry. "Would you like some more tea?"

Tatum thought to herself that for once she wasn't the one that had made the conversation too deep.

.

Tatum drank several more cups of tea, while Jake slowly finished an additional hot chocolate. With the hardest part of the conversation over, they spoke more casually about life since Julia's death, Jake's desire to stay close to the rest of his family, and also to stay close to friends that he had known long enough to be his family. Then, just as Tatum thought their conversation was beginning to draw to a close, Jake dropped the second bombshell of the evening.

"I still live with my mom and dad in their house, that way I have help with Brady when I have to travel." Jake made the statement as if Tatum should have known exactly who the name Brady referred to.

"Brady?" she asked.

"My son," said Jake. "He's nine; he lost his mother when he was four, so I want him to be around family as much possible. He will know her through this place and its people."

Tatum felt her heart sink a little at the mention of Jake's son. One thing she had always promised herself was that she would never get mixed up with a guy who was tied down with kids.

.

Jake dropped Tatum off at her apartment with a promise that he would call her when he returned from his latest work excursion. _Something about the Parade and Fair?_ She hadn't really heard anything he'd said after, "My son."

She inspected her fridge. She and Jake had sat for several hours at the 'Donut Hole' and it was going on eight o'clock. She was hungry. Despite her hunger, she found herself reaching for the rest of her Two Oceans. She emptied what remained in the bottle, then made herself a frozen pizza and paired it with a bottle of beer that had survived the floor crew.

Feeling just buzzed enough, Tatum decided now was as good of a time as any to finally read Niko's text.

.

"I love you. I miss you. I'll wait," was all it said.

***

Friday morning's run was extra long but completed in outstanding time, so Tatum decided that she would use up some of her extra morning minutes by adding a few additional training exercises to the small amount of strength training she did each day. Even at the end of her extended work-out, she still felt as if she had energy to burn.

Despite her expectation, she had fallen asleep easily and had slept like a log. _Thank god for alcohol_ , she thought to herself when she realized she had slept, in place of spending the night fretting like she'd expected. She showered and dressed quickly, she needed some Milligan time this morning.

.

"Jake? Do you mean Jake Mackinley?" Milligan asked.

Tatum realized she didn't even know Jake's last name. Embarrassed by her oversight she responded "Pete's grandson. Home Hardware Pete."

"He picked you up for coffee yesterday?" Milligan seemed genuinely shocked by Tatum's disclosure. "He hasn't looked at a woman in five years. I guess he told you about Julia?"

Tatum nodded.

"Sweet girl. Childhood sweethearts them two. Pete and Jake's parents have tried everything to make it right for him, but nothing ever helps. He just works; I guess keeping busy keeps his mind off Julia. Did he mention the boy?"

"Yeah, he did. Brady, right?"

"Yup, sounds right. Spends lot of time with Pete at the hardware store while his dad is out of town. Good kid. Quiet like his dad. Polite."

"Jake said he lives at his parents' farm so that they can help with Brady. But what about Julia's family, where are they?"

"Moved up North a couple of years back. Think there were just too many memories here. Brady goes to stay with them sometimes, and I think he and Jake both visit when Jake needs to go North for work."

"Jake's a good guy?" Tatum asked.

"You bet he's a good guy. The kind of guy that deserved better. Tough break, losing his wife so young like that. That kind of thing you never recover from." Milligan made his last comment with a kind of decisiveness that only a man with insider experience could have.

"So you guys went for coffee? What about Niko? Did you finally get up the guts to read his text?" Milligan asked, half teasing, half serious.

Tatum nodded.

"So?"

Tatum got out her phone so that she could read, rather than trying to do it from memory. "I love you. I miss you. I'll wait," she read.

"Hmmm," said Milligan. "And what do you think about that?"

"I don't know what to think, got any advice?"

"I'd love to help you out," said Milligan with a grin, "But I learned long ago, never give advice to a woman. Somehow, no matter how it turns out, something will end up being my fault."

.

Tatum had dressed in her most casual work outfit yet. Khakis, boat shoes, and a light t-shirt made her walk to work comfortable and quick. As she walked she thought about her conversation with Milligan. She thought about Niko; eventually she would have to answer him. She thought about Jake and Brady, and Jake's impending invitation for the Wainwright parade and fair. She expected she would say yes to the invitation, and evaluate the consequences of her decision later.

_Not like me_ thought Tatum to herself _to consider the consequences later_. She found herself surprisingly proud of her notion to go against her traditionally over-cautious nature.

.

Tatum arrived at work in plenty of time and decided it was a good day to spend a few minutes getting to know Marja, since she was the first face Tatum saw every morning.

"Good Morning Marja," began Tatum. "How are you today? Glad it's Friday?" Tatum knew from her other jobs that Friday was a day most office workers looked forward to with anticipation.

"You bet I am," the front desk worker answered.

"Got any big plans?" Tatum continued, trying to prolong the conversation.

"Big no. Plans yes. Bob and I usually head out to his family's cabin at Nuki Lake on the weekends. It's not much, but it gets us away from work."

"Nice," said Tatum. "Just the two of you?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes some of his family is out there too. But, this weekend sounds like it's just us, and it's supposed to be a bit cooler I think. That'd be nice. How about you? Got any plans for the weekend?"

Tatum was pleased that Marja seemed to want to reciprocate her conversational initiative. "Nothing in particular. I found a yoga class for Saturday morning I like so I'll go to that. Then, I've still got quite a bit left to do to get my apartment together."

"That sounds nice," Marja said with genuine interest in her voice, "Will feel good to get it all done and set up. Maybe sometime after you're all done, I could pop by and see what you've done with the place?"

Once again, Tatum was pleased at Marja's underlying offer of friendship. "Name the time. I'll buy the wine," Tatum responded with a smile as she pushed open the door; Marja had just buzzed to let her through.

.

Tatum's office was exactly as she had left it the day before, old and uncomfortable. She knew her first task of the morning would be to put the final touches on the reports she had drafted the day before. She was anxious to talk with Dr. Glaser about her research placement as well, so before she opened the files, she drafted an email. "Hi Tim, Would it be possible to meet later today? I am nearly finished with these reports and I was hoping we could get together for feedback on my work with the clients as well as the written information. Is there a chance you have a few minutes to meet after lunch? Best, Tatum."

She clicked send, hopeful that she would have a positive response quickly. She definitely wanted feedback, since learning her trade was the reason she was at WMI, but she was equally as hopeful that she would be able to work her research component into their conversation.

Putting the final touches on her reports took even less time than she expected. She had complete, printed reports in her hand by eleven o'clock. Knowing she wouldn't leave for lunch until just after twelve, Tatum quietly closed her door and made her way over to the filing cabinets sitting behind her against the far back wall. To her disappointment she found the cabinets locked.

"Bing." In her state of nervous hypervigilance, the noise from behind her made her jump. _Geez, it was just an email Tatum, calm down,_ she thought as she went to check her computer.

"Hi Tatum, after lunch sounds good. Please bring the files and reports for us to go over. See you in the board room at one. Tim."

Already at her desk, Tatum found herself rummaging madly through the drawers of the dated work table. Not certain what exactly she was looking for, she pulled at the contents, emptying items onto the desktop as she worked. Pens, pencils, paperclips, a stapler, and some sticky note pads appeared from the top drawer. In the second drawer, Tatum found filing folders, each one well organized with a series of required paperwork. Forms for families to complete for intake, family visitation agreements, treatment records and other blank forms that might be required by workers seeing patients. _Will come in handy, I'm sure,_ Tatum thought as she familiarized herself with the contents of the second drawer. Similar to the second drawer, the third drawer held blank forms, but this time the well organized paperwork included therapy worksheets that might come in handy when working directly with patients. Stress reduction exercises, self-esteem boosters, assertiveness worksheets, pretty typical stuff.

Determined to find some evidence of access to the filing cabinets somewhere deep in the drawer, Tatum methodically removed and inspected each file in both the second and third drawer. As she suspected, underneath the files in the third drawer, a small thumb size opening caught her eye. Tatum stuck her thumb into the crevice intended for lifting and found that she was able to easily raise a second bottom in the cabinet drawer. Under the second bottom, she found a set of keys, small like those that might be intended to fit into the lock on a filing cabinet.

Taking the keys over to the locked document holders at the far end of her office, she started with the cabinet furthest to the left. Each of the cabinets was a full-sized legal cabinet, four drawers high. As Tatum started to unlock the cabinet, she could tell by its feel that it was nearly empty. She felt a pang of disappointment at this realization. Despite knowing her search was likely a bust, she unlocked the file and then slowly opened the first, second, third, and fourth drawer of the first filing cabinet. She was frustrated to confirm that no remnants of client files or other historical information remained.

As was her tendency, Tatum continued to work through the three remaining filing cabinets in an organized fashion so that she carefully inspected each drawer of each cabinet in order. It wasn't until the last drawer on the final cabinet that she found any evidence of information from years gone past.

Laying flat on the bottom of the third drawer, she saw four separate file folders. Each of the files was obviously worn, as if both old and well viewed over the years. Tatum slowly lifted the file folders out of the cabinet, being careful not to disturb any contents. She opened the first file and browsed through the items in front of her. Tatum was unable to find any evidence of a patient's name on the paperwork. She noted dates from the 1960s and references to Unit Four. Slowly, and as methodically as she had completed the rest of her inspection, she moved on to the remaining files. Similar to the first file, Tatum noted odds and ends in the subsequent files; free of patient names, but clearly from several decades previous and related to patients stationed on the living units.

On the final file, Tatum flipped through quickly, expecting its contents to be similar to the files previous. Essentially she was correct. The final file folder contained bits and pieces of information about a client from Unit Four. However, the final file was not from decades past. Instead, the record appeared to be dated only less than a decade previous. Tatum looked more carefully at the most recent profile, until something on several of the forms definitely caught her attention. At the bottom of several sheets, where the attending professional was typically required to sign, Tatum read the name Julia Mackinley.

.

Tatum rubbed her eyes. She thought perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her, and that she had read the name incorrectly based on the information Jake had shocked her with just the night before. Tatum carefully reviewed the signature line on the page in front of her face. Having taken a second look, Tatum was confident that the social worker on this case file was indeed Julia MacKinley.

Tatum felt goose bumps rise on her skin. _Was this her office?_ Tatum wondered. W _hy would she have put these files in a locked cabinet and hidden the key?_ Tatum could hardly contain all of the questions that were furiously running through her head.

As she attempted to regain her composure, the distinct sound of footsteps approaching could be heard in the hallway outside of her office. Tatum quickly grabbed the keys, fumbled with the lock and neatly placed all of the file folders in the fourth cabinet exactly as she had found them. Then she moved smoothly over to her desk, placed the keys underneath the second floor of the third drawer and, as if she had been completing the task methodically for some time, she began organizing and returning the file folders to she had taken from drawer three.

A quick knock at the door and Tatum heard Anne's smiley voice.

"Hey Doc, got any time for lunch today?"

"You bet I do," Tatum replied, swallowing her nervousness at nearly having been caught snooping.

"Down to the cafeteria and out to the staff courtyard?" Anne suggested.

"That sounds perfect," responded Tatum sincerely. "I'll walk with you to the cafeteria then I'll meet you in the courtyard if you don't mind? I just have a quick errand to do before I can eat."

.

Tatum and Anne made their way back through the maze of hallways and found their way down to the cafeteria. As they walked, Tatum enjoyed the friendly conversation Anne offered. She had been missing her familiar surroundings and feeling a bit homesick, so Anne's maternal tendencies were comforting.

"Got any more information from Tim?" Anne asked.

"Not yet, but I e-mailed him earlier today and we have a meeting set for one o'clock, right after lunch."

"You get up the guts to ask him about the research practicum?" the nurse asked. She knew that Tatum was feeling anxious about her ability to gain access to the research unit.

"First, I thought I'd get him to go over my work so far and have him check my reports. Then, I'll try to sneak getting access to the research unit into our conversation" Tatum said with a grin.

"Well good luck honey. Sometimes Tim's not so good at subtleties. You may have to hit him over the head a little, keep him from falling asleep while you talk." They both laughed.

.

Tatum and Anne reached the cafeteria where they both chose a prepackaged salad in place of the already arranged to-go lunches that Tatum had made her routine until today. Each of them paired their salad with a piece of cheesecake. Something about having salad for lunch made eating dessert seem justified.

After they paid for their chosen fare, Tatum reminded Anne that she would meet her outside.

"I'll be right out to meet you, I just need to quickly run an errand. Be there in five."

Anne started up the stairs to the corridor leading to the staff courtyard. Although it was the same corridor that would normally have taken Tatum where she intended to go, she chose an alternate route leading to the heavy security door protecting Unit Three. Ensuring that she avoided accidentally running into her friend as Anne made her way to the staff courtyard, Tatum checked around corners and down hallways before making her way through the heavy door into her destination unit.

Once inside, Tatum quickly moved over to her familiar seat beside James.

"Hi James. It's me Tatum." She said as she did every day. "I'm going to have to make our visit short today; someone I work with has asked me to meet over lunch. It's Friday, so I probably won't see you again until Monday and I wanted to make sure that I came by to wish you a good weekend."

No response.

"Okay James, I gotta run. I'll see you on Monday my friend." Tatum ensured that her last comment was made on an upwards inflection so that James would not catch the disappointment in her voice about being unable to visit with him for nearly 3 days.

Tatum looked back and found she was watching more intently than she had in the past. She knew she could not expect James to ever show any response to her offers of friendship, but she could always hope.

.

Eating outside with Anne turned out to be a real pleasure. In comparison to the previous time they had enjoyed the staff courtyard together, the heat was less intense, and the stately marble fixtures were a temperature comfortable for sitting.

"So," started Anne with a smirk, "I heard through the grapevine that Jake MacKinley took you for coffee?"

"Oh, that's it," Tatum said playfully. "Wanted to have lunch with me so you could pump me for information, did you?"

Even if Anne's offer for lunch was primarily driven by the desire for gossip, Tatum appreciated her company and was glad that she had asked.

"So? Did he?" Anne continued to push curiously.

"It was just coincidence," said Tatum "I got caught in the rain yesterday, looked like a drowned rat, he picked me up out of pity".

"And did he take you out for coffee out of pity too?" Anne teased. "You know that he's this town's most eligible bachelor, don't you? Every single woman in town has been trying to get him to give her a look for years."

Tatum was privately pleased that she had been the one he chose to receive his coveted glance.

"We're just friends," Tatum explained. "He has a son you know?" Tatum made her last comment with a more serious tone.

"Yes, he certainly does," replied Anne. "And he's a good boy. I hope someday they find a woman that fills the empty space in both their lives." Anne made her last comment with a wink at Tatum.

Tatum wasn't sure exactly what she was insinuating.

.

Slightly after one, Tatum saw Tim's typically disheveled figure start to make his way down the hallway toward the board room. It was Friday, the end of the workweek, and it showed in Tim's appearance. As usual, his clothing looked too large, like he had borrowed it from his older brother. But today, the too large appearance was further deteriorated by the obvious fact that he had worn the same clothes several days in a row. His face looked even deeper set and grayer than usual.

"Hello Tatum," said Tim, "How did the report writing go?"

"Well, it was nice to have my own space. My office needs a little work to brighten it up, but it does the job just fine. And the computer works well, so my report writing went okay."

"That's excellent, can I take a look?"

"Of course, I have them here."

Tatum sat quietly while Tim considered the completeness and quality of the work. Tim seemed unconcerned about the fact that Tatum was waiting with little to do. He took much more time with her work than she had anticipated.

"These are very well done. Good job. I think we'll just submit 'as is'."

Tatum wanted to take Tim's confidence in her work as a complement, but she feared he might be willing to accept anything if it meant he had no more work to do.

"And the rest of my work, with the clients, do you have any feedback for me?"

Tim looked contemplative, as if he was trying to think of something profound to say.

"You did good. You're good with the patients, they like you. That's most of the battle. If they like you, you can get stuff done, if they don't, good luck." He paused. "They like you," he repeated, as if to make a statement.

"And next week, more of the same?" Tatum asked, hoping to segue into a request to see the research unit and get some more time with Dr. Fraser.

"How would you feel about going it alone next week? I think you'd be fine."

"I'm good with going it alone on any assessment, but I would still like to have some back up on the therapy appointments. Do you think that would be okay?"

"I think that would work fine. You could just let me know if there was something you wanted me there for. Just give me a bit of notice, okay? Otherwise I might fill the spot."

"I can totally do that. Also, Dr. Glaser?" He looked at her questioningly, aware that she must want something in order to refer to him formally. "Is there any chance you could help me get started on my research practicum? In the description of my program, I was under the impression I would be working on the Research Unit on Fridays."

"Of course," said Tim, "We can definitely take care of that."

Tatum wasn't sure how she felt about his response. It was so blasé and unsuspicious that she actually found herself disappointed. She'd become a bit enamored with her multiple scenarios for why she lacked access to Unit Six.

"How about we plan to use next Friday to get acquainted with the facility? We could maybe go talk with some of the Research Associates about some of the stuff they have going on right now. I'm not as familiar with all of the studies as I should be, but I think there are several you might be interested in. Like therapy effectiveness stuff. You know the age old question, 'Does therapy improve mental health'? We've been studying it for decades, and we'll be studying it for decades more. What do you think?"

"I'm not sure. I guess I want to believe it's helpful, or I guess I wouldn't have chosen this field. But, I understand the skepticism. I felt kind of defeated when I watched the session with Liz the other day."

"Yeah," Tim confirmed Tatum's previous impression, "Sometimes it's more for the families. Have you been involved in any ground-breaking studies you could dazzle me with?"

"I've certainly worked in some labs, but ground-breaking? I don't know if I'd go that far. Mostly cognitive neuroscience kinds of things. Computer experiments using the student subject pool, functional MRI studies, stuff like that. I'm anxious to see some research based less on a lab model and more on a real-world model."

"Well, we can certainly offer that," Tim assured her.

.

Tatum was going to continue to push Dr. Glaser about her needing access to Unit Six so that she could get started with the tour and continue with other research activities, but their conversation got interrupted. A sound unlike Tatum had never heard filled the air. The only way she could think to describe the sound was as an airhorn; although she'd never actually heard an airhorn, so she was unsure if the description was accurate. The sound was similar to what she imagined London had sounded like during the Bliztkrieg of the Second World War.

Tatum felt as if she jumped out of her skin, but Tim seemed barely ruffled by the intense noise.

"What's that?" Tatum yelled at Tim, wondering if there was any way to be heard over the blasting sound.

"Code Orange," Tim yelled back as if she should know what a Code Orange was.

Tatum shrugged her shoulders and lifted the corner of her face as if to say, "Okay, but what's that?"

"Suicide attempt," Tim explained "Let's go."

Tatum followed Tim as he walked her out toward the main corridor and looked at an instrument panel that made no sense to his intern. Having gotten whatever information he was looking for from the panel, Tim motioned to Tatum to follow him and he led her into an atrium that provided one of the non-clinical spaces between the units. In the atrium Tatum saw nurses and doctors bending over a gurney. The gurney held a patient that the health care workers were madly trying to revive. Tim must have noticed the apparent horror moving across Tatum's face because he was careful to reassure her.

"Don't worry. This is a mental hospital, happens all the time. Get used to it."

Tatum wasn't sure she wanted to get used to this.

She continued to watch the commotion until finally the physician in charge had used the AED unit several times unsuccessfully. He stood back from the gurney and said "Time of death 3:36."

As he spoke, Tatum watched his helpers start to prepare the recent corpse for transfer. Similar to what she'd seen in the movies, Tatum watched as the nurses pulled the blankets up and over the patient so that his face was concealed. As they worked Tatum watched intently. She thought to herself that it was sort of like watching a bad accident; she found herself wishing she could, but unable to look away. As they moved and fussed, she caught a quick glimpse of the patient. Male, probably middle aged, heavy and wearing purple issue. _Purple_ , thought Tatum, _haven't seen that one yet. Must be U4 or U5_.

As they wheeled the patient out, Tatum noticed that nearly all the emergency staff had already departed. Everyone was quickly moving back to 'work as usual'.

.

With her first full week at the Units under her belt, Tatum felt exhausted and emotionally drained as she made her way slowly along the few blocks from work to her apartment. The afternoon's events had seemed as if nothing to the rest of the staff, but had taken Tatum by surprise. She wasn't used to seeing people die before her eyes and wasn't sure she could get used to it. Some dinner, a long hot bath and bed looked very inviting.

# Chapter 11

Saturday morning was rainy. Not like the five minute thundershowers she'd come to know happened in Wainwright, but real honest-to-god rain. The skies were grey for as far as Tatum could see, and one thing you could do on the Prairies was see a long way. Despite the rainy skies and the previous day's events, Tatum found herself looking forward to getting up and getting going. Today was yoga day and that meant she might get to spend some more girl time with Sam. Contrary to Sam's riddling, Tatum had not run into Sam even a single time since last week's meeting.

Tatum was careful to choose yoga clothes different than those she'd worn the week before. She expected that if Seymour Hill lacked any recent insulation as she suspected it did, it would be equally as cold this week as it was hot last week.

This time she knew where she was going and the process of negotiating her way through the building was much simplified. She had also allowed herself more time. She had two reasons. First, she wanted to make certain that she would be able to find some space near Sam and, second, she preferred to avoid being gawked at like a circus animal by the other women as she came into the room.

"Well, good morning! I'm so glad you decided to come back!" said Shirley with the kind of energy that only a holistic yoga instructor can portray.

"Did you have doubts?" Tatum teased.

"Well," said Shirley, "Sometimes new recruits gets scared off by my lion pack here." She looked disapprovingly around the room. "Sorry about last week, as you may have guessed, we don't get too many new faces around here."

"No problem," responded Tatum "I actually felt very welcome." Tatum chose to keep the end to the sentence, _by Sam,_ to herself.

Tatum found a spot over near where she had carefully placed her mat and water bottle the week before. The time seemed to pass very slowly until she finally saw Sam meander her way through the door; she looked as if she'd just gotten out of bed. Slowly she glanced around the room and when she caught sight of Tatum she started to make her way over toward the new recruit.

"Hey girl! Glad to see you back" said Sam.

"Glad to be back," answered Tatum. Sam rubbed her face giving her eyes a rub that Tatum thought might have been too hard to be healthy.

"You okay?" Tatum asked.

"Yeah. Just worked too late last night."

"What do you do?" inquired Tatum.

But before Sam had a chance to answer, Shirley instructed, "Okay, let's get started ladies. Warm-up starts on the mats today."

.

Yoga class was good. Deep stretches and relaxation felt especially beneficial after Tatum's work events the day before. Still, she felt impatient for the class to be over so that she could get to work on developing her friendship with Sam. She so missed having female friends to hang out with.

Finally Shirley announced, "Alright ladies. That's a wrap. See you next week. Good job today!" More of that holistic yoga instructor type energy.

Tatum was hoping Sam wasn't in hurry.

"You in a hurry?" she asked her new friend.

"Not today. I basically have nothing planned. What have you got in mind?"

"Well, since I've been in Wainwright, I've yet to taste any of the exotic cuisine," Tatum said with a smirk. "I thought maybe we could grab some breakfast. I'm starving."

"That sounds like a great idea," responded Sam. "Want me to pick?"

Tatum knew Sam was joking; of course she'd have to pick, Tatum knew nothing.

Sam had driven to yoga. Tatum wasn't surprised. She was finding that people drove all over in Wainwright, even just a couple of blocks. Tatum got into the passenger side of Sam's Honda Civic; it was older but had been taken care of and Sam obviously kept it clean.

"How's 'Johnny's' sound?"

"Sounds good to me," Tatum answered even though she hadn't a clue what 'Johnny's' was.

Johnny's turned out to be a family run restaurant on Main Street. It reminded Tatum of family restaurants on the older side of Chicago, not much to look at but the food was good.

"Johnny's has been here as long as I can remember," explained Sam. "I'm not even sure who Johnny was anymore, or even if there actually was a Johnny. Oh well. They make good bacon."

Tatum and Sam walked up the few stairs into the dated restaurant. Tatum knew she wasn't an expert in dating design, but she was pretty certain the floors and furniture were pre-1960s. The door was heavy with a set of wooden bars that crossed at a diagonal and held a bell that rang when it opened to let the workers know that patrons had arrived. The tables had laminate tops and metal edging; the chairs were peacock blue with gold sparkles and brass coloured fasteners running along all the edges. The whole place smelled a little bit like Chinese food and disinfectant. Nearly every table was full.

"Saturday coffee crowd," explained Sam.

Tatum looked around. Everyone in 'Johnny's' looked like the couple in the bus stop from her first day. At most of the tables, there were older men, most in tilted ball caps, talking about the weather, especially the crop damage from the hail storm that week. At the remainder of the tables sat couples. Most of the men who sat with their wives were ignoring their table partner and reading the paper; some were attempting to join in the guy talk happening at adjacent tables. A few coffee timers were sitting alone at the bar stools aligning the waist high soda-shop style bar.

.

Tatum and Sam pulled up chairs at one of the only two remaining empty tables. Tatum found herself absentmindedly checking to make sure the table had been wiped... recently. A small Asian lady with a strong Chinese accent made her way over to their table, menus in hand. She said something Tatum didn't understand. Sam obviously had experience with communication in Johnny's; she looked expectantly at Tatum.

"She asked what you would like to drink" she explained to Tatum.

"Oh, sorry," said Tatum, "coffee is fine."

Tatum realized as she ordered coffee that this would be her first cup of coffee in Wainwright that wasn't served by Milligan. When their coffee arrived, Tatum and Sam sipped slowly as they considered their menus. Sam didn't need much time, she'd obviously ordered off the same menu many times. The small Asian lady returned and Sam ordered the bacon and eggs. Assuming Sam's choice would be a safe bet, Tatum simply stated, "I'll have that too."

While they waited for their breakfasts to arrived, Sam got right to the point.

"So, Jake Makinley, hey? Wow!" She seemed genuinely impressed, or jealous, Tatum wasn't sure. "Has anybody told you that he's that hottest ticket in town?"

"Yah, Anne, one of the nurses from work mentioned that," retorted Tatum. "How'd you know about that?"

"This is Wainwright Tatum, nothing's a secret for long. Might as well get used to it."

"Yah, I'm learning."

"What'd you guys do?" Sam continued.

Tatum wasn't sure how she felt about all these questions. She chose to believe that Sam was using her interaction with Jake as a way to further their friendship and that she wasn't just using Tatum to get some town gossip. Right now Tatum needed a friend badly enough, she was willing to take the chance.

"He picked me up from the pouring rain and we went for coffee. That's it. Nothing earth-shattering I'm afraid."

"More than any girl has gotten in years my dear. Well played," Sam said with a grin. "Did he tell you all about how he got to be Wainwright's most eligible bachelor?"

"Yeah, sad story," said Tatum.

"Are you gonna see him again?"

"I'm not really sure. He mentioned something about a parade and fair? I was so distracted by his story about Julia and his mention of Brady that I can't really remember what he said. I guess if he phones, I'll know."

"Parade and fair are next weekend. Are you gonna go if he phones?"

"I think so. We had a really nice time together, but I don't know, I have always held to a 'no-kids' policy."

"Yeah, me too. But, for Jake, I'd break any policy," Sam said laughing.

.

Breakfast was wonderful. Tatum was hungry and the bacon was, as Sam had promised, the best Tatum had ever eaten. It was thick and crispy, like a real piece of meat. Tatum was determined that before they finished eating, she'd turn the conversation away from her so that she could learn more about her new friend.

"Well, I guess from your response to my 'no-kids' policy that you have no kids. Are you married?" Tatum asked Sam.

"I was," she answered.

Tatum was careful not to assume she was divorced; her recent faux pas with that assumption was a little too fresh.

"I'm working on a divorce. It's not always a quick process, even without kids involved."

"Can I ask what happened?" Tatum wanted to keep Sam talking.

"Just like lots of us Wainwright natives, Steve and I met in high school. We got married young and then I waited tables to get him through law school. He promised me my turn would come."

"Did he become a lawyer?"

"He sure did. A good one. Fit the bill perfectly, the shark. He actually used to work quite a bit on the oil stuff with Jake. They travelled together, lived the good life. Steve got caught up in it, Jake didn't."

Tatum thought about Jake's words "I see some guys in my business get eaten up by the power, the money, the travel, the expensive food and drinks." Steve must have been one of them.

"Got himself a girlfriend somewhere in the Middle East. Iran or something; one of those oil countries. Anyway, eventually he decided that she was what he wanted. That is, until the next one came along."

"What'd you do?"

"Kicked him out. But, found out pretty quickly that it's hard to fight a lawyer in court. He just stalls until I can't afford to pay my lawyer, so nothing ever gets decided."

"Will you ever be able to get it done?" asked Tatum.

"I've essentially given up. He can have everything. We don't have any kids so as long as I don't ask him for spousal support, I think he'll go away. I don't care anymore. Just want it done."

"Yeah," said Tatum. "Are you still waiting tables?"

"Sort of. But now they're my own," explained Sam. Tatum wrinkled her forehead in confusion. "Last month, I went out on a limb. One I've been meaning to go out onto for a long, long time." More confusion on Tatum's face. "I opened a restaurant."

The confused look turned to surprise.

"It's a kind of upscale, trendy place called 'Depot' where we have open mike a few nights a week and live bands the rest."

"That sounds great," said Tatum sincerely.

"Yeah, I think so," said Sam, "but so far business has been slow. I'm not sure Wainwright was ready for upscale and trendy. This is more of a meat and potatoes town; goat cheese and candied pecans is not our usual fair," Sam said with a kidding tone.

"Well, I for one know where my first dinner out will be," said Tatum supportively. "My parents run a chain of restaurants back home in Chicago. They started out slow too, but good food and good service always sells."

"Thanks Tatum," said Sam quietly, "I actually really needed to hear that."

.

By the time breakfast was over Sam had invited Tatum to have dinner with her at 'Depot' with the intention that after dinner they would meet some of Sam's other divorced friends for some drinks at the pub.

"So you'll meet me at work at 8?" Sam said out the window to Tatum as she dropped her off at her apartment.

"You bet. Causal, right?"

"Yup. Definitely casual."

.

Tatum was later than usual so that when she returned to her apartment, coffee time was already over. _I'll explain to Milligan later,_ thought Tatum. She was certain her kind friend would be totally supportive of her trying to develop some other friends in Wainwright.

She spent the rest of the morning and the bulk of the afternoon labouring on the work that remained to be done in the apartment. It had been a full week since the floors had been re-treated; she was again allowed to move furniture and do other activities that if completed earlier would have damaged her shiny new finish. She started by laying out the white shag carpet she had chosen as a focal point for the room. She followed the carpet with strategic placement of her dark brown couch and loveseat and finally she completed the seating area by closing the circle with her less than comfortable accent chair. With her new wrought iron wall hanging, neutral but complementary furniture and the allure of the architecture, Tatum found she was very pleased with the final result.

The hours of scrubbing and polishing had paid off. She'd accomplished what she'd set out to do. The apartment looked restored, not changed. _Milligan will be pleased,_ she thought as she flopped down onto her comfortable couch with a fresh cup of Earl Grey and a slightly dried-out blueberry scone she had found in the cupboard.

.

Late afternoon and early evening seemed to take forever. _Time always seems to pass slowly when you want something to happen,_ she thought as she busily tried to fill time prior to her evening out. She called her mom and Sarah, got some news about the kids, the restaurant, the usual. Then, she read and re-read Niko's message, still unsure of how, or if, she would respond. Finally, as had become her custom when she wasn't in the mood to work and she had time to kill, she started googling WMI.

Having gotten a bit better at WMI keywords, Tatum had a bit more success than she had experienced during previous search attempts. She came across two sites dedicated to theories about government conspiracies to complete unethical human research at WMI. She wrote these off as websites developed by nut-jobs and moved onto newspaper and other articles about events from years gone past. One article definitely caught her eye. "Social worker killed by mental patient," was the title in the Saskatchewan provincial newspaper. "Mental patient turned killer and rapist," read the title on a National paper. Each article came with a different title, but the story was the same. Beautiful, caring social worker is raped and strangled by WMI mental patient. Others in the vicinity, but no one heard or saw anything until it was over and she was already dead. Tatum shivered.

.

Tatum finally decided it was time to put her reading aside and start getting ready for the evening. She showered for the first time that day and then took her time deciding what she would wear. Casual, Sam had said. _What is casual in Wainwright?_ She pondered. In Chicago, when someone said casual, that meant no formal gowns or tuxedos. Here Tatum suspected casual was taken a bit more literally. _Jeans, always a safe bet,_ she decided.

She knew somewhere in the bottom of her closet she had a pair of jeans that were too long with flats but looked great with a pair of black boots she kept mostly for when she went clubbing. Put together the too-high boots and extra long jeans made her legs look especially long and lean. Complemented with a camisole and see-through black knit top, she thought her attire could be considered casual, while still dressy enough to turn some heads. She left her hair down but added some curls to the back, a look that made her appear younger than her thirty one years. She put on just a bit more make-up than she'd worn her other days in Wainwright. Tatum had been in enough pubs and clubs over her university years to know the drill. She decided even the few blocks to the 'Depot' would likely be too much in her too-high boots. She called a cab.

"That'll be six dollars," said the cabbie. Tatum handed him a ten feeling like she'd just stolen a cab ride.

She was impressed with what she saw as she stepped out of the cab. 'Depot' was a stand-alone building a few blocks from Main Street. It appeared to be three stories. Tatum assumed the bottom floor was likely used for storage with the second and third floors reserved for the kitchen, eating and bar areas. The grey exterior was accented with nouveau type red writing that simply read 'Depot'. The sign was tastefully lit with a single spot light that ran its length. The stairs up to the main doors were flanked with red banisters that matched the coloring on the sign, and each of the stairs was lit by a single spot light running the length of the stair. As she approached, Tatum heard the distinctive sound of the soft jazz music that was being quietly piped into the entrance area.

Tatum looked up from the stairs and saw Sam waiting anxiously for her with the front door held open.

"Welcome," she said.

"Very nice!" said Tatum. She meant it.

Sam took Tatum for a personal tour. The restaurant section was tastefully decorated in the trendy uptown style Sam had promised. The floors were covered in shiny slate tile and buffed to a fine gloss. Sam had chosen grays and greens for the walls and the mix of soft and cool tones were perfectly accented by the velvety drop-down lighting. The tables were cappuccino brown and finished with full brown parsons chairs. Tatum thought Sam had done an excellent job of mimicking typical big city style.

The back of the restaurant on the first floor was the kitchen, a perfectly kept stainless steel work area with the head chef and his helpers in crisp white linens. Sam introduced Tatum to her employees as she continued to tour her friend through her pride and joy. Upstairs had a similar decorating style but was more dimly lit. It was set up to be a lounge with a piano and small stage in the front.

"It's not a night club," clarified Sam. "Our music choices are meant to complement conversation, not drown it out."

"It's perfect," complemented Tatum. "People will definitely come." Tatum smiled, hoping her friend would share the reference to the movie 'Field of Dreams'.

.

Just as their day had begun, Tatum and Sam shared a delicious meal. On Sam's recommendation, Tatum chose the filet mignon with mushroom reduction and baby potatoes. Sam chose the salmon and shared some with Tatum. It was equally delicious. Given their meal choices, the women were unable to decide on whether to share a bottle of red or white. Sam settled the dilemma.

"I know the owner. She'll comp us, so we can afford both."

She winked and then ordered a bottle of white for herself and red for her new friend. When the wine arrived the waiter poured a small glass for each of the ladies to provide their approval. They both approved so he filled their glasses, almost to the top. Sam lifted hers and made a toasting motion.

"To new friendship," she toasted.

"To new friendship," Tatum agreed as she lifted her own glass.

Tatum and Sam each finished their respective bottles of wine. By the time they moved onto coffee and desert, the two were feeling pretty uninhibited. The conversation shifted to husbands and boyfriends, old relationships and new possibilities.

"So, have you thought about all of that naked?" Sam asked Tatum referring to Jake.

Tatum blushed, "Not until now," she answered goofily.

"What about Niko. Any good in that department?"

Tatum paused. The wine made her overly sentimental and she suddenly missed Niko and home very much.

"Niko is a great guy. Handsome, smart, successful and excellent in that department. Although I have to admit, I don't have much to compare him with; we've been together so long."

"So, why the change of heart then?" Sam asked with a more serious tone.

"We had our issues," answered Tatum, "and I just wanted to be sure." Suddenly, her thoughts shifted back to Jake.

.

Completely satisfied from their excellent meal, wine and conversation, the women decided it was time to move onto the evening's next event.

"We are supposed to meet Nicole and Janet at 'Rusty's' around ten," said Sam, "We'd better get moving." Sam picked up the tab for the whole meal.

"Thanks," said Tatum. "If you're ever in Chicago, dinner's on me. Well... on my dad." She winked.

Nicole and Janet turned out to be two more thirty-somethings, both divorced. Nicole had two kids; Janet had three. Both explained that they were enjoying the new found freedom of their ex-husbands having the kids every second weekend. Tatum supposed that without Sam's introduction Nicole and Janet may not have been nearly so friendly to the new girl in town. But, given Sam's approval, they were more than willing to accept Wainwright's most recent resident into their little group.

'Rusty's' was a pub on the outer perimeter of town, near the bus depot. It seemed to Tatum that it was the local choice for divorcees and middle agers wanting to hold onto their youth. She guessed that since she wasn't a divorcee, she likely fit more closely with the second category. Nicole and Janet both ordered beer. Sam and Tatum decided that, in an effort to reduce the pain in the morning, they should probably stick with their respective reds and whites. Country music played in the background. Janet, Nicole and Sam sang along and Tatum hummed. She had never been a country fan; she didn't know a single word.

Several drinks passed, and Tatum finally stopped noticing the stares of the other people in the pub, men and women alike.

"Wainwright women don't like 'fresh meat," said Nicole. "Means their possibilities might start shopping at a different butcher."

"Yah, the women don't like it, but the men sure do," Janet added. "Look at them all drooling."

Tatum was modest, she actually felt a bit embarrassed by the obvious attention she was receiving. Throughout the evening, several admirers had also approached the table and attempted to win her approval. "Thank you, but we're just having a 'girl's night'," was Tatum's reply each and every time. She really did want to just spend time with her new friends - it was the attention of women she craved. As if she needed another man in her life.

.

Tatum and Sam powered down first. Nicole and Janet decided that they were going to move onto the night club down the street from the pub where they had spent the evening. The less-energetic duo had started earlier and had definitely had their fill of wine. The two decided to share a cab; Tatum was closest and would be dropped off first.

"That was fun," Sam said, "let's do it again." Tatum laughed at Sam slurring her words.

"Yup. So much fun," Tatum said, not doing any better with her enunciation. "Nighty night," she called back to Sam through the window as she walked toward her apartment block.

"Nighty night," she heard Sam reply, right before she laid her head down on the back seat of the taxi.

.

Tatum staggered her way up the apartment stairs, fumbled with her keys and finally made her way into the apartment lobby. She paused and let the room stop spinning and then started the trek up to apartment 203. Once she was in her apartment, she did a little slide across her shiny new floors and then stumbled into her bedroom. She flopped down on her bed and passed out.

***

Tatum slowly opened one eye and looked at the clock beside her bed. Ten o'clock! She hadn't slept till ten in a very long time. _I forgot how much drinking too much hurts,_ she thought as she slowly rolled over and waited for her stomach to settle. She lied still for a moment while she woke up completely and got herself orientated then slowly got up and headed for the shower. The shower felt wonderful and made her feel slightly better. She knew her stomachache would likely resolve itself after some coffee and something to eat, but she was pretty sure the headache was there to stay.

Tatum got dressed into some sweat clothes she reserved especially for days like today and then brushed her teeth and hair. She looked in the mirror. Today was not a day when make-up was going to do much to improve the look of her swollen eyes and greenish tinge, so, for the first day in her new town, she left her face bare.

"Rough night?" Milligan asked as soon as he took one look at Tatum's hung-over face.

"Yeah, red wine till nearly 2," replied Tatum, "Always seem to forget how much it hurts the next morning?"

"Out with Jake? I didn't see you at all yesterday. I was hoping everything was okay."

"Actually, everything was great. I spent the day with a girlfriend I've met through yoga. Her name is Sam. Sam Hensen, used to be Brighton I think. Pretty, with brown curly hair and freckles" Milligan nodded indicating his familiarity. "We went for breakfast after class yesterday. Went to 'Johnny's'. Great bacon, but coffee just doesn't compare," Tatum said with a smirk. "During breakfast she invited me for dinner at her new restaurant and to go out for drinks with her and some of her friends last night."

"That's nice. You were feeling a little lonely for female friendship, hey? I guess I just can't measure up," Milligan said teasingly.

"Nah, you're terrific. But, you're right. I was looking forward to some girl time."

"I haven't seen Sam's new place. I suspect it's not really meant for an old fella like me. What's it like?"

"Oh, it's beautiful. Perfect. She's outdone herself. It'll just take time and then she won't know what to do with all the people. Actually, it seemed pretty busy last night now that I think about it. The food is awesome."

"Is she open till 2?" Milligan questioned.

"No. We went to a pub called 'Rusty's' around ten. That's where we went with Sam's friends Nicole and Janet and where I drank enough to look like this."

"Ahh," said Milligan in his most fatherly tone, "another cup of coffee?"

Tatum sat for more than an hour with Milligan, not because she really needed the four cups of coffee she consumed, but because she knew she would accomplish little to nothing regardless, so she might as well visit. Milligan didn't seem to mind. Slowly she got up from her usual seat and climbed the stairs up to her apartment. She turned on the television, intent to busy herself with mindless activities to simply make the day pass, until she noticed the light blinking on her phone. She had a message. It was her mom in Chicago and the message said, "Tatey, it's mom. Can you call me as soon as you get this? Love you." Tatum heard the distinct sound of urgency in her mother's voice. Swallowing the sickness she felt in her throat, she called back.

"Hi Mom. It's me. What's up?" Tatum said into the phone.

"Oh honey. It's so good to hear your voice," said Sophia O'Neill. "How are things there?"

"Okay," said Tatum, "But mom, what's wrong?" she could hear sadness on the other end of the line.

"It's Michael. He had a seizure. I told you that in my text, right?"

"Yah," said Tatum wishing she'd get to the point.

"Well, they did some tests," Sophia paused, "they've found a tumor." Tatum's already upset stomach felt like it was going to hurl.

"Where?"

"In his head. Left frontal lobe they say. Might be some of the reason for his recently escalating behaviour."

"Cancer?" Tatum asked.

"Don't know yet. Won't know till they biopsy and apparently there's risks to that."

"What kind of risks?"

"Well, apparently, if they open him up to biopsy it can actually make the cancer spread. I'm not sure. I try my best to understand, but you know I work in a restaurant, medicine is far from my specialty."

"I'll come right away," Tatum said definitively.

"No honey, don't. There's nothing you can do here. We will let you know if you need to come." Sophia was always the sensible, level-headed one in the family. Tatum's dad was the dreamer.

"Okay mom. But I will be there on the red-eye at a moment's notice. You make sure you let me know."

"I will sweetie. Just take care of yourself, okay? I love you."

"I love you too. Please tell Michael I love him too."

"I will."

"Bye mom."

"Bye sweetie."

# Chapter 12

The rest of Sunday was hard, hung-over and sad are not a good combination. Tatum felt better on Monday morning, but the news of Michael still weighed heavily on her mind. Her run was slow and painful - one of those days where exercise didn't feel good, either during or after.

Still looking a tad weathered from the weekend escapades, Tatum made her way down for coffee wearing a comfortable cotton pantsuit and flip flops with a bit of a heel. She went down a bit early; she wanted to tell Milligan about Michael.

"I'm so very sorry," said her dear friend as he wrapped her in a fatherly embrace. Tatum realized she needed a hug more than any words. She cried a little, and then pulled herself together.

"Thanks Milligan. You're a good friend." Tatum grabbed her tattered briefcase and headed down what was becoming her very familiar road to WMI. The scorching heat was already noticeable at eight o'clock in the morning. _Gonna be a hot one_ she thought as she picked up her pace toward the air conditioned administration unit.

Tatum said good morning to Marja and then went to her office. Making a mental note to find some time to make the place a bit more palatable, she checked her week's schedule. New intake this morning and then a therapy appointment this afternoon. This would be her first ongoing counseling patient. Tomorrow was more of the same. When she got to Wednesday, Tatum felt a little pang of excitement. Wednesday would be the first time she would get to participate in grand rounds.

Essentially grand rounds were when all the psychologists, psychiatrists and doctors got together to consult on interesting or difficult cases; kind of like professional development time. Tatum had participated in grand rounds previously, but only as a student. She'd never before been on board as a full team member.

Thursday would once again allow her some report writing time, and then, finally, Tatum paused, Friday. On the schedule for Friday, was a tour of Unit Six, including meetings with several of the research leads. Tatum felt excited. Finally, she would have access to Unit Six and get her feet wet in some on-the-ground research.

The morning went quickly; the new intake was another brain injury assessment. Tatum silently wondered if she was getting the brain injury patients on purpose. She thought back to Dr. Glaser's comment, "most of us are old-school" and wondered if she was becoming known as the neuropsych-type in the hospital. If she was, that was just fine with her; that was the stuff she wanted to do.

Her patient was cooperative and compliant, unlike many of the brain injured group. It was an older woman whose head injury had made her lethargic and docile in place of the typically more aggression outcome.

"Okay, Barb, we're done for this morning," said Tatum. "We'll be a couple of hours this afternoon and then we'll be all done, okay?"

The patient smiled; she obviously like being with Tatum. "See you later Dr. O'Neill," she replied as her husband led her out toward the coffee machine in the hall.

_Now that's love,_ thought Tatum as she watched the two go arm-in-arm down the corridor. Despite the fact that the woman in front of him was no longer capable of taking care of a home or even running her own bath, Barb's husband held her by the arm and called her princess.

.

Tatum cleaned up her equipment and headed to the Keurig machine in the admin building. She was planning to have coffee for lunch today, the news of Michael still curbing her appetite. Figuring she could afford the calories if she wasn't eating, Tatum opted for a vanilla latte instead of her usual black. On a whim, she decided to spend an extra dollar and buy a second. Two lattes in hand, she made her way back to Unit Three, opened the door and found her way to her usual lunchtime perch.

"Hi James, me Tatum," she said as she placed the lattes on the window sill and pulled up her chair. "I'm so glad to finally see you. Did you have a good weekend?" No response. "I don't know if you like lattes, but I brought you one. I'll just leave it there, have it if you like, or don't, it's up to you. Have I told you I have a brother with Autism? We've never talked about Autism have we? I know a lot about it because my brother is younger than me and I've watched him struggle his entire life. He's also mentally handicapped, so he needs help with lot of things."

Tatum was careful that as she told James about Michael, she did not make any disrespectful assumptions about James' own situation. "He and my sister are my best friends. My mom called last night and Michael's not well, he's got a brain tumor. I want to go home, but my mom says I should wait until they know more. What do you think?"

Tatum found she was surprised by how good it felt to talk to someone she knew was not going to talk back. In school she'd learned about the healing aspects of 'disclosure'; she guessed that's what was happening as she talked to James. She talked to James until she had no more to say, and no more latte. It was time to get back to Barb.

.

Tatum finished up the afternoon session with Barb and then moved onto her therapy appointment. The appointment was with a schizophrenic from U3, Tatum felt sincerely unsure about herself. She attempted to reach Tim for supervision, but quickly realized his offers of supervision were likely not reliable enough to be useful. Soon into the session Tatum got her feet under her and found her graduate practicum days coming back to her. The main goal when doing therapy for schizophrenia was typically to reduce both positive and negative symptoms, starting with whichever was more problematic for the patient.

In this case, the patient was wearing tinfoil on his head to prevent the aliens from hearing his thoughts, so Tatum supposed that was probably where she should start.

"So John, tell me about the tin foil," she began.

"Need it. Keeps them out," he responded definitively.

"And, who's them?" asked Tatum as if everyone wore tinfoil on their heads.

On and on they talked, for today Tatum would challenge none of his assumptions, just build his trust.

Tuesday was much the same. Tatum was getting pretty settled into her typical routine of assessment in the morning, lunch with James, therapy in the afternoon. She appreciated the distraction of work; it helped her keep her mind off Michael. She had gotten updates from home but things were happening slowly, "no new news" was what the texts continued to say. Sophia thought it might be months before anything would happen and had promised to let Tatum know the minute anything changed.

With her thoughts racing about a possible visit home, she didn't even notice the suffocating heat during her walk from WMI to Regency. Milligan was waiting for her when she arrived.

"I thought maybe I'd invite you for dinner. Might take your mind off things," he said thoughtfully.

"Thanks Milligan, I'd like that," she replied. "Time?"

"How soon can you be there?" he answered.

Tatum ran upstairs and changed her clothes and then grabbed an unopened bottle of wine she'd purchased earlier in the week and headed down to the Manager's Suite.

"Welcome to my humble abode," Milligan said as he opened the door and let Tatum in.

As she would have expected, Milligan's apartment was neat and tidy with comfortable and basic decorating and furniture.

"Typical man," Tatum teased while she admired his selection of sports bobble heads, filling the spot where a woman definitely would have had flowers or something useless, but pretty.

"Is this the Blue Jays?" Tatum asked about the game being played on the overly large big screen TV.

"You betcha. Best game on TV right there," Milligan answered confidently.

The rest of the evening was simple. Milligan made spaghetti and the unlikely friends ate with little talking in front of the Blue Jays game. Tatum appreciated the comfortable silence in the company of a good friend. Milligan had been right; it had taken her mind off of her family for just a while.

"Thanks Milligan. That was great," said Tatum sincerely.

"You're welcome. Anytime, you know that," was his supportive as always response.

Tatum went up to her own apartment and as she made her way down the hall she could hear her phone ringing through her door. Thankful that she had forgotten to lock her dead bolt, she rushed through the entrance and grabbed the handset closest to the door. Convinced it was news from home, she was not about to miss the call.

"Hello," said Tatum, out of breath.

"Hello Tatum?" said a deep male voice, obviously confused by her breathlessness. "This is Jake."

"Hi Jake," she answered, pleased that he had called, but still slightly disappointed that she was not getting any additional information about Michael. "I guess you're back from your work trip?"

"Actually," he laughed, "I'm calling you from Baghdad."

"Really?" said Tatum surprised.

"Really," he confirmed. "I didn't want to wait. Afraid if I didn't call, you'd make other plans."

"Yah, I probably would have. Full social calendar, you know," she teased. "What's up?"

"Well, remember I mentioned that the Parade and Fair are this weekend?"

"Yah," Tatum answered, definitely not admitting that she didn't really remember because she had been so distracted by his admittance of his son.

"Well Vinnie and Marie asked if we'd like to join them at the Parade and then later, go to the Fair for a bit. Do you think you'd like to go?"

Breaking all of her personal rules, Tatum said, "I'd love to. What time should I be ready?"

"Parade starts at eleven but we sit about the middle so it'll go by about eleven thirty. How about if I come get you around eleven?" he asked.

"Sounds perfect. See you Saturday?"

"For sure. See you Saturday."

.

Wednesday morning was finally easier. The weekend's self-induced flu had completely recovered, and the news of Michael was less consuming. Tatum's morning run finally felt like exercise, instead of a race against an upset stomach and an upset mind. Feeling more like herself, Tatum showered and decided to dress up a bit more for work. She chose a loose mauve coloured blouse and paired it with a tight beige skirt that followed her natural curves and landed just above the knee. With her high-heeled tan sandals and her newly sun-kissed skin, she looked long, tanned and lean. Feeling as good as she looked, Tatum decided to make extra time for Milligan. She wanted him to see that she was feeling better.

"Good Morning Milligan," she called in a happy tone.

"Well... you certainly seem to be feeling better," he responded.

"I am. Still sad, but moping isn't going to change anything. Plus, today is my first shot at grand rounds. I want to make a good first impression."

"That's my girl," he said proudly, "smart, beautiful _and_ strong."

"And... I have a date," she said coyly.

"Ohhhh," Milligan said knowingly. "I knew there was more to your good mood than just a good attitude. Jake?"

"Yup, we're going to the Parade and Fair, this weekend. What that's all about anyway?"

"Wheatland celebration," said Milligan. "Once a year we celebrate our wheat, our livelihoods. Kinda corny, hey?"

"Nope, not corny," said Tatum, "simply the stuff after-school specials are made of. Just like everything around here."

Tatum wasn't sure Milligan understood her reference.

.

The morning started out pretty typical, say good morning to Marja, check emails, check the schedule and have some freshly brewed Keurig coffee. The clock seemed to tick slowly until ten o'clock when the multi-disciplinary team was to meet in the board room for the start of grand rounds. Tatum was the first one in the room. Second was one of the psychiatrists, a woman Tatum had met quickly one time during a tour, on which unit she couldn't remember.

"Hi, I'm Tatum, the psychologist intern. I think we've met, but I'm sorry to admit, I've forgotten your name."

"June," retorted the psychiatrist. That was all she said.

Tatum didn't try to initiate any more conversation.

Slowly the room started to fill with middle aged professionals, some she recognized, some she didn't. When finally the room contained about ten or twelve people, Dr. Fraser made his entrance. Tatum suspected he intentionally waited until everyone else had arrived, so that his arrival could appear as a bit of an event. There didn't seem to be a particular agenda, but it was obvious that Dr. Fraser would be running the show.

"Good morning everyone," he began, "I trust everyone is having a good week?"

The statement was presented as a question, but it was clear he was not actually interested in hearing how anyone's week had gone. "Today our rounds will be stationary."

As he said the word stationary, Tatum felt a tinge of disappointment; she had hoped the rounds would take them through Unit Four or Five.

"We'll start with a quick review of files and then we've got a pharm rep who wants some time."

_Farm rep?_ Tatum thought to herself, but didn't want to ask.

"First," the clinical director continued, "let's start with some introductions." Tatum felt herself turn red, she wasn't expecting this. "This is Tatum O'Neill, psychologist intern and Fulbright scholar. She comes to us from Chicago." Again Tatum noticed the implication that being from Chicago somehow provided her some type of authority. "Tatum tell us a little about yourself," he commanded, catching Tatum of guard.

Trying to keep her nervousness hidden, Tatum mentioned her training at U of Illinois, her areas of clinical training and research, the names of her supervisors. She knew the drill. One thing that was not well accepted in either advanced clinical practice or research was modesty. It was expected that you would mention all of your accomplishments and name-drop your associates.

"Thanks Tatum," concluded Stan. "Now I know a few of you have already become acquainted, but let's go around the room and let her know who we are." It was a command, not a request. "I'll start. I'm Stan Fraser, Chief Clinical Director. I run the show here." He made his last comment with a grin as if he was making a joke, but Tatum was pretty sure it was meant as a bit of a reminder to everyone in the room.

The introductions continued with June. "I'm June Gagnon, psychiatrist," was all she said. She was followed by two female psychologists and then a male psychiatrist, each of them more welcoming and friendly than the first introduction. Then it was Tim's turn.

"Hi Tatum, it's me Tim," was all he said, but Tatum felt welcomed and thankful for his familiar and friendly approach to his chance. Two physicians and another psychiatrist went next.

_Ten, that's ten_ she thought, making a mental note.

"We're missing Bill and Lynn today. Maybe you'll meet them at the next meeting."

_Okay, make that twelve_.

After the introductions, Dr. Fraser led the group through a quick discussion about one of the patients on Unit Five. He had been hiding utensils in his clothing and using them for attempted attacks on the guards.

"Be on the watch. He's really good. Made it passed several of the guard already. We will be moving to full security anytime he's with anyone; guard in every room, all the time. No exceptions. Just so you know if he's on your case load."

Marja poked her head in. "Dr. Fraser? The rep is here. Can I show him in?"

"Yes. Please do Marja."

A slight twenty-something came in the room holding a folder that read 'Pfizer'. _Oh! Pharm rep_ , Tatum laughed at herself. _Clearly I've recently spent too much time surrounded by wheat growers._

The young pharmacy rep began. "I'm here to provide you with some information about an excellent new product we are providing. 'Roloft' is going to revolutionize mental health treatment."

Tatum felt herself tuning out the words of the young man. She'd heard it all before.

***

Disappointed with the lack of fulfillment from her experience with Grand Rounds, Tatum arrived at work Friday morning, definitely looking forward to finally seeing the inside of Unit Six.

"Good morning Marja," she called to the desk clerk with a full face smile.

Starting to feel very familiar with Tatum, Marja called back "Good morning beautiful," as she buzzed Tatum through to the locked side of the Admin building.

Tatum went directly to her office, intent on making sure she knew exactly when and where she was supposed to be for the day. _Boardroom 8:30, Dr. Glaser,_ she read, _Unit Six tour 9:00._ Tatum quickly re-locked her computer and headed down to the boardroom, skipping her usual trip to the Keurig machine. She didn't need more caffeine this morning; the prospect of getting a peek at Unit Six was stimulant enough.

As per usual, Tatum was in the boardroom before Tim. When he entered, she was pleasantly surprised to see Anne following along behind.

"Didn't have much on the schedule today so thought I'd come along for the ride," the friendly nurse said. "I hope you don't mind," she winked at Tatum knowing full well Tatum would like nothing more.

"Where are we going to start?" Tatum asked, trying not to appear overly anxious.

"We can start with getting your FOB updated so you can get in. You currently don't have access, right?" Tim asked.

Tatum felt her heart speed up; she was getting access.

"No sir, not yet. Where do we do that?"

"I told you enough with the sir stuff," Tim demanded in a light tone. "Marja can take care of that for us."

With that, Tim, Anne, and Tatum re-traced their morning steps back to Marja's desk where Tatum's FOB was finally made to include access to Unit Six.

"See," Anne said quietly to Tatum."It just takes time."

The entrance to Unit Six worked differently than the entrances to the other Units Tatum had visited. There was an inside entrance similar to the other units, but Tim explained "We don't use this entrance. All access to U6 goes through the main outside door."

As they passed by the inner access point, Tatum noticed the lack of a FOB reader. All of the other units had the FOB reader easily available near the interior entry point. She assumed the lack of interior access was to maintain a sense of separation between the clinical units and the more publically available research unit.

"We will have to head outside to get back in," instructed Tim.

As the rest of the week had been, Friday was intensely hot and Tatum needed to catch her breath as she stepped outside. She watched her two companions closely and could see no evidence that they lost their breath in the heat. _I guess it will come_ she thought, assuming eventually she would have to become acclimatized to the scorching sun.

The outer entrance to the research unit was familiar to Tatum; she had run by it several times and it looked remarkably similar to the other outer entrances. The three workers ascended the marble staircase and entered through the grandly decorated main doors.

Laid out exactly the same as the administration unit, there was a younger woman sitting where Marja would have sat in the other unit.

"Morning Lisa," Anne called to the research unit desk clerk.

"Morning Anne. Tim," said Lisa. It was obvious from her tone that, like Tatum, Lisa had a soft spot for the rosy happy Anne. "And, who's this?" the clerk continued.

Anne began, "this is Dr. O'Neill, Tatum O'Neill, she's the new psych intern. Gonna be spending Fridays with you guys, so we're here to show her around."

"Hi Tatum," Lisa responded. "Welcome."

Tatum thought Lisa seemed friendly. _They must pick the nice ones to welcome the public_ , she thought. _Dr. Gagnon could never do that job_. She smiled to herself and chose to keep her thoughts to herself.

Tim and Anne followed Tatum through the first door leading to the secure side of the unit. Tatum was pleased to be given the opportunity to try out her new access. The secure side of the unit reminded Tatum of any other research unit she'd ever seen. Hallways led to meeting rooms and offices. Official looking people in lab coats made their way around carrying clip boards and looking as if they had somewhere important to be.

As Tim led her through the maze of passageways, Tatum noted that observation suites were much more plentiful in the research center as compared to on the clinical units. Anne must have noticed her scrutinizing the suites.

"They are used regularly here. Lots of the studies involve interventions, so the sessions are either observed directly or taped and then coded. On the clinical units, they are only needed for teaching purposes, as you by now well know."

In one of the observation suites, Tatum saw a research assistant timing and making notes as a group session happened on the other side of the one-way mirror.

"How about we start with the CBT study?" Tim asked Anne.

"Good idea. Tatum obviously you're familiar with CBT?" she asked the intern.

"For sure, it was one of the main approaches taught at U of I," Tatum responded.

Anne led her through a door with a sign that read 'Therapy Lab'. Inside she met the primary researcher, Dr. Johnson, a faculty member from University of Redman, a university in a larger center a couple hours north of Wainwright. Tatum learned that he travelled down approximately every second week to check on the projects, but otherwise, the research was led by paid assistants under his direction.

Dr. Johnson explained, "We currently have three main studies going on. One is looking at outcomes related to time-limited CBT therapy. The second is another outcome study for functional GAD and exposure. The third is a bit less outcome focused. We're looking at rapport-building as a process."

"Interesting," said Tatum, although none of the studies sounded particularly ground-breaking.

The second unit they visited was titled the 'Psychopharmacology Lab' and was directed by another faculty member, only this time it was a psychiatrist from one of the universities out east. She directed the facility primarily through videoconferencing and email.

"She rarely comes here in person. You'll likely never meet her," explained one of the many research assistants busily preparing protocols and entering data.

The lab was focused exclusively on medication effectiveness research. Randomized controlled trials, something rare during Tatum's training in human service research, were typical here.

The third and final unit the three employees would visit that day was the 'Assessment Lab'.

"This will be your lab," explained Tim. "Stan and I both spend time in here. He's of course, the director." Tatum wondered if she caught just a hint of contempt in that last statement. "We primarily do work on norming, protocols, and test development."

"What are some of the specific studies?" Tatum inquired.

She glanced at Anne who was silently encouraging her to continue pushing for the information she knew Tatum wanted.

"Well, for one of the studies - this one here," Tim talked as he walked, "we're working on developing Canadian norms for some of the tests without Canadian equivalents."

"Oh, yeah. Important stuff." Being American, Tatum had given little thought to how much work went into translating the often American produced tests into equivalents for different contexts.

At the next set of offices Tim continued, "this one is focused on trying to create better methods for assessing typically diagnosed childhood disorders during adulthood."

"You mean like ADHD, mental handicap, stuff like that?" Tatum asked.

"Yeah, we're also trying to get something going for looking at autism in adults. Since you seem to know something about that area, we thought maybe that's where you would fit best. We definitely need some more expertise on these areas."

Tatum was thrilled at the prospect. "That sounds perfect," she indicated to her brainy mentor.

Anne smiled and Tatum suddenly realized that her friend had known the whole time that she was to become the resident expert on adult diagnosis of childhood disorders, and she'd tagged along just to see the reaction.

Knowing that she would be stationed in the Assessment Lab completely altered the detail with which Tatum wanted to view her surroundings. She now wanted to know the ins and outs of every corner of the lab.

"So is there only existing projects, or are new ones being developed as well?" she asked.

"Always room for considering anything," Tim answered.

"How many are currently ongoing? Who are the PIs? When can I start?" Tatum had a million questions.

Tim tried to answer them all. Anne just smiled.

.

After their long and detailed tour through the assessment lab, Tim, Anne and Tatum decided they would have lunch together and talk about possibilities for Tatum's role in the lab. Actually, Tim and Tatum would discuss her role; Anne was just simply enjoying watching her most recent apprentice excitedly anticipate her newest undertaking. For the first time, Tatum ate a sit-down lunch in the cafeteria. Eating in the courtyard was out of the question in the sweltering midday heat that was the most extreme since Tatum's arrival.

Nearly finished her lunch Tatum's thoughts suddenly shifted to James. In the excitement of her new possibilities at the lab, she had completely forgotten about today's visit. This would be the first day she missed their lunch without any explanation.

.

After lunch, Tim and Tatum returned to the lab. They spent the majority of their time in the Assessment Lab, where Tatum asked a thousand more questions and developed just as many new ideas. During her previous research experiences, the projects were primarily driven by the research supervisor. Never before had anyone asked her what types of projects a lab should be focusing on. This excited her. She also met the primary Research Associate, Garry, who was responsible for making sure the lab ran smoothly in the absence of any of the Primary Investigators. He seemed happy to have a new recruit on board.

"Well, did you get what you came for?" Tim asked Tatum as they left Unit Six and started the short hike outside that led back to the main building.

"You bet," answered Tatum, "getting to work in the Assessment Lab is really exciting. It's actually even better than I'd hoped."

"That's great, glad to hear it. Should we call it a day?"

"Sounds good. See you Monday."

"Yup, see you Monday."

.

Tatum left Tim at the connector between Units Two and Three. Her office was in Unit Three and she actually had no idea where his office was; they had always met in the boardroom. She went to her own office and collected up her things, then headed back into the large room in the center of the Unit.

"Aren't you docs off the clock at this time of day?" Larry the unit head asked.

"Yeah, I just have something I need to do before I leave," Tatum responded.

Larry watched as Tatum made her way over to the window. He followed her. Instead of the usual seating arrangement, James was facing the wall.

"What's up with him?" asked Tatum.

"I'm not sure," answered Larry. "After lunch he just sort of slowly slid sideways until he faced himself toward the wall."

.

Tatum tossed and turned through the night. She knew well the importance of routine and predictability for individuals with Autism, and she had broken the seminal rule. _If the routine changes, lots of warning_. She'd learned it well with Michael. She resolved to spend extra time with James on Monday, but it wasn't enough to erase her guilt for her oversight on her last day of work for the week. _Just gotta remember to always let him know_ , she reminded herself.

.

Although she'd slept poorly and had thoughts of both James and Michael in the back of her mind, Tatum woke easily and bounded out of bed. Today was her date with Jake. She needed to be up and ready in enough time to get ready and still have coffee with Milligan. Yoga was going to have to wait until next week.

Her choice of outfit for the morning had been picked out since earlier that week. Tatum knew it was going to be hot, and she wanted to make sure she was going to be comfortable. Her first thought was to layer so that she could remove layers as the heat increased throughout the day. Then Tatum realized that she had the perfect opportunity to wear a sundress she'd had for several years, but nearly never worn. When Sarah married Peter, they had a casual summer wedding and, of course, Tatum had been the maid of honor. Sarah had great taste and for Tatum she had chosen a soft yellow sundress that fell just off the shoulder and just above the knee. Despite the dress being tasteful and pretty, Tatum found that she didn't wear it in Chicago because it felt too untailored for daily wear. But, the dress would be a perfect fit for today, pretty and dressy without being overdone.

Clean from the shower, Tatum pulled the dress up and zipped the back, but left her tanned legs bare. Remembering that they'd been comfortable for the full day at work, she slipped on the same heeled wedges she'd worn her second day at WMI. She also had her hair style planned out ahead of time. At Sarah's wedding, she'd worn her hair down, with soft tendrils in the front and large curls in the back; it seemed perfect for today. Her makeup was also soft, minimal eye makeup with light pink blush and clear lip gloss.

Tatum looked in the mirror. It was just right. She looked feminine. Normally, during her working hours, she preferred to look professional. Not masculine, but ultra-feminine was definitely off the table. Today, she was perfectly happy to be all girl and she looked every bit the part.

"Holy Smokes!" whistled Milligan. "The parade should have you as a float!"

Tatum blushed. "Thanks Milligan."

"Maybe you should skip coffee this morning, don't wanna get anything on that pretty dress," he teased.

"Give me my coffee!" Tatum laughed.

Milligan's tone turned serious. "How's Michael?"

"No news yet. I guess no news is good news though, hey?" she answered.

"Yes, they do say that, don't they? And how about the Research Unit yesterday? How'd that go?"

Tatum was always amazed at how Milligan paid attention. He never forgot one detail of their conversation, nor did he neglect to follow up on any detail that he heard.

"It was great," said Tatum, "I saw everything. There were three primary labs from what I could tell. One is a therapy lab run by a researcher from University of Saskatchewan, the second is a psychopharmacology lab run by some faculty member who is never actually here, and the third is the assessment lab, that's where I'll be."

"Psychopharmawhatagy?"asked Milligan.

"Psychopharmacology. It's basically pharmaceuticals intended specifically for mental illness."

"Oh," said Milligan, "you learn something new every day. And so what about the lab you'll be in? What goes on there?"

"Assessment studies. Basically trying to figure out newer and better ways to do diagnosis of all kinds of things. I may even get to do some Autism stuff, we'll see."

"That sounds great Tatum. I sure do envy you in all your youth, looking so forward to all of these new experiences. Enjoy it. It doesn't last forever."

"I will Milligan; I promise."

"Okay, enough about work. What's going on with you today? You're pretty dressed up for our local parade."

"Am I overdressed?" Tatum asked self-consciously.

"No, you look perfect. Absolutely perfect. You go out there and knock the socks off that boy."

Tatum was still sitting outside drinking coffee with Milligan when Jake pulled up in his black pick-up, the same one he'd used to rescue Tatum from the rain the week before. He stepped out and came directly over to the small coffee locale

"Well good morning son," Milligan said to Jake.

"Hello Mr. Milligan," came Jake's polite reply.

"How's your granddad?"

"He's well sir."

"And what about your mom and dad? Still working the farm" Milligan could literally make anyone feel like there was no one in the world he'd rather be talking with - like no one else's life could possibly be of more interest or importance.

"Of course. Dad will work the field or he'll drop dead trying," Jake said.

"Well, I guess that's enough outta me," Milligan said smiling, "She's of much more interest I guess."

He glanced over at Tatum and with his most fatherly tone said, "you two have a good time today; but not _too_ good."

Tatum grinned and promised Milligan they'd behave, and then climbed up into Jake's truck.

.

Jake's truck was plush and new. Although Tatum had ridden in the same truck the night of the storm, she'd been too distracted to appreciate its value as a mechanism to tell her more about the man she was with. Tatum didn't have much experience with trucks, she'd mostly ridden on subways, but she knew this one had been pricey. It had leather seats and all the bells and whistles, but no 'bling' as they called it back home. No extra chrome bars, no big tires, the truck was strong and understated, _just like Jake,_ Tatum thought. The inside was neat, but not so neat that Tatum would have been concerned. She was pretty certain that she could see some French fries on the floor in the back seat. _Probably Brady_ , she thought and then wished she hadn't thought about his son. She didn't want to think about that right now.

Country music was playing on the stereo. Tatum had no idea who it was singing, but she knew Shania Twain was a big Canadian star so she took a stab.

"Is this Shania Twain?" she asked Jake.

"Umm... no." Jake seemed to be laughing a little at Tatum's expense. "It's Carrie Underwood, you know she's married to Mike Fisher, the hockey player?"

_Of course, now he's a cowboy cliché_ _and_ _a Canadian cliché, hillbilly music and hockey_ , Tatum thought silently.

Out loud she simply said, "I haven't really listened to a lot of country. Not really that big where I come from. You'll have to be patient."

"I can see that," he teased.

.

Tatum and Jake were to meet Vinnie and his wife, Maria, at their usual spot. The usual spot turned out to be right in front of the bank on Main Street.

Once they'd found their way around the other people crowding Main Street and found just the right viewing location for their chairs, Tatum saw Vinnie edging towards them, holding the hand of a pretty Italian woman. When Vinnie and Maria arrived at the spot Tatum and Jake had inhabited, as Tatum expected, Vinnie did most of the talking.

"Maria, this is Tatum. She's a new doc up at the Units and the proud inhabitant of an apartment with the nicest floors in town." Vinnie grinned.

"It's so nice to finally meet you. You're even more beautiful than Vinnie said." Maria grabbed Tatum's hands and pulled her in for a hug and kiss on both cheeks, and then backed away. "You're a bit of a celebrity in this town you know?" she said. "The girl who caught the eye of the elusive Jake Mackinley." Maria winked at Jake.

Maria was a tiny woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She stood only about 5'2" tall, but her slim build and small frame made her appear perfectly proportionate. Typical of women from the Mediterranean, her skin was dark and made even more so by the regular tanning rays of the Wainwright sun. She was wearing white short-shorts and a pale pink tank top that made her dark skin appear even darker. Her hair was pulled completely off her face into a neat ponytail, with just a bit of wispy bangs that softened her thin face. Tatum had several Italian friends in Chicago and Maria struck her as proto-typically Italian. She had a way of being loud and dramatic that made Tatum feel both welcome and familiar.

Maria continued ribbing Jake. Tatum could tell from their interactions that, like Vinnie and Jake, Maria and Jake were also very close.

"Yup, when Vinnie told me we were going to meet Jake and a girl, I just about fell off my chair. I think I've introduced him to every woman I know. It's just always work."

Vinnie continued where his pretty wife had left off. "She ran over him in the grocery store. See Marie, we were just going about it all wrong until now. We should've told those other women to beat him up a little. Apparently he likes it a little rough."

All four laughed at the teasing of Jake's old friend.

.

It was nearing eleven thirty when the first float of the parade started passing by the foursome. The opening float was the city mayor, sitting atop of a combine making its way slowly down Main Street. The second float was the local Shriners, riding mini-bikes and wearing funny hats. Each of the floats had been put together by a local business or organization, all of which were well known to Tatum's company.

Local dance clubs had created walking dance routines. _Not quite Disneyland, but not bad,_ thought Tatum. She watched in amazement as one by one the floats went by throwing candy to the local children and waving and shouting out to the people lining the streets, most of whom were known to those manning the floats. Tatum had been to parades lots of times in Chicago, but not like this. The parades she had gone to were large and commercialized. The floats were overdone and populated by unknown professionals, trained to entertain.

This parade was reminiscent of an episode from 'Leave It to Beaver'. The sun was shining as it seemed to always do. Main Street was as quaint and dated as any street Tatum had ever seen in a movie. Small children squealed with glee as they filled their bags to the top with the candy littering the streets.

Tatum looked at the others. Jake, Vinnie, and Maria seemed to be taking it all in stride; their small town way of life so comfortable for them, and so of very foreign to the stranger in their midst.

.

The parade was much longer than Tatum had expected. It was nearing noon and it seemed to be just over half way complete. She was lost in the nostalgia of the moment, absorbed completely in the entertainment of the music and the floats passing in front of her. Suddenly she was pulled abruptly back into the moment.

"Dad!" she heard someone holler, loud enough to ensure it could be heard over the distraction of the noises created by the people and parade.

She saw Jake look up, his face turning from minimal expression to a full face smile.

The voice called out one more time now that Jake was looking, "Hi Dad!"

"Hi Brady!" Jake called back with the most volume and excitement she had ever heard from the man beside her.

Tatum looked up to get a glance at the most important person in Jake's life. Brady was waving madly and grinning at his dad, Vinnie, and Maria. Tatum would have put money on the fact that to Brady, they were Uncle Vinnie and Auntie Maria.

Brady was big for his age, _probably got his size from his dad,_ she thought. His hair was lighter than Jake's but he had the same handsome face that would someday perhaps permit him to take his father's place as Wainwright's most eligible bachelor. He was riding on the Home Hardware float with his great-grandfather, in charge of distributing the candies to the children running about the street.

"He's his Great-Grandad's most reliable float decoration," Brady's dad said proudly. "He looks forward to it every year."

Tatum sat quietly for a moment. Seeing Brady made him real. For just a second she wanted to run.

The parade lasted for about ten more minutes, most of which Tatum didn't remember. Seeing Brady had caught her off-guard and it was taking some time to process.

Finally, Maria interrupted her thoughts. "He's a good kid Tatum. Jake's pride and joy." Then she whispered quietly to her new friend so Jake couldn't hear, "He's worth it girl. I promise."

.

"Well, that's all she wrote," said Vinnie, "Anybody hungry?"

The foursome agreed that eating sounded like a good idea and started meandering slowly down Main Street, trying to decide on something that suited them all.

"How does a hot dog sound?" asked Vinnie.

"Perfect," agreed Tatum. Jake just nodded and smiled.

Vinnie went first. He purchased a hot dog and Coke each for him and Maria from one of the street vendors still set up from after the parade. Jake went next. He had confirmed with Tatum that a hot dog and Coke would work for her, and then he ordered for them both. Tatum offered to pay, but was refused. Unless it was a special occasion, she and Niko always had paid their separate ways. Happily munching their recently purchased fare, the foursome continued to wonder down Main Street, simply enjoying the sunshine, good food and good company.

Around one, Vinnie and Maria departed, saying something about needing to get home to the kids.

"So we'll see you at the fair around sevenish?" Vinnie had asked before they left.

"Sure," Jake answered, "Sounds good. If you're still up for it Tatum?" he looked expectantly at his date.

"You bet," she answered, "A small town fair. It's on my bucket list; wouldn't miss it for the world."

.

Once Vinnie and Maria had gone, Tatum and Jake once again had to adjust to sharing space alone. This time Jake broke the initial silence.

"Do you have plans for the rest of the day? I could take you home and pick you up later. Unless," he seemed nervous, "you'd like to spend the day with me?"

"I have nothing planned for this afternoon. I was actually hoping you might take me out to see some of what you do."

"Like what?" Jake asked.

"Well, at some point you mentioned your office on Main Street and also the oil operation where your great-grandfather homesteaded. Could we go for a bit of a tour?"

"Are you sure that's what you want to spend your afternoon doing? Doesn't seem very exciting to me," said Jake.

"I'm just interested in getting a feel for who you are and what you do," explained Tatum. "But we don't have to; if it's not something you want to do."

"I'm happy to do anything you want. As long as I get to spend some time with you," said Jake timidly.

Tatum blushed and said, "Ditto."

.

Just as Tatum had requested, Jake took her first to his office on Main Street. He was right, it wasn't much. The outside of the building, the old fire Hall, was the most impressive part of the now run-down store and office building. Jake's office was above the pharmacy and doctor's office Tatum had been able to see from the street during her tour on her first day in Wainwright. It seemed as if little had changed since the days when the building housed the town's fire department so that, even though much of the structure obviously needed some renovation, history surrounded the couple.

Jake took Tatum up to his office; it took up nearly half of the upper floor. In the center of the reception area, there was an odd fenced-off zone that looked out of place in the otherwise business-type environment.

"What's with the fencing in the middle of the office," asked Tatum.

"The old fire pole. I've never had the heart to remove it, so now it just stays there and provides a conversation piece," Jake smiled. "We can slide down it on our way out if you like?"

"You bet I'd like!" answered Tatum, making a mental note not to let Jake forget his promise on their way out.

The rest of the office was relatively unremarkable. The front reception area held a standard receptionist's desk complete with phone, fax machine and computer. The decorating in the front office had obviously been completed more recently than in the rest of the building, but remained extremely simple with gray commercial carpeting and off-white walls. Jake's office was behind the reception desk. It was a small space, also very simple with basic industrial carpet and paint. The only items that provided an air of hominess to the office were Jake's well endowed bookcase, boasting shelves full of complicated business and legal texts, and his pictures that livened up his desk and office walls.

On his desk Jake had two pictures, a recent one of Brady, and an obviously dated picture of Julia, holding Brady as a baby. On his walls, Jake had placed pictures of immediate and extended family. The only face Tatum recognized for sure was that of Pete, Home Hardware Pete. Possibly overstepping her bounds, Tatum stepped closer to get a better look at the picture of Julia.

"Oh Jake, she was stunning," said Tatum, and she meant it.

In the picture in front of her she saw a woman of perhaps twenty-five at the time. She had shoulder length sandy blonde hair and eyes that were the truest green Tatum had ever seen. The picture Jake had on his desk showed her holding Brady as a baby, looking down at him with an expression only a mother can make.

"Yes, she was," was all he said in response. "Seen enough? Ready to go?" he asked.

"Sure," Tatum answered, wishing to change the tone back to before she had seen the picture. "How about that pole?" she requested.

Jake smiled at her, pleased at her childish request, "You bet. Let's go."

.

At the top of the pole, Jake pulled a handle that made some doors in the floor fly open. Tatum supposed they must have been designed to move quickly so that the fire fighters would have no hesitation as they descended.

"You first," she said wanting to have him demonstrate how it should be done.

"Okay, see you down there," Jake replied as he grabbed the pole and swung himself around so that he landed only seconds later.

"Now it's your turn," he hollered up to Tatum.

She hesitantly attempted to follow Jake's athletic and fluid motion so that she could descend with some degree of gracefulness; but instead found herself simply holding on for dear life, hoping her dress didn't end up above her head.

When she reached the bottom, Tatum lost her balance. From behind, Jake put out his arm and grabbed her so that she didn't fall. Flustered, Tatum stood up quickly while Jake asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Tatum answered, but privately she was thinking about Jake's strong arms around her waist. _Actually, now I'm definitely better than okay,_ she thought _._

.

The next stop that Tatum had requested was the Mackinley Oil Trust at the family's homestead. To get there Jake and Tatum drove just under an hour toward what she thought was southeast of town. In between, there were wheat fields followed by more wheat fields, with an occasional oil well thrown in for decoration. Finally, they came to a small community and Jake slowed his truck nearly to a stop; he drove through the tiny town slowly, talking as he drove.

"This is Collingwood. My grandparents homesteaded near here and my dad grew up and met my mom in this town. Not too much left now. That's the store and post office; probably the only remaining functional business here now. This used to be the main drag, but as you can see, most of it has either closed or been torn down. That over there is the church my parents were married in," he pointed to a small white chapel that would hold maybe a maximum of fifteen people. "Over there, in that house, I think I'm related to those people. God knows how. I think everybody here is kind of related in some way or another."

Tatum was amazed at the sparseness of the place he'd brought her to. In her world, people were everywhere. This was something like she'd never seen.

As Jake neared the end of town, he sped up his pace so that the truck started throwing up rocks from the gravel roads lining the fields. Tatum was lost, everything looked the same. Jake seemed to know every corner, every road. Finally, Tatum could see a larger industrial looking area in the distance.

"There it is," said Jake, "Not much to see."

As he drove closer, Tatum could see the size and scope of the development; oil wells, followed by buildings, followed by more oil wells.

"That's what started it all," Jake explained. He stopped the truck and they got out to walk around.

Jake was right there really wasn't much to see, and it was hot.

"This is the first one. All the rest followed as they realized the oil was everywhere under the ground," he explained as he toured her through the maze of oil wells and buildings. Then Tatum heard a voice, "Hi Mr. Mackinley, what are you doing out here on a weekend?"

"Hi John," said Jake. "This is Tatum; she wanted a tour."

"Nice to meet you ma'am," said the worker, "It's nice to have a visitor. But, like Mr. Mackinley said, 'Not much to see'."

Tatum suddenly felt kind of important. _I'm with 'Mr. Mackinley', oil executive_ , she thought as she admired the soft-spoken, handsome man walking beside her.

The rest of the tour was, as promised, pretty boring; more oil wells, more buildings. They went through pretty quickly because the late afternoon sun was the hottest of the day.

"Getting hungry?" Jake asked Tatum.

She hadn't really thought about eating, but now that he mentioned it, she was starting to feel like she could eat.

"Yah, should we grab something before it's time to meet back up with Vinnie and Maria?"

"That's what I was thinking. What do you feel like?"

"Something cool," was Tatum's only request.

.

The air conditioned environment of Jake's pickup was a delightful treat as they drove back past the wheat fields and came close to the edge of town. They had talked through the afternoon and so they rode back to town in a comfortable silence. Silence was welcomed by, but foreign to Tatum. When she and Niko drove together, he always talked and she always listened. It was almost forever about work.

"How do burgers and shakes sound?" Jake asked as they closed-in on the center of Wainwright.

"Perfect."

Jake led the way to a small bus beside the swimming pool.

Tatum was confused. "We're eating at a bus?" she asked with bewilderment.

"Sort of," Jake laughed. "Every summer Rob and Linda, the people that run the pool, put up this converted bus as a concession for the kids. They call it the 'Burger Bus' and sell only things that parents don't want kids to have."

Tatum could see that Jake was right. The now pink-coloured mini bus boasted hamburgers, hotdogs, slurpees, ice cream and other delicious, but less than health-conscious, summer treats.

"Well," said Jake. "Go ahead, pick something your mom wouldn't approve of."

Tatum smiled. "I'll have a bacon burger, onion rings and a strawberry shake," said Tatum.

"That's my girl. No glass of water and dry salad for you," Jake teased.

There was a reason Tatum wasn't quite as thin as her sister, but Jake thought it was great. He ordered the same thing as Tatum, except his shake was chocolate. The cool ice cream drink tasted perfect. The picnic table they sat at was in the shade, but the heat still packed a powerful punch.

The afternoon had gone quickly and the relative cool of the early evening felt refreshing. Tatum and Jake finished up their dinner and then headed over to meet up with Vinnie and Maria. They parked and walked the couple of blocks necessary to get into the fair grounds. As they walked they talked.

"So, how come you have time to take me to the fair? Isn't this something you should be doing with Brady?" Tatum asked.

"Yah, every year up till this one. This is the first year that he's dumped me for his buddies, but I think it might be the first of many. He went with his friend Kevin; I think he's planning to sleep over."

Tatum nodded. "Well, I for one am glad he's too cool for his dad," she added. Jake smiled.

.

Vinnie and Maria were waiting for the twosome right at the front gate. Tatum and Jake walked past the local arena and then caught up with the energetic couple at the entrance.

"What should we do first? Do we wanna go on a ride? Maybe play a game? Should we get a slurpee?" Vinnie said.

Tatum and Jake once again shared a private smile at Vinnie's expense.

"Vinnie, hun, one thing at a time," Maria instructed her high-strung partner.

"I'm happy to do anything," said Tatum. She was content just being there; she just wanted the experience of a small town fair.

"Hey Vinnie," someone would call out, followed by an "Oh, hey Jake, hey Maria."

Everywhere they went, someone yelled out salutations to her companions. She also thought she noticed the residents that called salutations were also inspecting the pretty blond with Jake. _Just like at yoga, a circus animal in Wainwright's ring_ , Tatum thought laughing to herself _._

.

The foursome started their evening by going on a few rides. Tatum suspected that none of them were really looking forward to being upside down, they weren't kids after all, but no-one wanted to be the only one to chicken out. Once they had the rides out of the way, they each chose an ice cream cone and the evening became more mellow. Jake won Tatum a toy she didn't really want and Vinnie bought one for Maria; he couldn't hit the target. The evening started to draw to a close and Maria ended the night with an instruction for Jake.

"Now I know why you took so much time. Deep down, you must've been waiting for that someone special. You sure know how to pick 'em. Hold on to this one Jakester; she's a good one." Maria smiled at Tatum.

.

Jake and Tatum drove the few blocks to her apartment and then Jake parked and walked her to the entrance. As they walked, Tatum felt Jake reach for her hand. Walking slowly with their fingers entwined, Tatum decided it was about time. At the doorway, she felt like a teenager, anxious about her first kiss with the tall, handsome man standing over her.

"I had a really nice time today," she said to Jake.

"Me too," he replied.

Jake leaned hesitantly in. Tatum lifted her face and closed her eyes expecting his lips to touch hers. To her surprise, Jake politely kissed her on her cheek and said "Good night Tatum" and then turned back toward his truck and drove away.

.

For the first night in many, she went to sleep thinking only positive thoughts. Reliving her day with Jake prevented thoughts of Michael from interrupting her deep slumber. She awoke from a long and restorative sleep. Tatum got up, dressed in her running clothes, pulled her hair into a ponytail and left her apartment for her first Sunday morning run since her arrival.

Still riding on the high from the day before, her run felt good, fast and smooth. She ran the perimeter of town as she usually did, and then decided to add in an on-foot tour of the WMI grounds. The last time she had toured the grounds was her first time at the institution, and her desire to remain incognito had prevented her from touring the outer aspects of the facility in any detail.

Today, like days past, Tatum was shocked by the estate-like grand beauty of the lands surrounding the institution. But today, as she walked through the outdoor common areas, Tatum saw for the first time how the grounds remained so perfectly groomed.

She normally remained indoors during the day while she was at the institution and consequently, she had little experience with the typical daily activities of the patients, especially those that happened outdoors. This morning, Tatum saw patients roaming the grounds with an orderly assigned to each group of three or four residents. The patients were mowing, weeding and grooming; each patient effectively completing an assigned task that had obviously been completed many times before.

_Obviously the U3 crew,_ Tatum thought as she observed the individuals completing their duties. She saw Liz Crandall with a pair of shears, creating identical perfectly shaped cedars to line the edges of the driveway. Kory Atchenson was mowing the lawn, his anger and swearing drowned out by the sound of the machinery. She saw the woman who'd been rocking in the corner; she sat on her haunches weeding a flower garden. Finally, Tatum had a glimpse of James. He was sitting on the grass, staring at his fingers as they moved. She assumed he had been excused from grounds labor because both his hands and his eyes were perpetually busy, rendering gardening or other tasks virtually impossible.

Not wanting to disrupt the tranquil scene uncharacteristic of the Unit Three patients, Tatum continued her run. She finished the perimeter of WMI and then sprinted at full speed on the return home. Seeing James had rekindled her frustration about Michael and the oversight about her lunchtime visit on Friday; running at full speed seemed to help.

.

Tired and sweaty, Tatum pulled up a chair. Milligan passed her the morning's first cup, hoping she'd have several more.

"How was your run? You don't usually go on Sundays, do you?" He asked to get the conversation going.

"Sometimes, depends on the Sunday," Tatum replied. "I felt like I needed it today."

"Is that a good thing?" asked her caring friend.

"Started out that way. But then I ran by the grounds, reminded me of Michael."

"How is he anyway?"

"I'm not really sure. I think my mom is trying to protect me by not telling me the truth; she just keeps telling me not to come."

"And how about yesterday, how did that go?"

Tatum had expected that question. "It was actually wonderful. Just like you said, he's a good guy. We went to the parade, then he took me for a bit of a tour of where he works, and then we finished with the fair."

Talking about her date with Jake started to resurrect Tatum's positive mood. "Didn't kiss me good night though. What's up with that?" she said in a joking fashion.

"He's an old-fashioned guy Tatum; you're going to have to be patient," Milligan explained knowingly.

.

After coffee, Tatum showered and had breakfast. As a consequence of preparing her morning meal, she realized that getting groceries was going to have to be her primary objective for the day, whether she liked it or not. She headed out to the Co-op, prepared to only get what she could carry home in bags this time. As she marched down the street toward her destination, Tatum caught a glance of Jake's pickup truck a few blocks ahead, turning into the grocery store where they had first met.

She could see two heads in the front seat. Tatum concealed herself and watched as Jake and Brady lowered themselves out of their respective seats. Jake put his arm protectively around Brady and his son looked up at him, knowing that he was the center of his father's universe. The two walked together side by side into the grocery store.

Tatum's heart sank. She thought about Brady's face on the float the day before, she thought about the picture of Julia looking only as a mother could, and then she thought about Jake, sweet Jake, who, along with his son, deserved more than she could give. _I'll tell him when he calls_ , she thought.

The rest of Sunday went by slowly, thoughts of Jake and her decision to break it off dominating her day. Tatum was fairly certain he would call at some point that evening, and she remained by the phone just in case.

.

After waiting for Jake and Brady to leave the grocery store, she had gone and gotten herself provisions to refill her cupboards. She prepared dinner for one and then sat down at her computer, once again to kill time while she waited. She returned to the articles about Julia's death. Many of the articles were simply news reports describing the horrific events, but eventually Tatum's search uncovered several of the conspiracy theory sites that she had happened upon during previous searches. _All the crazy people are definitely not in institutions_ , she thought as she quickly scanned some of the discussion on the conspiracy forums. On the more reputable sites Tatum found stories of WMI's history.

When WMI was built it was considered one of the largest and most important buildings in the British Commonwealth, the websites said. The websites also talked about the huge numbers of patients that resided in the institution and some of the horrifying interventions used as 'treatment'. There were stories of something called 'Work and Water'; a treatment approach that consisted of a combination of labour and water exposure. The work part was self-explanatory. As she read, Tatum thought about the patients working in the grounds earlier that day. Water exposure was described as a repetitive process of placing patients in scalding hot water, followed by freezing cold ice water. This was repeated several times a day in an effort to reduce symptoms of mental illness.

She came across stories of experimental drugs being used on patients, lobotomies, experimental surgeries, and sexual abuse. Tatum was appalled at what she was reading, but relieved to know that those 'treatments' only existed in the institution's history books. Dreadful interventions like these were a thing of the past, something she'd learned about in her 'History of Psychology' Class.

.

Finally, sometime around eight, Tatum's searching and reading was interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

"Hello," she said quickly. She'd had the cordless phone right beside her, just in case.

"Hi Tatum, it's Jake," said the voice on the other end of the line.

"Hi Jake," she said, not wanting to have the conversation that she knew was about to take place.

"I had a really nice time yesterday," he said.

"Me too," Tatum answered sadly.

He continued, "I have to go to the States this week, but I wanted to talk to you before I left. I would like to invite you to dinner next weekend, doesn't matter which night. I thought you could come over to my place, meet Brady and my family? My mom said she'll cook, that way you won't have to eat my cooking," he said in a light, joking tone.

Tatum felt queasy.

"Jake, I'm so sorry for what I'm about to say."

Silence on the other end of the line.

"I have given this so much thought, and I'm not ready for this."

More silence.

"I am going to go back to Chicago at the end of my internship, and you deserve to be with someone who can offer you a future. I can't see you anymore."

"I see," was the only response.

"Goodbye Jake."

"Goodbye Tatum."

Tatum hung up the phone. Suddenly, work, Michael's illness and the loss of Jake overwhelmed her. She cried until she fell asleep.

# Chapter 13

Tatum woke Monday morning feeling emotionally drained and unprepared to face the day. She ran and dressed slowly, slowly enough that she left little time for coffee. She wanted only to say good morning and drink her cup; she did not want to have to explain the events of yesterday to Milligan.

Tatum was thankful her friend was intuitive - he didn't ask too many questions.

Work was becoming routine, something for which Tatum was thankful; she didn't feel like her mind was focused enough for a steep learning curve this week. She went about her days in the beginning of the week, completing her assessments and therapy as assigned. As she had suspected, Tatum noticed much of her time was now being dedicated to comprehensive or complex assessment cases, intake assessments, and occasionally assessments requested by outpatient community members.

Hoping to make up for her blunder the week before, she made sure she didn't missed a single lunch meeting with James.

Tatum called or texted home each night in hopes that there would be some news, hopefully something positive. Finally on Wednesday evening, Sophia called and had something of substance to report.

"Hi Honey," she said to her youngest daughter.

"Hi mom, how's everything?"

"We're hanging in there, still hoping for the best. How's work?"

"We can talk about that in a moment, how's Michael? Did something change? You called instead of texting."

"The biopsy results came back today," Sophia paused.

"And?" pushed Tatum.

"It's cancer. You're brother has brain cancer Tate. They say they can operate, but there's no guarantee." Sophia started to sob.

"Oh mom." Tatum wanted to sob too, but didn't want to make it worse for her mother. "When's the surgery?"

"Maybe sometime the first couple weeks of September, but I don't want you to worry, we can handle things here. You stay and do your job. We'll call when we need you to come."

_That's what she always says_ , thought Tatum. "How're Dad and Sarah?"

"Your father is working too much, trying to keep his mind busy. Sarah's been helping him, trying to take on some of what I'm not doing."

"Mom, I want to come home," Tatum said definitively.

"No Tate, don't. There's nothing you can do here. We'll let you know."

And with that Sophia said good night and was gone.

.

Later that evening Tatum received a text from Sarah.

"I heard you talked to mom tonight? Tate, don't listen to her. It's bad. Get here."

***

Thursday morning Tatum's perspective on talking with Milligan had completely changed. She knew she needed her friend.

He passed her a steaming cup of 'Milligan's best' and she let it all out. First they talked about Michael, his illness, his upcoming surgery and Sarah's message. Then, against her better judgment, she told Milligan about her decision with Jake.

"I didn't want to ask," was all her benevolent friend said when she described her observation at the grocery store, followed by the subsequent phone call.

Tatum looked at her watch; she was almost late for work.

"Oh geez, I gotta run," she explained to Milligan as she grabbed her worn briefcase and put her cup on the table.

"Not yet," he commanded.

Milligan stood up and wrapped his arms around Tatum in the protective way only a father can. The expression of support was too much for Tatum, she started to cry. Milligan hugged her tighter knowing first-hand the pain of ill family members.

"If you need me, I'm here," was all he said.

.

Thursday was report day. Tatum worked diligently on her latest case files, making certain that she reviewed each of the patient histories and current treatment in detail. She studied each of the records in such detail that she was confused by her own behavior - she didn't even know what she was looking for.

_Perhaps I should quit googling. It's making me paranoid_ , she thought silently.

Tatum worked on the reports throughout the morning and had nearly completed her pile when she decided it was time for lunch. Having spent the full lunch hour with James for the first three days of the week, she decided she was ready to have lunch with someone who talked back. But before finding a two-way conversation, she kept her promise to herself and visited Unit Three early in her lunch hour; never again would she miss their meeting without letting James know.

Larry smiled at Tatum as she entered, having developed a bit of a crush on U3's daily visitor.

"He's over in the usual spot," said Larry. "I assume you're staying for a bit. Can I get you a coffee or something?"

"Not today, thanks though," responded Tatum. "I'm gonna go find Anne and spend some time outside for once."

Tatum thought Larry seemed a disappointed that she planned to leave. "I'll be here for the full time tomorrow though," she explained.

He brightened up a bit.

.

"Hi James. How are you today?" she asked her very quiet friend. "I'm doing better than I have been. Talked with Milligan this morning and he's always wonderful. Just like you. I wanted to thank you for listening to me all the time. I hope sometime I can help you the way you help me." Silence. "I'm not going to stay long today, I need to get outside, get some fresh air. Hopefully it will perk me up a bit. So I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Bye James."

Tatum left James feeling a tad guilty about her short visit, but knowing that it would be okay; she had let him know. She walked slowly through the wide corridors until she reached the entrance to the cafeteria.

As she'd hoped, she could see Anne in the line-up talking to everyone all at the same time.

"Anne!" Tatum called out across the dining hall.

"Hi Hun!" she called back, more loudly and more boisterously than Tatum had even expected.

Tatum walked toward her happy comrade, "Have you got a lunch partner today?"

"Lots of potential victims, but no firm prey at the moment," she said with a laugh. "Why? You taking an actual lunch break today?"

Tatum guessed by Anne's comment that she had developed a bit of a reputation for being a bit unsociable over lunch. _I guess that's deserved_ , she thought.

"Yeah, thought I'd like to head outside today. It's a bit cooler and I could use some fresh air."

Tatum looked around the cafeteria at the lack of windows and outside access.

"Me too. Let's go!" Anne responded with her typically overly energetic style.

.

Outside in the courtyard, Tatum took a deep breath and appreciated the refreshing breeze. It was milder than some of the intense winds she'd experienced in Wainwright, just enough to be airy and cool, while still keeping her hair from blowing into her mouth as she ate.

"So," Anne started the conversation, "what's the newest news on you and the hunk?"

"No news," responded Tatum. "We're actually not seeing each other anymore."

"What? Did he change his mind about being ready for someone other than Julia?" asked Anne.

"Actually, it was me. I just didn't think I was a good fit for his situation. I plan to go home after I'm done my internship. He didn't need to get all messed up with someone who's just gonna leave."

"I'm sorry to hear that Tatum. But, I guess you need to do what you think is right."

Tatum thought that, by Anne's tone, she understood that Anne thought she had gotten it wrong.

"You never know. You might change your mind," she said hopefully.

"Yeah, maybe," Tatum replied, "but I don't think so."

Wanting to change the topic, Tatum asked Anne, "Hey, maybe you could give me some advice. My brother's not doing too good; its cancer. He's going to need surgery during the first week of September. Who would I talk to about taking a few days off, either before or after the long weekend?"

"Hmm... got any idea who your 'one-up' is officially?" asked Anne.

Tatum smiled, "I was hoping you'd know that."

"Well, I'm gonna say Tim's probably the best place to start. He's so distracted; he'll probably just agree and not even remember you talked to him about it." Anne laughed.

"Let's hope!" said Tatum sharing in her friend's joke.

.

Thursday afternoon Tatum had two tasks she was determined to complete. Her first task would be to follow Sarah's advice and figure out a way to get home early in September. The second would be to spend more time with her door closed and her file drawers open. First things first, Tatum drafted an email to Tim.

"Hi Tim, I don't know if you are the one I should be asking, but I thought I would start with you and perhaps if you aren't the right person, you could lead me to whoever is. My brother, Michael, was recently diagnosed with brain cancer and he will likely be having surgery early in September. I would really like to go home and visit him prior to his surgery. I thought the easiest way to make a trip without requiring too much time off might be to take a day before and after the September long weekend. Do you think that it might be possible for me to get these couple days off? Thanks, Tatum."

Tatum read and re-read her email to make sure it sounded polite and respectful; she certainly wanted her supervisor in a good mood when he was considering her request. Pleased with the result, Tatum clicked 'send'.

_Now, on to task two_ , she thought as she started rummaging through the third drawer of her desk. She easily recovered the file cabinet keys from under the third drawer's floor where she had found them earlier, and then she worked her way over to the third cabinet. Looking back to ensure her office door was firmly latched, she pulled the four dated files from the fourth drawer. Tatum reviewed each file quickly once again; mostly she saw dates, clinical notes, and family notes, generally typical case file materials.

After having quickly reviewed the files for a refresher, Tatum decided she would go back again and re-read the files closely, for detail, as she had done with the clinical histories she had used earlier that day for her reports. On several spots throughout each of the files, things had been blacked out. Reading into the places where the black markings started, she assumed that the markings were mainly intended to cover client names and the identities of others mentioned in the notes. _Looks pretty typical_ , she thought as she evaluated the black spots and other markings. _Yup,_ _I think I am getting paranoid_.

Tatum continued to read the files in detail. The first client had been a female Unit Three resident sometime around the mid 1960s. The second was from the same period, but the patient had lived on Unit Five, placed in a forensic psychiatric unit after he was found guilty of killing a family member in a fit of psychosis. He had been convinced his brother was possessed by evil spirits that could only be extracted by death of the body they had inherited. After the murder, he became convinced the spirits had continued to live through him. The third was more recent, sometime in the 1980s. The patient was a female from U4 who had made several suicide attempts, all of which had obviously been unsuccessful. She had been placed on 24hr suicide watch. Finally, Tatum came to the most recent file. The file on which Julia had been the social worker, and had subsequently signed off as the responsible clinician on the file page. Tatum didn't see anything unusual in the case notes that would have made Julia save this particular file. This case report was a bit more detailed than the others; Tatum knew requirements for record-keeping had become more substantial over the last several decades. Julia's notes described a young man with a history of sexual abuse. Sounded to Tatum like it may have been at the hands of his step-father, but the identity of the perpetrator had been blacked out. The patient had, as a result of his experience, developed serious issues with depression, anxiety, and anger, and, subsequently, had been involved in several assault incidents, none of which had led to formal charges. Eventually, he was placed on Unit Four with the intent to keep both him and others safe until he stabilized. Tatum again read and re-read the material on the page in front of her. She could not think of any reason that Julia would have held onto these particular files individually, nor could she see any links among the cases described. She carefully placed the files back in the filing cabinet and returned the keys to their concealed location.

It would take some time, but she was determined to find out why Julia Mackinley had been so determined to hold onto and hide this group of apparently unrelated patient files.

.

After Tatum returned the files to their original location, she returned to the present and suddenly realized she may have an answer from Tim waiting on her email. Quickly she logged back into her computer, anxious to see whether she would be able to visit Michael before his surgery.

"Hi Tatum, I am so very sorry to hear about your brother! Of course you can have some time to go see him before his surgery. Family comes first! Take as much time as you need, and I will figure out the details with the powers that be. Just send me an official email outlining the specific days you need, and I'll take care of the rest. My thoughts are with you! Tim."

Tatum didn't waste any time.

"Thanks so much, Tim. I really appreciate your willingness to give me this time. I was hoping to get the Thursday and Friday before the long weekend and the Tuesday following. That way, I only miss one day of clinical time because I can take my reports with me to work on while I travel. I will send you a formal email right away. Thanks so much! Tatum."

Wanting to take immediate advantage of her permission, she drafted the formal email right away as well.

"Dear Dr. Glaser, I am writing to request Sept 4th, 5th and 9th as days off for family-related leave. My brother requires surgery for brain cancer and I will be travelling home to see him. I will take my reports with me to complete off-site, but I will need coverage for my clinical time. Thank you for your consideration, Tatum O'Neill."

Tatum sent the email and then only had to wait about three minutes for the response.

"I approve. Tim Glaser."

Tatum walked home that afternoon a little lighter on her feet. She was going home to see her family. She would see Michael before it got too bad.

.

That evening Tatum took care of arrangements. She texted Sarah.

"See I listened for once ;-). I'll be there on Sept 4th. Keep the kids off candy till then. I want full permission to load them up while I'm there. Love you!"

She phoned her mom.

"Hi Mom," started Tatum.

"Hi Tatey, how are you?"

"I'm better now. I got permission for some days off; I'll be home on the September 4th."

"Oh Tate, I told you not to come yet."

"I know Mom, but I want to see him before it gets too bad. So I'm coming now. Do you think you can take some time off to come and pick me up at the airport?"

"We'll all be there, you know that."

Tatum did know that. Her family always welcomed each other home in droves. She was certain even Sarah, Peter and the kids would be there.

"Have you bought your ticket yet?" Sophia asked.

"Not yet, that's my next task after this call." "Well don't. Your dad and I will get it. I can't believe you're coming home baby. I miss you so much."

"I miss you too mom, but I'll see you soon okay?"

"I can't wait."

"Bye mom."

"Bye honey."

.

Tatum hung up the phone and then sat staring for a moment at her computer screen. She had planned to spend some time researching best prices and buying a plane ticket, but now that would be taken care of for her. She picked up her cell phone and texted some school friends that she thought she might like to meet up with for coffee while in Chicago. Then she flipped through her previous texts.

"I love you. I miss you. I'll wait," she read one more time.

Instead of continuing past the message to her other notes from home as she had done each time she'd read the text before, Tatum clicked on Niko's message so that a reply box opened. She had no idea why she'd opened the box, or what she planned to text into her response.

"I miss you too. I'll be home on September long weekend. Do you want to get together?" Tatum clicked send before she had time to reconsider.

Niko was a good man; he deserved for her to re-consider her decision. Besides, she planned to go home for good at some point _It might be nice to have something to go home to_ , she thought.

***

Tatum had one more day in the work week and then just shy of three weeks until her trip home. She knew it would go slowly, but thoughts of seeing her family would keep her busy while she did her time. Besides, Friday would be her first full day on the Research Unit and she couldn't wait to find out more about what she might be able to get going on the research side. Secretly Tatum was hoping that most of her research work would focus on Autism, but she knew she needed to be slow and strategic in her requests. Still, her internship would last only the year, so she couldn't wait too long.

Friday morning Tatum got up early and her run felt great. Knowing she would soon see her family had given her a renewed energy, something she seemed to have lost on the last night she talked to Jake. She looked forward to her coffee time and letting Milligan know about her exciting news.

"I get to go home for the long weekend!" she yelled out to her friend before he even had a chance to give her a cup.

"That's great. I guess you must have figured out who to ask for time off, hey? Dr. Glaser I presume? And he said yes?"

"You bet," she answered. "He's a pretty supportive guy actually. Sent me a nice response about how family comes first and all that."

"Good," responded Milligan, "I'm glad, cause he's right. Family does come first. I'll miss my coffee buddy though."

"I'll be back," Tatum said lightly, "and with a whole bunch of new coffee gossip to share."

Milligan and Tatum laughed.

Tatum walked quickly to work that morning. It was cooler than it had been and she knew today would be a first in the research lab, something she'd been looking forward to for a while.

"Good Morning Lisa," said Tatum as she entered the front door. "Can you buzz me in?"

"Good Morning Dr. O'Neill," said the front desk clerk of U6 while she pushed the security button. "First full day today, hey?" the friendly clerk asked Tatum.

"Yup, think I'll survive?" she asked as a joke.

"Most do," said Lisa.

_Most_? thought Tatum.

.

Unit Six was different from the other units that Tatum was familiar with, so she stopped several times to ask someone in a white coat the way to the Assessment Lab. Finally, she found the doorway into her new Friday home.

"Good Morning Garry," she called out to the research lead, the guy in charge when Dr. Fraser or Dr. Glaser weren't around.

"Hi Tatum. First full day today. Where should we start?"

"I'd like to start with a full review of the lab protocols for each study that's currently going on. That way, something I could help with might jump out at us. Would that work?"

"You bet. I'm pretty anxious to figure out somewhere to get you going. I get overwhelmed. It's nice to have someone on board that knows what she's doing and is actually gonna spend some time in here."

Tatum suspected he was referring to the lack of actual guidance and supervision he likely got from his two research supervisors. Tatum was pretty sure she knew the drill. Dr. Fraser would blow in, remind Garry how important he was and how his knowledge was invaluable to the lab, and then Dr. Glaser would blow in, offer assistance and then find a dark corner and catch a few winks.

Garry led Tatum down the hallway to an empty office.

"You can put your stuff in here. No one has been assigned to this space in a long time."

"Thanks," said Tatum as she looked around.

The office was definitely brighter and newer than her primary office, _too bad I couldn't switch_ , she thought.

"Let's start with the norming study," guided Garry. He took Tatum into the first of three pods in the lab.

The norming study was designed to complete nearly two thousand Canadian assessments using the Stanford Binet intelligence test.

"The Stanford is used all over our school districts," explained Garry, "but we have to use American norms. We have the Canadian norms for the Weschler tests, so this is the next step."

"Who's doing all those assessments?" Tatum asked.

"We have research assistants that are trained to be reliable on administration, but one of the jobs that I'd like for you to do is to complete some review and training with the assistants. Nothing like learning from someone who uses it clinically. It's just not quite the same to do it for research - a bit more canned."

Tatum nodded, she knew exactly what he meant.

"We typically see about 2 or 3 kids per day on this study. We could save some time on Fridays for you to work with them on rapport building and such. Does that sound alright with you?"

Tatum nodded again. Teaching research assistants was something she was prepared to do, but it was far from her first choice.

"What about the process studies?" Tatum asked Garry. "Same kind of thing?"

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking. None of us are registered clinicians, so I was hoping your main role for these two studies could be to do some supervision. We seem to lack a bit in that department around here." Garry didn't need to explain, Tatum knew exactly what he meant.

"Glad to help," she said to the Research Associate, "although I'm still learning too, you know?"

"Yah, I know you're an intern, but I'm perfectly happy with that," said Garry smiling. Tatum suspected for him any supervision would be good supervision.

.

Finally Garry led Tatum to the third pod in the Assessment lab, the pod where the more novel research was taking place. In the third pod, the research was exploratory, focused generally on attempting to develop new diagnostic techniques. Essentially, it seemed to Tatum like the third section functioned less like a traditional lab and more like a think tank.

"So basically, these RAs just review the literature and then provide the groundwork for new ideas?" asked Tatum.

"Yup," answered Garry.

_Well now, this is more like it_ , she thought as she ventured through the groups of offices that housed people working diligently at their computers.

"Is there anyone working on anything to do with Autism diagnosis?"

"Not yet, but I suspect it's coming," Garry winked at Tatum knowingly.

"What about observational space for exploratory stuff? she asked.

"Most of the space is spoken for, but if you have something specific in mind, I will certainly see what I can do," Garry promised.

.

Lunchtime came quickly. Tatum had been so focused on her new role she hadn't noticed the morning pass by. Garry had gone back to his desk having said something about needing to catch up on what he'd missed that morning. Tatum, free for an hour, made her usual trek down to the cafeteria where she chose a submarine sandwich and chocolate milk. Larry was standing at the door as she entered Unit Three.

"Hi Tatum, staying for lunch today?"

"You bet. I promised James a whole hour today, and I'm good for my word."

"I bet you are," said Larry. "How's your week been?"

"Okay, looking forward to the weekend though," answered Tatum wishing that Larry would go about his business and leave her to hers.

"Want some coffee?" Larry asked.

"No thanks, not today. Gotta get over to say hi." Tatum walked abruptly over to James hoping that Larry would get the message that she was done with their conversation.

He followed her for a few steps and then finally turned back and returned to his charts.

"Hey James. It's me," said Tatum. "I've got a sub sandwich and chocolate milk today. It will take me a bit to get through the whole thing, can I stay awhile? What'd you have for lunch? Something good I hope. It's not fun when you don't like what's on the menu, is it? I talked to my supervisor yesterday; they gave me some time off so I'm going to get to go home and see Michael before his surgery. I'm so happy about that. Also, my mom and dad said they'd buy my ticket, so I don't have to worry about the cost of the flight. That's a real relief."

James was an excellent listener. Tatum rattled on, and James watched his fingers. She talked for nearly the whole hour and made sure, on several occasions during her conversation, that she explained she'd be gone for a few days around the September long weekend. She wanted James to be well prepared for her absence.

It was nearing an hour so Tatum was starting to get ready for her return to work.

"Well, time for me to get back to work," Tatum said. "It's Friday so I'm in the Research Unit."

James' hands stopped dead.

.

Tatum left Unit Three once again completely confused by her friend's response to her mention of Unit Six. On her previous visit, his response had only fueled her intense curiousity about what was happening in the Research Building. Not having been allowed access had made her convinced there was something she shouldn't see. But since then, she'd had access to the Unit and could think of no reason why the only response James ever demonstrated was his immediate lack of stereotyped movement on mention of the sixth building.

Knowing she needed to go back outdoors to work her way around to the Research Unit entrance, Tatum returned to U1 on her way. It was Friday and she had no plans.

"Hey Marja, got any plans tonight?" Tatum asked the front desk clerk.

"Not really. Bob and I were probably just gonna watch a movie. Why? What have you got in mind?"

"Well, remember you said you'd like to see what I did with the apartment? I thought I could show you. Maybe order a pizza or something?"

"That sounds nice Tatum, thanks. I'll just call Bob. Make sure he's got something else to do. Probably see it as a blessing; a night to go play pool with his buddies. Can I just call you after I get ahold of him?"

"Sure thing. I'm over in the Assessment Lab this afternoon. Call me there."

"Will do," she answered as Tatum started out of U1 into the midday heat.

.

Tatum went back to the lab and busied herself studying procedural manuals for the norming and process studies.

_If I'm supposed to supervise these people, I'd better know what they're doing_ , she thought in an effort to convince herself that the dry reading was worthwhile.

Finally, the phone rang. It was Marja.

"Hi Tatum, it's Marja."

"Hey Marja."

"Bob says he's good, he'll go to the pub. I'm in for pizza. When do you want me to meet you?"

"How about right after work? Or, do you want to go home first?"

"Nope. I'm good. After work sounds great. Meet me here when you're done?"

"Perfect, see you around five."

.

Tatum and Marja rode to Regency Apartments in Marja's car. Marja seemed a bit uncomfortable.

"Are you okay?" Tatum asked.

"I don't usually get invited to have pizza with the doctors," said Marja, "I'm not really sure what to say."

"Really?" said Tatum. "Is there some kind of unspoken line that we're crossing?"

"I don't think anything official," said Marja, "just traditional."

"Well, it's time that tradition was broken," said Tatum definitively with a smile. "We're here."

.

Tatum led Marja up to apartment 203 and gave her a tour. She told her work colleague all about the new furnishings, the cleaning and the polishing and finally about the re-finished floors.

"Yah, I heard about that," said Marja.

Tatum knew full well the reference was to Jake, not the floors.

Marja wondered through the apartment, admiring the tasteful improvements Tatum had completed and they made small talk until both women were hungry for dinner.

"Ready for some food," Tatum asked.

"Please. Pizza would be great," answered Marja.

By the time the pizza arrived, a couple of beer had eased the apprehension and personalized the conversation.

"So, you've started in U6 now, hey?" Marja asked Tatum.

"Yeah, my first full day was today. Sounds like I will mostly be doing supervision of research assistants. I appreciate the lab experience, but I was hoping for something a bit more ground-breaking." Tatum smirked at her own use of the term 'ground-breaking'. "I guess I might get some opportunity to create some new stuff, but it's going to be hard to get new stuff going with all my clinical commitments and now supervising the RAs. Oh well, I guess it's all experience."

"Won't your pay go way up too?" Marja asked.

"Pay go way up? Tatum asked. "Why would that happen? My pay is just the fellowship amount; it's not determined by the hospital."

Now Tatum was curious. "Do the researchers make better money?"

"Oh, I don't know if it's for real," said Marja, "it's just a rumour that's always filtered around the Units. That some of the docs that do research make some kind of bonus or something. Probably just another WMI tall-tale. God, that place is awful for gossip. You'll figure that out."

"Are you kidding?" Tatum said with a smile. "I went out with Jake Mackinley. I may have things to learn about WMI yet, but I know the power of the Wainwright rumour mill first hand."

.

As the evening progressed, the mood became more comfortable. Tatum and Marja finished their pizza and shared a girls' night in front of a made-for-TV movie before Marja left to return to Bob. Tatum enjoyed the girl time, and even the movie was not half-bad. That is, what she saw of it. Her mind constantly darted back to Marja's comment about rumours of bonuses in the Research Unit.

# Chapter 14

August drew to a close, and Tatum was happy to hear talk that the heat was nearly done. She and Sam had made several post-yoga trips to Johnny's for breakfast and Tatum was learning that the weather network had nothing on the Saskatchewan farmer. Weather talk at Johnny's was like gossip at a beauty salon, never new, but never-ending.

September had begun and the talk at Johnny's was that it was going to be a cooler month with lots of wind. Tatum could have cared less about the weather. In a few days, she'd be going home.

Trying to make sure everything was in order before she left; Tatum planned to work a longer day on Wednesday. Assessment in the morning as usual and then off to see James. She'd planned her day so that she could spend the entire lunch hour with him. Tatum knew it would be several days until she returned; she'd prepared him, but she just wanted to be sure.

"Hi James. It's me," she said as she pulled up her chair. Tatum made some small talk about Michael and her visit, and explained that Sam would be driving her to Redman the following day to catch her plane.

When her hour was almost up, Tatum looked at James and said, "I'm going to leave now James, I have to get back to work. I will see you next Tuesday though, okay? Bye Buddy."

Tatum got up from her usual chair and started to walk away. She stopped in her tracks. From behind her she heard a muffled and unclear, but unmistakable, "Bye."

.

Sam picked Tatum up at four am for her six am flight. They stopped to grab coffee for their hour long drive and Tatum got an extra large, she'd hardly slept one minute. With one word, James had sent Tatum's head into a tailspin, thinking about possibilities for the future, for James' future. Most of the way they drove in silence, too tired to talk, but eventually Sam broke the quiet.

"So, are you going to see Niko while you're there?"

"Yup. Says he's gonna buy me dinner and a ball game. How about you? Any chance of getting things settled over the next bit?"

"Not sure. Sounds like court sometime maybe in September. Wanna go with me if it happens? Moral support and all that."

"You bet. Just let me know." The conversation ended.

.

Sam went into the airport with Tatum and helped her get her luggage checked and then said goodbye as Tatum cleared security. Tatum sat in the secure side finishing her coffee and waiting to board; her tiredness overridden by thoughts of returning home. Once on the plane, she pulled out her laptop and worked for a bit on outstanding clinical reports, trying to fulfill her promise to Tim that she would complete work on her trip. Eventually boredom got the better of her and a conversation with her seatmate seemed like the better option.

"So, Chicago your final destination?" she asked the female passenger sitting beside her.

"Yes, my daughter lives there. We just had a new grandson that I want to get my hands on," answered the passenger. "You?" she continued, encouraging more conversation.

"Yeah, my family is there. I'm just in Saskatchewan working on internship."

"An internship? In what?"

"I did my PhD in psychology, and now I'm supported by a fellowship to do my internship in Canada."

"Psychology? Are you in Wainwright?"

"Yeah, I guess that's a pretty safe bet when I say psychology and Saskatchewan, hey?" Tatum asked. "I work Monday to Thursday in a clinical section and spend Fridays on the Research unit."

"So you work in the Units. What's that like?" The passenger didn't wait for Tatum to answer. "I heard it was haunted. Is that true? I also heard they do awful stuff to the people that live there. Have you seen any of that?" Her questions came quickly with a meddlesome nosiness.

"I certainly have not," confirmed Tatum. "So far, everything seems pretty typical to me."

Tired from the questions and implications of her fellow traveler, Tatum eventually gave in to her lack of sleep the night before and dozed off. Her sound sleep continued until she was abruptly woken by her previous conversational partner.

"Hey doc," said the woman sitting in the seat beside her as she shook Tatum awake. "We're about to land. You need to put your seat up and your seatbelt on."

Tatum rubbed her eyes as she slowly realized she was about to see her family.

.

As they promised, when Tatum stepped off the plane her family was anxiously waiting. Sophia, as attractive and classy as ever, stood holding the hand of her lifelong love, Jerry. Sarah, who had inherited her mother's grand stature, stood beside Sophia, holding Jesse, her youngest. Peter was behind Sarah, holding Josh's hand in an attempt to prevent him from running through the arriving passengers. Finally, Tatum saw Michael, her dear Michael. He stood beside his father, but unfortunately shared few of his father's strong, handsome features. Although his coloring resembled Jerry's own complexion, Michael resembled many individuals with mental handicap. He had a solid frame, wide and heavy set. His head appeared disproportionately large, with wide set eyes and a jutting jaw. Michael stood with his feet widely spaced and his shoulders hunched, as if he preferred to hide his large frame. Tatum never noticed Michael's awkward appearance. Plus, Sophia had always insisted that extra effort be made to ensure Michael was as accepted as possible wherever he went. She kept his hair short, and always neatly combed. His clothes were chosen by his mother with care and attention equivalent to the time spent picking out clothes for herself, her husband, or any other family member. In addition to his trendy, well-kept exterior, Michael had the warmest, brightest, and most sincere smile, Tatum had ever seen.

As Tatum descended from the platform, Sarah and Michael were able to restrain Jesse and Josh so that their aunt could comfortably exit the crowd. But Sophia and Jerry had no such luck."Tatey!" yelled Michael, loud enough for passengers in other wings to hear. As he yelled, Michael ran towards Tatum, arms as wide as they could be, preparing to hug his sister. His ear-to-ear grin as he ran at Tatum was her warning that she had better get ready to receive the embrace of the large man racing towards her. Tatum stopped, put down her bags, and planted her feet. Even with ample preparation, the force of Michael's hug propelled her backwards so that she and her brother lay on the floor laughing and cuddling.

"Hi honey. I'm so glad you're home," said Sophia as she helped Tatum from the floor and gently kissed her daughter on the cheek while she squeezed her in a hug.

Tatum slowly worked her way through the rest of the family, hugging and kissing until she was satisfied that all her family members knew how much they were missed.

"Dinner at our place sound okay?" asked her mother.

"You bet!" answered Sarah and Tatum simultaneously, both anxiously looking forward to some of their mother's cooking.

.

Dinner was, as always, amazing. Sophia had outdone herself with a roast beef dinner, including Yorkshire pudding that she knew were her daughter's favorite. After having a second piece of chocolate pie for dessert, Tatum made a suggestion.

"Sarah, do you think it would be okay if Michael and I took the kids to the movie?" she asked her older sister. While she waited for Sarah's response, Tatum watched Michael out of the corner of her eye. She could see that her brother was both pleased and proud that he would get to go to the movie and that he was being asked to help watch his niece and nephew.

Tatum spent the rest of her first day at home concentrating entirely on Josh, Jesse and Michael. Later that night, she fell into bed feeling peaceful and at ease for the first time since finding out about Michael's tumor and breaking things off with Jake.

.

The next morning, Sophia had planned time with her two daughters. Shopping with her girls, and buying them whatever they wanted, Sophia saw as one of the main benefits to the success of the restaurants.

"What stores should we go to? What do they wear in Wainwright, Tatum?"

Tatum thought for a moment, unsure of how to describe her new home.

"It's hot mom, dress is casual. Basically anything to keep cool. But I heard it's supposed to get cooler in September, and the winters are supposed to be harsh." Tatum laughed at herself for parroting the coffee crew as if they were news hour meteorologists. "I think what I really need to do is start looking for some winter clothes. Stuff appropriate for me to walk to work."

"How far do you have to walk?" asked Sarah trying to be helpful.

"It's only a couple of blocks, but I found out quickly how far a couple of blocks are in fourty degrees."

"Fourty degrees?" asked Sarah, having no familiarity whatsoever with temperature in Celsius.

"Over 100. Really stinking hot," replied Tatum laughing. "And from what I've heard, we are going just as far the other way within the next couple months. And wind like here, to boot."

Tatum, Sarah and Sophia worked their way through several of the more casual shops that were familiar to them. Tatum picked out some new jeans, dress slacks and matching sweaters, all intended to keep her warm during the upcoming winter months. When it was nearing lunchtime, Sarah left to meet Peter and the kids at Josh's soccer practice. Tatum and her mother had plans to meet Jerry and Michael for lunch at the original Sophie's.

Sophie's was even better than Tatum remembered. In an effort to get to taste as much of her familiar fare as possible, Tatum, Sophia, and Michael each ordered something different, with the intent to share. Sophia had opted for grilled halibut with asparagus, something from the lighter menu; she fully intended to keep her feminine figure well into her later years. Tatum had opted for the seafood angel hair pasta. A tomato and olive oil-based linguine dish with kalamata olives, prawns and scallops.

In contrast to the very adult tastes of his mother and sister, Michael much preferred something deep-fried. Typical of Tatum's childlike sibling, he ordered fish and chips from the children's menu, so that he got ice cream when he finished his meal.

Tatum sampled each of the dishes. "Dad, the food is still awesome. Are you as busy as ever?"

"Busier," answered Jerry. "Need a job?" he asked with a grin. "I could use the help around here?"

Tatum knew that really her father could care less whether she helped in the restaurant, but he would have offered her a job doing anything in order to convince her to stay closer to home.

.

Tatum had traveled home to spend time with Michael prior to his surgery, and she intended to make good on her plan.

"Wanna play 'fish' when we get home Tatey?" he had asked Tatum in the car on the way home from lunch.

"You bet buddy," answered Tatum, "as many games as you want."

Michael wanted a lot of games. Tatum played fish until she finally realized it was time to go to meet Dr. Zubert. They had agreed to meet for a casual dinner to go over Tatum's internship so far. Tatum was looking forward to finally speaking with someone with whom she was allowed to share details about her experience.

.

"Tatum, you look amazing!" exclaimed Dr. Zubert as she grabbed Tatum in a tight motherly bear-hug. "How long are you home?"

"Just till Monday. Came home to see Michael. He has to have surgery sometime within the next couple of weeks. I wanted to see him before they get started. His doctors are unsure what will happen once they've opened him up. Apparently, cutting into the tumour might just make it mad," Tatum joked, hoping to make the seriousness of the situation a little lighter.

"I'm so sorry to hear that," said Tatum's mentor. "I hope things go okay." She paused. "How are things with you? How's the internship going? I know a little bit from your emails, but tell me everything."

"Well, where should I start? I guess with a bit of a description. The place is unbelievable. It's the most amazing building, said to be more than a mile around. Well, it's actually six separate buildings, but they are all separate units of the same institution. That's what the locals call it, 'the Units'."

"Is that right," Dr. Zubert responded, encouraging her to continue.

They had decided on coffee and desert, Tatum was still full from lunch. They paused as the waitress brought Tatum her Earl Grey and orange cranberry scone. Her teacher had decided to splurge a little and ordered a coffee to go with her chosen mocha cheesecake. Dr. Zubert nibbled on her desert. Tatum hardly touched hers, not allowing herself a break to eat; she had too much to tell.

"I work on the clinical units Monday through Wednesday, and then Thursday is report writing and meetings and stuff and Friday I'm in the Research Unit."

"What kind of patients are you seeing?"

"Lots of stuff your stories are made of," laughed Tatum, "depression, OCD, brain injury, everything actually. I'm doing mostly assessments. I think they were looking for someone to take some of the neuropsych load. Dr. Glaser, Tim, likes to offload anything he can and I think lots of his load was assessment. He's a really nice guy, but really distracted and I think he's constantly overwhelmed."

"I think I talked to him on the phone about your reference; he did seem nice," added Dr. Zubert "Any particularly interesting cases?" she continued.

"Cases, no. Situations, yes. I think I mentioned Jake in my emails, right?"

"Oh, yes, the hunk," Dr. Zubert teased.

"Did I mention his wife?" Tatum asked. "Yes, you said she'd been murdered at work. How terrible."

"Well, now I think I have her old office," said Tatum, "and I found some files."

"What kind of files?"

"Well, they just look like normal clinical files, but she went to great length to make sure they were hidden, so I don't know what to think. I've read them front to back and can't figure out what she was protecting."

"Hmm," said Tatum's mentor.

"And then there's James."

"James?"

"Yeah, did I mention him?"

"I don't think so. Oh wait, is that the Autistic boy, you said you'd been visiting?"

"Yah, well he's not a boy, I think he's twenty-something, but that's him."

"Twenty-something is still a boy to me," joked her aging advisor. "What's going on there?"

"Well, yesterday he said bye to me. I'm sure I heard it. It was mumbled and hard to make out, but I was certain it was there."

"Is he non-verbal?"

"Hasn't said a word to anyone in over twenty years," clarified Tatum.

"Well that's great then. I guess your time and attention are paying off."

"I guess so. Doesn't seem like they know what to do with Autism in Saskatchewan, basically he just gets ignored. Maybe he just needed some attention."

"I suspect you're right."

"I'd actually really like to get something going up there for the Autistic group. Prevent more situations like James."

"That sounds like a good idea."

"But, that's not the weird part."

"There's a weird part?"

"Yah, like I said James hasn't spoken in more than twenty years."

"And?" pushed Dr. Zubert.

"And he completes stereotypies with his hands continually throughout the day; that's gone on for more than twenty-years too."

"That's not unusual," said her teacher.

"But, every time I mention the Research Unit, I think his hands stop, just for a second."

"Are you sure? Happens every time?"

"Well, twice for sure. At first, because I wasn't given access, it made me suspicious that something funny was going on in there. But, now I've spent time in U6, and it all seems fine. So I don't know what to think."

"Maybe it's just a coincidence?" said Dr. Zubert.

"Maybe. I guess all the stories about the place are making my imagination work overtime."

"Yah, there certainly are some theories aren't there? I've even heard that it's haunted."

"Well, it certainly could be. People sure seem to do a lot of dying in there."

"What do you mean?"

"Just lots of suicide by the patients. Tim told me that it happens all the time, I'll get used to it. I don't know that I will."

"Well, it certainly sounds like you're getting lots of experience, at a whole lot of things."

"That I am," responded Tatum.

"Keep me posted."

"Will do."

.

The next morning Tatum woke to the familiar smell of her mom's pancakes and sausages. She looked at the clock; it was nearly nine thirty. _Funny how being home makes me sleepy_ , thought Tatum as she pulled herself out of bed and into the shower. She knew the plan for the morning was to watch her nephew play soccer, so she'd dressed down for comfort. Breakfast was as good as it smelled and Tatum splurged a little so that she could make whipped cream happy faces with Michael. He insisted. It had been their tradition since they were kids. After breakfast, Tatum, her brother and her parents piled in Jerry's car and headed to Josh's soccer game. It was a warm, humid day. _So different than Wainwright's burning, dry heat_ , thought Tatum as she took in a deep breath of the wet air

The soccer fields were busy, filled with parents and kids desperate to find the right field, with the right team. The people and commotion were hard for Michael; he kept his head down and to the side and self soothed with a slight rocking motion as his mother slowly led him through the crowd of people and noise. Finally, they reached their destination and Tatum saw her tall sister and brother-in-law looking for them above the crowd.

"Over here!" Sarah yelled to her family. Tatum ran over and picked up her niece for a hug.

"Where's Josh," Tatum asked.

"Right there," Peter pointed to the field where there were about twenty 5 year olds, all wearing identical clothing and facing the opposite direction as they listened intently to the instructions of their coach.

"Which one?" she queried.

"The tall one," Sarah answered and Tatum could see right away how Josh towered above his teammates.

"Runs in the family, hey?" Tatum joked with her sister.

Finally, the whistle blew and the game started. Tatum could see that not only was her nephew taller than most, he was also faster. She beamed with pride. Unfortunately, one of the dads was less than impressed that his son was being left out of the play. He stormed over to the coach and started to have words. As the talk escalated, Tatum watched her brother; she could see he was becoming agitated. Suddenly, Michael started to scream and flap. He wanted the yelling to stop. His screams were intense, reminding Tatum of the air-raid type alarm she'd heard in the Units the day of the suicide. He screamed and flapped with such intensity that there was nothing Sophia could do. Jerry started to lead Michael off the field, but ended up just backing away in an effort to protect himself from the violent outburst.

Then, as quickly as it began, the tantrum just stopped. At first Tatum felt relief at knowing the public display was finally over. She looked at her brother standing still as if in a catatonic state, saw the expressions of relief on her parents' faces that the outburst had ended, and then turned back toward Michael. Tatum watched in horror as her brother dropped to the ground and seized in a fit of tremors. With a full audience, the O'Neill family circled around their youngest member, hoping his seizure would stop. Finally, the fit of convulsions ceased and Michael lay perfectly still. The initial relief at seeing Michael lay silent was quickly replaced by panic as the family realized he wasn't breathing.

The moments following seemed to Tatum like a bad nightmare. She watched in horror and disbelief as a soccer dad tried to revive her brother. Slowly a fire truck and ambulance showed up at the scene and Tatum stood back, surrounded by her equally shocked family, and watched her brother be loaded onto a stretcher and driven away.

.

Sophia had ridden in the ambulance with Michael, so Tatum and Jerry drove together in silence toward the hospital with Sarah, Peter and the kids following behind. When they arrived, a nurse led them into the emergency room where Sophia sat solemnly at the bedside of her comatose son.

"How is he?" asked Michael's devastated father.

"Don't know. I haven't talked to anyone yet. They just came in and hooked him up to all of these machines and then left."

Tatum looked at her brother lying on the hospital bed; he looked so much smaller buried beneath all of the tubes and devices. Jerry sat beside his one love, put his arm around her shoulder and reassured her.

"We knew this was coming Sophie. Surgery will just come quicker now, that's all."

As usual, Tatum was amazed at her father's quiet strength as her mother softly sobbed into her hands.

.

The rest of the afternoon was like a dream. Sarah and Peter stayed for several hours and then left to take the kids home, with the promise that Sarah would return for a bit later that evening. Tatum sat in silence with her parents until finally the silence became too much to bear.

"Aren't you supposed to go out with Niko tonight honey?" asked Sophia.

"Oh shoot. I forgot," responded Tatum. "I will text him right away and let him know I can't go."

"No Tatum. Don't. There's nothing you can do here. You have your cell. We can call if anything changes."

"I'm not going, mom. Don't be silly."

"Yes, you are," said Jerry quietly, but with a firmness Tatum knew better than to question.

.

At five Jerry drove Tatum home so that she could get ready for her date with Niko. She started her preparation with a long soak in the tub, hoping that the warm water and soothing bubbles would quiet some of the shock from the day. Feeling no less dismayed, but slightly more relaxed, Tatum stepped out of the bathtub and began to plan for the evening ahead. Knowing Niko had planned for dinner followed by the casual atmosphere of the Cubs game, Tatum chose the same summer dress she had worn the day at the fair.

Just like the time she had worn the bridesmaid's dress before, Tatum was pleased with the result when she looked in the mirror. However, unlike the previous time, her face looked tired, puffy and sad. She left her hair down, but in place of the playful curls she had worn on her date with Jake, she straightened her locks into a sleek urban style. In an attempt to hide some her sorrow, she applied more makeup than usual, especially around her eyes.

The ballgame started early, and she knew Niko would arrive soon to ensure they had time for dinner. At just after six, Niko pulled into the driveway and Tatum watched out the window as he made his way up to her parents' front porch. Before he could ring the bell, Tatum opened door and fell into Niko's familiar arms.

"Tate, what's wrong?" Niko asked with sincere concern.

Finally talking to someone who did not need her to be strong, Tatum began to cry. She told Niko all about Michael and the events of the morning.

"I'm so sorry," he said as he held her and let her weep out her sadness.

Tatum appreciated the release and the familiar embrace.

"Thanks Niko," she said to the handsome man in front of her, "I actually feel a lot better."

"Do you still want to go?"

"I didn't think so. But I think I'm ready now. A night out might actually get my mind off Michael for a while. I need to go freshen up though. Can you give me a minute?"

"I told you I would wait," Niko said with a smile.

.

Tatum quickly reapplied some makeup and then followed Niko out the door to his car. He held her hand as they walked, providing the reassuring support of a friendly touch. He opened the door of his blue BMW and held it patiently until his pretty companion was firmly seated and buckled.

"Is this a new car?" asked Tatum.

"Yeah, company got it for me as a bonus. I guess all those hours pay off, hey?"

Tatum thought about the country music that had played in Jake's pickup, and the strangeness she now felt being in Niko's expensive car, listening to hip hop. The familiar couple made small talk as they drove to the restaurant Niko had chosen for dinner. She told him about Wainwright and WMI, and he told her about his work and all the money he was making.

Niko had thoughtfully chosen Tatum's favorite restaurant, other than Sophie's of course. It was a small family-owned Italian place on the east side. It had a bring-your-own wine policy, and Niko had attentively thought to bring a bottle of Two Oceans.

"To renewing our life and our love," he toasted before the couple shared their first sip.

Tatum just toasted, she never said a word.

.

Dinner was as delicious as she remembered and the wine had numbed some of her pain from the day. Teetering just a little as she walked, Tatum held Niko's hand as the hailed a cab to take them over to the ball park.

"I can get the car tomorrow," Niko had reassured her. He wasn't about to let the cost of a cab ride get in the way of a potential reconciliation with Tatum.

The ride was short, and Tatum was excited to see Wrigley Field come into view. Something she and Niko had always shared was their love of the Cubs.

"Want something to drink?" asked Niko as he led Tatum through the crowd toward their seats.

"You bet I do," she responded, "beer." At the moment, nothing seemed like a better idea than getting just a little bit drunker than she already was.

Niko purchased two beer and then the couple found their way to their designated area behind first base line.

"These are good seats," observed Tatum.

"It's a special occasion," responded Niko, gazing at length into his partner's pretty face.

.

With the evening sun on her face, several drinks worth of relaxation, and her favorite team on the field, Tatum felt like she should have been on the top of the world. But, instead, her thoughts drifted from Michael to her time with Milligan, watching the Blue Jays in the comfort of his company.

"Are you alright?" Niko asked, knowing Tatum more than well enough to recognize she wasn't herself.

"I'm okay," she answered, "just thinking about Michael."

She left out the part about how she was also thinking about her new life in Wainwright, Milligan... and Jake.

.

As the evening progressed, more beer meant less thinking about things outside of the present. Appreciating his companionship and ease of their well-known relationship, Tatum allowed herself to let down all of her guards.

"I've missed you," Niko whispered into her ear as he placed his arm around Tatum and kissed her softly on the head.

"I've missed you too," she replied honestly as she nuzzled in closer wanting to take full advantage of his warmth and comfort.

.

When the game finally ended, Tatum and Niko stumbled out to the front entrance to catch a cab.

"Where to now?" he asked, hopeful he could predict her response.

"Let's go to your place," she answered confirming his aspirations.

Niko paid the cabbie and then the couple stumbled up the stairs of the very well-known building that used to be Tatum's home. He held protectively around her shoulders as they staggered through the hallways, bending over to kiss her lightly whenever the opportunity arose. Finally, Niko worked the lock on the door and opened the entrance to an apartment tastefully decorated in a style Tatum had considered carefully before making her choice. In complete contrast to her old-world apartment in Wainwright, here she had intentionally chosen a sleek, contemporary style, with looks above comfort. All the apartment's lines were smooth, with glossy, lustrous finishes that now struck Tatum as cold.

Niko shut the door and grabbed Tatum's hand. He pulled her to him and then turned her to press her against the wall behind. Thrust up against her, he kissed her lightly on the lips and then slowly worked his way down her neck. As he tantalized her sensitive skin with his tongue, he slipped his hand from the small of her back slowly down. For a split second Tatum resisted, and then, emotionally spent and under the influence of the evening's refreshments, she gave in. She tilted her head back so that Niko could easily access the rest of her upper body, and then groaned as he placed his soft lips and tongue behind her ear, working his way from her neck downwards to caress the rest of her. Unable to resist any longer, Tatum placed her hand under Niko's chin and lifted his face to meet hers. She put her lips against his and then allowed them to come apart, permitting him full access to explore the inside of her mouth. He expertly worked his tongue, making Tatum even less capable of resisting what she knew was about to happen.

Spent from many hours of catching up, Tatum and Niko laid comfortably in one another's arms, feeling the security of a long time love. Tatum felt relaxed and content, as if the events of earlier in the day had been erased. She slept.

.

The morning light peeked in between the small crack left in Niko's curtains. Tatum rubbed her eyes, careful not to raise her aching head too quickly. She rolled over and saw the handsome, hard-working, overly-driven man lying beside her. She kissed his cheek lightly. For the first time, she was certain about her relationship with Niko. This would be their last kiss; she didn't belong here anymore.

***

The rest of Tatum's trip to Chicago was a blur. Explaining her decision to Niko had been painful, but not nearly as painful as the repeat trips to the hospital and the lack of progress for Michael. Tatum had never expected that getting on the plane would feel like a relief, but despite her regret at leaving her family during this very difficult time, there was a part of her that was comforted by the thought of returning to the place that she knew was becoming home.

# Chapter 15

Wednesday morning Tatum woke up, feeling as if she'd been gone from Wainwright for a year, instead of only the couple of days it had actually been. She got up early, desperately wanting to go for a long run to make up for the many runs she'd missed during her trip.

The morning air was already warm, but Tatum didn't care. She was caught up in the amber glow of the sunrise, and the quiet, peaceful daybreak Wainwright offered. Her run was easy, fluid and strong; the dry air seemingly a welcome relief from the humidity of the previous few days.

She turned the key to the main building entrance and loped up the stairs to apartment 203. Putting little thought into her dress, she pulled her hair into a pony tail and dabbed on some blush. Her priority for this morning was not her appearance; it was telling Milligan about her trip and plotting some way to make up for her blunder with Jake.

.

"Welcome back!" exclaimed Milligan as he poured Tatum's first cup. It was early; he knew she had time for more than one.

"Glad to be back," she responded in kind.

"So... tell me all about it," her friend prodded, not wasting any time with small talk.

"Let's see, where should I start?"

"At the beginning," Milligan instructed.

"Well, the flight was long, but everybody was at the airport when I got there, so that was nice and my mom cooked which is always a treat." Milligan nodded. "My mom and Sarah and I did some shopping, and I got to have dinner at Sophie's. I'd forgotten how good it is." Milligan nodded some more. "Friday night I met up with Dr. Zubert. We met for coffee and talked shop. Was nice to have someone to talk to where I didn't have to worry that I was breaching confidentiality every time I opened my mouth."

"Did she have any good advice?"

"Not really, just a friendly ear and the promise of having someone on my side if I need it."

"That's always good to know," said Milligan.

"Yeah, and then it all went to shit." Tatum's voice inflection changed and Milligan's curiousity intensified.

"What? Why? What happened?" he asked.

"Well, we all went to Josh's soccer game on Saturday and it started out fine. Then Michael got agitated by all the noise and had an outburst."

"Oh, shoot," said her friend, "that must have been stressful."

"There's more," she continued. "Then he seized and went limp. They took him to the hospital on a stretcher. He's still comatose." Tatum was surprised at how matter-of-fact she was able to tell the story. _When I first found out, I was such mess_ , she thought, _what's wrong with me now?_

"Do you know what is going to happen now?"

"No, but I know mom and dad will keep me up to date. And, if they downplay it, Sarah will always tell me the truth."

"You actually seem okay," said Milligan with surprise.

"Yeah, I do feel okay now. It's funny. Think I just really needed to see him, go back to Chicago."

"Yeah, home is important isn't it?"

"I used to think so. But now I'm wondering if the old saying is true?"

"What's that?"

"Home is where the heart is."

"Hmm," was his only response.

.

Just like Milligan, Marja greeted Tatum with a warm "Welcome back" as she buzzed her through to the secure side. Tatum started her day at the computer, checking emails and ensuring she was familiar with her schedule for the week. She knew that her evenings would be full; she had several reports that needed completing. Work had been far from her priority over the last several days.

Wednesday was scheduled as a typical day, just as if she'd never left; assessment in the morning and early afternoon, followed by therapy later in the day. Her assessment was an outpatient from the community, an uncomplicated evaluation that was required by the patient's employer. Tatum found the more typical client a bit of a relief in her effort to re-acclimatize to the routine of the mental hospital.

Lunch time came slowly, mostly she suspected because she was anxious to see James. She was hopeful he would speak again and she couldn't wait to meet him and find out. When she was finished for the morning, she quickly made arrangements for the afternoon session and then picked up a quick to-go bag from the cafeteria before making her way to Unit Three.

James was in his usual location, with Larry hovering nearby, presumably waiting to get a glimpse of his favorite new doctor. Tatum threw him a quick greeting and then progressed speedily toward her lunchtime companion.

"Hi James. It's me. I'm back from my trip. Thanks for saying bye before I left, that meant a lot to me."

Tatum had considered long and hard how she would address his having spoken. She wanted to acknowledge it, without making too big of a deal.

"I had a good trip and got to see my brother before he got too sick. That's why I went. He's not doing so well now though. He's in the hospital, in a coma. I guess my mom and dad will tell me if anything changes. Anything changed around here?"

Tatum looked around. She realized something had changed. Something was missing.

"Did somebody get transferred?" Tatum asked James, knowing full well she was actually asking herself more than him. "Jim!" she exclaimed realizing finally what was absent. "Where'd Jim go? I'll be right back," she explained to James.

"Larry," she asked the unit head, "where'd Jim go?"

Larry was close by, as always, and answered Tatum's question quickly.

"Sorry Tatum. While you were gone, he was our latest victim of the beast."

Tatum knew 'the beast' was code for suicide. It happened often enough that, for the staff of WMI, it had taken on a life of its own.

.

Tatum returned to her afternoon assessment feeling saddened by Jim's departure, and slightly disappointed that James had chosen to refrain from saying anything further. Thankfully, the rest of the assessment was quick and routine, so her thoughts roaming elsewhere had little impact.

Therapy that afternoon turned out to be coverage for Tim. Their schedules had been switched all around in order to accommodate Tatum's time away. At three thirty, Tatum re-visited U3 and met Liz Crandall in one of the non-observation therapy rooms.

"Hi Liz, I'm Dr. O'Neill. I'm not sure if you remember me. We met one other time, I was observing Dr. Glaser."

"I remember you. You're pretty," said Liz as she brushed her hair continuously in solid strokes. "How come you're here today? Where's Dr. Glaser?"

"To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what he's up to this afternoon, but I'm here because he did me a favour and switched me some scheduling so that I could make a trip home. My brother is not well."

"I'm not well either," Liz replied.

"Is that right Liz? Tell me more about that."

Tatum knew that she was essentially responsible for filling time and making Liz feel good. Kind of like a substitute teacher, a substitute clinician usually would challenge little and cover little new ground.

"I like to brush my hair," was Liz's definitive response.

"I see that. What happens if you don't brush your hair," Tatum inquired.

"My scars heal. I will never let me scars heal. No one can see if my scars heal."

"What do you mean," asked Tatum.

"Look at my scars."

Tatum didn't want to look, she expected to see significant scaring where Liz had brushed her hair so hard her scalp had been damaged.

"No," said Liz, "really look."

Tatum felt silly bending over a patient's head inspecting her scalp, but she had done weirder things to gain someone's trust. Liz pulled her hair back and clearly showed Tatum the spot that had been brushed to the point of blood. Underneath the dried blood and hair were definite scars. The scars were barely visible to the naked eye, thin, clean and obviously the work of someone who was a master with a scalpel.

"How did this happen?" asked Tatum.

"I don't know," said Liz. "I was in my unit and I wasn't doing so good. Then I woke up and there they were. Somebody did something Dr. O'Neill. I won't forget. I won't let them forget."

As she spoke, Liz brushed more and more furiously until blood started once again to seep from the wounds on the side of her head.

.

On yet another afternoon walk home from WMI, Tatum wondered about the chain of strange events that seemed to continue to occur at her workplace. _What does it all mean?_ she asked herself as she walked. Liz's scars had added a whole new series of questions to those that already existed about Julia's files and James' apparent fear of the Research Unit.

Tatum arrived at her apartment building having no recollection of even completing her trek. She walked into her familiar surroundings and flopped down on the comfort of her sofa, intending to spend some more time pondering any apparent link among each of the disconcerting events.

She sat in thought until her stomach finally told her that her time was up. She went to the fridge but realized it had not been stocked since earlier the week before, and therefore a trip to the Co-op was going to be necessary before she would be able to eat. Armed with a wagon she'd finally purchased to make her grocery excursions less uncomfortable, she headed out toward the grocery store. Instead of making a direct route, Tatum found herself turning toward Main Street. Not really knowing where she was going, Tatum found herself standing in front of the old firehouse, hoping that she would catch a glimpse of Jake. _I'm going to deal with this tonight_ , she decided as she walked away, much less concerned about her stomach than her heart.

.

Tatum chose fish and asparagus for her night's dinner. Feeling slightly bloated from the indulgences of the weekend, she found herself craving slightly lighter fare. She ate alone and for the first time since moving to Wainwright, she felt truly lonely. She missed the thought of Jake, his soft voice, his strong arms. Summoning all the courage she had, Tatum made the call.

"Hello Jake. This is Tatum."

"Hi Tatum," said the quiet masculine voice with a hint of confusion.

"I am calling to ask if you'd like to go out with me. You see, I realized I'm stupid and I never should have turned down your mother's cooking." Tatum laughed nervously, trying to hide her anxiety with humor. Jake didn't laugh.

"I'm confused Tatum," he responded seriously.

"I made a mistake Jake. I know that now. I gave up before I even gave us a chance. So, if you'll let me, I like to ask you out on a date. My treat this time."

"Your treat?" he teased, finally lightening up to Tatum's voice.

"Yes, my treat. Whatever you want."

"Okay dinner and a movie, Friday. But not any dinner, I want to eat at the Depot. A friend told me it was really good," he said teasingly. "What time should I expect you here to pick me up?" he asked

"Uhmmm," stammered Tatum.

Jake saved her from embarrassment. "It's okay beautiful, I'm just kidding. You'd have to piggy back me. How about if I get you around six thirty? We can go for dinner around seven and still be at the movie by nine. Sound okay?"

"Sounds perfect."

"Okay, see you Friday. Oh, and Tatum," he paused. Tatum waited for him to tell her he was happy she'd called. "I'm having the prime rib and crab legs, on you."

They both laughed and hung up the phone. Tatum turned on CMT willingly for the first time in her life. She danced around the room singing along with Tim McGraw, a singer who, two months prior, she'd never even heard of.

.

Thursday morning Tatum still felt light and happy; the thought of going out with Jake Friday keeping her mood on the positive side. She had slept sound and gotten up only when the alarm rang, leaving her only the minimal amount of time to fit in her run and still have a bit of time for coffee.

"Running late today?" Milligan asked, looking at his watch as she walked toward the coffee table.

"Yeah. But in exchange I got a good night's sleep. I talked to Jake last night," she blurted out, unable to hide her excitement.

"I thought you decided that was a bad idea?"

"A girl can change her mind you know," Tatum smirked.

"Did something happen with Niko while you were home to make you have a change of heart?"

"Gotta go, Mill. Gonna be late for work. Stay tuned," she called coyly smiling as she headed toward the Units.

.

The day ahead had been scheduled as a report-writing day and Tatum knew she had a lot of work to do. The reports from the week before were still waiting for her attention, in addition to the new reports for the outpatient from the day prior. Despite knowing she'd need the entire day, Tatum ignored the waiting work-load and locked her door. She nervously opened the end filing cabinet one more time and pulled out the file folders hidden for safe keeping. This time she knew what she was looking for. She scanned the reports, line by line, detail by detail. Finally, she found it. Hidden deep amongst the complex and dry medical mumbo jumbo that accompanied most patient files, Tatum saw the words _surgical scars evident across temporal lobe, undetermined origin._

.

The next stop was the filing room. Tatum went directly into the Unit Three filing area and searched for the file labeled "Elizabeth Crandall". Having seen Liz the day before, Tatum tried to look as nonchalant as possible as she retrieved the patient record and returned to her office. She was hopeful that if anyone asked, she would be able to hold her composure and maintain her story that she needed it for preparation of her clinical notes. Just as she rounded the corner to the final corridor, Tim came toward her.

"Hey Tatum, I'm glad I finally caught up with you. How was your trip?"

"It was okay. Thanks for asking?"

"And how is your brother?"

"Actually, he's not doing that well. While I was there he had a seizure and now he's in a coma. We're just waiting and praying at the moment."

"Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that. Let me know how it goes over the next bit, okay?"

"I will."

"I guess you know I saw some of your patients yesterday, we'll have to get together to catch up. Oh yeah, that's right, you saw Liz for me, right? Is that her file you have there?"

Tatum looked down at the file in her arms. Sticking to her story she said as calmly as she could muster, "yes, just taking it back to make sure I know where I'm at while I'm doing the clinical notes. Is that okay?"

"Sure. Just make sure it goes back, alright? Did you sign it out?"

Tatum had intentionally not signed out the clinical record she had in her arms. "Yeah, I did and I'll definitely be sure to get it right back."

"Okay, good enough. Wanna send me an email about a time to get together for review?"

"You bet."

.

Tatum wasn't taking any chances of meeting up with someone else. She moved as quickly as possible through the remaining hallways to her office. Finally, she felt some relief as she locked the door and opened the file she'd protected as she walked. Similar to earlier that day, Tatum starting reviewing the file line by line, evaluating every detail. She saw no evidence of any medical records acknowledging her scars, nor did she see any reason why Liz would require any type of surgery to her head.

Liz had been a life-long sufferer of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, but had no physical symptoms or history of head trauma that would have indicated surgery. _Could she have somehow made the incisions herself?_ Tatum questioned as she attempted to find any logical explanation for Liz's markings and the similarity with the description in Julia's hidden files.

Knowing she was starting to over evaluate everything to the point where her thoughts weren't logical, Tatum decided it was time to take a break and that meant it was time to visit with James. Her time with James had become almost therapeutic for her. She talked, he listened. She justified her need to see him by convincing herself and the others on U3 that it was therapy for James. Familiarity and social interaction had already made him say one word; who knew how much more he was capable of.

First things first, Tatum returned Liz's file to the filing cabinet, confident it had been returned in its original condition, with no official record of her ever having signed it out. Then, she grabbed a coffee and a croissant in place of lunch; her mind was whirling, taking away any previous thoughts of hunger.

.

Tatum entered Unit Three, hopeful that today would be Larry's day off. She wasn't in the mood to answer any of his questions, or deal with his hovering. Looking both ways to avoid the lovestruck unit head, Tatum worked her way over toward the window, where, as always, James sat.

"Hey James, it's me. I don't have any lunch today, don't have much of appetite." Tatum paused. "There's some stuff I can't figure out. I haven't talked to you about it up until now, but it actually started with you. I thought that I noticed that my mentioning the research unit made you upset. Since then, I've seen a couple of other things that don't make sense to me. I sure wish you would tell me more; I know you can't, but I feel like you know something that you'd like to share. Anyway, enough of that. I called Jake last night, we have a date set for tomorrow. I have to buy though, because I'm the one doing the groveling." Tatum laughed. "We don't know any more about Michael yet. I think he might go into surgery next week, so I have my fingers crossed. Someday maybe you'll tell me about your family. Where you were raised, your likes and dislikes, stuff like that. I sure would like to know more about you."

Tatum continued to talk, just filling empty air with anything she could think of to say. Finally, she realized she was running out of time.

"I need to get back to work now James. I actually haven't done much at all this morning and now I have all of my reports that need to be done this afternoon and tonight. I'm in the research unit tomorrow, but I should be able to come by for lunch as usual. If not, I will let you know, so you are not waiting for me, okay? See you later."

Tatum got up from her seat and started to place her chair back under the table as she did every day. She whirled around in shock when she once again heard James begin to speak. "Mom sexy," he said with his garbled, unpracticed voice.

"What? What did you say?" Tatum almost yelled at the boy near the window.

"Mom sexy," James said again in an equally unclear tone.

"Mom sexy? What in the world does that mean?"

James turned back toward the window and concentrated intently on the movement in his fingertips.

Tatum felt irritated and hurt. _His first words to me are to call me a sexy mama? I thought he was different, but it turns out he's a man, just like all the rest._ She wasn't certain she would make time to visit with James the next day.

.

Walking back to her office, Tatum looked around the hospital and thought about all of the types of people that lived and worked there. _Working here may be driving me crazy_ , she thought. _Maybe there isn't as much difference between the doctors and the patients as I used to think_.

She had asked James about the research unit and her other concerns, and all he could do was act like a typical man and hit on her. _I really need to stop all this silliness. No more googling, file surfing or anything else that's contributing to me losing my mind_ , she decided firmly.

She spent the rest of the afternoon and evening working on completing her outstanding reports and updating clinical notes; that was all.

.

Tatum had worked late into the night making sure that she was caught up on all of her incomplete patient files. Friday morning came early, and a day supervising research assistants seemed less than enticing. The morning was darker; fall was starting to take a firm grasp. Instead of her warm sunny morning runs, her morning exercise was now dark and cool. The clothing her mother had bought for her on her trip home now entirely appropriate for the changing season.

Milligan moved the coffee table back and forth, from inside to out. He often had his first cup in the building lobby, and then transferred his operation to the outdoors when sunrise was finally complete and the rays provided external heat. It was a sunny day, so Milligan had already moved outdoors when Tatum made her way to her usual chair.

"Research day today?" asked Milligan.

"Yah, don't I seem thrilled?"

"I thought you were looking forward to your research time?"

"I was until I realized I was essentially going to be used as a glorified babysitter. Last week Garry basically explained that my primary task is to make sure that the research assistants are reliable."

"While that sounds pretty important," Tatum's supportive friend commented.

"Important yes, exciting no," she answered.

"That's enough about work anyway," Milligan stated. "I want to hear more about your cliffhanger yesterday. What happened between you and Niko?"

"Not much really. We went out the night Michael went into the coma. Probably a mistake now that I think about it, I was an emotional wreck. Seeing him just made me realize that I didn't belong there anymore. I needed to know if he was what I really wanted, and he isn't."

"What made you so sure?"

"Honestly, I couldn't describe it if I tried. I just felt out of place. Like all the things I thought I wanted before, don't matter anymore." Tatum's inflection changed as she spoke more to herself than to her coffee partner. "The success, the money, the fancy cars and shiny things, they don't mean anything. Niko doesn't know that."

"You're wise beyond your years, do you know that?" Milligan informed Tatum.

"Through tragedy, comes growth," answered Tatum quietly, thinking about her brother's swollen head covered with wires and assorted medical devices.

.

The work day Friday passed slowly. As Garry had instructed, Tatum spent most of her day observing research assistants completing assessments and providing them with direction and supervision. At lunchtime, still angry with James for the day before, she stopped at Unit Three only long enough to explain to him that she was going to meet Anne for lunch as she occasionally did on Fridays.

The staff courtyard had gone from overheated to spectacular. Once too hot to sit on, the stately marble benches now provided cool seating to sit and enjoy the low-lying September sun. The stately grounds, previously green on green now boasted a multitude of fall colors. The leaves were remarkable reds, oranges, and yellows, natural brilliance like Tatum had never seen. The expansiveness of the grounds made looking into the distance seem as if it was a painted picture, rather than the boundaries of a mental institution. Tatum caught her breath, not because of the heat as she had done before, but because of the beauty that surrounded her. She had certainly seen similar fall scenes in Chicago, but regardless of the beauty surrounding them, the noise, people, and commotion always detracted the awe from the experience. Anne broke her contemplation of the scene.

"So, how'd your week go?"

"Pretty good I guess. Worked late yesterday cause I was behind from my trip."

"How's Michael doing anyway," asked Anne.

"No change. Probably won't be any change until after the surgery. Mom and Sarah keep me posted. How about you? How was your week?"

"I've had better," answered Anne.

"Why what happened?"

"Do you remember Kory? The one you did the intake assessment on when you first got here?"

"Yah, I've been seeing him occasionally, just for check-ins, consults and such. What's up with Kory?"

"He assaulted a nurse last week. Thursday, the day you left actually. I guess she lifted her arm toward him the wrong way and he thought she was threatening him. He clocked her good and then didn't stop until the orderlies restrained him. He got charged. I don't know what happened, maybe he hasn't been to court yet I don't know. I imagine he will just end up on U5 either way."

"Where is he now?"

"I think they're holding him in U4. I don't think anything is official yet and U5 is a forensic unit, so they don't put you there until you've been sentenced."

"Can I go see him?"

"Do you have access?"

"Not yet."

"Could probably ask Tim. Get signed in, or just ask to have an access upgrade. You've been here long enough by now, haven't you?"

"I have no idea. What am I waiting for?"

"Usually just want to make sure that you're acclimatized to the life of a mental hospital; that it's not going to shock you into quitting. Are you going to quit if we give you access?" Anne teased.

"Nope, too late for that," said Tatum, "I don't know if there's anything left that could surprise me."
Chapter 16

Tatum's walk home from work was brisker than usual. She knew she only had a couple of hours until Jake would arrive to pick her up, and she thought she might require all of it to get ready. She started in the bath, taking some time to mull over her expectations for the evening. Remembering her disappointment at their previous date's ending, she thought perhaps this time if he tried to kiss her cheek she'd redirect him. _Hmm, probably not_ , she laughed at her knowing she'd probably never follow through with the bravery she felt here in the bathtub.

She picked out her clothes carefully, knowing that the evening would be cool. The Depot was one of the classiest places in Wainwright, so she pulled out one of the dresses she'd chosen while her mom was feeling generous on their recent shopping trip. The dress was a dark blue knit with a high collar. The knitted material fit her every curve and with the recent stress of Michael, she knew her figure was even slimmer than usual, preventing any unwanted bumps. To complete her ensemble, she chose the pumps she'd worn for her first day at WMI; given her acceptance of the unspoken casual dress policy, she knew she'd never again need them for work. Instead of leaving her hair down, as she had done each time before with Jake, she took the time and careful attention needed to put it in a stylish up-do. Her face had recovered from the obvious stress of recent events, and while she applied just enough make-up, she recognized the normal glow of her flawless skin. As was her usual custom, Tatum stood back and evaluated the finished package in the mirror. She looked stunning, older but in an elegant and sophisticated sort of way. _Just the look I was going for_ , she decided as she continued to assess her appearance in the mirror. Last time she'd seen Jake, she was happy to look young and playful, tonight she was only going to be happy with alluring and sexy.

Ready nearly half an hour too early, Tatum poured herself a small glass of wine and sipped slowly while she waited. Finally, the apartment buzzer rang.

"Hi Tatum, I'm here. Can I come up? Or do you prefer I wait down here?"

"I'll be right down; I can't piggy back you from here," she joked.

She carefully descended the stairs as she had done on her first day in the new pumps, again taking caution not to scuff her toes. She entered the apartment lobby.

"Holy cow!" said Jake as he gawked openly at his date. "You look amazing. Wainwright's not going to know what to make of its new uptown resident. You've got style like we don't often see around here." He paused, and then asked "Is that what they all look like in Chicago? Sign me up!" Jake joked.

"You don't look so shabby yourself," responded Tatum.

Jake had taken care to make sure he had also dressed for the occasion. He was still wearing jeans, but they were new, stylish and fit his well-formed rear-end perfectly. In place of cowboy boots, he had leather dress shoes that were a perfect fit with his fashionable denims. On top, he had chosen a t-shirt covered by a button-down long-sleeved top. It was obviously an outfit from a store outside of Wainwright.

"The lady in the store helped me. I guess she took one look at me and saw a project or something," Jake smiled.

"Well, she earned her keep," replied Tatum, although she had to admit that there was a part of her that missed his plaid top and dirty cowboy boots.

.

Tatum stepped up into Jake's pick-up, thankful for his strong arm to support her as she tried to be graceful in her dress that had definitely not been designed for riding in pick-ups. As always, country music was playing quietly in the background. Instead of foreign like the music used to seem, Tatum found it homey and comforting.

They rode in silence, comfortable to just be together. _Niko talked all the time, always talking, work talk, business talk, talk talk talk,_ she thought as she appreciated the relaxed quiet.

"We're here," announced Jake. "I hope it's as good as everyone says it is. Everyone being you," he laughed.

"It is. I promise," answered Tatum.

They mounted the red framed stairs and could hear the jazz music piped gently in around the entry.

"That's a nice touch," said Jake, referring to the jazz.

"Sam outdid herself," responded Tatum. "Wait till you see inside."

Jake was equally as impressed as Tatum had been on her first visit. Tatum had made a reservation and as Jake took in his surroundings, she checked in with waitress who was responsible for seating.

"Dr. O'Neill, so nice to see you again," said the pretty twenty-something that had served Tatum and Sam the night of their multiple bottles of wine. "I can seat you right away. Do you mind if I let Sam know you're here? I'm sure she'll want to come over for a quick hello."

"Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way," answered Tatum.

"Follow me please."

Tatum had to grab Jake's arm and pull him; he'd taken to inspecting the workmanship around the bar area.

"You can sure tell you're a descendent of the Home Hardware clan," Tatum teased.

.

The waitress led them to a quiet table in the upstairs lounge. Tatum had requested the lounge so that she and Jake could share a romantic dinner by music.

"Can I start you with something to drink?" she asked. Tatum looked at Jake.

"You're in charge tonight, you pick," he led.

"We'll have the Mission Hills Shiraz," said Tatum. Then remembered she hadn't even asked Jake if he liked wine. "Is that okay?" she asked quickly.

"Sounds perfect," he answered.

When the wine arrived, the waitress poured a small amount into Tatum's glass to gain her approval and then proceeded to fill their glasses. Over their first glass, the comfortable silence between them changed into comfortable conversation.

"How was your trip home?" Jake asked Tatum.

"We haven't talked in weeks; how did you know I went home?" she asked.

"This is Wainwright Tatum," he said as a matter of fact. "Plus I might have asked about you. Just a little," he smirked.

Tatum blushed, she'd asked about him too. "My trip home was good. It was so nice to see everybody. Michael's not doing so good though. But, I suppose you already know that," she joked.

"No. Actually I didn't hear that. What's going on?"

"While I was home, he had a seizure and went into a coma. Now he's in the hospital, just waiting for surgery."

"Tatum, I'm so sorry," Jake said with sincere empathy.

"Thanks. I'm actually doing better than I was before. It felt really good to get to see him, and I got to spend a lot of time with him before he got hooked up to all the machines and wasn't himself."

"Good. Are you going to go back?"

"Yah, I will go if something changes. My mom and Sarah will let me know."

"I wish there was something I could do to make it better for you."

"Nothing anybody can do. Just have to wait and see. But, that's enough of that. How's work been?"

"It's busy, and I have to leave again on Monday for another three weeks of travel. This time its multiple sites in Europe, otherwise, I would come home in between. It just doesn't make sense to fly all those hours to be home for a day. It's really hard on Brady for me to be gone so long though."

"I guess it would be. Thank goodness for your parents, hey?"

"Yah, they're great. I'd like for you to meet them and Brady sometime."

"I'd like that too," said Tatum. This time she meant it.

.

Just starting their second glass, Sam surprised them and came over to say hello and take their orders herself. Tatum had recommended to Jake that he try the filet mignon she had enjoyed so much on her previous visit to the Depot. She opted to try something new and chose the chicken Oscar. Sam left to put the orders in and the conversation continued.

"We've talked about my work. How's work going for you?"

"Really good actually; I'm starting to get a routine and things are starting to feel pretty comfortable. I wish I had more to do on the Research side though. I'm mostly a glorified babysitter at this point. But, I talked to Anne today and it sounds like I might be able to get access to the other two units pretty soon."

"That's good," said Jake, although Tatum knew that, given his previous experiences, he didn't really mean it.

"I got an office a while ago too. I don't know if I told you that before?"

"I think you did mention it," he said.

Tatum paused. _Do I tell him that I think I got Julia's office?_ She decided that for now, she'd keep that detail to herself. She didn't know how Jake would react to talking about Julia and WMI in the same conversation.

The conversation shifted to the places Jake was planning to go on his upcoming work trip and Brady. He told Tatum about his son's school and his friends; while he spoke, Tatum could almost feel the obvious pride he felt in his boy.

When their food arrived, the discussion continued freely and before they knew it, time had flown by and it was time to leave for the theatre. Wainwright theatre had one auditorium so that the movie was chosen for them; the show changed on Fridays and today was the first day of the new picture. This week's show was a suspense, a thriller about a young girl who got mixed up in some stuff she should have left alone.

Having just finished dinner, the couple passed on movie treats and found their way to some empty seats. The movie started and Jake placed his arm protectively around Tatum. She leaned into him, hoping that he would take her actions as a bit of an invitation. He lightly kissed her head.

.

The evening drew to a close. Jake held Tatum's hand as he walked her to the door of her apartment.

"Can I see you again? Soon?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes," answered Tatum.

"I'm working for Granddad this weekend so I'm not sure about my schedule, but can I call?"

"Yes," she answered again.

Jake leaned in, looking as if he were about to kiss her. Just like the first time, Tatum felt like a high school girl, waiting for her first embrace. She was hopeful, but not optimistic that he would choose her lips this time. Slowly, Jake lifted Tatum's face. _Here it comes, the face turn,_ she thought. But, instead of turning her face to kiss her cheek, Jake put his soft, warm lips on Tatum's mouth. She gave in completely and let him kiss her fully and wholly. As they kissed, Jake slid his arms around her and so that his large strong frame encased her entirely. Goosebumps rose on Tatum's skin as she felt his hands explore her back and neck. After several minutes, Jake finally stepped back and loosened his grasp.

"Goodnight Tatum."

"Goodnight Jake."

He looked back as he headed toward his truck.

Tatum slept like a baby.

.

It was still dark when Tatum got up Saturday morning for yoga. The early morning class had become part of her weekly routine and her time with Sam something that she looked forward to on a regular basis.

She had taken to dressing more warmly, Seymour Hill had little insulation and the cold Canadian weather was starting to set in. Tatum found her regular spot, and waited anxiously for Sam to arrive.

"Morning Sam," she called out to her friend, inviting her to find her normal spot beside Tatum.

"So... how was the rest of the night out?" she asked, hoping to get some juicy details.

"We just went to the movie, and then home after we left the restaurant. Nothing too exciting to tell."

"Anything to tell from after you got home?" teased Sam.

"He finally got up the nerve to kiss me, but that's as far as it got. Sorry to disappoint you," said Tatum jokingly. "But he did say that he would call me today. Hopefully he follows through, because he is about to go out of town for three weeks, and I might die from loneliness," smiled Tatum.

"Boy, you sure changed your tune," said Sam.

_Yeah, I sure have,_ thought Tatum.

"Okay ladies, time to get started," called Shirley from the front of the room with her usual over-exuberant level of energy.

"You want to finish this over breakfast?"

"You bet I do. Johnny's?"

"Johnny's it is."

.

Over breakfast, Sam wanted all the details of the date with Jake. She'd kept her curiosity under control the night before, but now fully intended to satisfy her desire for all the details.

"I thought you were going to see Niko when you went home. How did you go from that, to Jake last night?"

"I did see Niko."

"That's it. All you're going to say is that you saw him? Come on Tatum, I need some details," she said partly to tease her friend, and partly because she truly did want some details.

"We actually went out that night Michael went into the coma. My mom and dad insisted, said I needed to get my mind off what was happening and that I wasn't doing any good at the hospital anyway."

"So, what happened?" Sam asked with interest.

"We went to dinner and then he took me to the ball game. That's it."

"That's it?" Sam asked with a hint of disbelief. "You made life-changing decisions about your relationships based solely on dinner and a ballgame?" Sam was pretty certain Tatum wasn't telling her everything.

"It was an emotional day, and I had too much to drink. Let's just say that by the time our date was over, I knew our relationship was over as well."

Sam grinned; she knew what Tatum had implied. "So you thought you'd give the big cowboy hunk a real honest to God college try instead?" Sam teased.

Tatum changed her tone to serious and said, "I don't belong there anymore Sam. This place has changed me."

.

Still on a high from the night before, Tatum had more energy than usual and decided to put it to good use. She spent the remainder of the morning and early afternoon doing chores she typically found tiring. But, in the glow of her kiss with Jake, none of her chores seemed as adverse as usual.

Wanting to share her good mood, and spend some time talking about Jake, she called both her mother and Sarah. Each of the conversations lasted for the length of two cups of Earl Grey tea. Then, on a whim, Tatum decided to call Dr. Zubert.

"Hi Dr. Z.? It's Tatum. How are you doing?"

"I'm doing well, how are things with you?"

"I'm good. I just wanted to check in."

"Is there something up? I have to admit I'm a bit surprised to hear from you so soon after having just seen you last weekend."

"Honestly, I don't really know. Remember last week I told you about the files I had found and the patient with Autism, James?"

"Yes, I remember. You said that you thought you had been googling too much and it was making paranoid. Did something else happen?"

"Kind of. I'm allowed to share any information with you as my supervisor, as long as I don't mention any names, right?"

"That's right. I signed an oath of confidentiality for your internship as well. It's normal practice so that as supervisors we can be fully available to the students. Why, what's up?"

"I'm probably making too much of everything," said Tatum, "but I keep seeing things that make me wonder."

"Wonder what?"

"If there are secrets."

"What kinds of secrets? What do you mean?"

"When I got back last week, I saw a therapy client, one that I saw during my first few days, but is not on my regular patient list."

"And?"

"And, she has OCD; her primary compulsion currently is brushing her hair. She brushes repeatedly, until she bleeds."

"That's not all that uncommon."

"I agree, in itself, the brushing didn't seem that unusual. But then when I met with her she told me to look closer and held her hair out of the way so that I could thoroughly inspect her scalp."

"Did you see anything?"

"There were scars, not the type of scars that would come from her excessive grooming, but the type that would be the result of some type of surgery. She told me that she would continue to brush so that no one forgot to scars were there."

"Did she tell you how she got them?"

"Only that she remembered things were particularly bad; then she thought she fell asleep and when she woke up she had the scars."

"It's not that untypical for mental patients to have some type of surgery as well Tatum," Dr. Zubert stated, speaking from experience.

"Yeah, but I haven't told you the next part, yet."

"There's more?"

"I tried to convince myself I was overreacting, but I couldn't stop from looking through the files I had found to see if there was any other indication of surgical scars that couldn't be explained. On one of the files that Julia had hidden, I found a report of undetermined scarring in the same location as those on the client with OCD."

"A coincidence perhaps?"

"Perhaps. Do you think I'm being silly?"

"I never think that you are being silly Tatum. The fact that you are conscientious and observant is why I recommended you for the internship in the first place. But, WMI is a well known, reputable, and respected institution."

"I know. I'm probably just being ridiculous. Too many movies, I guess. Hey, do you remember that I told you last week James said goodbye to me before I left?"

"Yeah, I think he said that that was the first word he had said to anyone in over 20 years, didn't you?"

"That's right. Well, on Thursday he said some more words," Tatum said with a slight amount of disdain in her voice.

"That's excellent! You must be pretty happy; making more progress than anyone has in a long time. What did he say?" her mentor asked.

"He said mom sexy. I think he meant to call me a sexy mama," Tatum explained. "They are all the same Dr. Z. Even after 20 years without speaking, a man is still a man."

Dr. Zubert laughed out loud.

.

Tatum was still near the phone, having just hung up from her conversation with Dr. Zubert, when ringing tones from her handset interrupted her thoughts.

"Hi Tatum. It's Jake." Tatum's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice.

"Hi Jake. What's up?"

"Well, I thought I would try one more time. Is there a chance that you would like to come to my house for dinner tomorrow night? Casual. I thought I would cook, so it will probably be burgers or something. I really would like a chance to show you off to my family and we always have dinner together on Sundays. Do you think you could come?"

"I'd love to."

"How about if I pick you up around five? Sunday dinners tend to be early."

"Sounds perfect. See you tomorrow."

.

Jake showed up at Regency Apartments right at five on Sunday. Despite the change in weather to cooler fall temperatures, Tatum waited outside enjoying the sun and warmth offered by the early afternoon. Although paling in comparison to the picture-perfect quality of the WMI estate, the small park-like yard of Regency Apartments provided ample exposure to the wealth of autumn. Although Tatum looked as if she had been casually enjoying the splendor of the outdoors for hours, her casual demeanor was hiding her inner anxiety about meeting Jake's family. She hadn't kept track, but was fairly certain she had changed her clothes no less than five times, finally settling on a pair of navy Capri pants, paired with boat shoes of a similar colour and a light pink sweater that sat low on her shoulders. She pulled her hair into a pony tail and kept her make-up to a minimum. For Sunday dinner meeting Jake's parents, she wanted to look wholesome; the kind of girl a mom and dad would pick for their baby boy.

"Hi beautiful," Jake called out from the truck window as he pulled up in front of the apartment block. He got out of his truck with the kind of athletic prowess only developed through years of physical labor. Instead of the trendy dress clothes he'd worn on their last meeting, he returned to his typical worn jeans and cowboy boots, a look Tatum had grown to prefer. Jake walked quickly toward her. Catching her off guard with his out-of-character behavior, he grabbed her around the waist, pulled her toward him and kissed her firmly on the lips.

"Wow!" said Tatum. "Now that's what I call a greeting!" Jake continued to hold her hand. "What's the occasion?" she asked. "I'd like to know what I did to deserve that, so I can do it again," she teased.

"I just really had a good time the other night, and I missed you. I've been thinking about doing that for two days and I simply couldn't wait any longer," he answered.

"I've been thinking about it for two days too," said Tatum. "Got any more?" she said with a grin.

Jake leaned in and kissed her one more time, this time with less force and more tenderness than his first kiss. The kiss was long, giving Tatum lots of time to appreciate the sweetness of his mouth and the gentleness of his touch. Finally, they parted lips but they continued to hold hands. As they walked toward Jake's pickup, Tatum looked back at the apartment block. For just a second, she caught a glimpse of Milligan watching out his window. When he caught her eye, he winked, silently letting her know he approved.

.

The Mackinley residence was about ten minutes out of town, right in the heart of the surrounding farm land.

"We're got four sections left," explained Jake as they neared his family home. "The rest has either been sold off, or is now oil land. What's left, dad still farms."

Jake drove quickly along the dusty gravel roads that provided borders to ownership of the respective sections of farmland as only someone who had known the roads their entire life would be able. He sped down the long lane leading to his family's home until he came to an abrupt stop and parked in amongst a series of pickups, tractors, and combines.

With the exception of a small patch of grass and a few shrubs, the yard was ungroomed and intended for work, dirt and dust providing most of the landscaping materials. The family farmhouse had stood for nearly a century, and its age was apparent. Although there were many obvious renovations and upgrades, the original structure and design had been maintained. Although likely considered a large and luxurious home in its day, by present standards, the farmhouse was small and modest.

Jake helped Tatum step down from pickup and then led her onto the front porch where he opened what Tatum assumed was the original wooden screen door. The door let out a loud squeak and then a slam noise as Jake opened and then dropped the door behind them, announcing their arrival to anyone who was listening.

"Jakey? Is that you?" Tatum heard a woman's voice call.

"Yes, mom. We're here," Jake responded.

Mrs. Mackinley was in her mid-60s. She was heavy set woman, who looked exactly as Tatum had expected. She had high cheekbones and shoulder length medium brown hair that she had pulled back into a low set bun, complemented by large soft eyes that made her look like a grandmother described in a storybook. She wore an apron, and it was obvious that the apron had a practical purpose; it was not simply for looks.

"Please excuse the mess I'm in," were her first words to Tatum. "With a house full of boys, I spend an awful lot of time in the kitchen."

"Mom, this is Tatum," introduced Jake. "Tatum, this is my mom, Carol."

"My goodness. You're every bit as breathtaking as Jakey said you were," Mrs. Mackinley stated.

"Thank you," answered Tatum.

"Come on in hun. Can I get you something to drink? Tell me about yourself? How's work?"

Mrs. Mackinley was a talker and Tatum quickly realized there was not going to be any uncomfortable silence to deal with. Suddenly, Tatum understood why Jake was so comfortable in his unlikely friendship with Vinnie.

"Where's Dad and Brady? I'd like to introduce them too."

"Your dad is outside in the barn. I think Brady might be with him."

Jake grabbed Cokes for himself and Tatum and then led her out toward the back part of the family's property. Tatum saw three silhouettes from a distance, apparently mulling over a piece of farming machinery. As they neared, she could tell that two of the three were full grown men, but the last silhouette belonged to a child.

"Tatum, I'd like you to meet my dad, George, my granddad, Pete, and last but not least, Brady."

"Nice to see you again Tatum," said Pete politely, much less willing to show his appreciation for Tatum's appearance in the company of his family.

"Yes, nice to see you again too. Thanks again for helping me get set up with all my stuff for the renos."

"No problem. Anything for a girl who can put a smile on my grandson's face. We've waited a long time, you know?"

"So I've heard," said Tatum, looking sideways at Jake. Tatum turned to Jake's father. "Nice to meet you sir," she said.

George smiled shyly and simply said, "Likewise ma'am."

_Ahh..._ , thought Tatum, _there we go. An explanation for Jake._

George also looked exactly as Tatum had pictured, tilted hat and John Deere greens. She laughed to herself about the predictability of the Wainwright population.

"And Brady. Nice to meet you," Tatum said, being careful to lower herself so that she was at his level. She had learned from her time working with kids how important it was to never talk down to them physically, or metaphorically.

"Nice to meet you ma'am," said Brady, following the lead of his soft-spoken grandfather.

"I think I saw you on the Home Hardware float the day of the parade. Was that you?" asked Tatum, trying to make conversation with Jake's son.

"Yes, ma'am. I ride on it every year."

"The parade day was the highlight of my summer." She cast a shared glance at Jake. "How about you?" she continued questioning Brady

"Nope, my favourite part was when Grandpa and Dad took me fishing. I'd never been fishing before." Brady continued, talking to Tatum like he'd known her for years.

He told Tatum about his trip and the rest of his summer. When he slowed and edged back toward his more quiet nature, Tatum begged him to continue, wanting to share the world with the most important person in Jake's life. Jake smiled, please at the fact that his son obviously agreed with his choice.

.

Dinner was as casual as promised. Jake had cooked hamburgers and with the help of his mother and Brady, a homemade burger feast was laid out on the table. Tatum sat next to Jake and followed his lead on the family's dinner time customs. To her delight, Brady had chosen the seat next to Tatum, obviously quite taken by his father's new friend.

The conversation flowed easily, Mrs. MacKinley leaving little room for breaks in the dialogue. After dinner, Carol made coffee and cut into the rhubarb and strawberry pie she had been wearing on her apron earlier that day. It was the first time Tatum had been to a farmhouse dinner, but all of a sudden, she felt like she'd belonged there her entire life.

.

It was nearly eleven by the time Jake dropped Tatum off at her apartment. She had spent the evening playing cards with the family and listening intently to Carol tell stories about Jake.

"I had a good time tonight," she said as he walked her to the door.

"Me too. I'm glad you came. My family are crazy, but I love them."

"I can see why," said Tatum.

"Brady likes you," he said. Then Jake's face turned solemn. "I like you too," he said quietly.

Tatum didn't even answer; she was too busy initiating their next kiss, making sure she got her fill before her up-coming three week drought.

# Chapter 17

Well aware that the next three weeks would go slowly, Tatum resolved to bury herself in her work. In particular, she intended to make significant progress on her research work. She had initiated a proposal to develop an Autism treatment and diagnostic center, and she intended to meet her goal before the end of her internship. She knew that the first three days of the week were often scheduled fully with direct patient contact, but Thursday and Friday would leave some time for working on her proposition. She also knew that her biggest struggle in getting her work done would continue to be the obsession she was developing about the strange events at WMI.

Monday morning and afternoon were, as she suspected would be the case, booked fully with clinical time. Despite her heavy clinical schedule she ensured that she made time for James. Having had the weekend to think it over, she had decided she was prepared to dismiss his comment from the previous week. She would not let her own feelings and pride interfere with the progress James had made as a result of her company.

As was her routine, Tatum assessed until noon and then grabbed lunch to-go and made her way to Unit Three. She chatted with James, not letting him know that she had been upset with him a few days before. Finally, when she was done filling their time together, Tatum got up to leave

"Bye James," she said as she always did.

"Bye," he responded in his mumbled tone.

Tatum took extreme pleasure in knowing that his responses were becoming routine. Perhaps being overzealous, she also assumed that his choice not to repeat his previous comment also demonstrated that he had understood that she had been upset by it. She knew that for people with Autism, emotional understanding did not come easily, and being able to understand her response would show real progress.

.

Tatum finished the afternoon, working her way methodically through her expected tasks, knowing that there was one thing she would be sure to do prior to leaving for the day. When her final therapy session was over, Tatum sat down at the computer in her small, rectangular office, and drafted an e-mail to Tim.

"Hi Tim, I have a request that I was hoping you might be able to help me with. I spoke to Anne last week and she suggested that I should make this request to you, since you were able to help me with my previous request for time off. Recently, a patient I've been seeing, Kory Atchinson, was moved to Unit Four because of an incident with one of the nurses. I would like to be able to go and see Kory. So, I would like to request that I be provided with increased access. Do you think that it may be appropriate for me to have access to these units at this time? If so, could you please let me know what the process is to be able to gain access? Thanks Tatum."

Tatum re-read her message, making sure that her request was both respectful and clear, and then she clicked send, hopeful that she would have access to see Kory prior to the end of the week.

.

Tuesday and Wednesday Tatum concentrated fully on the tasks at hand, trying her best to keep her mind on her work. During spare minutes, either throughout the day or at home in the evening, she worked on completing her reports, so that on Thursday she would have time to visit Kory, assuming she was permitted access. Finally, late Wednesday afternoon, a response from Tim arrived.

"Hi Tatum, I agree that you have now been here long enough to be appropriately assigned to Units Four and Five. However, I would prefer to provide you with a supervised tour through the units, rather than having your first visit as an independent visit to the facility. Do you have some time to meet with me tomorrow afternoon? We could set up your access and then I could take you through the Unit? Let me know... Tim."

Tatum knew that she should wait, as to not appear overzealous about getting into the additional units, but, despite her best judgment, she responded immediately.

"That sounds perfect Tim. I would really appreciate you helping me set up my access, and showing me the units. Should we meet in the board room at one o'clock on Thursday? Tatum."

As quickly as she had responded, Tatum received an answer.

"One o'clock tomorrow it is. Tim."

.

Tatum stayed late that evening to make sure that all of her clinical reports were drafted and so all that would be required the following morning would be to do final edits and submit. She walked home around seven contemplating a variety of different scenarios about the goings-on in Units Four and Five. She was certain that regardless of what occurred, neither unit could be as bad as what she had imagined in her head. Knowing that the next day she would finally see the inside of her up-till-now non-accessible units, Tatum could not help herself. She broke the promise to herself that she had made several weeks prior. She made herself a quick dinner, one that went directly from the freezer to microwave, and then sat down at her computer to eat. Similar to times past, her search started with a history of Wainwright Mental Institution, and then quickly became more specifically geared toward any information she could find about Units Four, Five, and Six. As always, her search found several blogs, including those that Tatum had previously written-off as developed by nut-jobs. This time she paused, willing for the first time, to browse the blogs that she had earlier considered ridiculous.

The first one had been started by a blogger who called himself 'notsocrazybloke'; he wrote about government conspiracies, national and international. His tirades included theories about the Twin Towers, the Swiss plane crash, and the Unibomber. He also discussed lesser known issues, including the one that caught Tatum's attention. He was convinced that the Units were a place of abuse, neglect, involuntary commitment and unethical experimentation. He talked about corrupt politicians that provided funding for things the public couldn't know. He talked about powerful and influential physicians that accepted brides to complete the work that ethical professionals refused to do.

She switched to a discussion forum dedicated entirely to talk of WMI. There were contributors who claimed to be previous patients that had escaped, others who said their family members were trapped inside, and some who thought that WMI was a facility that housed aliens the government had found but wanted to keep quiet.

_Crazy!_ thought Tatum as she continued through the postings.

Occasionally, someone sane would make a contribution and say something about how it might be possible the WMI was just an institution intended for housing and treating people with mental health issues. These posts would always be followed by a barrage of accusations about how the person writing the defense of WMI was overly-gullible and didn't understand the real workings of the political underworld.

Tatum realized she was starting to think that she might be one of those who were overly-gullible and trusting; an uneasy feeling came over her. She was thankful when her moment of dread was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. It was Jake, calling her as had become his nightly custom. She picked up the phone, took one look at the disturbing material on her screen and then shut off her computer, convinced it would be her last visit to such ridiculous websites.

.

Thursday morning Tatum jumped out of bed and completed her run with enthusiasm and energy. Today would be the day she'd get to dispel all of her concerns about the types of things that happened in her off-limit units.

_I was all concerned about Unit Six, and it turned out to be nothing. I'm sure this will be the same,_ she reassured herself.

Milligan poured her coffee and asked, as he always did, about her plans for the day. "So, today's the secret units, hey?" Milligan asked.

Tatum laughed. She knew Milligan was teasing her about her obsession with what went on in Units Four and Five. "Yeah. I'm sure it's nothing compared to what's in my head. Couldn't be I don't think."

"Well, I want a full run-down tomorrow, right?"

"Of course. Probably be nothing to tell though."

.

Tatum got to work early so that she could make sure all of her reports were complete and submitted before lunch. She spent lunch hour with James and then waited patiently for Tim in the board room. Several minutes after one, Anne entered the meeting space.

"Surprised to see me?" asked Anne.

"Kind of, but it's a nice surprise," answered Tatum. "What happened to Tim?"

"I don't know. You know Tim. He mumbled something about too much work to do, and then asked me to cover for him. Pretty typical. Anyway, I was glad to. Get to spend the afternoon with my favorite intern." Anne flashed one of her brilliant, engaging smiles. "Ready?"

"Let's go," answered Tatum.

The first task for the afternoon was to see Marja at the front desk and have Tatum's FOB updated. Tim had forwarded an email giving permission, so the increased permissions only required a couple of moments for the capable front desk clerk.

"You ready for this?" she asked Tatum half joking, half serious.

"I think so. How bad can it be?"

Marja and Anne shared a look.

.

Tatum and Anne moved to Unit Four with an ease that wouldn't have occurred several months previous. Tatum knew her way around well and now opted to lead the way to the unfamiliar unit. She approached the previously inaccessible door that guarded the higher security unit and placed her FOB on the reader that determined who could pass through. Tatum heard the familiar click and then pulled on the now accessible door.

Unit Four was blue. The patients wore blue issue and the charts had blue covers. Similar to the other units, it had one large room and several smaller rooms on tiers surrounding the inner circle. But, in contrast to the other units, the larger inner circle had no homey feel. There was a single TV placed high up near the ceiling and two reclining chairs. No tables, puzzles, books or any other item that could potentially be used for harm was evident. Patients sat restrained, many of them appearing to be so heavily drugged that their consciousness was minimal. Others continued to scream and writhe, presumably despite substantial medication. Their writhing was in vain, with strait jackets preventing many of the patients from using their arms. Others wore gags on their mouths, Tatum assumed to avoid biting and spitting.

_It looks like a scene out of 'Silence of the Lambs'_ , she thought as she took it all in.

She saw patients with scars on their torsos and cuts all over their arms. She saw patients attempting to claw and pick their own faces, having the appearance as if they'd previously been successful on many occasions. Video cameras kept close surveillance on every corner of every room, and security guard watched intently as clinicians worked with the patients. Tatum immediately understood the adoption of prison lingo within the institution's walls.

Where a small window provided some ability to observe Unit Three patients in their dorms, Unit Four dorm walls were nearly entirely see-through and made of some kind of protective glass to prevent it from being smashed and becoming a potential weapon. The dorms were laid out similarly, but no provisions for privacy were permitted. For those that could complete their own daily care, all personal activities occurred in plain view of everyone else in the ward. Otherwise, the nurses completed the care activities, in an openly observable care-giving room with guards in attendance. Tatum watched as one of the patients exited the main room and entered a dorm. He pulled down his pants and Tatum felt her stomach enter her throat as she thought about what was about to occur publically.

_Maybe I wasn't ready for this,_ she told herself as she attempted to keep from vomiting.

"Are you alright Tatum?" asked Anne.

"I will be," responded the sickly intern.

Finally Tatum caught sight of Kory, sitting in his dorm on the bed. He had been placed in a strait jacket like the others, preventing further nurse injury while waiting for his day in court.

"There's Kory," she said to Anne. "Can we move out of his line of sight? I just don't think I can see him at the moment. I'll come back."

"You bet honey. It's tough. I know it's tough."

.

Unit Five was more of the same, with yellow issue, additional guards and bars. Where the Unit Four dorms had doors that the patients could open and close if they were permitted, Unit Five's dorm doors had prison bars where the doors had been in the previous unit. There were additional video cameras and the security guards stood solemnly holding their protective weapons. There were both men and women on the ward, but the female side was much smaller and segregated from the men.

"They are not allowed out at the same time," explained Anne.

Some of the women had faces that looked as if they'd been beaten in with baseballs bats, others were missing limbs or walked with an ogre-like hobble, and the women looked better than the men. Many of the men looked like they had lived hard lives, tattooed and pierced. Scarred and maimed bodies were the norm and many of their faces were disfigured beyond recognition of humanness. They reached their arms through the bars of their cells, making it look like the unit was alive with some kind of parasite. Tatum felt small, like a frightened child. She was embarrassed by her reaction. Her skin crawled when the men in the cells cat-called lude comments to her, appreciating the pretty doctor that was in their midst. A few of them touched themselves and let her know what they had in mind. There was a distinct smell of bodily fluids, covered by copious amounts of bleach and air freshener. Once again Tatum could taste vomit in the back of her throat.

_Nope, not worse in my mind_ , she thought as she re-considered her comment to Milligan earlier that day.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Anne led Tatum out of Unit Five and outdoors where the air smelled clean and fresh. Tatum took in a deep breath, desperate to remove the stench of Unit Five from her senses. Slowly she felt her stomach start to settle back down and her heart rate return to normal.

"Pretty tough, hey?" asked Anne.

"Harder than I expected."

"Don't worry hun. Pretty much everybody reacts like that the first time. You'll get used to it."

Tatum didn't respond. _I've heard that before._

.

Tatum left that afternoon, still in a fog after having visited the two highest need units. She ran herself a bath and stayed immersed for longer than normal, hoping to remove the feeling of Units Four and Five on her skin.

.

The next day in the Research Unit promised to be easier. Supervision of the research assistants was both simple and predictable, something she could count on to not make her sick. Tatum worked on correcting the assessment techniques of the assistants in the morning and then visited James over lunch. For the afternoon she had planned to continue working on her proposal for the Autism treatment center.

Her office in the research center was brighter than her clinical office and there were more co-workers with whom to share the day. Her afternoon was enjoyable and she spent some time wondering around the Unit, getting to know some of the other workers. She wondered into the Psychopharmacology Lab, intent on befriending some more friendly researchers. Instead, she ran into Dr. Gagnon.

"Hi June. Remember me? Tatum?"

"Hi," responded the less than friendly psychiatrist without even turning around.

"I didn't know you did research in here. Do you mind if I ask what you're working on?"

June turned around. Tatum saw the scalpels Dr. Gagnon held imposingly in each hand and took a quick step back.

"I do animal model research," she explained gruffly, obviously not interested in any more discussion.

"Okay," Tatum said, taking the hint, "I'll let you get back to your work then."

Tatum left the office, curious about the precision and skill it must take to complete surgery on mice.

Chapter 18

Having had a long work week, Tatum was determined to spend Saturday in leisure mode. Yoga was first on the agenda. The relaxation of the serene activity seemed particularly inviting. Sam had worked really late the night before at the restaurant and had mentioned to Tatum something about a special booking, so Tatum was on her own for the class. It worked out well for Tatum, she fully intended to have an extended coffee session with Milligan; she had some things she wanted to ask.

.

"See you later Ivan," Milligan called out to his previous coffee partner as he headed down the street to go about his day. "Ah, my newest victim," he joked when he saw Tatum nearing her usual chair.

"Morning Milligan," she said as he passed her a cup.

"Heard anything from home," Milligan asked, wanting to get Tatum talking.

"Just the usual, but keeping my fingers crossed," she answered.

"How about work? Anything new?"

Tatum had to bite her tongue, similar to how she'd bitten her tongue with Jake every night this week.

"Nothing in particular. Things are going well. How about you? Heard anything from the kids?"

Tatum hoped that her comment seemed nonchalant, despite her covert intention to get Milligan talking about his family.

"Yvonne called Thursday. We talked for a bit and I chatted with the grandkids for a minute. They're keeping busy doing sports and school. I can't remember being that busy when my kids were little."

"But, you were on your own right?" Tatum pushed slightly.

"Well, not always, but from the time they were, oh, I don't know, maybe five and seven I sure was. Kids need a mom, it's not the same."

"But I bet you were a great dad."

"A great dad can be great, but it's not mom," said Milligan seriously.

"Yes, I suppose. I know you said before that Jennie had ongoing mental health issues? Did she spend any time at WMI?" Tatum treaded very carefully, unsure of how much she would be able to push without upsetting Milligan too much.

"Yup. She was actually a patient there when she died."

"She went in right after your son passed away?"

"Mmm hmm. I guess his death was just too much for her."

"It would be for anyone, I think."

"I thought she'd get some help and then come home. But, she chose to leave us instead. I don't know if I've ever completely forgiven her for that."

"How did she die?" asked Tatum, hoping that she hadn't gone too far.

"She shot herself. We didn't even get to see her. They said the damage was so severe that it would be traumatic for the family, so she went straight to the crematorium. Didn't even get to say goodbye."

Tatum knew that she'd asked enough for the day. She changed the topic. "So, did Ivan ever get that door fixed?" she inquired, referring to the coffee patron before her.

"Yah," answered Milligan, openly relieved the talk about his family had ended.

.

When coffee time finished, Tatum couldn't shake the troubled feeling she'd had since Milligan's last comment about Jennie. Everything she'd ever read about suicide had said that women rarely used traumatic means, and that methods that created disfiguring damage were even less common. Something wasn't right about Milligan's version of the awful events.

***

The beginning of the following week dragged on, with Jake's nightly phone call acting as the only highlight of the day. Tatum was surprised at how she'd previously been perfectly happy to work and to go home, alone. Now that she'd done a complete turn-around about Jake, every moment without him felt long and lonely. She tried to keep herself distracted, time passed faster that way. She filled her time working, visiting with Sam or Milligan, and contemplating possible explanations for the inconsistencies she continued to find. Even her conversations with Jake would sometimes turn into fact finding missions.

Thursday was her report-day and she knew that, despite the butterflies in her stomach, she fully intended to return to Unit Five the following afternoon. But, before her trip to Unit Five could meet her intended need, she required some additional information. Feeling just a touch manipulative and guilty, as she had felt the previous weekend when she spoke with Milligan, Tatum encouraged Jake to talk about his previous life, and specifically Julia's death. She dove in where she hadn't been willing to go before.

.

"So, did I tell you that I think the office I was assigned at work may have been Julia's previous office?"

Tatum made the comment very matter-of-factly, intent on avoid too much emotion in the conversation about Jake's dead wife.

"No, I'm pretty sure I would have remembered you telling me that," Jake responded. "What makes you think that?"

"I just found a few forms in the desk drawers, that's all; stuff with her signature on it."

"Hmm," was all he said.

"I told you I visited Units Four and Five last week, right?"

"Yes, you did," answered Jake, expressing his disapproval with his voice.

"Pretty nasty places."

"You don't know the half of it."

"You said the guy that hurt Julia was from Unit Five, didn't you?"

"Yah, Lee Trent, the bastard. He's still there. He's crazy, so he gets to use that as an excuse for the shit he did. Uses it so he doesn't have to do real time. Sick pig".

_Seems like real time to me_ , thought Tatum, remembering the horror of Unit Five.

Tatum had what she wanted.

She made a mental note, _Lee Trent_ , and vowed that his file would be the first one she pulled the next day.

Then, she quickly changed topics, hopeful that she hadn't destroyed any chance of having her normally enjoyable conversation with Jake.

.

Thursday morning Tatum went straight to her office and booted her computer. She was determined to get all of her reports done first thing so that she would have time for her planned visit to Unit Five.

Before going to visit with James, she used her new access capabilities to go into the filing room and pull Lee Trent's file. She wasn't so much interested in what the file had to say, it would be used primarily as a ploy to convince the Unit Five staff that she had some business with Mr. Trent.

She took some of her lunch-hour, while she sat with James, to quickly browse through the file. Nothing seemed particularly surprising. He was dual diagnosis; he had been diagnosed with schizophrenia as a young child and he also had a mental age much lower than his chronological years. The file suggested that his mental age may have been around that of a first grader. His first offense was a sexual offense with a similar aged handicapped girl who lived in a group home where he attended social activities. They had been dating for some time, and he wanted to make their relationship sexual. She wasn't so sure. One night, they decided to go further than they'd ever gone. She got scared and started to scream. Afraid that he would be in trouble if someone came and found them in their compromising position, he put a pillow over her face to keep her screams muted. He pushed the pillow down too hard for too long and ended up in Unit Five on charges of sexual assault and second degree murder. He had gone to the forensic psych unit in place of the provincial penitentiary because multiple psychiatrists testified that he had no capacity to realize the consequences of his actions.

Tatum read on. His second offense was Julia. According to the file, Lee had a daughter that had been conceived during a separate consensual sexual encounter with a girl who also had developmental delay. Julia thought it was important that he meet his daughter and was trying to help him to get rights to visitation. Julia was pretty and friendly and Lee didn't understand that her approaches were amicable, not sexual. The file described him violently sexually assaulting her and then strangling her, keeping her quiet so no one else would hear.

.

Tatum thought about Michael, sweet Michael. The truth was that, somewhere deep down, she knew the mistake Lee had made during his first offense was something that Michael was fully capable of, unless under constant supervision. He had the body and physical desires of a man, and the mind of a child. However, what she also knew was that the fact that Michael was capable of the first offense, in no way made him capable of completing the offenses against Julia. The second offense had components of malice and evil; pieces of the attack seemed intentional and well-planned. Tatum wondered whether what she thought about the differences in these attacks for Michael, also applied for Lee.

.

Tatum said goodbye to James. She still felt uneasy at the idea of returning to Unit Five, wondering whether her stomach could handle it. She entered the Unit, unfamiliar with the script of what clinicians did when they wanted to see a patient. She went to the sign-in desk, the same one that visitors would use if they wanted to see a patient. The sign-in desk was adjacent to the visitor's seating area where visitors could visit with patients through secured, break and bullet proof glass. No direct contact occurred with the patients and those from the outside.

"Good morning, I'm Dr. O'Neill; I'm here to see Mr. Trent," Tatum said to the desk clerk in her most official, not-to-be-questioned voice.

"Sign here," said the desk clerk pointing to a clinician sign-in form.

Tatum thought for a moment and then decided to take her chances that the guard at the desk was less than concerned about her being there. She diligently signed 'Anne Horstings' as she requested Mr. Trent's dorm number.

"He's in Dorm 6 on Tier 2, but you'll have to be accompanied. Hey Shane," he yelled out to the uniformed man standing by the guard's station. "Dr. O'Neill needs an escort up to Trent's room."

"On it," said Shane as he rushed over to help the pretty doctor, "Right this way ma'am."

Tatum followed Shane through the common room and up the stairs to room 6 where, through the bars, she saw a large man sitting alone on the bottom bunk. He was hovered over and curled in the corner with his head lowered. Tatum approached the bars, staying closer to Shane than she should have.

"Mr. Trent? I'm Dr. O'Neill. I was hoping I could talk with you for a moment." No response. "Mr. Trent?"

Lee slowly lifted his head. Like Tatum had observed with many individuals with developmental delay, Lee's head seemed oversized, even for his large body, and his jaw appeared to jut forward. His hair was cut in a crew cut, making his large head look like a giant egg. He looked at Tatum and anger filled his face.

"What do you want? Why are you guys always bugging me?"

"I don't want anything Mr. Trent; I just wanted to meet you."

"Well I don't wanna meet you."

"Don't you like to talk to people?"

"No!"

"How come?"

"They are all liars."

"Who are liars?"

"Doctors. Everybody. Liars."

"Why do you say that?"

"I didn't do it."

Tatum looked at Shane.

"He always says that," explained Shane. "They all do."

"I see," said Tatum. "Shane, would you mind letting me in to talk to him for a moment in private. You could watch from right here?"

"Umm, it's not really protocol to go into their dorms."

"I'll be fine; we can leave the cell door ajar and you will be right here. Plus, there's video cameras on us at all times."

"Yah, okay. But only for a couple of minutes."

"Just a couple. You bet."

Shane unlocked the cell and let Tatum in closer to the prisoner.

"What do you want?" Lee shouted attempting to be threatening.

Tatum watched his body language closely; she'd had lots of experience with temper tantrums with her brother. As long as he was still seated with his arms crossed in front, she was fairly certain he wouldn't strike out. Yelling was a passive defense; it typically hid internal fear, not aggression.

"I just wanted to come closer so that you could see that I trust you not to hurt me," Tatum said, hoping she was right. "I don't think you'll hurt me," she repeated.

"I won't hurt you," he said in return. "I don't like to hurt people," he continued.

"I believe you," responded Tatum quietly. "You said earlier that you didn't do it. What did you mean?"

"I didn't hurt that pretty lady. The one they said I hurt. I didn't hurt her."

"Then why did everyone think you did?"

"Cause they put me in there before anybody came to see. I didn't do it."

"Then who did it Lee?"

"I dunno. There was no one there when they took me to the room, only her. She was hurt, bad, and I got scared. I didn't do it."

"I believe you," Tatum repeated quietly enough that she hoped no one else could hear.

# Chapter 19

The rest of the week was basically a write-off. Tatum was unable to think; her head whirled with thoughts and hypotheses about who might have killed Julia, and what the possible motive might have been. She had spent a few hours continuing with her work on the Autism Center proposal, but that had been her only productive activity.

Despite her foggy, distracted head, she had promised Sam that she would spend the weekend helping her prepare her materials for court the following week, and she intended to hold true to her word.

.

Needing the relaxation and focus of yoga more than ever, Tatum lay her mat on the floor and anxiously waited for Sam to arrive.

"Hey you," Tatum called out to her freckled friend when she finally came through the door, "I'm so glad to see you."

"Wow, that's weird. What's up?" said Sam, knowing Tatum well enough to understand that her expression of direct affection was kind of out of character; she was more prone to humor.

"Just a bad week. Looking forward to spending some time with a friend."

"Good, cause we've got a lot of time to spend. My stuff needs a lot of work before a judge can see it."

"We'll get 'er done," said Tatum confidently.

The two friends worked diligently throughout the afternoon arranging receipts, organizing contracts and sorting out financial paperwork. Finally, everything that could be sorted or filed had been handled and it was time for dinner.

"How's wings and beer sound?" asked Sam.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," answered Tatum.

.

The wings were hot, requiring more beer than Tatum typically consumed. By the time she'd finished eating and she and Sam had parted ways, Tatum was feeling just drunk enough that for the first time in days she wasn't obsessing about WMI. She teetered down the street to her apartment, humming to herself and thinking about Jake.

When she reached Regency Apartments, she stumbled up the stairs, opened her door and flopped down on the sofa, waiting for time to reduce the effects of the beer. Then, as quickly as the positive mood created from the beer had come on, it was gone. Tatum felt as if a million emotions passed through her simultaneously; confusion, fear, and terror all swept through her at once, each overwhelmed by the primary emotion of sadness. For the first time, _Michael might die,_ became real in her mind. Tatum picked up the phone, suddenly desperate for any news about her brother.

"Hi Mom?" she said.

"Tatum. What's wrong?"

"I just needed to talk to you. That's all."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just feeling a bit down."

"Are you drunk?"

"A little. How's Michael?"

"It's the same sweetie. We've talked to the surgeon now and he says we should have a date for surgery soon. Maybe in a week or two."

"Has he responded at all?"

"No sweetie. But, I'm sure he can hear us."

"I hope so. I miss you mom."

"I miss you too honey. I will give him a kiss for you, okay?"

"Thanks mom. Love you."

"Love you too. Now go get some sleep," Sophia instructed in her most motherly tone.

Tatum put the phone down, but she had no intention of going to sleep. Her buzz was starting to wear off, but not so much that her inhibitions weren't still slightly reduced. She picked up the phone again,

"Hi Dr. Z.?"

"Tatum?"

"Yah, it's me. I need to talk. I need to talk to you specifically actually. I don't have anyone else to talk to about this."

"Is it more suspicion of WMI?"

"Yup, but now it's getting really crazy. I don't think that the patient who they said killed Julia actually did it."

"Why?"

"Well, I have no real evidence, but I talked to him and he said he didn't. I think he's telling the truth."

"Why? Patients lie all the time Tatum."

"I know. But the two crimes described in his file are different. The first one is a crime of situation. He got scared and made an unintentional, but costly mistake - like a child. Julia's death was intentional, violent. It doesn't make sense that he would do it."

"If he says he didn't do it, did he tell you who did?"

"He just said that he was put in the room after she was already dead and he got scared."

"Tatum, this is probably something you shouldn't get messed up in."

"I know. I know. But, I'm already in too deep. I think something really wrong has happened."

"Is there anything else?" Dr. Z. asked, not sure if she actually wanted to know.

"You remember the unexplained scars."

"Yes."

"Dr. Gagnon does rat research, really fine, very skilled rat surgery."

"Oh Tatum, lots of researchers work with rats."

"Yah, I guess. But, I'm starting to think that all of this is not just my own paranoia Dr. Z."

"Tatum?" her trusted mentor said slowly.

"Yes?"

"Be careful."

.

The next morning Tatum's beer had worn off, but her drive for answers hadn't. She went down for coffee determined to find out as much information from Milligan as he was willing and capable of providing.

"Good Morning Milligan," she said as she headed over to the coffee pot.

"Well, good morning Tatum. What brings you out so early on a Sunday?" Tatum looked at her watch; she was indeed earlier than normal.

"Just couldn't sleep anymore."

Milligan had completely moved coffee time into the common room in the building, hunkered down in preparation for winter. The mornings now meant a late sunrise and cool temperatures, too cool for most of his patrons.

"Well, grab your seat. I'll get your coffee."

Tatum took a deep slurp of the delicious black liquid in the cup he passed her, the warmth filling her deeply. She looked at her friend and suddenly felt guilty about what she was about to do. He would have no idea that her questions held any purpose but sincere concern for his well-being.

"So, Milligan?"

"Yah."

"Yesterday you told me the grandkids were all involved in sports?"

"Umm hmm."

"You never really said which ones. I played soccer and baseball growing up in Chicago; we have a strong Latino influence there. What do kids play here?"

"Baseball is huge here too. They all play ball. Nicole and Amber also dance; I think it's that jazz or whatever they call it?" Tatum nodded. "And Craig plays hockey in the winter."

"Hockey, hey? A real Canadian boy," Tatum laughed.

"Yeah, it's something most Canadian boys seem to want to play. Just part of who we are, I guess."

"Did Billy play hockey when he was young?"

"Oh yah, I spent many an early morning over at the coliseum. He went right to junior."

"What's that?"

"I'm not sure how it would equate to ball exactly, but maybe we could think of it as a step below the minors?"

"Got ya. So he was pretty good."

"Yup. Loved it too. Hockey was all that kid could think about when he was young. He ate, slept and breathed hockey."

Tatum decided that now was as good of a time as any to ask the questions she'd been burning to get to.

"And, how about your other boy? Did he ever play?"

"No. He was only just over two when he got sick. We never had a chance to figure out what sports he wanted to play."

Milligan answered the question without becoming too obviously upset, so Tatum pressed on.

"What was his sickness again?"

"You know, I can't really say. That was a long time ago and Jennie was always the one that dealt with the appointments and the doctors and such. One day he got worse than normal, so Jennie took him to the hospital and he never came home. After that everything is just a blur. Jennie got so much worse; that's when she finally had to go up to the Units. She dealt with all the arrangement for the memorial and everything and then she became someone else. It was just too much for her. I was so busy trying to keep Yvonne and Billy okay that I think I was really somewhere else. Your brain is amazing; it kind of just shuts off stuff you don't really want to remember. It's a bit of a gift really. I don't know if I'd want to remember every detail of that time."

Tatum just about had what she'd come for, but she decided to make one final push for the last piece of information she was seeking.

"I know from the last while with Michael, that there are definitely days that I'm in a fog and, like you, I'm kind of thankful for that. Losing your boy and your Jennie at the same time is almost unimagineable," she continued. "I'm sorry Milligan, I can't remember, did you tell me your son's name?"

Milligan just looked away.

_One step too far_ , thought Tatum. She quickly changed the topic as if she'd never asked the question.

.

Only five days remained until Jake returned. Tatum could hardly wait. Work kept her busy; her patient load was heavy, and a heavy patient load always meant lots of reports and clinical files to complete. Sam was going to court on Thursday, so several of Tatum's evenings were full with continuing to help her friend prepare. She spent her time thinking about Michael, Jake, Sam, and work, giving her a much needed break from her whirling, suspicious head.

Finally, Friday arrived. Tatum was, as usual, spending the day in the Research Unit, and it was the day where her proposal for the Autism Diagnosis and Treatment Center would be completed and submitted to an agency called the Canadian Institutes for Health Research. CIHR was the Canadian equivalent of the American National Institute for Health, an agency she was far more familiar with. Applying to an international agency was daunting, especially as a new applicant. Tatum had asked Tim, Dr. Fraser and Dr. Zubert for feedback to improve her application. As she had expected, Dr. Zubert's comments had been most helpful. The comments of Tim and Dr. Fraser were minor, like would be expected from someone who had glanced at, rather than read, the materials provided.

At just before noon she received an email to her work address, something Jake rarely did.

"I'll be back at just after three. Going to go home and spend time with Brady until he's ready for bed. Can I come over after? Should be around eightish. Jake."

Tatum felt the best she'd felt in weeks.

"I can't wait. I'll cook. Dinner at eight thirty. See you tonight! Tatum."

Feeling like she had a new bounce in her step, Tatum left to have lunch with James. She purchased a sandwich and then grabbed two cinnamon rolls and two lattes; she wanted to share her good mood with James.

As always, James was sitting by the window, looking nonchalant about his expectation of his usual visitor.

"Hi James. How are you today? I'm great. Jake's coming home tonight. I brought you a roll and a latte. I'll set them on the window sill like usual, okay?"

Tatum knew that after she left, the nurses would help James consume whatever she'd left for him. They had explained to Tatum that, if they didn't give him her offerings, his stereotypies became much more agitated.

Some days were kind of quiet during their visits. Sometimes they just sat. Today was not one of those days. Tatum was excited and feeling good, so she managed to ramble at James for the full hour. At the end of their visit, Tatum was pleased to hear James' goodbye, but this time she witnessed him trying out his voice even further.

"Bye Tatum," he said, adding her name for the very first time. She noticed how, over the last many weeks, the use of his voice was improving the clarity of his words.

.

Tatum starting getting ready for Jake's visit almost as soon as she arrived home from visiting the grocery store after work. She vacuumed, cleaned the kitchen, disinfected the bathroom, tidied her bedroom including changing her sheets, and dusted. When she was satisfied that the comfy, warm apartment was at its best, she set her sights on her own appearance. She showered and then moved to her closet for the all-important choice of wardrobe. She did not want to appear too dressed-up, but, at the same time, knocking Jake's socks off was definitely what she had in mind.

Knowing that she would be staying in, she started by choosing a pair of fitted, soft, black slippers, the type that barely covered her feet but gave the appearance of shoes. She eventually decided on her favorite, worn blue jeans. They would be comfortable and she didn't want anything interfering with her enjoyment of the evening. Also, they were shorter than most of her other pants, appropriate for wear with her nearly bare feet. She paired her jeans with the black camisole and knitted top she'd worn on her first night out with Sam. But this time, in place of the clubbing look she had created previously, she tied her hair back in a low, loose pony tail and applied her make-up lightly, but with care. Alongside her face and neck she created soft, long tendrils, a look that Jake had complemented her on during past times together.

Satisfied that she looked her best, Tatum moved to the kitchen and started to prepare the roast she had planned for their dinner. She had learned well from years of living with a family whose lives revolved around food. Tatum had spent many afternoons in the kitchen with her mother, and a roast beef dinner was Sophia's specialty.

Jake had said several times during their phone conversations how much he hated eating every meal in a restaurant; he was looking forward to a home-cooked meal and Tatum was determined not to disappoint him. While the roast cooked, Tatum carefully set the table, something she hadn't done since she'd moved to Wainwright. She found two matching wine glasses and added them to the place settings. Then, as a final touch, she added a candle and some quiet music in the background.

.

Jake arrived just after eight. After buzzing him up, Tatum opened her front door to see the strong, sexy man she'd been anxiously waiting for walking quickly down the hall. Not saying one word, Jake walked up to the door, put his arms around Tatum and pulled her close. He kissed her and she kissed him back.

"Sorry I'm a few minutes late," he said when their lips finally parted. "Brady missed me and so I stayed with him until he was distracted by his movie. Three weeks is a long time."

"You're telling me," Tatum said as she smiled, letting Jake know she'd been eagerly awaiting his return.

"Something smells amazing," Jake commented as he walked further into the apartment.

"It's a roast. I hope you like it," said Tatum. "Why don't you sit down? I'll go get us a glass of wine and some appies."

Jake sat down and admired the woman he'd come to see as she walked back into the kitchen. Tatum had chosen a dry red, but had intentionally veered away from Two Oceans. She didn't want any reminders of Niko this evening. She returned to the living room with a glass for each of them and a tray of small snacks to hold them over until dinner was ready. They sat, ate, and talked, enjoying the good food and the great company.

Finally, after just enough wine to make them brave, but not near enough to reduce their senses, Jake pulled Tatum into his arms, kissing her long and deep. Prepared to give in completely, all Tatum could do was groan, hoping he wouldn't stop there. He didn't. Jake kissed her neck as he let his hands explore the full length of her body. Tatum leaned her head back to fully expose all the parts of her neck and then slipped her hands under his shirt. His body was hard and muscular, different than Niko. The lean, wiry feel of Niko's body seemed like it had been small and effeminate in comparison to the well-built torso of the strapping man who held her close. Despite the strength in his hands, his touch was soft and the feel of his fingers lightly caressing her skin covered her body in goose bumps.

"You are so beautiful," Jake mumbled under his breath to Tatum as he nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear.

As he spoke, his hands found the bottom of her shirt as she had found his. Jake slipped Tatum's shirt over her head and then took just a moment to fully realize her beauty prior to slipping off his own shirt so that he could feel her skin against his own. For a moment, the two lovers just held one another and appreciated the closeness created only by skin on skin.

Lying in bed next to Jake, Tatum once again felt as if she was finally where she had always belonged.

***

Morning peeked through the blinds. Jake rolled over and kissed the forehead of his beautiful bedmate.

"Good morning gorgeous," he said softly.

Tatum slowly opened her eyes and saw Jake's handsome face above her.

"Good morning," she responded as he once again kissed her forehead.

"I'm going to go make us some coffee. You stay right here."

Tatum waited, wondering whether Jake would be able to figure out how to make coffee in her kitchen. She rarely used her coffee machine, she always depended on Milligan. Finally, Jake returned, holding two steaming cups.

"Black, right?" he asked as he handed a cup to Tatum.

"Yup. Thanks."

They sat and drank their coffee, side-by-side sitting up in bed, both understanding that this would probably be the first day of the rest of their lives.

Since he had been gone for several weeks, Jake had promised Vinnie that he would help with a kitchen installation during the day. He had also promised Brady that he'd be able to help.

"I'm going to have to get up and get going soon; I still have to shower and then run home and get Brady," he said as he put his and Tatum's coffee cups on the night stand.

"But, first, I need to say a proper goodbye." Jake pulled Tatum into him once again and then, like the new lovers they were, they christened the morning.

.

Jake left with a promise to call her later that day and a reminder about his invite to his parent's house for dinner the next. It was Canadian Thanksgiving and his family would be marking the occasion with a full house of family and friends.

Tatum attended yoga as she always did on Saturday, and then she and Sam made time for breakfast. She wanted to hear about how Sam's day in court had gone. They went to Johnny's and Tatum walked in with a whole new appreciation for the tired Saskatchewan farmers and the dated ambiance. Wainwright was slowly but surely becoming home, and it somehow looked different through those eyes. Both women ordered coffee, with eggs and bacon on the way, and then Tatum didn't waste any time.

"So, how'd Thursday go?"

"Steve's an ass," Sam responded firmly.

"Why? What happened? I thought it was kind of all worked out. He basically took everything and you got out."

"Yah, I got that. But now I'm stuck with half his debt too."

"How come?"

"Judge said he acquired the debt while we were married, so it's 'ours'. Now I need to add it to what I already owe for the restaurant."

Tatum could see the anger and frustration in her friend's eyes.

"You're going to be just fine Sam. The restaurant is amazing and you'll soon have more money that you know what to do with," Tatum said reassuringly.

.

Tatum filled the rest of the day with cleaning up from the night before and waiting to hear from Jake. Finally, he called.

"Hi. It's me."

"Hi," she answered.

"I can't wait to see you again."

"Me neither."

"I was wondering what you would think about you and I taking Brady to the movie tonight? If you don't want to, please just tell me. I don't want to pressure you."

"I would love to. How about if we go to the SugarShack for some burgers first?"

"He'd like that. How about if I come and get you around five?"

"Works for me," she responded.

"Tatum?"

"Yes Jake."

"Thanks."

.

Jake and Brady picked up Tatum right on time. They both smelled fresh from the shower, having cleaned up after a long day of labor helping Vinnie. When Tatum came out to the truck, Brady politely exited the front seat, and held the door so that she could climb up.

_Just like his Dad_ , she thought.

He obviously remembered how comfortable he had become with Tatum on their last visit. All it took was for her to say hello and he acted as if he'd known her all his life.

"See I told you he liked you," said Jake smiling, pleased at his son's obvious affection for the girl he'd chosen.

The threesome took pleasure in each other's company as they scoffed down the deep fried goodness that only a place called the SugarShack could provide. Throughout the evening Brady's acceptance of Tatum deepened, and she surprised herself when she realized that she was equally taken by him.

After the show, Tatum went with Jake to the farm and visited with Carol until Brady was ready for bed. Jake kissed him good night and then Brady requested a hug from Tatum.

"Goodnight Brady," she said as she held the young boy in her arms; his small body and sweet smell captivating her like no child had ever done before.

"Goodnight Tatum," he answered tiredly, lying back down on his pillow.

.

Once Brady was settled, Jake and Tatum left for her apartment.

"Now, for the adult part of the evening," Jake smiled and teased as Tatum sat right beside him on the truck seat.

They made love into the early morning hours and then fell asleep, holding each other like they'd never ever let go.

.

Sunday morning Jake had nowhere to be, Mrs. Mackinley had agreed to keep Brady so that he and Tatum could spend the morning together. They would be going to the farm shortly after lunch for the family evening, so her plan was that Brady could stay and help her prepare. The truth was that she would have done almost anything to keep her son interested in the young woman that was making him so happy.

Just like the day before, Tatum and Jake had coffee and then made love, completely content to remain in bed together until later in the morning. Feeling completely safe and at ease, Tatum decided to open up to Jake a bit about what was going on at work, something she hadn't done up till then.

"I have something I wanted to tell you," started Tatum.

"You're not married are you?" Jake teased.

"No. It's about work."

"Okay?" he answered hesitantly.

"Remember I told you I thought I'd inherited Julia's office?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Well, I found some files."

"What kind of files?"

"Old clinical files. Julia had intentionally put them where they would be unlikely to be discovered, like she was trying to hide something. Something she didn't want others to know she knew."

"Oh geez," said Jake with exasperation. "Not you too?"

"What do you mean?"

"Before Julia was killed she had all these theories about twisted stuff that happens at WMI. It almost became an obsession for her. I asked her multiple times to just give it up, but she kept wanting to always look deeper." Tatum was silent. "Look Tatum. I don't know what you're thinking, but you should just give it up. Nothing good comes from looking into things you're not meant to know."

Tatum knew that their conversation was over.

.

Thanksgiving in the States was the year's biggest family holiday. In contrast, Tatum learned that, in Canada, everyone came home for Christmas instead. Still, the afternoon and early evening event Mrs. Mackinley hosted was nothing less than a shindig. Even though nearly the middle of October, the afternoon air was still warm enough for an indoor/outdoor event and it was clear this was not the Mackinley's first time as the hosts. They had an outdoor seating area prepared with tables and outdoor heaters. Seating was provided by chairs and bales of hay strategically placed to encourage conversation. Several of Jake's uncles, aunts and cousins were gathered in the corner, playing bluegrass music on a variety of instruments, some of which Tatum had never seen before.

"Every relative in the area comes to get some of my mom's famous pumpkin pie," said Jake as an explanation for Tatum about the large number of people that had migrated to the Mackinley household. "We usually eat, drink and visit most of the day."

Tatum, Jake and Brady stuck close together and did indeed eat, drink and visit the day away. Finally, evening fell and the family helped Mrs. Mackinley clean up the kitchen and take down everything that couldn't wait until the next morning to be cleaned up. Jake and Tatum helped Brady get ready for bed and said their goodnights.

"Would you like to go for a walk," Jake asked Tatum. "It's a nice evening and there's a bit of a trail out back. It's still probably mostly lit from the patio lanterns dad hung up."

Tatum and Jake strolled hand in hand out into the almost darkness, her with his coat around her to ward off the evening chill. They walked until only the outside lights of the farm were visible. It seemed to Tatum as if the afternoon had gone on for days.

"Today was fun," she said to Jake sincerely.

"I'm glad you were here," he responded. "It's nice to have someone to share things with again."

"Yeah, it sure is," she agreed as she snuggled close into Jake's firm chest for warmth.

They stood silently for a few moments relishing the quiet, interrupted only by sounds of crickets and frogs against the stillness of the air. Finally Jake broke the silence.

"Tatum?"

"Yes."

"I love you."

"I love you too Jake," she responded as she lifted her face for the long kiss she knew she was about to receive.

Chapter 20

The weekend together had seemed like an eternity, and neither Jake nor Tatum wanted it to end. Jake re-arranged his schedule over the weeks to come so that he could spend as much time as possible with Tatum. Most nights he would wait until Brady went to bed and then he would come over and spend the night.

Often Tatum would go with him to the farm; she would stay for dinner and then, as had become their custom, give Brady a goodnight kiss before he went to sleep. Tatum, Jake and Brady had become a unit. Tatum had become so much a part of the family, that on weekends she would sometimes go to the farm to help prepare supper and play cards with Brady, even when Jake wasn't home.

Tatum threw herself completely into her new relationship. As Jake had requested, she put all of her worries about WMI on the back burner. She wasn't about to let some stupid suspicions mess up what she had developed with the man she loved.

.

Her relationship with Jake had also distracted Tatum from her own family circumstance. Sophia and Sarah texted her news regularly and although Tatum continued to be devastated by her brother's situation, she had convinced herself that he would have his surgery and come out of it just fine. Her mother had told her he was scheduled for surgery the last week of October, much later than they had expected. There had been complications. First there was too much swelling, and then Michael had developed an infection that needed to be brought under control before surgery could even be considered. The surgery was going to be risky; removing a tumour from the frontal lobe always came with risks. Tatum knew the risks well. She'd studied damage to the frontal lobe at length without ever thinking that she'd know the potential outcomes on such a personal level.

.

When the end of October finally came, Tatum texted every day waiting to hear news.

"Surgery is tomorrow," came Sarah's latest text. "Just saw the doctor and they'll start at nine am. Should be done by noon."

"Prognosis?" Tatum texted back.

"Don't know. Apparently they can't tell how deep it goes from the picture. May have 'tentacles'?"

"How's mom?" Tatum wanted to ask more, but texting had its limits.

"Not good. Tired. She's aged so much."

"Call me tomorrow, right after. I'll be in the Research Unit, so I can answer."

"Okay."

.

The day of Michael's surgery Tatum went to work, hoping she could distract herself by talking with the research assistants. As soon as she walked in the door, Garry met her, envelope in hand.

"Good Morning Tatum. I thought you might like this."

Tatum looked down at the envelope Garry was holding. In the return address spot, she read the words 'Canadian Institutes for Health Research'. Tatum looked up at Garry. He smiled while he handed her the letter and then stood looking at her expectantly.

"Should I open it now?" asked Tatum nervously.

"Uh, yah," Garry replied as if to say 'Duuhh'.

Tatum slowly slid her finger along the seal and pulled the multiple sheets of paper from their packet.

"Dear Dr. O'Neill," it read. "We would like to congratulate you..."

That was all Tatum needed to read. She grabbed and hugged Garry as she bounced up and down.

Once she'd calmed down, she read on: "You will receive one hundred thousand per year for the next three years to complete your project as proposed. You will be responsible to submit yearly progress and financial sheets."

That was all Tatum needed to know, she could read all the specifics later.

"Come on Garry, let's go look at my space. I want to get started on the Center right now."

Garry laughed as she tugged as his sleeve, excited like a school girl.

.

Once the shock of the good news had worn off, Tatum calmed down and thought about her next steps.

_First things first_ , she thought as she decided her very first task was to tell James. She wanted him to know and to be involved. In reality, this grant belonged to Michael and James, her inspirations. She paused, thinking about her brother lying on the operating table as she celebrated her good fortune.

_I will tell him as soon as he wakes up,_ she promised herself as she quickly moved through the halls to her familiar Unit Three.

Tatum was in a hurry today. She ran right by Larry, oblivious to his attention and flirting.

"James, guess what?" she almost hollered as she pulled up the chair.

"I got the money. I can start the Center. This is basically your doing. Well, you and Michael. The two of you gave me the inspiration to go ahead with the proposal, and now there's money to develop an actual treatment center so that no one has to sit alone like you've done all these years. I want you to come with me, over to the Research Unit. See the space."

As soon as it was out of her mouth, Tatum knew she'd said the wrong thing. James started to rock violently, his hand movements becoming more intense and forceful. He started making loud grunting noises as if he were a bull about to charge; and then it became words.

Over and over he chanted, "Mom sexy; mom sexy; mom sexy."

And then, as suddenly as if it were the first time she'd ever heard him say the words, Tatum heard something completely different.

"Mom Six E," were the words that she now heard in his shrieks.

Hearing the commotion, the orderlies ran over to see if Tatum needed help or if she wanted James restrained. Before they were close enough to tell, James had changed his shrieks back into incomprehensible grunts.

"Nope we're good," Tatum told the orderlies, "I'm fine with him. He'd never hurt me."

The orderlies were satisfied and went back about their business. Tatum leaned over to the full grown man who was rocking and grunting like a child. She whispered in his ear so their conversation would be heard by no-one but themselves.

"I heard you this time James. Mom Six E. I don't know what it means yet, but I promise you, I'll figure it out."

As if she'd flipped a switch, James' rocking and shrieking halted. All that remained of his physical and emotional explosion were his perpetually moving fingers.

.

Tatum sat with James a while longer, not wanting to leave him too quickly after he'd been so upset. As she sat, she glanced at her cell phone. She normally didn't bring her phone to work, but today was different. It was nearly one and she'd gotten nothing from Sarah except a couple of texts that said, "Nothing yet." Finally, just as she was about to leave James and head back to start initial plans on the Center, she heard the distinct sound of her personal cell phone ring.

"Tatey?"

"Mom? Is everything okay?"

"No honey. No. Everything isn't okay. We just talked to the doctor and Michael's surgery didn't go well. It's bigger than they thought, goes deep into the brain tissue. They think that's what caused the coma. It's inoperable honey. He's not going to make it."

Tatum heard her mother start sobbing into the other end of the line, and then she heard her father's voice pick up where Sophia had left off.

"Tate. It's dad. They've only given him a few days. I think you should come."

Tatum was barely comprehending what she was being told. Overcome with grief, the words her father was saying seemed like a bad dream. Michael couldn't be dying. He was going to have surgery and then she was going to go home and they would play fish and watch movies.

Through her tears, Tatum managed a simple, "Okay dad. I'll be there as soon as I can."

When she hung up the phone, Tatum sat beside James and cried like she'd never cried before.

_Michael is going to die_ , was all she kept thinking over and over again, like an annoying song in her head; a really bad annoying song.

James leaned awkwardly over to Tatum. He put his clumsy arms, misshapen from years of staying in the same position, around her shoulders, and then, in the only inelegant expression of empathy he could muster, he laid his head against her own.

.

Still feeling as if she hadn't woken up from some horrifying nightmare, Tatum finally got up from her seat beside James. She had no idea what she should do next. _Anne,_ she thought blankly, heading to her most familiar work support in her moment of need. She went into auto-pilot and quickly advanced toward Anne's office; thankfully, she no longer needed to think to find her way around the institution, because rational thought was not something she was currently capable of.

Anne took one look at her and said, "Tatum. What's wrong?"

"It's Michael. The surgery didn't work. He's going to die." Even as she said the words, they didn't seem real. "I need to go."

"Yes you do," responded the supportive nurse, not questioning for a second Tatum's need to be with her family. "You just go. I will deal with things here," she reassured Tatum as she wrapped her in a maternal hug. "Call me when you can," she finished, letting Tatum know that eventually they would have to account for her whereabouts.

Anne walked Tatum to front entrance and while they walked, she encouraged Tatum to call Jake for a ride.

"I don't want you to be alone right now," she explained. Tatum dialed the number, no answer. _Sam_ , she thought. Typical of the kind of friend she was, Sam was at WMI to pick up Tatum about five minutes later. She drove them back to Tatum's apartment and sat with her friend until Jake finally arrived. Time had taken away a bit of the shock and Tatum was starting to become more lucid.

"Thanks for staying Sam," said Jake when he arrived. "You're a good friend," he told her while he walked her out to her car.

"So is she," responded Sam.

.

Once Sam had gone, Tatum and Jake sat together in silence. He held her tight, but she didn't have any desire for conversation. Finally, when he was satisfied that she would be okay, he went to the kitchen and made a cup of Earl Grey tea and then handed her the warm and comforting liquid.

"You know me well," she commented as she took the hot drink from his hands. Jake walked over toward her computer.

"I'm going to book some flights," he said as he walked.

"Flights?" she asked, curious about the plural.

"Oh geez, I didn't even ask. Is it okay if I come with you?"

"Okay?" said Tatum. "That would be perfect. I never thought you'd want to come."

"I want to be wherever you are," he responded walking back to her to kiss her cheek.

.

On Saturday morning, both Tatum and Jake went out to the farm to make sure that Brady understood that they would both be gone for a few days. They had discussed taking him but decided that a time of family grief was not the right occasion for Brady to meet the O'Neills. They hugged him and kissed him goodbye. He held onto Tatum a little longer than necessary; Brady knew she was sad.

Once they were satisfied that Brady understood why he was being left behind, Tatum and Jake drove to Redman and caught the plane. With the sound of the engine and the comfort of Jake by her side, Tatum slept, exhausted from the emotional and sleepness night before.

.

For the first time that Tatum could remember, the entire O'Neill family was not loitering at the bottom of the ramp, anxiously awaiting her arrival. Only Peter was there, having taken on the responsibility of the airport pick-up so that all of the other family members could remain with Michael.

"How is he?" were the first words out of Tatum's mouth when she saw her brother-in-law.

"Not good. I don't think it will be long Tate. We should go straight to the hospital."

"Yah, let's go," she answered.

Jake looked at Peter and then the men introduced themselves to one another. Tatum had other things on her mind.

.

When they reached the hospital, Peter led the way. It felt like they travelled for miles through the maze of rooms and curtains, before Tatum finally caught sight of anyone familiar.

"Mom," she said quietly as she pulled back the curtain.

Sophia O'Neill looked up and into the face of her youngest daughter.

"Oh, Tate. I'm so glad you're here." She wrapped her arms around Tatum in the most desperate hug Tatum had ever received.

Tatum greeted Sarah and her father the same way; the family holding onto each other like they knew they couldn't hold onto Michael. Then, slowly, Tatum made her way over to the bedside. If all her family weren't sitting beside the person lying in the bed, Tatum would never have recognized the body as her brother. His head was swollen beyond recognition and bandaged so that only his distended face remained visible. The tubes and machines that had been there previously seemed to have multiplied so that he now looked like a mechanical man, only surviving with the help of technology. Tatum took one look at her brother and collapsed over him in tears.

"We'll give you a minute," she heard her father say, and then she was alone.

"Michael, it's Tate. I hope you can hear me. This is the hardest thing I've ever done, but I've come to say goodbye. I need you to know I love you, and I will always love you. You've been a brother, a friend and an inspiration. I couldn't have asked for better." With those words, Tatum felt completely spent. She'd said her goodbyes; all that was left was the waiting.

"Mom? Dad? I'm okay. Come on back in," Tatum called to her family waiting outside of the curtained area.

The family re-entered the draped-off area and suddenly Tatum became very aware of Jake standing there, knowing no-one.

"Oh my goodness. Jake. I didn't introduce you," she stammered as she jumped up to stand by his side.

"I'm just fine Tate," he said quietly as he put his arm protectively around her shoulders. "We took care of that already while you were busy," he reassured her.

She turned into him and buried her face in his chest, as if hiding her face would make the sadness disappear.

.

The funeral was Tuesday. It was a small service with mostly family and very close friends. When the service ended, the O'Neill's hosted a private reception in their home. Tatum was just anxious for the whole thing to be over.

"I don't feel very well," she told Jake as they sampled the hors d'oeuvres that the staff of Sophie's had carefully prepared for the occasion.

"I didn't feel well either," answered Jake, referring to his response to Julia's funeral.

"I want to go home," she said.

For the first time, Tatum realized that Wainwright had become, and from then on would always be, home.

.

As was their custom, all of the O'Neill's, minus one, went to the airport to see Tatum and Jake on their way. Tatum still felt ill and hoped that her nausea was only temporary until her grief lessened.

_Time heals all_ , she'd been told.

.

They arrived Wednesday evening and went directly to the farm where Brady was waiting. Tatum wrapped her arms around the boy and held him close, understanding for the first time that she loved him desperately and that he would be a part of her life forever.

***

Tatum welcomed the routine of daily life as a distraction from the flurry of activity that had made up the previous many days. For the first time since leaving for Chicago, Tatum got up early and went for her run, leaving Jake to sleep. She ran fast, as she often did when she felt like she needed to outrun her emotions. But, in between her sprints, she stopped and waited while her stomach settled.

_You can actually feel grief physically_ she rationalized as she waited for the sickness in her stomach to pass.

She ran onto the WMI grounds, so different than they had been during her first time through the estate. The stately green parkland was now barren and brown. The leaves had all fallen and the lawn had retreated into dormancy. Residents no longer worked on the upkeep; it was as if the entire site had gone into hibernation for the winter.

Tatum ran around the outside of the now familiar buildings, admiring the detailed and beautiful architecture as she always did. As she ran by Unit Six, she had to stop. Her nausea getting the better of her, she hunkered down in the bushes to relieve her aching abdomen. Tatum stood up, feeling a bit better after releasing some of the sickness inside her. For the first time, she paused and really looked at Unit Six. She saw a small door on the side the building, lowered into the ground; a door she had never seen before. It was fully covered by shrubs and vines, as if it had been concealed on purpose. Checking to make sure she was alone, Tatum quickly worked her way over to the entrance, taking care to ensure she left the shrubs and vines undisturbed. Similar to the other entranceways around WMI, the doorway had a FOB reader to determine who would be allowed access.

Tatum would be back.

.

Having returned to work on a Thursday, Tatum really had little to do. She had completed her reports and clinical notes the week before and hadn't seen any clients since. She felt relieved that the day would be light. Work with clients would be difficult while her stomach wasn't cooperating. She used the morning getting caught up on email and reviewing what had happened with her regular patients while she'd been away. She was anxiously looking forward to meeting with James. It had been nearly a week since she'd seen him. Tatum took an early lunch and grabbed a cup of tea to take with her for her visit.

_Tea will settle my stomach_ , she tried to convince herself.

Tatum pulled up her usual chair.

"Hi James. I'm back. Did you have a good week? I hope it was better than mine. We had Michael's funeral on Tuesday. I get now how other people felt when they have lost someone they loved."

She thought about Jake and Milligan.

"I don't know if you can understand unless you've experienced it. Have you ever lost anyone James? Someone that you loved so much that the loss felt unbearable?"

"Mom Six E," James responded.

.

In the afternoon, Tatum had two things she now knew she needed to do. First, she called Sam.

"Hey, do you have any plans for this evening?"

"No. Not really. Why? What have you got in mind?"

"I need you to do something with me."

"Okay. What?"

"I'll tell you later. But, can you come and get me from work?"

"Yup. I'll be there around five, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks Sam."

The second was something that Tatum really did not want to do while her stomach was already feeling less than okay. She needed to re-visit Unit Five. There were some more questions she wanted to ask Lee.

.

Tatum found Lee sitting hunched over in his cell just as he had been the previous time she'd visited. But, in contrast to the prior time, he seemed genuinely happy to see her. Now armed with the knowledge that she was safe, she didn't waste any time and immediately requested that the guard allow her to enter the cell.

"Hi Lee. Do you remember me?"

He nodded.

"Remember we talked some last time I was here about that lady. The one that everyone says you hurt."

He nodded again.

"You told me you didn't hurt her and I said I believed you. I still believe you." Tatum kept her voice as low as she could. "Do you remember anything from that day? Anything that might help me figure out who really did it?"

Lee shook his head sideways.

"Do you remember anything? How did they keep you from knowing what was going on?"

"They covered my eyes," he said as he motioned to put his arm over his face, demonstrating for her what it was like.

"Like with a blindfold?"

He nodded.

"Do you remember how many people blindfolded you?"

"I think two," said Lee, looking as unconfident as an eight year old answering the same questions.

"Do you remember what they looked like? Or their voices?"

Lee shook his head again.

"Did they talk about anything while they did it?"

Lee nodded.

"What were they talking about Lee?"

"Money. They were gonna get a lot of money."

This time is was Tatum's turn to nod.

.

Sam met Tatum outside of the front entrance, right after work as promised. She had told Jake that she would miss dinner that evening because she had made supper plans with Sam. She had told the truth; as soon as they completed the errand Tatum had in mind, they would indeed eat together.

"What's going on?" asked Sam. "Are we on some sort of covert mission?"

"Sort of," Tatum responded coyly. "Let's go to the drug store."

"What? Are you sure?"

"I don't know; I thought I was sick from grief about Michael, but it seems to be getting worse instead of better. Plus, I'm a couple of days late."

Sam just smiled; she had no words to respond to what her friend was implying. After a quick jaunt over to Main Street, the girls went back to Tatum's apartment. Sam waited anxiously until Tatum returned from the bathroom.

"Two lines," was all she said as she held out the test for Sam's inspection.

"Yup. Two lines. Now what?"

Tatum didn't even answer. She had to sit down; her stomach was upset and she was suddenly really, really dizzy.

.

Tatum and Sam went to Johnny's for dinner. Tatum needed some time to absorb her news before she could face Jake.

"Do I tell him?" she asked her trusted friend.

"Of course you tell him. He loves you Tate. This just makes it permanent," she grinned as she said permanent. She knew full well that they were 'permanent' regardless.

"Should I tell him tonight?"

"That's up to you. Do you need some time to get used to the idea yourself?"

"I have no idea," Tatum said honestly.

.

Tatum decided that she would tell Jake Friday night. She'd make them a nice dinner at her house, so that they could have some privacy not afforded by eating at the farm. Friday at work promised to be busy. She had planned a training workshop with the research assistants in the morning, and the afternoon she would spend starting to get things organized for the Center. In between, she would visit James and find a file that she couldn't believe she'd neglected to read up to this point.

Her visit with James was short. She wanted to get to the file room and she wanted to make sure she visited the files during lunch, while no one else was thinking about getting necessary records and she could be alone. During their visit, she had hoped James could tell her something, anything that would help her in her search. Feeling less than satisfied after having received no additional information from him, she decided to see if Larry could help.

"Hey Larry," Tatum said, getting the attention of the man who was never very far away. "I can't believe that I'm asking you this after all these months, but do you have any idea what James' last name is?"

"Hmm, actually that's a good question. No one ever comes to see him except you. Never any real need to know. I'll check for you."

Larry walked away and Tatum stood in place, anxiously waiting, hoping that she'd get the information she needed. Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Larry returned. He only said one word, "Muller."

"Thanks!" called Tatum over her shoulder as she hurried off the clinical unit and toward the administrative files.

Tatum looked at her watch. _Damn it_ , she thought as she realized there was no time to find anything before she needed to be back at the Assessment Lab. She'd waited longer for Larry than she'd realized. _Monday,_ she decided as she turned an about-face back outside toward Unit Six.

.

Arrangements had been made for Jake to pick her up right after work. She wanted to spend some time with Brady at the farm, before she stole his dad away for the evening. Satisfied that his attention tank was full, Tatum and Jake headed back to Regency Apartments. Tatum and Sam had carefully planned the evening during their visit the night before, making sure the apartment was stocked with all of the necessary supplies. When they arrived, Tatum handed Jake a drink and started preparing dinner, as he stood nearby admiring her every move. Their meal would be stirfry, intentionally chosen because of its minimal preparation time. As the chicken and vegetables sizzled, Tatum carefully set the table with her best table-cloth, candles, and wine glasses for the non-alcoholic spritzer she had purchased.

"Dinner's ready," she informed Jake when the stirfry had cooked to perfection.

"It looks delicious Tate," said Jake. "Is there some kind of occasion or did you just go through all this fuss 'cause I'm cute," he teased.

"Well, you are cute," she responded matter-of-factly. "But, yah, I guess it's a bit of an occasion."

She poured some spritzer into his glass, well aware that he took no notice of the 'non-alcoholic' label on the bottle.

"I have something to tell you."

Tatum paused and Jake looked at her, preparing himself for the bad news he thought could be coming. The last time she'd said that she had news she'd been in tears while she told him about Michael.

"I'm expecting."

"Expecting what?" he asked sincerely.

"No Jake. Expecting."

Jake was silent. His face moulded into a catatonic state of shock. Finally, he came to, and Tatum waited anxiously to hear his reaction.

"Are you sure?" he said, his face finally breaking into an ear to ear grin.

"Yes. I'm sure."

"Oh Tate. This is awesome," he hollered out, standing up and grabbing her out of her chair. He swung her around the room yelling out, "We're gonna have a baby! We're gonna have a baby!"

Tatum had hoped for a positive reaction, but this, she hadn't expected.

.

The announcement about the pregnancy and the resulting flood of emotions meant that the stirfry sat lonely on the table, while the new parents-to-be celebrated their news. Tatum was shocked that their love making was deeper and more intense than it had ever been, as if their connection had transcended to a level she didn't know was possible. Finally they tired and then laid together as they'd done many times before, but feeling a security in their relationship that was all together new.

"Tatum?"

"Yes."

"I love you. You know that, right?"

"Yes. I love you too."

Slowly, Jake pulled himself up until he leaned on his arm and looked down at her face, happy and at peace with the major change that was taking place in their lives.

"Will you marry me?" he said softly.

Tatum was stunned.

"Will I marry you? Of course I will marry you," she shouted as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him so tightly, he thought he might choke.

.

The next morning Tatum and Jake got up early. They couldn't wait to share their news. They showered and headed straight out to the farm. Mrs. Mackinley had just started breakfast, and Tatum and Jake fully intended to take advantage of their excellent timing.

"Morning Mom," yelled Jake as he opened the wooden screen door and, as always, let it slam noisily behind him.

"Morning Jakey. Hi Tatum. Are you guys here for breakfast?"

"Yah, if we're invited," he teased his mother, knowing full well they were always invited.

Carol turned around, wiped her hands on her apron and hugged both her son and Tatum.

"Have a seat. Dad will be right in and I just woke Brady a few minutes ago."

Feeling particularly energetic and happy, Jake raced into Brady's room and Tatum could hear the young boy's laughter as his dad tickled him awake. Eventually, the two appeared in the kitchen, Brady slung over his large father's shoulder. Jake was just putting Brady in his seat when George came in and plopped himself down, waiting anxiously for the breakfast that smelled so delicious. Once everyone was seated, Jake started to talk.

"Brady, Mom, Dad. Tatum and I have some things we want to tell you."

Mrs. Mackinley's face broke into a big, wide grin.

_Woman's intuition_ , thought Tatum looking at her mother-in-law to-be's knowing face.

"We've decided to get married."

"Oh Jakey. That's wonderful!" said Mrs. Mackinely as she jumped up to physically congratulate her son.

"Just hold on Ma, there's more."

Carol backed off and looked suspiciously at her son.

"Brady, you're gonna be a brother," Jake said directly to his son. "Tatum's pregnant."

There was a moment of silence as everyone around the table absorbed the shock, but the mood turned quickly to congratulatory. Brady finally broke the silence with his primary concern.

"Is it going to be a boy?" he asked. "Cause I don't like girls."

.

Since she'd started dating Jake, the Mackinely's had always made Tatum feel like a part of the family. But, now, things were different, she really _was_ part of the family and Carol was determined to make it official.

"Jake? I assume Tatum will move in here?"

Jake looked at Tatum, surprised both by his mother's question and by the forthright way she'd made the statement.

She continued. "It only makes sense. Assuming you want it, the farm will be yours soon enough anyway, and that way I can help with both Brady and the baby. You both work you know."

Tatum had to admit she had a point. She smiled at Jake.

"Okay with me, if it's okay with you."

" _You_ are the best!" he announced as he hugged his fiancé.

.

It had been less than a week since Michael's funeral and Tatum was uneasy about sharing her news with her family, unsure of how they would take it so close to her brother's death. Despite her reservations, she couldn't keep her happy news from the people that meant the most to her. She phoned her mother first, and then Sarah. They congratulated Tatum and Jake, and they meant it. But, for the O'Neill's, the couple's news was bittersweet. It meant that, in some ways, they had lost their son and now they were losing their daughter. Tatum had made her choice, and they knew she would never again call Chicago her home.

.

Tatum had reserved Sunday morning for Milligan. She had asked Jake to spend the morning with Brady so that she could have some time with her special coffee friend. Milligan wasn't expecting her. She'd been less than reliable in her coffee attendance lately.

"Tatum!" he called in joy as she came into the common room that had been transformed into the coffee room for the winter months. "Long time no see."

"Yah. Sorry about that. It's been a busy, complicated month."

"I know. How was your trip home? Your family?"

"Hanging in there. It's a rough thing losing a family member." Tatum felt her face turn red in embarrassment. "Oh geez Milligan. I'm so sorry. As if I need to tell you that."

"It's okay Tatum. Sadly, we're now both just part of a select club, a club nobody wants to belong to. A club nobody understands until they join. You're just our newest member." Tatum could hear the sadness in Milligan's voice as he spoke. "No matter what anybody tells you, you will never be the same. It will get better, but you will never be the same."

Today was the first day Tatum had really heard Milligan talk honestly about his loss. _Now he knows I get it_ , she thought.

"I'm still waiting for it to get better."

"It takes time Tate. It just takes time," her kind friend reassured her.

"Anyway, I didn't come here to get us both depressed for the day. I came to tell you some happy news."

"What's that?"

"Jake and I have decided to get married. And..." Tatum paused to build some suspense, then smiled as she said, "I'm pregnant."

Milligan's face went from somber to full of life. He grabbed her and gave her a big hug.

"He's a good man Tatum, and now he's a lucky man too," he said into her ear, as proud as if he were her own father.

.

Milligan was happy for Tatum, but really sad to see her go.

"It'll take me a bit to get all of my stuff out, and I'll still come by for coffee. It's the best coffee in town you know," she said to show her appreciation.

"What are you gonna do with all that fancy furniture," Milligan asked.

"You want it? Be easier to rent the apartment with it as-is. Beats how it was," she teased the kindly apartment manager."

"Sounds good. I'll rebate you two months' rent. How's that sound?"

"Sounds good to me."

The truth was Tatum would have left the furniture with Milligan for free. She had no use for it anymore.

She and Jake worked diligently the rest of Sunday packing and loading her belongings into the back of his pick-up. They didn't want to wait one more minute to start their life together.

# Chapter 21

Monday morning Tatum got up early and kissed Jake on the cheek, hardly able to believe that she was waking up beside him in the house that would, from that day forward, be her home. She rubbed her eyes and pulled her hair into a pony tail, intent on getting out for her run without waking anyone up. She pulled her runners on silently and then carefully closed the wooden screen door so that it wouldn't make its typical bang.

In the cool and dark of the early winter, Tatum started her run down the long lane that led away from the farmhouse. She had dressed in her insulated running jacket, accompanied by her toque, scarf and gloves. In place of her run around the perimeter of town, she ran down the lane and then worked her way along the dirt roads lining the rural properties. Eventually the rural roads met the highway and Tatum started the run towards town. She had estimated that the run to WMI and back to the farm would take about an hour, consistent with her normal workout routine.

Her run felt good, the cooler air allowing her body temperature to remain low despite her high energy output. She slowed as she neared the Units, knowing she would run to the far end and re-visit the inconspicuous door she'd discovered the week before. It was early and few would be up and around at this hour. It was a perfect time to get a closer look without anyone noticing, and this time she'd brought her keys.

Tatum stayed behind the bushes as she ran around the outer edges of the grounds; she didn't want to take a chance she'd run into someone. Suddenly she heard a cracking noise, as if someone had stepped on a stick. She looked toward the building. Near the unexplained entrance Tatum saw Dr. Gagnon. She appeared to be sneaking around as if she were attempting to leave the building without being seen.

_June, what are you up to?_ wondered Tatum as she sat perfectly still, crouched in the bushes so as to be able to watch without being seen. She stayed in her camouflaged position until she was confident that June had left and wasn't going to return.

Once she was certain she wouldn't be discovered, Tatum followed the same path June had taken a few minutes earlier. She moved the shrubs and vines that concealed the undisclosed doorway with extreme care and exposed the FOB reader she had discovered previously. Tatum rubbed her FOB against the reader, expecting to hear the familiar click. She had now been granted full access to the facility; so, she could think of no conceivable reason why all she heard when she swiped her FOB was a swooshing sound as it ran uselessly over the plastic machine.

Discouraged at her inability to get any more information about the unknown doorway, Tatum started on her run back to the farm. The sun had started to come up and the dark had turned to daybreak. As she ran she planned her return to get a closer watch on who was coming and going from the vine-covered door. Jake had asked her to stop with her suspicions, and she had tried; but, she'd finally understood James, and she'd made him a promise as well.

Coffee and breakfast were waiting for her on the table when she got back.

"Good morning beautiful," Jake said as he watched her come through the door. "How was your run?"

"It was really good," answered Tatum, neglecting to mention her excursion to WMI.

"It's sure nice having you here," he said as he pulled her in for a good morning kiss.

They ate and sat together over coffee, then Tatum showered and they headed into town where Jake dropped her off at work before venturing to his own office.

.

Tatum's week was full; it seemed as if she'd been scheduled extra to make up for the time she'd taken the week before. She spent her days going through the motions with patients, her mind constantly distracted by her new life with Jake or the strange events at WMI. Finally, on Thursday she found some time to re-visit her intent from the previous Friday. After lunch on Thursday, Tatum headed directly for the file room. This time she was alone and she knew exactly what she was looking for.

Tatum went into the Unit Three room and flipped directly to the 'M" section. _Mallard, Moltin, Mudder, Muller_. Tatum pulled out the only Unit Three file listed as 'Muller, J'. Tucking it under her arm, she methodically went through the other files, finding full folders for all of her week's patients. While walking back to her office, she wanted to ensure that James' file looked unremarkable in amongst many other patient files.

Tatum returned to her rectangular workplace and placed the pile of patient files on her desk. Then, she stood up and double-checked to make sure her office door was both closed and locked. Uninterested in most of the records, Tatum put all but one file in a neat pile at the corner of her desk. She pulled James' file to the center of her workstation and slowly opened the documents, not sure what she would find. The file seemed pretty typical, with the exception of its apparent dormancy, which was unusual for a current patient.

James' file had not one single entry for nearly ten years. _No need to write 'he sits by the window' over and over_ , Tatum thought as she considered the seemingly efficient lack of clinical notes. Behind the dated clinical record was the history of his commitment. James had been placed in the institution by his mother at not quite three years of age. He had been diagnosed with Autism at the age of two, and his mother had serious mental health issues. She was making the decision to give him up to the system because she felt that, given the pervasiveness of his needs, she was unable to care for him.

_Pretty typical intake_ thought Tatum as she continued to flip through the file. The rest of the file primarily contained dated medical intake records and accounts created about assessments completed in years past. Tatum had nearly satisfied herself that James' file contained nothing of particular interest when, at the back of the file, she found a single hand-written note. From the hand-writing it appeared to be written by a woman.

Tatum started to read. "Dear James. If you are reading this letter you are probably an adult and have asked for access to your file. I hope that your life has been good and that you've been well cared for. I need you to know something that will always be true. I love you. I've always love you. I wanted to be there for you; I just couldn't. I'm not well and you need to be somewhere that can give you the care you need. Your father loves you too, but I can't leave him alone with three kids all by himself. You need more than he can give. Please forgive me James. I have only done what I think is right. Love always, Mom."

Tatum stared at the letter for several minutes thinking about the pain James' mother must have endured in order to give up her youngest child. Then, suddenly, acting on what seemed like an entirely insane impulse, Tatum flipped back to the intake form. At the top it read James Muller. She carefully re-read all of the information on the page. _Name, Birthdate, Date of Intake, Reason for Intake_... Finally, Tatum got to the piece of information she was impetuously seeking, _Name of Legal Guardian_. Tatum looked at the signature on the bottom of the page. The person identified as having the legal authority to decide James' fate was J. Milligan.

With no summertime heat to explain her physiological reaction, Tatum gasped. _J. Milligan? Jennie Milligan?_ _But his last name is Muller?_ Tatum thought back to her many conversations with Milligan.

"He passed away when he was just over two," Milligan had said. "Jennie took care of all the arrangements. That time was such a blur. I basically remember the memorial service and that's it."

Tatum caught her breath again. _It can't be. It just can't be!_ Slowly, like an experienced investigator finally figuring out the crime, Tatum started putting pieces into place. Jennie had committed James 'Muller' instead of James Mulligan. To protect her son and her family, she'd let the rest of her family think James had passed away so that they could go with their lives without guilt. Committing her son under a false name was the best way she knew to protect everyone that she loved.

But, one piece was still missing. _If Jennie is dead and Jennie was James' mom, what does Six E have to do with anything_? Tatum had some planning to do.

.

Back at her office, Tatum called Jake.

"Hi Sweetie, it's me. Just wanted to let you know that I'm going to work a bit late," she lied to her husband-to-be. "Could you pick me up outside the main entrance around nine?" Tatum wanted to be sure she had enough time.

She finished up her work for the day and then headed down to the cafeteria to grab a to-go lunch bag. The leftover prepared lunch would make a perfect snack for her to consume while she waited in the bushes. She returned to her office and bundled up in all of the outer wear she had worn earlier that morning, and then headed out the administration unit door, making certain that she said goodbye to Marja.

Once out of the building, Tatum walked down the entrance corridor as she usually did, but instead of continuing down the street towards town, she looked around to make sure she was alone, and then she turned and concealed herself in the wall of trees that fenced WMI. As she'd done several times previously during her runs, she worked her way around the outer perimeter of the grounds, staying out of sight as she moved. Finally, she reached her destination and hunkered down, masked by her vegetative shield, ensuring she had a full view of Unit Six's disguised door. Then, she waited. Hours passed and not one person came or went from the veiled exit. Dark had set in completely, and although Tatum had eaten her bagged supper and did not feel hungry, the cold, dark air was beginning to be too much for her. She hadn't prepared properly for her unplanned stake-out, so the cold ground served as her seating place.

She was just about to give up when she heard the faintest click. Unsure she heard anything Tatum listened intently and carefully watched the shrouded doorway. She heard the faint click again, and then a single face peered out from behind the vines. The face checked first left, then right, and then left again. Confident no one was watching, two orderlies exited the secret doorway, taking tender care to ensure all of the shrubs and vines used for protection of their secret remained intact. Once inspection of their camouflage was complete, Tatum saw the body language of the orderlies completely change. They became relaxed and nonchalant.

Both orderlies were men she'd seen before in passing. Tatum was fairly certain they both worked on Unit Four. She listened.

"Sort of feels like we're in some kind of spy movie, hey Jeff?"

"Yah, a spy movie that pays us a lot of money."

Both men laughed.

Tatum thought about Marja's rumor.

"I've just heard that you make more money if you work on the research unit," Marja had said.

_But for what?_ wondered Tatum. She knew one thing for sure, she intended to find out.

.

Jake picked up Tatum outside the front entrance at nine, just as she had asked. She'd returned to her office to warm up, not wanting Jake to notice that her face was red and her shivering intense.

"Hi Honey," he said as she jumped up into the truck. "Long day, hey?"

"Yah, just had some reports I needed to catch up on and I didn't want to bring them home. When I'm at the farm, I like to concentrate fully on Brady," she lied to Jake for the second time that day.

Her day had been full, but not with anything she was prepared to share with anyone at this point, especially Jake and Milligan.

"Remember you mentioned that we could insure your mom's old car so that I would have a way to get around without always having to depend on you?"

"Yah."

"Do you think we could insure it tomorrow? If I'm going to be working late sometimes, I'd rather be able to drive myself."

"Sure. I'll take care of it in the morning."

"Thanks Jake," replied Tatum, not explaining any further.

.

Friday morning Tatum returned to the inside of the Research Unit, but on this visit, she was interested in more than just her new Center. Tatum waited through the morning and patiently worked with the research assistants as she always did. But, as soon as the lunch hour came, she fled the Unit like a woman on a mission. Skipping the cafeteria, Tatum headed straight to her chair beside James.

"Hey James, how you doing today?" she started, only to make the conversation seem slightly normal. She continued, "I'm having a pretty good day. It's been a pretty eventful week. I'm in the Research Unit today. Hey, do you remember when I told you I'd try and find out what you meant by 'mom six E'?" No response. "Well, I'm trying, but I'm not really sure where to start. You don't like the Research Unit much," Tatum said more to herself than to James, as she tried to talk herself through the information that she already had.

_Wait! Six E!_ Suddenly it dawned on her and she couldn't believe she hadn't seen it till now. _Of course!_ She thought to herself as she slowly started to piece it all together. _Unit Six's secret door; Unit Six E!_

Tatum got up suddenly, said a quick goodbye to James and speedily headed to Unit Four. She had a few minutes before she needed to be back at the Lab, and she fully intended to find out where her well-paid orderlies were working. For the first time, Tatum's determination overrode her good sense. She walked into Unit Four with no obvious reason for her visit. She boldly wandered through the unit, evaluating the faces of the men who worked there.

_Damn it! They're not here_ , she thought as she quickly moved to Unit Five to continue her search. Success came quickly. Right inside the door of Unit Five was the first face she had seen peeking out from behind the vines the night before. Tatum made a note of his name tag - 'Jeff Painter' it read. She gave a quick wave to the guard at the front, as if she had ample reason to be there, and then continued sauntering through the unit like she had somewhere to be. Out of habit, she turned toward the cell of the only patient in Unit Five with whom she'd ever spoken. Outside of Lee's cell was the second face from the other night. She encoded 'Owen Fulstone' into her memory. Then, to provide herself with a reason for visiting, Tatum called out to Lee.

"Hi Mr. Trent, how are you doing?"

She made small talk with Lee long enough that it seemed like he was her purpose and then she returned speedily to Unit Six for her afternoon workday.

When she finally re-entered the lab, Garry commented, "Long lunch Tatum?" He didn't mind that she was late. He just wanted her to know he'd noticed so it wouldn't become a habit.

"Yah, I went to see a patient on Unit Five. Had some crisis stuff going on. Took longer than I expected."

Lying was becoming something of a habit.

Tatum went to her desk. But, instead of working on finances for the Autism Center, she went to the administrative scheduling system. In contrast to every time she'd ever entered the system before, Tatum wasn't the slightest bit interested in her own calendar. She searched, and she continued to search, until she had full calendars for the next two weeks. She printed off the information that she'd found.

At the top of each print-out, a name was listed for each schedule. The first schedule read 'Jeff Painter' and the second 'Owen Fulstone'. Tatum folded the schedules, looked over her shoulder and then slid the creased pieces of paper into her purse.

.

Later that evening, Tatum mumbled something about having reading to do, and encouraged Jake to head to bed without her. Tatum took a book called 'Sensation and Emotion' with her to the couch so that Jake wouldn't question her motives. Once she was sure the household had retired for the evening, she opened the schedules she had pulled earlier that day. Both Jeff and Owen had worked day shift on Friday. That meant they worked another day shift on Saturday and then night shift Sunday and Monday.

_They must do their dirty work on their days off_ Tatum rationalized, realizing she'd seen them leaving the concealed door on Thursday evening. Tatum looked again at the schedule. Monday evening would be perfect.

She was well aware that the orderlies were not allowed to sleep on night shifts in case something happened with one of the patients. But, she was also well aware, that this rule was almost always broken. The orderlies took shifts. One watched the respective Unit while the other caught a few winks. Jake had a work trip planned for the following week and she could tell the MacKinleys she was staying with Sam. If Jake wanted to talk from wherever he planned to be, she'd tell him to call her cell.

.

Tatum spent the rest of the weekend trying to put James, Mulligan, Julia, and everything else out of her head for a couple of days while she spent some quality time with her new family. She knew the week ahead promised to be difficult. She would spend Monday evening investigating whatever was behind the shrouded door and then on Tuesday, once she had some more to tell, she intended to talk to Milligan about the huge secret she'd been keeping. She felt guilty about keeping it from him for so long, but wanted to be sure she knew she was right before she got him involved. She also intended to tell Jake, but not yet. He would just tell her not to get involved.

.

Monday morning Tatum kissed Jake goodbye as he got into his pick-up and headed for the airport. After he'd left, she slid behind the wheel of the Red Chev car that Jake had made road worthy for her over the weekend, and threw her overnight bag in the front seat to her right.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow after work," she called out to the rest of the Mackinley clan standing on the front porch. She wanted to be doubly sure they would not to expect her home that evening. "Call my cell if you need anything. I'm not sure what Sam and I will do this evening," she added just to be sure that they wouldn't try calling her at Sam's house.

.

Tatum parked her car in the Regency Apartments parking lot. It would be the first time she'd used the parking spot attached to the apartment that she technically still rented until the end of December. Expecting to walk, she'd dressed warmly and barely felt the burn of the cold Saskatchewan wind that removed any potential of heat from the morning sun.

As she entered the main building of WMI, Tatum once again made certain that she checked in with Marja. She wanted to be sure that Marja was in the know about all of her comings and goings. Tatum went quickly to her office and got right to work; she did not want anything to seem out of the ordinary today.

At lunch hour she went to the cafeteria, hoping that she would run into Anne. As she expected, her trusted ally was in the hot lunch line-up talking with anyone who was willing to visit.

"Anne," she called out to get her attention.

"Tatum, honey. What's up?" Anne responded with a mouthy grin as she always did. "Joining me for lunch?" Anne asked hopefully.

"Not today, unfortunately. But, I wanted to pre-book a date for tomorrow. Does tomorrow work?"

"You bet," she answered enthusiastically. Tatum suspected Anne rarely turned down any offer for company.

"Okay, meet you here at noon tomorrow then," confirmed Tatum.

"Yup. See you tomorrow."

Both women paid for the choices they'd made that day and went their separate ways.

.

Tatum's plan for lunch that day was to have a talk with James and also to be certain that he knew she wouldn't be coming by for lunch the next day.

"Hi James," she started, "I need to tell you some stuff today, stuff that you may already know." Tatum kept her voice low so that no one else would hear. "I think I've finally figured out what you were trying to tell me. I've discovered a doorway; a concealed doorway, that it's obvious I'm not supposed to know about. I watched the door and there's people coming and going from there. I'm going to try to get in and see what's going on. I'm going to do that tonight. Also, I wanted you to know that I'm going to meet Anne for lunch tomorrow so I won't be coming for a visit; I'm going to talk to her about all this as well. But, I only wanted to tell you for now. Cause...I know can keep a secret," Tatum teased, knowing full well she'd laugh at her joke alone.

.

She worked diligently with her patients throughout the rest of Monday and then collected her coat and purse and deliberately exited through the Administration Unit where she could ensure Marja would see her leave.

"Night Marja," she called to the desk clerk, with perhaps just a bit too much emphasis.

Tatum completed the same route she'd walked the week before and then turned the same way and hid in the same bushes. Once she was confident she was alone, she walked back in the outer entrance of Unit Three and headed straight for her office. She walked quickly, desperately wanting to avoid running into anyone that she knew.

"Hey Tatum," called a familiar voice. "What are you still doing here at this hour?"

Tatum turned around and saw Larry, holding a clipboard and staring at her openly as he typically did.

"Oh, just a late night. Lots of reports to catch up on," she said, hopeful her voice sounded steady.

"Okay. Call me if you'd like anything, okay? I'll bring it right over."

"Will do," Tatum called over her shoulder as she quickened her step.

The next several hours seemed like an eternity. Tatum ate and then sat and reviewed her plans for the rest of the evening. Everything had to go perfectly, otherwise... Actually, she had no idea what would happen, but she was certain it wouldn't be good.

.

Around eleven, Tatum decided she had finally waited long enough. She put on the lab coat and clipboard she'd brought especially for this evening. She wanted to look as official as possible, without looking out of place. Keys in hand, she walked authoritatively toward Unit Five. As she always did, she ran her FOB over the reader and entered the Unit, trying her best to act as if her actions were nothing out of the ordinary. Once inside, she walked straight to the check-in desk and said, in a tone that she hoped indicated that no questions were needed, "Evening. Dr. O'Neill. I need to see Mr. Trent."

"Hi Dr. O'Neill. Nice to see you again. But, why would you need to see Mr. Trent at this time of night?"

This wasn't going to be as easy as she'd hoped.

"I can't tell you much because of confidentiality of course." The guard nodded. "But, I can tell you he's having some nighttime issues. I'm here to take a look. Can't help him with something I don't really understand."

"Yah; I guess. Okay. Sign here."

Tatum had planned for this. She signed willingly. She knew from the last time she'd visited without permission that the guard paid little attention. As long as you wrote something, he was satisfied. So Tatum happily signed her name and she added her time of access as well, eleven sixteen _am_. Having passed her first hurdle, Tatum entered the Unit feeling a little less shaky. She headed toward Lee's cell. Aware that the guard was still watching her out of the corner of his eye, Tatum threw a little more wiggle in her step for good measure.

As soon as she was certain she was firmly out of the oogling guard's line of sight, Tatum quickly turned the corner and crouched beside the wall separating the cells from the staff desk. She knew the desk would be empty. Either Jeff or Owen would be snoozing and the other would be roaming the Unit, making sure nothing happened while his co-worker napped. Tatum went into the back of the staff room, the only area in the entire Unit that wasn't perpetually on camera. On the couch right where she'd expected, she found Jeff belly-up on the sofa with his head tipped back and his mouth wide open. Tatum walked slowly toward him, making sure her feet hit the floor softly so as to make no noise.

His snores were loud and rough, like the sound of a piece of unoiled machinery, and as Tatum got close she could smell old cigarettes and whiskey in his foul breath. Tatum stood by Jeff's oversized mid-section as she contemplated her plan for unclipping his FOB from his key chain. For the rest of the night, she would replace his FOB with her own, so that he wouldn't notice anything different. Tatum had checked, and during night shifts the orderlies almost never left their assigned units. Slowly and carefully she slid the FOB off his ring and replaced it with her own. Just as she was finishing, she heard him fart and then grunt and roll-over. _Nice!_ thought Tatum as she left the room waving her hand in front of her face.

She silently re-entered the hallway, holding tightly to the bounty she had just secured. She picked up her clipboard and stood up completely, regaining her authoritative disguise and then walked confidently back out to the entrance that she had come in. The guard looked at her questioningly.

"I just forgot one of my observation tools," Tatum lied for the umpteenth time that week. "I'll be back in a few."

The guard nodded.

.

With the door to Unit Five closed securely behind her, Tatum stopped to catch her breath. Her heartbeat was doing double time and she needed to wipe her hands on her pants so that her clipboard didn't slip right through her sweaty hands. She hadn't much time. As soon as her head felt steady, Tatum gathered up her remaining courage and walked quickly toward the outside door. She wasn't about to waste any time returning to her office before she went on with the rest of her evening.

It was late. She felt safe that no one would see her exiting Unit Five and moving through the dark around to the back side of the Research Unit. As she had done before, she carefully pushed the vines and shrubs aside and revealed the FOB reader that had previously denied her access. She ran Jeff's FOB over the same plastic security guard. Tatum heard the familiar click that she had so desperately longed for on her previous attempt. Armed with a detailed and believable story about what she was doing there, Tatum entered the unknown area as if she belonged there more than anyone else.

_Whew!_ she thought as she entered the first room, a room that appeared to serve as an entranceway to the remainder of the space, _there's no one around at this time of night in here either._ Tatum looked around. Nothing seemed all that unusual to this point. She was in what appeared to be the access point to a variety of other areas, sort of reminiscent of the layout of the labs on Units Six's upper floor.

Tatum looked up. For the first time, she was confident that she would find what she had come for. The sign high up on the wall identified the reason for the well hidden, limited access Unit. The sign read Unit Six Experimental. _Six E._

She didn't know where to go first. There were four hallways, each one presumably leading to a different destination. Resorting to basics, Tatum started with the hallway furthest to her right that was labeled simply '1' above its entrance. Her fear had been replaced by unbridled curiousity and she gave little thought to running into a security guard or some other worker as she walked quickly down the short hallway.

Once again she used Jeff's FOB and heard the familiar click as she entered the point beyond the first hallway. Tatum was disappointed. Beyond the hallway were three offices, typical researcher's offices with filing cabinets and book shelves. Having learned that, at WMI, sometimes things were not as they seemed on first glance, she entered the first office and looked around. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Tatum entered the middle office. On the back wall of the middle office was a door. A door painted the same colour as the wall, with no trim or other raised parts that could be obviously seen on first glance. The only thing giving the wall door away was a small indent, big enough for two fingers that would allow the door to be pulled outward to open, and the flat hinges that were necessary for it to swing. Tatum tentatively put her fingers into the slot and pulled the inconspicuous door toward her. It swung open easily.

Tatum stood dumbfounded. The other side of the door was beyond her wildest imagination. The three small offices, and presumably the other nine offices that fell beside those she had gone through, were fronting a huge warehouse type area of enormous proportions. The area appeared to be blocked into sections, with some sort of organizational structure that Tatum couldn't possible understand.

The huge space was filled with cells, similar to the cells in Unit Five. But, the disfigured Unit Five residents looked like well functioning beauty queens in comparison to many of the people now before her. Tatum looked more closely into the first set of barred rooms. She saw nearly twenty men in one cell, all dressed in light purple.

_Men?_ she questioned her own assumption. She couldn't really tell if they were even human. Each of the men was missing nearly all of his skull. In place of the skull sat a hinged glass window. Tatum couldn't look away. The men's brains had been intentionally exposed and minimally covered so that they could be easily accessed. In the next cell, another group of many men were lying in their beds, each of them with an electric shock device around their penis. Tatum had heard historical accounts about such devices being used to complete classical conditioning with sex offenders, but it had been long since prohibited by all ethical boards everywhere. The third cell held yet more men, this time with entire sections of their skulls and brains removed, leaving huge craters in the front of their heads. _Lobotomies_ , Tatum rationalized as she looked at them in horror. Cell after cell held groups of women or men, each victim to some sick experimental treatment Tatum had only read about in her history courses, always from the section about unethical treatments from the past that would never happen in the current day.

In comparison to her visit to Unit Five, Tatum was unable to contain her nausea. She grabbed a mop bucket and vomited, not because her stomach was weak with pregnancy, but because she'd never been so sickened by anything she'd ever seen in her entire life.

Finally, after several minutes of gawking at the cages, making up what looked like the world's sickest zoo, Tatum's stomach settled and her head felt less dizzy. She decided she'd better get going on what she'd come for.

"Anybody here named Mulligan, Jennie Mulligan," she called out loudly enough that her voice reverberated through the large echoed room.

She repeated herself.

"Jennie? Jennie Mulligan?"

Tatum paused and listened close. She presumed she wasn't getting an answer because, in a place like this, you wouldn't want to be singled out. Tatum decided on a different approach.

"Jennie. If you're here, I just want to know. I won't do anything to you. I promise. James, your son, sent me."

Tatum stopped and listened closely once again. Finally, a small, meek voice could be heard from the furthest back corner of the warehouse.

"I'm Jennie."

Tatum ran full speed to the cell that held the woman speaking. Like all the other cells, it held about twenty subjects. However, they looked much less damaged in comparison to some of the others. Tatum stooped at the bars and spoke.

"Who said that?" She was almost shouting. "Who said that?' she repeated firmly.

"I did," came the voice again. This time Tatum could see who was speaking. She was a woman of about sixty with a shaved head and purple issue. With the exception of her age, she looked the same as all the other shaved women in purple that Tatum could see in front of her. Tatum got close enough to the bars that she could see the woman's face. She had large blue eyes that were full of sadness; the kind of sadness and despair that can only be openly seen on the face of someone who has lost everything. She was thin, too thin. They all were.

"Hi Jennie. My name is Tatum. I'm a psychologist and a good friend of James. He told me to find you here."

Jennie looked frightened and Tatum realized that what she'd just said sounded suspicious, like a lie.

"He told me using the only few words he has. It took me months to figure out what he was saying, but I'm here now."

Jennie's face relaxed.

"You look better than some?"

Jennie finally found her voice again. "Our cell block is only drug trials, no surgery. Some nasty, nasty side effects, but nothing permanent... I don't think."

Tatum was relieved. She didn't have much time; she couldn't beat around the bush.

"Jennie, I also know your husband." Tatum realized she'd only heard Milligan's first name once; she couldn't remember. "I call him Milligan. He thinks both you and James are dead."

Jennie nodded. "You do stupid things when you're young, things that sometimes you can't take back. I thought I was doing him a favour. I wasn't well. James was too much for him."

Tatum nodded. "You did what you thought was best."

"But now, what I wouldn't give to get it all back."

"How long have you been down here?" Tatum asked the regretful mother of three.

"Somewhere around fifteen years. After I committed James, I couldn't live with what I'd done and I became suicidal. As soon as they know you're on the verge, they figure out a way to move you down here. I've seen it happen to so many over my years."

"What do you mean?" asked Tatum not understanding what Jennie was saying.

"Patients who are about to commit suicide," she explained. "They get moved down here; their families are told that they are gone."

"Don't the families want a body?" asked Tatum, still in disbelief about what she was hearing.

"What did they say about me?" asked Jennie, encouraging Tatum to put the pieces together.

"You had shot yourself and the damage was so extensive the family shouldn't look." As soon as it was out of her mouth, Tatum understood. "Where do they get the bodies to give the families?"

"Sometimes experiments go poorly and there are 'leftovers'. Some people don't have families who want a body. They become the spares."

Tatum understood what she was getting at; she felt sick again. Suddenly Jennie's face changed.

"He's coming. Hide!" she commanded Tatum.

Jennie pointed to a barrel sitting beside the next cell block. Tatum ran and crouched behind the barrel. The night guard walked into the warehouse and ran his baton along the bars as he shouted.

"Are all you circus freaks happy? It's nighty-night time so tell me now if you need anything."

No one said a word.

After he'd walked in between each of the cell blocks and had done the minimum he was paid to do, the guard left the same way he'd come. Jennie quietly called Tatum.

"Tatum, you'd better get out of here. If they find you here..." She didn't finish her sentence.

"I'll go out and get some help. I'll be back," replied Tatum.

.

Tatum went back out the same door she'd gone in. On the other side of the door, she looked every direction to make sure the night guard was nowhere to be seen and then she quickly walked through the office and out the hallway. There was no way for her to leave the evilness of the building behind her quickly enough.

Taking care on her way out as she'd done on her way in, Tatum stepped slowly through the vines and then ran. She ran as fast and as hard as she could. When she reached the brushes that provided her with cover, she sat on the cold hard ground and took long deep breathes of the cool night air. She needed to re-establish her wits. She still had to go back to Unit Five and return the stolen FOB.

_Unit Five. That seemed like an eternity ago_. Tatum picked up the lab coat and clip board she'd left in the bushes. Taking more deep breaths, she slipped the lab coat on and picked up the clip board, trying to regain her look of someone with authority. Seeing her workplace through completely new eyes, Tatum re-entered WMI through the Unit Three outer door. She went back to her office and picked up a test; she wasn't choosy, she just grabbed a box, something to make the guard think she'd gotten what she went back for.

She walked quickly to Unit Five and rubbed her FOB against the well-worn plastic. She stopped and signed in again, "T. O'Neill. 12:05pm," she wrote, making certain once again that her visit fell during daylight hours. Tatum took the same route she'd taken before, hopeful that Jeff's turn on the couch wasn't yet over. It wasn't. She entered the back staff room, as quietly and softly and she'd done before. She knew right away that Jeff was still asleep. She could hear the grind of machinery and smell the grotesque combination of cigarettes, whiskey and onions. Tatum moved slowly and carefully toward the couch making sure not to make any noise with her steps. She clipped the FOB back where she had found it and then as carefully as she had gone in, she left. Tatum exited the back staff room standing tall and holding her assessment tools. She left as if she had every reason to be in Unit Five, and had not just seen the most disturbing scene she could imagine in the most twisted of fiction stories.

For several minutes she stood outside of Lee's cell, watching him sleep and writing random notes on her clipboard. If anyone were watching and she doubted they were, she had done what she'd said she had come for.

"I'm all done," she announced to the night guard as she started on her way out of the forensic psych unit.

"Okay. Goodnight Dr. O'Neill. Have a good night," said the night guard as she exited.

"Good night," she answered, wanting to make sure she was friendly enough that he wouldn't bother to check with anyone else about her reasons for being there.

.

For the third time that night, Tatum went back to her own office. The small odd-shaped office was starting to feel like a comfortable sanctuary from the craziness all around her.

_Politicians? Bought-off police? How could this be? Who is involved?_ Tatum's head whirled. It was different then when it had whirled in the past. This time she knew she wasn't crazy, but she also had no idea who she should go to with the twisted information she now possessed. _Dr. Z!_ she decided. Her first call would be to Dr. Z. She was one of the few that would understand the magnitude of the ethical infractions happening in Unit Six E.

Despite the fact that it was now early morning, Tatum dialed her teacher's number. The machine picked up.

"Dr. Z?" Tatum said desperately into the machine. "I was right. I was right about everything. Call me as soon as you get this message."

Finally, the madness of the last few hours and the lateness of the evening got the better of her. Tatum laid her head down on her desk and fell asleep.

.

There was no window with daybreak light to give Tatum a clue about the morning hour. She lifted her head off her desk and looked at her watch. _Perfect!_ She thought as she inspected the clock. It was just after six. She could shower in the staff room and be back at her desk working before anyone came in and noticed that she had slept in her office. She showered quickly and then re-dressed, wearing mostly the same clothes as the day before. She had planned ahead and brought a different blouse. _No one notices anything but your shirt anyway_ she had decided when she had been preparing to sleep at work.

Once she had freshened up and removed all evidence that she'd spent the night in her office,Tatum walked out toward the Administration Unit. It was nearly seven thirty.

"Good Morning Marja," she called out cheerfully to the desk clerk who was just coming in the main entrance.

"Tatum?" questioned Marja. "You're here awfully early today?"

"Yah. My knee's been a bit sore, so I skipped my run; thought I might as well put the extra time to good use, so I came in to do some catching up." Marja nodded. "Wanna grab a coffee before the rest of the crew gets here?"

"Sounds like a great idea," responded Marja appreciatively. "I could use the boost this morning."

Tatum and Marja sat for several minutes drinking coffee and making polite small talk. While Tatum visited, she planned.

.

Soon enough, WMI was buzzing with its typical morning activity. Nurses, doctors and orderlies arrived for the well-staffed day shift, and the sounds of now-awake patients were evident throughout the facility. Tatum returned to her office and checked her schedule. She would continue with her normal routine for the morning, and then during lunch she would talk with Anne. They would decide what to do together.

.

At just before noon, Tatum couldn't wait any longer. She headed down to the cafeteria and got in line, hoping that Anne would be only moments behind her. She grabbed two bagged lunches and two coffees and then waited by the dining hall entrance. When Anne arrived, she would be ready to head outside where they would have privacy.

"Hey honey!" She finally heard the jolly voice of her trusted ally.

"Hi Anne," answered Tatum.

"Ready to go outside? I got you some lunch." Tatum held up her recent purchases.

"Yah, sure. But, what's the hurry? You seem a little stressed."

"I just need to talk that's all," replied Tatum.

.

The friends made their way out to the staff courtyard. It was cold and few employees were willing to brave the oncoming winter weather to enjoy the fresh air. They were alone.

"Anne?" said Tatum, in a tone that let her friend know that their conversation was important.

"Yes. Tatum, what's wrong?"

"Have you ever heard of Unit Six E?"

"Umm, no. Should I have?"

"I don't know. I don't know who knows. I'm freaking out."

"What? Why? Tatum. What's going on?"

"It's a long story and I won't bore you with every single detail but I found a door."

"A door?"

"Yah, below Unit Six."

"And?"

"And it leads to Unit Six E."

"What, pray tell, is Unit Six E?"

"It's horrible, Anne. More disturbing than anything you could ever imagine. There are people with half their heads."

The emotions of the past twenty-four hours finally got the better of her, Tatum started to shake and sob.

"Tatum. What are you saying?"

"I can't even describe it Anne. There were people in cages, like lab rats. That's what they are, lab rats. Horrible experiments with people, people that don't even look like people anymore."

Anne's face was twisted in confusion.

"You need to help me figure out what to do. I don't know where to go, who to tell. I'm scared Anne."

"Okay. Settle down. First, are you sure? Maybe you just had a bad dream. You've had a lot of stress in your life lately."

"It wasn't a dream, Anne. Please believe me," Tatum begged.

"Okay. I believe you. Let me think." Anne paused, unsure of what to say to her distraught friend. "Okay. I've got a plan. Here's what we'll do. Go about the rest of your day just like you've done till now."

"Okay," said Tatum.

"We'll meet after work, in the bushes outside of Unit Six. You can show me where you saw this door you're talking about and we'll watch until we see who is coming and going. Then, once there are two of us with the same story we'll take it to the police. It will be safer if we both go, then they won't just brush us off as crazy and we'll at least have a name or two to give them."

"I already know two names, orderlies that I saw leaving one day." Tatum thought about Jeff and Owen. "Dr. Gagnon too. I never saw her actually leaving the building, but I saw her around there one night while I was watching."

"That's good. That's something to start with. But, I just feel like I need to see it for myself, okay? I just need a little bit more to go on. I'm not doubting you Tate, but to go forward with this, I'd be putting my job, my life, everything on the line. I just want to see it for myself before I risk it all. Is that fair?"

Tatum nodded. She knew that she was asking her friend to give her blind trust about something so unbelievable that she herself would doubt anyone telling her the same story.

.

Doreen Zubert had been out late. She was celebrating the success of her long and hard-fought fight with the University to recognize her outstanding teaching and service work. University tradition required an international research reputation in order to meet the criteria for the highest level of faculty promotion. Doreen intended to challenge that tradition with the argument that an international reputation for teaching and service were equally as valuable to the scholarly tradition. She won. Dr. Zubert had been promoted to Full Professor and more importantly, she had shown the old boys not to count her out.

Her long-time work friends were not going to let the occasion go by unnoticed and had taken Doreen out for dinner and drinks. Drinks turned into karaoke at an off-campus pub where the middle-aged professors were pretty certain students would be unlikely to see them.

When she arrived home in the wee morning hours, Doreen had fallen into bed determined to sleep off the evening's festivities.

It was after noon the next day when Doreen finally decided that enough was enough and she stumbled out of bed to the coffee pot. Her head hurt and she wasn't about to answer any calls from the University until the recovery from her self-induced flu was complete. After several hours of sitting on the couch in her pajamas watching smut daytime television, Doreen decided that the blinking light on her answering machine shouldn't be ignored any longer.

Knowing a blinking light almost always meant somebody wanted her to do something she didn't necessarily want to do; she hesitantly pressed the play button and waited for the request for her services to come.

"Dr. Z? I was right. I was right about everything. Call me as soon as you get this message."

Dr. Zubert could hear the urgency in Tatum's voice. She stood for a moment and then thought about Tatum's stories of WMI. _Rat surgery. She was right about the doctor who does rat surgery?_ she wondered, not knowing exactly what Tatum was referring to.

It was now nearly four pm, and according to the time on the machine Tatum had left the message in the early morning hours.

_What the hell is going on?_ Doreen wondered as she looked up Tatum's home number.

Finally she found the number of the apartment that Tatum had given her many weeks previous and dialed. The answering machine picked up. Doreen hung up and tried again. The phone in Apartment 203 was answered only by an automated voice for the second time. Dr. Zubert left a message.

"Tatum. I got your message. What's wrong? Call me right back, I'm at home. I'll try your cell and office number too."

.

Tatum had left Anne after lunch, satisfied that she would be able to convince her friend of the evil lurking below them. Together they would make a report to the police or whoever else could put an end to the malice of WMI's lower level.

It was nearly four thirty, almost time to go and meet Anne outside of Unit Six. Tatum left all of her personal belongings in her office and started toward the Administration Unit, where she would repeat her newest habit of using Marja to have a record of her comings and goings. As she turned to lock her office door, she heard the phone on her desk start to ring.

_The machine can get that. I've got more important things to do_ , she thought as she checked to ensure that the door had firmly latched.

.

Doreen was getting a bit concerned. Tatum didn't answer at her apartment, she hadn't answered her office phone, and her cell phone had gone straight to voice mail. She sat for a moment, trying to decide whether to chock up her call the night before to Tatum over-reacting, or whether she should go into full panic mode.

_Where is she?_ Doreen wondered as she made the decision that, for this one time, she was going to assume this wasn't a drill. She went to her computer and googled 'Sophie's Chicago' in hopes that there would be a phone number, a number for Tatum's parents. She had mentioned a man. Doreen tried to remember, _Jake. I think his name is Jake._ Then, up on the screen she saw the following review. 'Sophie's is an up-and-comer. The small, family owned restaurant has taken Chicago by storm. Sophie's founders Jerry and Sophia O'Neill...' Doreen stopped reading; she couldn't care less about how Sophie's was doing. She had what she needed. She used the online phone directory and looked up Jerry and Sophia O'Neill. Sophia answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mrs. O'Neill? This is Doreen Zubert. I'm Tatum's supervisor at the University. I don't know if we've met."

"I'm not sure. How can I help you?" Sophia asked the unknown voice on the other end of the line.

"I am just trying to get in touch with Tatum. I think she mentioned a friend named Jake. Do you happen to know his last name? I can't seem to catch her at her apartment"

"Yes. Jake Mackinley. She actually moved out to his family farm with him last week. I think that the apartment phone is still connected; she moved out suddenly. That's probably why you haven't been able to reach her. Has she told you her news yet?"

Doreen was anxious to get off the phone, she wanted to find Jake.

"No not yet. It's all good I hope?" Doreen asked politely continuing the conversation so as to not alert Tatum's mother to her fear for her daughter.

"She and Jake are pregnant. And, they've decided to get married."

"That's wonderful!" said Doreen sincerely. "That makes it even more important that I get in touch with her. I need to send my congratulations! You don't happen to have the number at the farm, or... Jake's cell phone number, do you?" Doreen asked hopefully.

"Oh, of course, just give me a second, I'll grab them."

The phone went quiet for a moment while Sophia looked through her well-organized address book for the recently recorded numbers.

"Here it is," she said into the phone.

Doreen wrote down the numbers Sophia read out and then politely thanked Tatum's mother for her help and hung up the phone.

.

Tatum left through the main entrance and then walked along her now well-known path through the bushes to where she and Anne had agreed to meet. She arrived first. Tatum crouched down in the undergrowth that was providing her with cover and waited, not taking her eyes off of the door that had recently become her obsession. Tatum sat quietly, having freshly developed her skills at remaining incognito.

_Anne will be here soon_ , Tatum convinced herself.

No sooner did she have the thought than she heard a branch breaking.

_Good. She's finally here_ was the last thing Tatum thought before everything went dark.

.

When Tatum finally regained consciousness, she rubbed her eyes hard, trying to focus and figure out what had happened. She looked straight ahead and saw bars. Then she looked down and saw the chair she was tied to and her hands and feet firmly secured so that she couldn't move. Her mouth had been covered so that she couldn't scream. She looked around and realized she'd been here before. She was being held in a cell in Unit Six E.

Tatum listened. She heard voices. It was men talking and they were getting closer. Finally, Tatum could see faces. Jeff and Owen rounded the corner and neared her cell.

"What are we supposed to do with the good doctor until they get here?" Owen asked Jeff.

"I don't know. Wait, I guess. How long were they going to be?"

"Should be here any minute. I wonder who's taking the fall this time?"

Both men laughed.

.

Dr. Zubert didn't waste any time. She started with the number for the farm. It was now almost six thirty. Surely someone would answer this close to dinnertime.

"Hello," came a small voice on the phone.

"Hello. Is Tatum there please?"

"No. I'm sorry, she's not here right now," answered Brady politely.

"Is your dad home then?"

"No, he's not here either. Can I take a message?"

"My name is Dr. Zubert, I work with Tatum. Do you know where she is?"

"Nope. She hasn't been home since yesterday morning. My grandma might know. Do you want me to get her?"

"Uh, no. That's okay," Doreen answered hastily.

_She hasn't been home since yesterday_.

"I'll call back later. Bye."

She hung up the phone and immediately dialed the cell phone number that Sophia had given her.

"Hello," came a deep voice on the other end of the line.

"Jake?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"This is Doreen Zubert. I'm Tatum's University supervisor."

"Okay?" said Jake confused.

"Do you know where she is?" Doreen asked.

"At home I assume. I am just on my way back from the airport. I'm driving. I haven't been home yet. Why?"

"I just called your house and a young boy answered. Your son I'm assuming? He said she hadn't been home since Monday morning."

"Okay?" Jake said again.

"Jake. I got a strange message last night. It was Tatum. All she said was that she had been right, right about everything."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not completely sure, but she had some strange theories about stuff that was going on at WMI."

"Oh shit!" said Jake. "I asked her to leave all that crap alone."

"Well, I don't think she did. Anyway, she talked quite a bit about two people. A Dr. Gagnon, a rat researcher, and a young Autistic man named James. Jake, I think she's in trouble."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I don't know but I don't have a good feeling. You need to go to WMI and see Dr. Gagnon. You need to find her!"

"I'm on my way right now. If you don't hear from me in a half hour or so... Call the police," said Jake as he sped the pick-up along the straight Saskatchewan highway faster than it was meant to go.

.

Jeff and Owen came into Tatum's cell still laughing and talking.

"How's your day going?" Jeff asked her sarcastically. "You're awfully pretty," he continued with a tone that made Tatum's skin crawl.

"Yah, too bad we don't get to make the calls around here. I know what I'd do with this one," Owen responded to his foul-smelling partner.

"Why does it always have to be the pretty ones," stated Jeff, "I'd like to keep this one around. There's plenty of ugly women out there that could figure us out. The world could use a few less of them anyway."

"Yah," was the only response out of the dull man he was talking to.

When the dense orderlies were finally quiet, Tatum heard more voices coming toward the cell she was being held in.

.

Jake had made it to WMI in record time. He parked his pickup right at the main doorway and then ran full-speed to the Unit Six entrance. Unsure of even what he was about to do, he only knew that Dr. Zubert had said Dr. Gagnon was a researcher, so that's where he was headed. The Unit was locked. Everyone had finished their work day and gone home. Jake searched until he found a small red button, a doorbell that could be used for participants attending research projects that ran after hours. He rang the doorbell until his finger ached. Finally, a small frail-looking woman with a sour face came to the door.

"Can I help you?" she asked without really meaning that she was prepared to help.

"I'm looking for a Dr. Gagnon. Do you know where I might find her?"

"Yes. What do you want with her?"

"I need to ask her some questions about Dr. O'Neill, Tatum O'Neill."

"What kind of questions?"

"Do you know where she is or not?" Jake demanded.

"I'm Dr. Gagnon," she replied firmly, "but I don't think I like your tone."

Realizing what he'd just heard, Jake pushed the door, hard. June fell to the ground and Jake jumped on top of her and held her to the ground with his knee. He lifted his hand, more than prepared to strike a woman for the first time in his life.

"Where's Tatum?" he ordered. "What have you done with her!"

"Huh?" said June. "I don't know what you're talking about?"

"Tatum is missing and the person she was most suspicious of around here was you."

"Tatum was suspicious too?"

Jake loosened his grasp, slightly.

"What do you mean too?" he asked.

"For years I've been keeping to myself, trying not to get noticed while I figured out what kind of twisted shit actually happens around here."

Jake loosened his grasp further.

"What do you mean?"

"There's something sinister going on below us, I know it. But I've never been able to find any proof. Maybe Tatum has figured out in a couple of months, what I couldn't do in years."

"Where is she? What do you mean, below us?" Jake demanded again.

"There's a door. It's covered. I've tried to get in. My access doesn't work."

"Did Tatum have access?"

"I doubt it. I don't know anyone who does. I was never able to put the pieces together fully."

"How do we get in? She left a message for her University supervisor. All she said was that she was right, about everything. Any idea what that means?"

"It means we need to get into Unit Six E," said June standing up.

She closed and firmly locked the door behind Jake and led him into the Research Unit.

"This is as close as I ever got," she said as she walked Jake through the maze of hallways and offices where WMI's on-the-books research took place.

It felt like an eternity as he followed her, wondering where she was leading. First June guided Jake back through the network of hallways to her office. He watched as she removed the file folders from the bottom desk drawer and removed the small handgun she'd hidden beneath.

"I know," she said perceptively at Jake, recognizing his surprise at her possession. Wainwright was not a place where people kept guns in their desk drawers. "I just didn't know what might come up if I kept snooping around."

Jake nodded. June showed Jake what appeared to be an upper floor furnace room. _Weird,_ thought Jake knowing full well furnace rooms were rarely on the main floor.

"I think this is here to keep maintenance workers from needing access to the basement," explained June, pointing the heating system in front of her.

She led Jake around the furnace.

"But, look at this. What would this be for?"

June was pointing at a grate in the floor. It looked as if it had been an elevator shaft from years gone by; likely before the bottom floor was used for the wickedness that now existed. The grate had been concealed by a large, metal box, heavy enough to discourage any attempt at movement.

"I couldn't make it budge," explained June.

"Help me," said Jake as he started to push.

Together they pushed until Jake thought he had exerted so much energy that he might pass out. Finally, the box started to move.

"Push!" commanded Jake, forgetting to keep his voice down.

The movement of the box was easier once it was started, and slowly, with great effort, they managed to reveal the previously concealed grate.

"I don't know where it leads," warned June.

"As long as it goes _down_ , that's all I need to know," said Jake.

He lifted the large grate and swung himself onto the steel cable that led to the bottom floor. To his surprise, June also suspended herself around the heavy wire and started shimmying herself down the large opening.

At the bottom, Jake and June found themselves inside some kind of storage room. Presumably the retired elevator shaft had been converted into a store room. They opened the door carefully, hoping no one was standing on the other side. On the other side of the doorway, they saw a short hallway leading to a series of three offices. No sign of Tatum. Jake was confused, nothing seemed particularly out of the ordinary.

.

Finally, the voices came close enough for Tatum to hear. She couldn't make out what was being said until she at last saw the faces coming toward her.

"Hey honey," she heard Anne say. "I'm really sorry about all this. We've just got too much at stake. You understand, right?"

This was the first time that Tatum had heard Anne's voice sound anything but jovial. At the moment, it was dripping with a threatening and creepy tone that reminded Tatum of Cruella DeVille, the villain from the Disney movie 101 Dalmatians. Tatum couldn't answer.

"You are too nosy sweetie. You should have just left well enough alone," she said as she unlocked the door.

"Now what?" Jeff looked at the man with Anne who was obviously in charge.

"I saw her visiting with Trent, yesterday," piped in Owen. "Does that help?" he asked hopefully, knowing their lucrative bonuses depended on them protecting this place.

"Actually it does," said the man. "He's got a history. He can be our guy again. Here's how it will go. She went to see him at night for some kind of treatment session. He thought she was pretty; end of story."

The man smiled; a twisted malicious smile.

"Go get him ready. And, prep a treatment room. We'll bring her up after. She'll be found in the treatment room where he killed her."

Tatum couldn't believe what she was hearing. The man in front of her was disciplined, concentrated and disturbing. His eyes were clear and his ability to plan and take charge unmistakable. This was the first time Tatum had ever seen Tim anything less than distracted and disheveled.

"We're on it boss," said Jeff as he led Owen out of the cells, ready to embark on their new well-paid duties.

Tim looked at Anne. He smiled his sickly smile and then kissed her long and wet on the lips as he pushed her up against the wall.

"You're hot when you're nasty," he said to the nurse Tatum had trusted completely.

"And you," he started moving toward Tatum. "You, I'm going to deal with right now. Gonna shut you up, just like the last little bitch that tried to interfere with our work."

.

June ran from office to office, looking for something, anything that looked out of place. Jake ran along behind, unfamiliar with the space but trusting his strange companion, more out of necessity than because she was someone on whom he would typically depend.

"Here!" she whispered.

June slipped her hands into the slot Tatum had found the time before and pulled. She and Jake stepped into the large warehouse that had taken Tatum's breath away. June was paralyzed. She could not believe what she was seeing. Jake had an MBA. He needed some help understanding what they were looking at.

"It's a human experimental facility," explained June as she walked towards the cell full of men with glass heads.

"Lab rats. Human lab rats," she said under her breath, more to herself than to Jake. "Unbelievable. Even I didn't imagine this."

Jake interrupted her thoughts.

"Let's split up, we'll cover more ground looking for her. Meet me back here in ten if you don't find anything."

Jake ran to the right, winding his way in and out of the strange sights in the cells surrounding him. June ran to the left, slower than Jake, unable to avoid being captivated by the atrocities she was witnessing. There were experiments in sterilization, lobotomy and other types of surgeries she'd never seen before. There were social psychology labs entitled 'Coercion', 'Pain' and 'Discipline'. There were drug experiments for drugs whose names she'd never heard and couldn't pronounce. June tried to concentrate on her task of finding Tatum.

.

Tim came closer and closer to Tatum, spinning and molding a set of yellow issue patient pants. Tatum knew what he was doing. Using the pants to strangle her would mean that Lee had easy access to the weapon used to kill her. Tatum looked up at Anne, pleading with her eyes for the nurse to take pity and make him stop. Anne just stared, seemingly enjoying the twisted and sick scene she was permitting. Tim put the yellow noose around Tatum's neck so that the chair pushed backward with a loud bang.

"There, now you're lying down, just like you'll be when they find you," Tim said in the voice Tatum had never heard before today.

.

Jake heard the bang. He turned toward the noise and started to run, faster and harder than he had ever run before in his life. He ran until he finally reached the spot from where he was certain the noise had come, and then he stopped suddenly and listened.

"Sorry about his hun. But, we need to keep our little secret. The work we do; it must go on. Everyone wants it done, but no one else has the guts to do it."

Jake snuck carefully around the corner so he could get a look at the woman talking.

"I told you a long time ago to mind your own business. I tried to warn you sweetie."

Tatum could barely hear the sound of Anne's voice, she could feel herself getting dizzy and the room was starting to go dark.

Jake could now make out the large framed nurse. He came up behind her and then waited on the other side of the cell. He also saw Tim and the limp figure he was leaning over. Fighting his impulse to shout to her, Jake slowly slid the cell door open, hoping not to arouse the nurse who was mesmerized by the events before her. Then, knowing he had but seconds before he was discovered, he jumped onto Tim's back and put his arm around the doctor's neck, mimicking Tim's own hold on Tatum. Realizing Jake's intent, Anne pulled from her pocket the syringe she had prepared, just in case someone foolishly attempted to interrupt their effort to silence Tatum. She squeezed a little bit of fluid out of the end, and then, as Jake and Tim struggled, she held the sharp end of the needle up to Jake's shoulder.

"Anne. Don't!" yelled June from just inside the cell door.

Anne moved closer to Jake.

June pulled the trigger and Anne fell forward. As she fell, she completed her final act in defense of her life's work. She plunged the syringe deep into Jake's flesh.

June watched as Jake's body became limp and his grip on Tim's neck loosened.

Feeling his opportunity return, Tim tightened his grasp on the yellow trousers and pulled them as tight as he was able around Tatum's slim neck.

"Tim. Stop!" yelled June for the second time.

He didn't.

June pulled the trigger again.

.

Tatum felt life returning to her body. She sat up, seeing the mayhem all around her, and realized Jake was lying nearly lifeless on the floor. Tatum crawled desperately toward her fiancé, hoping she could do something to stop what she knew was about to happen. Jake reached up with his limp hand and put it on her stomach. "Take care of them," were his final words to her as she sobbed into his hair.

.

"Tatum. We have to get out of here," June urged her recent rescue as she tugged at her arm.

"I'm not leaving him!" Tatum said defiantly.

"You have to," commanded June dragging Tatum as she fought.

"Quick, this way. Follow me." June ran with Tatum in tow.

Years of experience with the institution's layout gave her some idea of where she would find her way out.

Then, as if someone flipped a switch, Tatum took the lead.

"This way."

The women ran out though the offices and down the short hallway that led to the stairs. Taking the stairs two at a time, they ran until their chests hurt. Tatum pushed the main door open, for the first time not caring at all whether the greenery on the other side was destroyed giving away her presence.

"Look!" called June.

Tatum looked out the door and saw enough red and blue to decorate a Christmas tree.

"I wonder how?" asked Tatum out loud.

"Who cares how," was June's only reply.

.

June spent the next several hours leading the investigators to Jeff and Owen, taking them on a tour of the vile downstairs facility, and making phone calls in an attempt to figure out how Unit Six E patients could ever be taken care of with any sort of dignity. Tatum just sat in shock.

.

On Tatum's advice, Jennie was the first to leave her Unit Six E cell. She became the primary informant to the police, leading them to Dr. Fraser, Larry the unit head, and multiple politicians with no morals. Jennie had overheard enough conversations over the years to put everyone involved behind bars.

# Chapter 22

It was early, really early. The morning sun was poking through the small crack Tatum had left in the curtains. She preferred to wake up to the sun, rather than the obnoxious buzz of an alarm. She rubbed her eyes and rolled over, as she always did, to lie quietly for a moment in the spot where Jake used to lay. His smell was gone, but she would forever feel his presence.

Having satisfied her need to remember, she got out of bed and pulled her stretchiest yoga pants up and over her very pregnant belly. Her morning runs had turned into morning walks.

She pulled the curtains fully open and enjoyed the warmth of the July sun, already able to tell that it was going to be a hot one. Her hair pulled back out of her face, Tatum splashed herself with water and then quietly pulled on her runners and opened the farm's front door. Months of practice meant that the screen now closed with a gentle bump. She walked down the long lane that led out of the MacKinley's yard and down the rural roads that she'd come to know like the back of her hand. The weather brought back memories, and as the sweat descended down her face she thought about the last year. No year had ever brought her so much joy combined with so much heartache.

Walking was difficult, but the sounds of the Saskatchewan fields had become a source of solace for her, like morning meditation.

.

When Tatum returned to the farm, the rest of the family remained sleeping. She had risen and walked even earlier than usual, knowing Monday was always the day she went to have coffee with Milligan. Tatum showered and dressed and then looked in the mirror. Her previous up-town trendy appearance now replaced with the healthy glow of pregnancy and the wisdom of experience and suffering. She crossed the hall and kissed Brady gently on the forehead, being careful not to wake him. Then, she laid on the nightstand a note.

"Brady, I went to have coffee with Milligan this morning. I will see you right after work. I love you. Tate."

Never again would she allow Brady to wonder where his parent was or when she would return.

.

"Good Morning Milligan," bellowed Tatum as she neared the front porch where she saw her old friend rocking in his chair and waiting anxiously for her arrival. "Morning Jennie. Morning James," she continued as she called in the front door before she took her seat.

"Morning Tatum," she heard Jennie call back from the kitchen.

Being reunited with his family had given Milligan a new perspective on life. He and Jennie had a lot of recovering to do, and they wanted to start their new life together in a new space. They'd bought a small house a couple of blocks over from Regency Apartments, as he wasn't yet ready to give up completely on his position as manager. It was a turn of the century home that had been refurbished and suited Milligan perfectly. Its best feature was the quaint front porch, perfectly suited for coffee with friends.

"So, you all ready?" Milligan asked glancing at Tatum's swollen abdomen.

"I think so. I don't know. Can you ever be completely ready?"

"How's Brady. I bet he's excited?"

"Oh yah. He asks every single day when he's going to get to meet his new brother or sister."

As had always been the case, Milligan and Tatum chatted about everything that was important to them and also about nothing at all. When the conversation started to wind down, James and Jennie appeared on the front porch, James with his lunch-kit in hand.

"Ready Buddy?" asked Tatum.

"Yath," responded James, in his still difficult to understand mumbly voice.

As she did every morning, Tatum helped James to her car for the ride to WMI.

.

"Morning Lisa," Tatum called out cheerfully as the Research Unit desk clerk buzzed her and James through to the secure side of Unit Six.

James ran his awkward run toward the elevators he'd come to know so well. He knew at the bottom of the elevator was his second home, the place where he had friends and things that he liked to do. Tatum followed him, letting him lead the way. James pushed the button and the unlikely friends rode the elevator to the Treatment Center that now completely filled the bottom floor of the Unit Six building.

"Good Morning Amanda," Tatum said to her trusted assistant.

"Good morning Dr. O'Neill. Today's the big day, hey?"

Tatum nodded. She knew her assistant was referring to her meeting with the provincial directors for the mental health society.

"Cummon Tate!" called James, anxious to share his joy with his biggest supporter.

James led Tatum through the rooms of social events and activities she had organized as facilities for her day-time residents. Some of her Center participants still remained full-time residents, but Tatum's primary goal was to give them the skills so that they could stay with their families, or make other choices about how their lives would unfold. No-one in the WMI Treatment Center would ever sit alone by the window twiddling their thumbs, as long as she had anything to do with it.

.

"Well, I guess it's time to go," Tatum announced to the group of patrons she was sitting with when she glanced at her watch.

"Bye Dr. O'Neill!" they all called out happily in unison.

Tatum walked outside and stopped to pause as she caught her breath in the heat. She smiled and then continued over to the Administration Unit where she would meet the team of provincial directors. She made sure that she would be the first in the board room where her WMI internship had all begun.

After making certain Marja had prepped coffee and snacks for their visitors and decaf for Tatum, she waited.

.

When the provincial directors arrived, Tatum felt more calm and together than she had ever expected. The sad experience gained over the previous year had aged her in a good way.

"Dr. O'Neill?" asked the elderly man who entered the room first.

"Yes. Please come in. We've made coffee for your visit."

The directors, the elderly man and two middle-aged women, made polite small-talk while they grabbed some refreshments and they each took a seat.

"I'm sure you're wondering why we've come," started the elderly man.

Tatum nodded.

"We've come because we've heard about your work with the Treatment Center."

Tatum nodded again.

"We also, of course, heard about your bravery and smarts over the Unit Six E fiasco."

More nodding.

"Your internship is now complete, correct?"

"Yes sir. Technically, I'm not an employee here anymore. I'm just giving myself a small income from the Center's grant funds until I can find something more permanent."

"Well, we would like you to quit looking."

Tatum looked at him, unsure of exactly what he was saying.

"Pardon me?"

"We would like to offer you the Directorship of WMI."

"Like a permanent position as the Director of the Treatment Center you mean?" Tatum said hopefully.

"The Center, yes. But also everything else. We want you to run this place."

Tatum was stunned.

"The whole institution?" she said in disbelief.

"Yup. What do you think? You would, of course, get the full salary and benefits package that our previous director had."

Tatum knew he meant Dr. Fraser, and that, even without the unscrupulous padding of his salary for his work of malice, his salary had been more than generous.

"I'm not sure I'm qualified," she stated knowing full well the management side of her CV was less than stellar.

"We think you are and that's all that really matters, right?" said one of the women who had said nothing to that point. She smiled a kind smile at Tatum.

.

Tatum left the meeting the new Director of WMI, official immediately. She wasn't sure what to do next, but she thought she'd start by inspecting the Director's office, a gigantic step up from the small dark rectangular janitor's closet she'd be moving out of.

She admired the large windows and the soft yellow light provided by the Saskatchewan sun that was falling over her new workspace. She thought about her first day at Regency Apartments and how she'd fallen in love with the open space. She looked out the window and sat in the warmth of the cheery colour. Tatum lingered on the comfortable office couch that remained from Directors gone past, enjoying the heat of the late morning sun on her very pregnant belly. She felt the person inside her kick, and then a tremendous wave of muscle tension like she'd never experience. Tatum knew immediately what was happening and waited anxiously, just to ensure there was another. She waited for three and then picked up the phone.

"Sam?"

"Yah."

"It's time."

***

"You got this?" Sam called out to her recently hired manager. The busiest restaurant in town now required a second in command to keep all of the operations running smoothly.

"You betcha boss. Go!" was the only response she received.

Sam drove like a maniac to get to the hospital where Tatum had already checked herself in and changed into one of the lovely hospital smocks that left most of her backside exposed. She smiled at her sweet, beautiful best friend.

"You ready?"

"Like I've never been ready for anything in my life," answered Tatum with a confidence Sam had come to know and respect.

.

As she expected, labour was long and hard, but worth every bit. When she was done, the nurses wheeled her up to the maternity floor, baby in hand and best friend walking proudly beside. The nurses helped the new mom onto the bed and then the youngest nurse asked, "How do you feel about visitors?"

"Bring them in," the proud parent beamed.

Brady came in first. He ran at Tatum and jumped up on the end of the bed.

"Can I hold him?" he blurted.

"Of course," answered Tatum as she handed Brady his tiny new brother. "Hold him tight," was her only request before she turned to the rest her company.

Tatum was surrounded by the faces of those she loved. Sam still by her side, Mr. and Mrs. Mackinley kissed and hugged their new grandson and his mother. Vinnie and Maria squeezed Tatum in their typically over-zealous fashion, and then Jennie passed Tatum a bouquet of flowers and gave her a peck on the cheek. Milligan hugged her tight with the same paternal pride he'd given Tatum since they day they first met. Finally, James walked clumsily over to the bed and wrapped his gawky arms around Tatum as he laid his head on her chest.

"What you call him?" he asked his dear friend from his uncomfortable head-down stance.

Tatum lifted James' face so that she could speak directly to him.

"I call him Jake. Everyone, please meet Jake Mackinley."

George pulled his hanky out of his pocket to pass to his wife. She needed it to wipe her tears.

Tatum bent down and gently took the baby from Brady's proud grasp. She looked up slowly at Jake's mother and carefully passed Carol her newest grandson. As she passed Jake to his grandmother, she quoted the words of the love she'd lost.

"He lost his father before he was born. He will always know his father through this place and its people."

# Epilogue

Although all of the events, characters, and places in this book are entirely fictional, the ideas came from more than only the author's imagination. Weyburn Mental Hospital, later called Souris Valley Care Facility, opened in 1921. At the time of its opening, it was considered one of the largest buildings in the British Commonwealth. Sources say that, at its peak, it housed somewhere between 2500 and 3000 patients and was considered to provide the "cutting-edge" of mental health treatment.

Historical accounts talk about treatments and experimentation that would be the bane of any current research ethics board. Stories include drug experimentation, "work and water" as described in the novel, insulin, LSD, electro-shock, and lobotomy. Other accounts talk of patients who were committed, not because they were mentally ill, but because they simply didn't "fit-in" with the outside world. The most horrifying of stories include incidences of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse.

After the deinstitutionalization movement in the 1980's, the building was altered to become a long-term care facility and then was eventually demolished in 2009. Before it was demolished, stories of haunting by tortured and abused patients were common.

My summers in Weyburn often involved visits to the large, red-bricked, remarkable facility. Although only a child, I was fascinated by the scope and history of the infamous institution and its stately, well-groomed grounds. I would often feel as if I were part of a movie set as I walked down the long lane that led to the extraordinary structure whose circumference was said to be more than a mile. In comparison to its small farm town surroundings, the estate-like property seemed eerie and out of place. As I would walk, I would think about stories told by family members who had been employed in the institution in the days no one likes to talk about. That place and those true stories were only the beginnings of the tales I would one day weave.

