

The Institution

By Kristen Rose

Published by Kristen Rose at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Kristen Rose, revised edition

*****

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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

'Retiring! What do you mean you're retiring?' I sat up in my seat, glaring at him.

'Jennifer, I'm sixty-two next month. I've been working here for twenty-three years. It's time for me to sit back and relax, enjoy life a bit. I think I've earned it.' Huey spluttered, leaning back into his aged, grey leather recliner.

'Enjoy life? What do you think weekends and public holidays are for? And why do you get to go and enjoy life while I have to be stuck in this stupid place surrounded by nut cases?' I leaned closer towards the coffee table dividing us. There was a Rubik's Cube in the centre of the rustic table, a pile of assorted magazines and some Sudoku puzzle books. I reached towards the table and collected the Rubik's Cube.

'Jennifer, I think you and I both know you can leave here whenever you want.' He sung, tilting his head and puckering his bushy moustache. I leaned back into my chair, concentrating on the Rubik's Cube, saying nothing.

'I'm sure my replacement will be just as good, maybe even better.' He intertwined his fingers, smiling lightly.

'Huh!' I laughed. 'You're terrible. A dog would be just as good as you, maybe even better.' I said to the Rubik's Cube, twisting it around and successfully getting all of the red cubes onto the one side. Huey sighed.

'So,' he began after a short silence, 'would you like to talk about something today?'

'Nope.' I said to a yellow coloured square. Huey sighed again, leaned towards the table and picked up a fishing magazine. He began flipping through its pages as though he had flipped through them hundreds of times; barely looking at each page before flicking to the next.

'So,' I said, breaking the silence half an hour later, upon my completion of the Rubik's Cube, 'when are you retiring? The end of the year?' I tossed the cube towards the table. It bounced off the corner, landing on the floor a metre away. I ignored it and stared up at Huey, who had replaced his fishing magazine with a gossip one while I had been fiddling with the Rubik's cube.

'Uh, well no, not exactly.' He looked up at me, his face redder than usual. 'Actually Jennifer, today is my last day.'

'What! What do you mean today is your last day?' I paused. 'You can't just spring that on me like this! I could have a break down. No, even better, I could sue you' I thundered out of my seat and started to pace around the room, sporadically glaring at Huey.

'Well, I just ... I didn't ... I thought this would be better ... easier.'

'Easier? Oh sure, easy for you! You tell me, right before our session is about to end, that you are leaving. I don't get to have any time to prepare for a new psychologist or get used to the idea?' I walked up to him, he cowered back into his chair; matted bits of stuffing began to bulge out of the top cushion. 'I'm your patient, I'm important!' I pointed to my chest. 'My thoughts should be taken into account. What do you think I'm paying you idiots for?'

'Calm down Jennifer.' Huey raised his pudgy hands, shaking. 'I knew you would take this badly, I guess I just ... put off telling you.'

I bent down so we were eye to eye. 'Big mistake Huey.' He gulped loudly. I turned and went back to my seat.

'So, what will you be doing while I'm stuck in here?' I asked, crossing my legs. Huey pulled a ragged blue hanky out of his pant pocket and wiped a few beads of sweat off his forehead before answering me.

'Well, my wife and I were thinking of going on a ... ah ... cruise, around the Caribbean.' He coughed deeply a few times and began to wheeze heavily. His face reddened even more. He returned his hanky towards his face and began dabbing it all over, finishing with one huge wipe over his greying moustache.

'Huh! Typical.' I folded my arms and looked out the window, frowning.

'Well, that is if we can afford it.' He muttered.

'Afford it? I'm paying you very well to sit here and watch me play with Rubik's cubes all day, what the hell have you been doing with your money?'

'Well ... my wife is ... ah ... often partial to designer brands and expensive lunches it seems.' He spat.

'So? Whip her into shape. Tell the woman not to spend your money, that's what I tell all my men.'

He snorted, shifting in his chair. 'You don't know my wife.' A pained expression appeared on his face. 'She's scary'. He whispered.

'Scary? Gee, you're a bigger wimp than I thought.' I laughed thumping backwards into the couch. A huge gust of air burst out of its cushions. I folded my arms and stared up at the ceiling. There was silence for another minute until Huey began to speak again, changing the subject.

'You know, in a strange way, I'll miss you Jenny.' I turned away from the ceiling and stared at him.

'Well, duh.' I replied. 'Of course you will. I'm quite an amazing person. I'm glad there is at least someone here smart enough to see that.'

He chuckled to himself, before glancing at the clock above the couch. 'But, it looks as though it's time for you to head back up to your room Jenny.' He sighed.

'Thank god!' I flung myself up off of the couch. 'You're starting to smell, I thought the time to leave would never come.' I finished, strutting towards the door.

'Goodbye Jenny.' Huey called towards me in a gruff whisper.

'Huh. Oh, yeah ... bye.' I half raised my hand behind me without looking back at him and continued to strut my way out of his office.

*

Detective Peter O'Connell paces backwards and forth, backwards and forth, from one end of his dark wooden office to the other. Each trip lasts a few short seconds. Jaw stern, eyes focussed, fists clenched. Plump, webbed veins bulge out through his skin. His focus alters for a second as his eyes dart to the generic clock high above the door. They catch the clock in time to see its thin hands shift; the long one stretches up towards the twelve and the short one tilts down towards the eight.

O'Connell ceases lapping the room, strides over to his desk, diverts around it and peers through a narrow window out onto the lengthy street. The traffic stretches down endlessly, head to tail. O'Connell scans the cluttered mass of metal and lights for the familiar sight of flashing red and blue. He lets out a sigh; his blue eyes reflect only yellow light. He turns and slowly sits down in front of his miniature desk, picking up a golden pen resting amongst a disorganised stack of papers. He fiddles with it, mesmerised by the reflection of moonlight bouncing off the pen's glossy surface. Time flows, his mind remains bewitched by the beauty of the pen.

His focus remains unaltered until a dull knock on the door forces him back. He drags gaze away from the reflecting gold and looks up towards the door. He stares through the glass window and observes his colleague; still, patient, waiting for a reply.

O'Connell glances at the golden pen one last time and places it back amongst the papers. As he does this, his eyes move with purpose towards a photograph. It rests in the centre of O'Connell's chipped desk; isolated. Two hours ago he had pulled the photograph out from the bottom of a deteriorating cardboard box, now dumped in the far corner of the hollow office. The words 'THROW OUT' written across the top of it in faded black ink. The photograph is of a woman; a woman with an enticing smile, flowing dark hair and emerald eyes.

Her name is Jennifer Barns.

#1 The Brown File

Eight fifty-two P.M. Two police officers, tired and bored, escort Marcus Verdad into a high security interrogation room. They ask him to sit and wait quietly for the detective then leave; sealing the door behind them.

Verdad sits down behind a cold metallic square table fixed in the middle of the room and waits. Sandy hair neatly styled, a handsome face cleanly shaven. His large athletic frame takes up the entirety of the seat; retaining its elegance in a black designer suit, white collar shirt and satin red tie.

Verdad takes a deep breath, sucking in the room's clean, sterile odour. He checks out the space, moving only his eyes, identifying video cameras cleverly hidden in the ceiling and walls. His eyes stop and stare through a two-way mirror flanking the wall opposite the door, complementing the surgical colour scheme.

He returns his eyes to the table and rests an ankle on top a knee before casually crossing his hands. A contemplative grin on his face; eyes thoughtful.

Silence.

When the door finally stirs Verdad jumps a millimetre; his composure regained within a second. Fresh, threatening air from the outside corridor leaks its way into the room, followed by Detective Peter O'Connell.

Droplets of sweat trail their way down O'Connell's forehead, the mid-summer weather only partially to blame. He slips his lean figure effortlessly through the door. His dark wavy hair dances slightly in the artificial breeze created by his quick pace. His straggly appearance is matched with an un-ironed tan suit, a bulky nose, and fair skin. The dark hollows underneath his focussed blue eyes a permanent feature.

He steps into the room and seals the door in silence, walking forward; footsteps echo eerily off the grey and black linoleum. He stops in front of the chair opposite Verdad, averting his gaze, before dragging the steel away from the table and resting himself into it. O'Connell inhales a long silent breath, effectively slowing his heartbeat. His focus shifts towards his shaky left hand barley clutching onto an unmarked brown file. He places it briskly onto the cold table in front of him, disguising the rapid tremors. With one last silent breath he alters his head and stares unflinchingly into Verdad's eyes.

The silence drags.

Verdad returns O'Connell's gaze with a light grin.

'I bet you didn't expect to see me.' O'Connell breaks the silence. His Scottish accent fainter since the last time Verdad heard it.

'No, but, I would be lying if I said I was surprised.' Amusement lingers in Verdad's smile.

O'Connell pulls his fist into a tighter grip, ignoring the pain his nails create as they gouge into the warm flesh of his palm. He retains a strong and impenetrable face; the focus in his eyes unaltered.

'Last week,' he begins, 'a woman was found murdered. She was dumped in a parking lot; the cause of death a single bullet straight through her heart.' O'Connell's tone remains steady, factual. He stops and waits for a reply. Verdad removes his grin before speaking.

'Horrible world isn't it?' He places his foot back onto the ground and leans forward in his chair, resting his left arm onto the table's cold, solid surface.

'Oh, don't jump to conclusions too quickly, there are a few more gory details as well.' O'Connell pauses. 'Her hands and feet were also tied up, tightly, with barbed wire and her mouth had been sewn shut with an old bit of fishing line.' O'Connell picks up his clenched fist, releasing it and moves it towards the brown file splayed exclusively on the table. He opens it, pulls out photographs of the murdered woman and tosses them towards Verdad's end of the table. The photographs glide along the smooth reflective surface, stopping in front of Verdad's arm. He picks them up with a calm hand and studies each one closely with an un-altered expression. After a brief minute he deposits the photographs back onto the table and in a separate movement slides them back towards O'Connell. O'Connell watches as they skate along the table, coming to a stop centimetres from the brown file. He stares at the image of the woman's lifeless, tortured body. After a few seconds of contemplation he faces Verdad once more and continues.

'The autopsy report states her mouth was sewn up whilst she was still alive and conscious, no surprises there. Her hands and feet were also bound together before she died.' O'Connell looks at Verdad, inviting him to speak.

'Well, that information is very thorough, and I'm sure you find it very useful, but why are you wasting your time telling me?'

'Oh, I don't know. I figured you might like me to refresh your memory.'

'Excuse me?'

'Well, you killed her.' O'Connell is serious. Verdad lets out a short laugh.

'Come on, that's one huge accusation. You must be pretty cocky, bringing me in here and calling me a murderer. What evidence could you possibly have to make you think I murdered this poor girl?' Verdad leans his head into his left hand, expectant.

'Well, I'm sure you would love to know the answer to that question, but you don't need to, so I think I'll keep that bit of information to myself.'

'O'Connell, you know I'm not stupid. I don't know why you're using your bluffing tactics on me. You know as well as I do that you have no proof of what you are accusing me of.' He leans back into his chair, supporting his head with his hands.

'Come on Verdad, why can't you be an honest guy and clear your conscience?' O'Connell pleads.

'I don't have anything to clear from my conscience.' He chimes, returning his grin.

'Then you're a far worse human being than I thought.' Again, O'Connell stares into Verdad's eyes.

'That's harsh O'Connell. You know, you used to be my friend.' Verdad pouts for a moment before returning his grin.

'I was an acquaintance not a friend. I fail to see why any kind of past relationship between us should prevent me from doing my job.' O'Connell is stern.

'Just an acquaintance? Now you really have hurt my feelings.' The pout returns again for a few moments before breaking into a large grin of perfect pearl teeth. A manic laugh bursts deeply out of Verdad's chest and echoes around the room. 'How sure are you that I killer her?' He asks once his laughter subsides.

'Sure enough.' The reply is quick.

'I don't think sure enough will do. You need a little something called ev-i-dence.' Verdad mockingly emphasises each syllable. Once again a manic laugh fills the room.

O'Connell waits for the laughter to settle before speaking again. 'Tell me, where do you keep your spare fishing line and barbed wire?' His head leans in.

'I don't fish, and what on earth would I do with barbed wire?' Amusement returns Verdad's smile. He removes his hands from the back of his head and covers his chest with them.

'Make fences I suppose.' O'Connell smiles for the first time, resting his hands neatly on the table, allowing his fingers to wander mindlessly.

'Come on, you didn't bring me in here just to talk about barbed wire and fishing line or to accuse me of a murder I didn't commit.' Verdad's face reddens.

'Well, I did want to personally see what your reaction was when I showed you the photographs of the murdered woman.'

'And was it what you expected?' Verdad sits rigid, anticipating O'Connell's answer.

'Yes, perfectly unemotional and innocent.'

'As it should be. I've never seen her before and I didn't murder her.' The reddening of his face subsides.

'Oh? That is strange. Tell me then, why do my informants think she was your secretary?' The words spoken boldly.

'Secretary? I don't think so.' Verdad slowly takes his hands and wipes his palms along his tailored pants.

'Are you sure? Perhaps you should have another look.' O'Connell slides the photographs back towards Verdad. He ignores this action and speaks before they reach his end of the table.

'Okay you win. She was my secretary, but I didn't murder her.' He shrugs.

'Then why deny knowing her?'

Verdad drags his chair closer to the table, he leans towards O'Connell.

'It's harder to recognise a person when they're dead and their mouth is all sewn up and bloody. Besides, my secretary was supposed to be holidaying in Greece.' Verdad explains. 'Naturally, I wouldn't be thinking it was her, would I.'

'But instead she was murdered ... So, are you willing, based on what you've said, to make a statement denying any involvement in her murder?'

'Absolutely.' He sits back confidently in his chair once more.

'Good. Now incidentally you were right before, I didn't just bring you here to talk about the murdered woman.'

'No?' Verdad's eyebrows raise.

'No.' O'Connell picks his right hand up and loosens his coffee stained tie; beads of sweat now cover his entire face and neck. 'Tell me, do you recall a nice girl by the name of Jennifer Barns?' He smirks.

'Jennifer...' Verdad pauses. 'I haven't thought about her in a while.' He looks down. 'What's she up to?' He looks back at O'Connell waiting for an answer. O'Connell squints and opens his mouth, tilting his head quizzically before a guffaw of disbelief comes out.

'Come on Verdad, you're not going to pretend you don't know where she is, are you?' He is confused.

'Why would I know where she is, she left me over seven years ago. Do you think I'm the kind of guy who stalks his exes?'

'No, I think you're the kind of guy who murders his exes.' O'Connell searches Verdad's eyes for an answer. They gloss over as they focus on the table in front of them. The corners of Verdad's mouth drop, his cheeks turn limp.

'I would never do anything to Jenny. If she hadn't of decided her career was more important, we'd be married by now, maybe parents.' He splutters. 'I accepted Jennifer wanted to do her own thing. She didn't want me and I left it there.' His tone bitter. 'I did try to look her up about ... oh, a year after she left me, but I couldn't find her. I figured you must've had something to do with that.' He glares at O'Connell.

O'Connell's head is still tilted. 'I'm sorry, I don't think I follow you.'

'For some reason Jenny seemed afraid of me towards the end. I assumed she had gone to you and asked you to hide her. I didn't bother looking for her after I realised that, clearly she wants me to stay away.' He shifts back.

'Why would she be afraid of you?'

'I have no idea.' Verdad' says simply.

'Jenny never came to me.' O'Connell looks down towards the table. 'She just vanished one day, by herself. I guess I assumed you had something to do with it.' He looks up again. 'So, as far as you're concerned you have no involvement in her disappearance?'

'Disappearance? Come on, she couldn't have disappeared completely.' Verdad snorts.

'Well she has. No one, not even her parents, have heard from her for over seven years. She has not had a job, she doesn't have a bank account, a current driving license, anything. Before her disappearance she put all of her belongings into storage and tied up every loose end. I would say she has successfully disappeared off of the planet and that it was a planned disappearance.

'Now, are you sure you don't know where she is? If you're honest with me now it might make things better for you in the future.' He stares, un-altered.

'I don't know where she is.' Verdad says, solidly. 'Why are you asking me though, weren't you her best friend?'

'No.' O'Connell replies, louder than intended. He is silent for a moment and then continues, tone softer. 'It sure is a mystery. I was certain you had killed her, or kidnapped her.' He stares at Verdad again.

'I didn't do anything to her.' He holds his hands up into the air.

'Oh, don't worry, I believe you.' O'Connell says slowly.

There is a brief silence, then, Verdad's eyes light up. 'Why have you brought up Jennifer?' He asks quickly.

'Oh, I just thought she would've been a good witness to call up against you. You know, disgruntled bitter ex-girlfriends are great at testifying. I mentioned her because I wanted to know if you know where she is, I sure as hell don't. But, by the looks of it she's either dead or excellent at hide and seek. No matter. I'll just have to come up with another witness.'

'Witness?' Verdad laughs to himself.

'Yes. Did I forget to mention I'm building up a case against you? Well, I am. You might be in gaol sooner than you think.' A smirk creeps onto O'Connell's face. 'Well, I think we've spent enough time chatting. Enjoy the remainder of your freedom, won't you.' The smirk on his face intensifies.

'Freedom ...' Verdad laughs quietly to himself.

The interrogation is over. O'Connell curls his fingers around the edges of the photographs of the murdered woman and carefully places them back inside the brown file. He wishes Verdad a pleasant evening, slowly stands up and fixes his tie. He turns and faces the door. His feet glide towards the exit while his face shifts its smirk to a frown. He opens the door in silence, turning to give Verdad one last stare before quietly sealing it closed behind him.

Verdad sits still, deep in thought. A mixture of anger and sadness etched into his perfect face.

#2 The White Ward

The guard entered my room to collect me barely a second after I put away my notebook, hands shaking, I quickly reverted into a casual seated position.

'Parson, its two-thirty, time to see Dr Fuller.' He spat at me. I eyed him. I hadn't seen him before; he must only work in this ward. He looked a lot older than me, sixty or sixty-five perhaps. His eyes were red and he had greying patches of stubble on his chin. 'And don't even think about causing a scene today, we have plenty of guards on standby that could jump you to in two seconds flat,' he added.

'Yeah, right.' I laughed. 'I hope they're aware I'm a black belt and could jump them in one second flat.'

'Is that so,' he patronised. 'Well, perhaps you should save your karate skills for later.' He babied. 'Now, stand up so I can cuff you,' he unclipped a shiny pair of silver hand cuffs off of his security belt.

'You don't have to cuff me. I wouldn't waste my time trying to hurt you or anyone else. I'm better than that. Which brings me to ask why I'm even in this ward? I've never been placed in here before and I've thrown plenty of tantrums.' I crossed my arms.

'I'm sure the doctor will talk to you about it. For now though, I've been ordered to cuff you whenever you leave this room.'

I scrunched my face up. 'Well, if you've been told to I guess I better obey.' I use my best sarcastic voice. Standing up, I put my hands out in front of me; the guard cuffed them slowly, the metal unnaturally clinking shut tightly around my thin wrists. The guard grabbed hold of my forearm and walked me over to the door. He unlocked it with his security card and led me out of the room quietly.

On the other side of the door was a clean, white, long corridor; solid locked doors, identical to the one I had just exited, carpeting both walls. The corridor was lit brightly with fluorescent lights that stunned me a little upon entering the space.

The only changes in the white colour scheme were the black room numbers stuck onto the centre of each white door and the occasional surveillance camera positioned elegantly below the ceiling. I glanced back at my door as the guard pulled it shut, reading the numbers printed across it – six-zero-nine. I turned away, feeling the guard pulling again on my arm and continued to walk slowly down the corridor with him.

'What the hell is this place?' I asked the guard.

'This place?' He raised his eyebrows.

'The white room with white furniture and no windows, opening out into a white corridor with multiple white doors and white lights. It's like I've entered the twilight zone.' I paused, admiring the brightly lit up ceiling, 'This still is Grove Hospital, isn't it?' I felt my heart begin to race.

'Yeah.' He replied. 'This is the sixth floor. We're in The White Ward where high security patients are kept.' His tone was dry, straight to the point, closed ended.

I continued walking down the corridor, arms awkwardly twisting inwards from the cuffs.

'The White Ward, how original, I would never have thought of that.' I said. The guard gave me a short, menacing stare.

We arrived at the end of the corridor and were met with another large white door. The guard pushed a red button to the left of the door and immediately a camera above our heads came to life, scanning us. After about ten seconds the door clicked open and he led me into a small foyer. The colour scheme identical but there was a small window at the far right of the room. I caught a quick glimpse outside and noticed the perfect weather. Near the window were two shiny silver doors, the elevator. The guard led me straight to it and pushed the down button on the left side of the wall.

Whilst we were waiting for the elevator to arrive, I looked around the rest of the room.

Directly behind us was a small seating area, two black arm chairs and a matching couch. It seemed out of place.

In the far corner on the left side of the room was a solid steel framed door marked 'Interview Room 6A'. I lingered on it for a few seconds before turning towards a large desk smothered in computer equipment and paper work directly in front of the interview room. Two guards were sitting behind it. One of them looked familiar. He was middle-aged, thick-set with a strong jaw line and had bright red hair. The tip of his nose veered towards the right and his teeth were a dark shade of smoker's yellow. He was conversing quickly on the phone. He managed to take the time to glance at the guard leading me along and give him a quick nod, which my guard returned happily.

The second guard at the desk sat to the right of the first one. He was staring at two rows of surveillance monitors affixed to the wall. His back towards me. At that point the red haired guard loudly hung up the phone and turned to speak to the guard watching the monitors.

'Foreman, level one needs someone to patrol the west corridors; the usual guard's gone home sick.' He ordered.

The guard named Foreman ignored him and continued to watch the monitors.

'Foreman, go. NOW!' His face began to turn a similar colour to his hair.

'Huh.' Foreman stirred. He turned around and faced the red haired guard, rubbing his eyes. 'Sorry, what did you say?' He had been asleep.

'You ought to be fired, but since this is only your first week I'm gonna let it slide. If you fall asleep when you're supposed to be watching the monitors again you will be fired.

'The first floor needs you to fill in for someone else, go and report to their security office and they'll tell you what to do.' The red head finished, his cheeks not quite as red as before.

Foreman got up apologetically and started towards the elevator where my guard and I were waiting. I absorbed his hair; a dark brown, his eyes; a crystal blue, his jaw; handsomely angular. He was sporting an unusually cheery but incredibly perfect smile for someone who had just been yelled at by his superior. He noticed me staring at him and smiled wider. I looked him up and down critically and then turned my head back towards the elevator doors.

A loud ding sounded and the elevator swept open into a human-less compartment. My guard led me inside; we were followed closely by Foreman. The doors closed shortly after my guard pressed the number two button. Foreman followed suit and pressed the number one button. The elevator began its descent.

'Nice day isn't it?' Foreman turned to my guard.

'I guess.' My guard muttered shortly.

'I'm James Foreman. I'm new, only started yesterday. I don't think we've met yet.' He put out his hand and gave a promising smile.

'Pat Haydon.' My guard ignored Foreman's eye contact.

'Nice to meet you Pat.' He said, cheerily, lowering his hand.

'Haydon, to you.' He replied instantly. 'I'm a senior officer and I'll be treated with respect by pompous little juniors.' Haydon finished by giving Foreman an evil stare; he jerked back slightly.

Foreman turned towards me and began to give me the same greeting he had just given Haydon.

'You don't speak to patients unless necessary, got that.' Haydon snapped before Foreman could even finish his sentence. Foreman inched away.

The elevator stopped with a sudden jolt on level two. When the doors opened, Haydon dragged me out by my cuffs into the reception area immediately in front of us. He turned his head around and gave one last death stare at Foreman. Foreman seemed too busy admiring the plastic fern taking up the far right corner of the elevator to notice.

'Over there.' Haydon directed to me.

He led me past the cushy beige couches in the reception area before us towards the strong smell of varnish. I looked up at the wooden door the stench was coming from and read the name printed across it, 'Dr Deborah Fuller.'

Haydon pointed to a black plastic chair next to the door and ordered me to sit there and wait quietly for the doctor to call me in. He gave me one last dirty look before turning and hobbling back towards the elevator.

'What are you looking at?' He shouted all of a sudden to Sharon, the receptionist. I noticed out of the corner of my eye that she was giving Haydon a disgusted look.

'Nothing. I was just ... thinking ... about something else. That's all.' Her voice higher than usual, she flicked her auburn hair out of her face.

Haydon quickly pushed the button to call the elevator and proceeded to wait for its arrival, all the time pretending he occupied an otherwise empty room.

Once the elevator arrived and Haydon disappeared from sight I struck up a conversation with Sharon.

'You were looking at him and thinking what an arse he is, weren't you? Don't worry,' I winked, 'I think the same thing as well. Amazing really ... I never thought I would be agreeing with a reception's view about someone. A Doctor's view, or maybe even a millionaire's view but never a receptionist's.' I pondered. 'Actually, a doctor who is a self-made millionaire would be even better. Well a millionaire doctor that isn't me. I can't ask myself to agree with my own opinion can I? That would just be crazy.' I laughed animatedly, finishing with a sigh.

'Well, I'm sure that's probably the only thing we'll see eye to eye on though. I don't think I have anything to worry about.' I added. 'I mean, I'm definitely not going to become a third class citizen in a dead end reception job any time soon ... like you.' I crossed my legs.

'Wow,' she stared at me, 'being placed into a ward that is completely isolated has worked wonders on you hasn't it. Dr Fuller really knows what she is doing.' She scoffed, turned quickly towards her computer and started typing.

I heard soft thudding footsteps coming from the room behind me then the slight clinking of metal as the handle of the wooden door was pulled down; the doctor poked her fat head out.

'Jenny.' She said, although, with her accent my name sounded like a hybrid of the words gin and knee.

'Come in.'

#3 Heavy Debbie

With a scrunched up face, I stood up and strutted into the office. Well, as much of a strut as I could manage with the cuffs restraining my hands.

The purple and gold curtains were pinned open today, the sun shining in the room.

I completed my strut towards the couch and plonked myself into it, proceeding to lie down.

'Don't put your feet on the couch! It's brand new, remember.'

'Excuse me?' I raised my eyebrows. 'Look, Heavy Debbie, I've been here longer than you and if I want to put my feet on the damn couch I will. Besides, if you didn't want people putting their feet on the couch then why did you buy a couch, a chair would have been more fitting, wouldn't it?' I planted my feet firmly onto the cushy arm of the couch.

'The couch is there in case I have more than one person in here for a session, it's cosier and it looks nicer. Now I'd rather you not dirty it with your shoes.' She walked over to me and knocked my feet off the couch. I lost my balance and slowly began to slip down onto the floor. My cuffed hands forbade me from saving myself and I plopped onto the purple rug with a dull thud.

'Don't you remember we had this discussion yesterday Jenny?' She glared at me.

'Yesterday is old news,' I scowled up at her. 'I'm living in a time called today and if I'm forced to spend a whole hour in here with you every single week day from now on I'm either going to do it comfortably or un-cooperatively. Choose which one.' I picked my feet up and pushed myself backwards so I was leaning up against the couch. 'And my shoes aren't dirty.'

'Fine, you can lie down, but take your shoes off.' She stared down at my sparkling clean blue Converse sneakers.

'I would, but someone cuffed my hands together.' I extended my cuffed hands, displaying them as if they were a unique item of jewellery. 'I wonder whose idea that was.'

'Jenny you threw quite a tantrum yesterday. You shouldn't have punched that poor guard. He's quite unwell you know. He thought he would be okay but we just had to send him home.' She said, walking back towards her matching chair and sitting down.

'I can't help it if I have excellent self-defence skills. Anyway, I punched him yesterday. He can't still be unwell.'

'How would you know Jenny, you're not a doctor.'

'Yes I am! You know, you shouldn't make false accusations. How would you like it if I went around saying you were thin? It's misleading and potentially dangerous.' I shifted my hands towards my shoes and began clumsily untying each lace.

'Dangerous?' She looked down at me, eyebrows raised.

'Yeah, if I went around telling people you were thin,' I stared down at my feet and took hold of my left shoe, yanking it off, 'they wouldn't reinforce your chairs and so whenever you sat down,' I took hold of my right shoe and pulled, 'you would break them and fall flat on your arse.' I looked up at her. 'I wouldn't wish a broken coccyx on anyone, no matter how much I hated them.

'See, potentially dangerous.' I finished, clumsily picking my shoes up and placing them neatly side by side at the base of the couch.

Debbie chose to ignore my argument and continued in her annoying voice. 'Jenny, you know as well as I that you are not a doctor, but, perhaps you would like to tell me why you go around bragging to everybody about being a doctor?'

'I don't brag. Can't you think of a better question to ask me?' I said, using my legs to pull me up into a standing position.

'Okay, fine. As soon as you're properly seated we can get started with the session.' She sighed.

'Aren't you going to un-cuff me?' I held my hands out once more.

'No.'

'Why not?' I clenched my teeth.

'Because I don't fancy being punched.' She smirked up at me.

'I won't punch you.' I said sweetly.

'Dr Baker doesn't wish for you to walk around freely without cuffs on just yet. Perhaps we might take away the cuffs in a few weeks.' She mothered. 'The guard you punched is very distraught you know, he may press charges. He's afraid of going near patients; and he certainly won't go near you ever again.' She gathered her double chins together and looked at me sternly.

'What a sissy! I thought guards we're supposed to be brave.' Debbie pursed her lips, cringing as I planted my blue and white striped socks firmly onto the cushions.

'Jenny, don't you care about what you did to the guard?' She looked at me, eyes wide.

'No, he deserved it. Besides, I don't have the time to waste caring about stupid sissy boy guards.'

'That's a terrible thing to say!' Debbie opened her mouth, appalled, revealing a lovely set of crowded teeth.

'Says you. Now hurry up and get on with the session. I don't have all day, unlike some people.' I stared up at the ceiling, my hands uncomfortably splayed across my chest.

'Okay. I thought today we could talk about why you were sent here to Grove Hospital.'

I groaned. 'As if you don't already know the answer to that question.'

She ignored me. 'Jenny, can you remember what you used to do before you came here?' She picked up a wooden clip board off the coffee table beside her.

'Yes.' I stopped and waited.

'Well? Aren't you going to elaborate on your answer?' She bit down onto her lip.

'No.'

'Why not?'

'Because, like I just said, you already know the answer and there is no point in me repeating it to you.' I said to the ceiling.

'Yes, but I haven't heard the answer straight from your mouth. All I know is what I have read from your file. Come on, humour me.' She smiled. 'What did you do before you came here?' I could see her out of the corner of my eye with a pen ready to write down every single word.

'Fine! I was a doctor, like I said before.'

A faint sigh. 'No Jenny, you worked in a law firm, remember?'

'I haven't finished!' I removed my gaze from the ceiling and stared at her. 'This isn't about you okay, it's about me and if you want me to do justice to the story then you really should allow time for my effective pauses!'

'Okay, sorry. Go on.' She shifted an ear closer.

'Thank you. Now if you had let me finish before, you would have heard me say that I was a doctor of law.' I returned my gaze to the ceiling.

'Really, you did a PhD?' She began flipping through her notes.

'Of course I did! You can't be a partner in a law firm if you don't have a PhD.'

She stopped quickly; a tiny groan came from her mouth. 'Come on Jenny, you're twenty-eight. You've been in here a little over seven years and it takes four years just to get a law degree, how could you have a PhD?'

'Look, I'm not going to argue with you. I have a PhD and if you don't believe me then I'm not going to waste any more time talking to you.' I went to get up.

'Okay okay, you have a PhD. Please stay seated.' She gestured for me to resume my laying down position.

'Please? Wow, that's a first' I complied.

She waited a moment before resuming the conversation. 'Now, you said you were a partner in a law firm?' Debbie patronised, hiding a smirk.

'Yes.'

'Okay then. So, you were a doctor of law and a partner in a law firm, pretty impressive. Why are you here then? Why aren't you still working at the law firm?'

'Because my parents made me come here.' I said resentfully.

'Ah, and I'm assuming that's why you refuse to see or speak to them.' She scribbled curiously onto her clipboard.

'Yeah, that's one reason. Hey, you're getting smarter by the minute.'

'Why thank you.' She paused. 'I think we'll talk about your parents another day though. For the moment I'd like to know why you are no longer a partner at the law firm.' She probed.

'The law firm was too inferior for me. I'm an excellent lawyer you know,' I turned and faced her, 'I couldn't bear being a partner in a law firm that wasn't very good. I mean, my reputation was getting damaged by the day. Everyone except me was losing law suits.' I said appalled.

'So you quit?'

'No, I resigned.'

'Isn't that the same thing?'

'No, it's quite different.' I rolled my eyes.

She looked up at me from her clip board, confused. 'So ... then what happened?' She said slowly.

'I came here.'

'No, I mean after that but before you came here. Something must have happened in order for your parents to send you here.' She was frustrated. 'I have a copy of an email Dr Granger got from them before you arrived.' She flicked through a few sheets of paper pinned to her clip board. 'Jenny, they say you were fired from the law firm due to incompetency. Is that true?'

'No! Did my mum say that? She has a problem telling the truth you know, you can't believe a thing she says.' I could feel my skin rising in temperature.

'They also say that after you were fired you got angry and trashed the entire office.' I let out a laugh. 'Your parents said that no charges were held against you though because your employer knew you weren't of sound mind at the time. What do you think that means?' Heavy Debbie pretended not to know the answer.

'How should I know, I'm not psychic.'

'Alright then. How about, why did you trash their office? You do agree that you did that, right?'

'Of course. They deserved it. Besides, I wanted to show of my graffiti skills. I'm quite the artist you know.'

Debbie sighed. 'So, after that incident your parents asked you to come here for an evaluation. Is that right?'

'Something like that.' I mumbled.

'And then Dr Granger saw you and diagnosed you with an extreme narcissistic disorder, then he asked you to stay here until he felt you were well enough to return to society? Am I right?'

'Why not. Of course, there is nothing wrong with me at all. I just agreed to stay here so my parents would stop harassing me.' I crossed my legs and started wiggling my air born foot.

'Is that so?' She asked, rhetorically. 'Jenny, I'm sure by now you know what narcissism is. It's an infatuation with one's self. Perhaps you realise the entire time you've been in here all you've done is talk about yourself and everything that impacts you.'

'Isn't that the whole point of therapy?' I looked at her. 'Aren't you supposed to talk about yourself and how things affect you?'

'Well, not always. You overdo it Jenny.'

'Oh, so you think I'm narcissistic too? Unbelievable! What does a person have to do to be considered sane these days? I want a second opinion.'

'I am the second opinion. You know, I thought maybe Dr Granger had been here too long, had stopped caring about you or couldn't be bothered re-evaluating your case. I had hoped that maybe you had been cured by time. However, all of the testing we've done over the last couple of weeks has only disproved this hypothesis.' She looked at me seriously.

'The reason I've put you in a new ward is because I think you need to be monitored closely in order to prevent any more harm from being done to yourself and others, and also, so I can get a good grasp as to how you behave twenty-four seven. The White Ward has constant video surveillance and I will be watching you closely Jenny. Dr Granger didn't do much good towards your situation but hopefully I will be able to.'

'What! I'm not going back to my old room?' I sat up and glared at her.

'Not at the moment Jenny.' She had a false look of sadness in her dirt coloured eyes.

'What if I were to ... recover ... just a little? Could I go back to my old ward then?' I leaned in closer for an answer.

'Jenny, you won't be able to trick me. It takes years to recover from the kind of narcissism you suffer from and some people never recover. Pretending to be good for a week or so won't help you.'

'And you think sticking me in a colourless ward and watching me on monitors will.' I yelled. 'You're an idiot!'

'We need to try to get you to unlearn you current behaviour by isolating you from others.' She said smartly.

'Why? I don't harm anyone. In fact, everyone here loves me. You're doing a huge injustice by imprisoning me you know. I've got every right to ask Horsey Dan if I can leave.'

'In that case, why don't you?' She smiled.

'Can't I at least have a mirror or something? The walls in that room are so bare.' I said.

'Definitely not.' She shook her head firmly.

'What about group therapy? Do I still get to go to that?' I said hopeful.

'Absolutely not. Half of the patients are still upset because of what you said to them last time. From now on you will be subject to total isolation, you will only be allowed down here for our sessions, until I determine otherwise. Now, before we end this session I'd like to give you a couple of things to think about

'Re-iterating I am overweight hurts my feelings, punching guards for no reason hurts their feelings and talking about yourself all the time is rude.' Debbie lectured.

'What is your point?' I asked.

'All I want you to do over the next twenty-four hours is to just think about that and realise other people have emotions. I want you to try and imagine what it must be like for people you say and do horrible things to. And tomorrow I want you to tell me what you think they feel. That's all.' Her words unrealistically heart felt.

'Whatever.' I answered, pulling myself up off the couch and thundering my way to the door.

*

O'Connell sits at his desk. A gust of wind pushes enters through his office window, ruffling the waves of his hair. He is reading the transcript from his interrogation with Marcus Verdad dated two months ago, a troubled expression on his face.

He searches through the pages of script again and again, his sweaty forehead resting in his left palm. A knock on the door disturbs his train of thought and he jerks his head up angrily. He looks straight ahead and sees his boss' secretary waiting on the other side of the door, a grim expression on her pointed face. O'Connell rolls his faded leather chair backwards and stands up tall. His bothered expression is mirrored with a quick paced walk towards the door. He yanks it open, the glass window shudders.

'Yes Kerry?' Noise from the busy hallway outside filters into his office. He eyes Kerry, taking in her innocent twenty-something face plastered with make-up. Her red hair slicked into a bun.

'Mr Holmes sent me for an update.' She brushes her hands nervously down her fitted black dress.

'An update? I told him I would let him know if I found anything new.' His voice raises a few decibels.

'I know, but he's starting to get impatient.' She leans in. 'Look, I overheard him say that if you don't find something soon he's going to let the case go. He doesn't even understand why you haven't given it up yet. I mean, this guy hasn't really done anything incriminating.'

'That we know of. Come on, he's loosely linked to dozens of murders, don't you think that's beyond coincidence?' He whispers, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms.

'It's not my job to make assumptions on these things.' She paused awkwardly. 'Mr Holmes wants to know about that girl. Have you found anything yet?'

O'Connell hesitates. 'No. I wish I hadn't mentioned her to Verdad, he'll be looking for her now too.'

'How do you know that?'

'Because she knows something, I'm sure of it. I can guarantee you he'll want to make sure all witnesses are taken care of, whether they are reliable or not.'

'Mr Holmes says that the only reason you're still working on this case is because you've got some sort of vendetta against this ... Verdad. Is that true?'

O'Connell pauses. 'No.' He finally says with forced composure. 'Look, I just have a gut feeling. This guy is no good.'

'Well, alright. But I need to tell Mr Holmes something. He's already in a bad mood and it's not even ten o'clock.' She shudders.

'Tell him ... tell him I'm going to see Jennifer Barns' parents again. Rogers' neglected to tell me that Verdad visited them last month.' He says bitterly. 'I need to find out why. Also, I know they're lying, they know where she is and I'm going to make sure I get it out of them this time. I just hope Verdad hasn't already.'

'When are you going to see them?'

'In a few weeks.' He spits.

'A few weeks! I don't think Mr Holmes will like that answer.' She shudders at the thought.

'Well, he'll have to. They're out of the country at the moment. I can't do anything about it.'

'Oh, well, that's unfortunate. But, it does buy you some time.' She adds hopefully.

'Yes, I just hope Verdad is no closer to finding Jennifer than I am.' He says, more to himself.

'Well ... good luck.' She attempts a smile.

'Thanks.' O'Connell removes himself from the door frame and slips the door shut. He walks back to his desk, defeated. When he arrives he sits back down, wheels his chair microscopically close to the edge of the desk and resumes examining the transcript.

#4 La Fiesta

Mid-afternoon. The sun burns through a thin layer of clouds halfway up the sky, reflecting off a black Mercedes Kompressor streaming down a long deserted highway. The car approaches a run down, isolated shopping complex on the side of the road and begins to slow. At a glance, a second hand clothing store, an un-modernised post office and a small Mexican restaurant stand out. The car arrives at the entrance and turns gracefully into the parking lot.

The black vehicle parks outside the restaurant. The elderly owner of the clothing store at the other end of the complex stares curiously out of his shop window. He observes a man wearing a dark blue suit with blonde hair exit the vehicle and casually walk over to the restaurant called La Fiesta.

Marcus Verdad enters the restaurant through the glass panelled front door, a chorus of bells chime above his head giving away his presence. He closes the door softly and scans the empty dining room. He takes a seat at a table in the far left corner of the dining area facing the door and waits, tapping his foot to Spanish music blaring out of several speakers around the room. The restaurant predictably decorated; coloured with bright oranges and yellows with some reds, greens and blues splashed around in contrast. Sombreros dangle from the ceiling, caked with dust. Small pots of fake cacti decorate every table and bottles of tequila are splayed in racks all over the walls; each one matted with cobwebs. The surface of every table is covered in tiles the size of postage stamps just as colourful as the walls; thick wads of grime fill the gaps between each tile. The rustic wooden chairs accompanying each table are rough and splintered. Verdad takes in the contents of the room, smiling. When a deep voice from the other end speaks he doesn't move a millimetre.

'Mr Verdad, I'm surprised to see you today.' A man walks over to Verdad's table. 'Is something important happening?' The man is fitted in a black waiter's apron. He is young, tall and muscular; his face thick and his eyebrows dark.

'Hardly,' Verdad crosses his arms. 'Just a meeting with a stupid wimp who refused to meet with me at night. But, I have to speak to him so I guess it is somewhat important. When he gets here, do your best not to disturb us won't you. I don't need him feeling any more uneasy.' Verdad scans the man, taking in his large frame.

'What's that supposed to mean?' The man slips his hands into his pocket with a fake pout.

'Nothing. It's just, you can come across as a little overbearing sometimes and this man appears to scare easily.'

'No problem.' He shrugs. 'What if we get a customer?'

'When was the last time we got a customer?' Verdad laughs, leaning back into his chair.

'Good point, but you never know. A hungry, lost tourist who hasn't learned of our reputation might wander by. A good looking young female would be preferable.' The man grins.

Verdad lets out another stiff laugh.

'Quin, I think you need to get out of this restaurant a little more. Take the night off.'

'What? Seriously? What about needing to stay open the hours we advertise so we don't appear ... suspicious?' Quin says the last word quietly.

'Yes, well, everyone needs a break now and then. Go on, you've been doing a good job. I think I'll be safe giving you and Gord one night off, don't you?' Verdad smiles casually.

'Yeah. Thanks Mr Verdad, I'll go and let him know.' Quin turns, whistling to the music.

'Okay, but don't bother coming back out here to tell me what he says, my guest has just arrived.' Verdad calls, staring through the glass door. A portly man with greying hair and a moustache is slowly getting out of an old silver Honda. Quin quickly exits the room.

The man outside begins to creep towards the restaurant; searching the car park simultaneously. When he arrives at the front door he slowly pulls down on the handle and pushes it open. The bells attached to the top of the door jingle melodically, startling him. He glances up to identify the source of the noise, a beam of sunlight shines through the clouds outside lighting up his forehead, revealing multiple beads of sweat.

'Mr Granger.' Verdad calls. The man jumps again, not having noticed Verdad sitting in the far corner of the restaurant. 'How are you?'

'Fff, fine, thanks ... Mr Verdad.'

'Please, come and sit down.' Verdad gestures to the chair opposite him.

Granger slowly edges his way to the table, his senses alert. He scans the vacant room, apprehensive. When he arrives at table he pulls out the wooden chair opposite Verdad, it grinds along the terracotta tiles. He sits down, the chair creaks loudly. He blushes.

'Can I offer you anything to drink?' Verdad smiles.

'No ... thanks. I'm okay.' He gulps.

'Alright. Well ... Let's get down to business then.' Granger gives a short nod. 'When you rang me yesterday you said you had some information in regards to a Miss Jennifer Barns, right?'

Granger clears his throat loudly. 'Yes, that's right. I'm sorry, I'm a little nervous.' He presents an apologetic expression.

'Oh? Why's that?' Verdad smiles again.

'Well, I'm not really sure if I'm doing the right thing. This is technically breaking the law.' He shuffles awkwardly backwards.

'That depends on whether or not you believe in the law Mr Granger. If you don't believe in the law, then how can defying the law be breaking it?' Verdad places his hands on the table, intertwining his fingers.

'That's a strange philosophy to have.' Granger says, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket.

'Yes, well, it certainly hasn't done me any harm.' Verdad laughs faintly.

'I see.' The words come slowly out of Granger's mouth. He moves his handkerchief up to his forehead, mopping up every trace of sweat. 'But, you have to promise me that what I tell you today doesn't leave this place and that I won't get into trouble.' He whispers the last sentence.

'Believe me Mr Granger, the only person with any likelihood of getting into trouble is Jennifer. Now, you implied you know where she is. Do you?' Verdad's eyes eager. Granger gives a few short nods then slowly closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and opens them again. 'Okay. So, where is she?' Verdad presses.

'I had no idea who she was until I saw your ... add ... the other day. I've always thought there was something odd about her, something ... Her situation, well; it doesn't make much sense really. I'm a psychologist, so I have, you know, a good idea of how people should behave. Sometimes she behaves like someone in her situation should, other times, well ... she's normal, until of course I guess she realises it and then goes back to acting the way she's supposed to.'

Verdad's forehead creases. 'Mr Granger, I don't think I really understand what you are going on about, you seem to have missed a critical point in your explanation.'

'Sorry, I guess I'm not explaining this very well. You see, I recognised Jennifer from the photo you posted on the internet, but I don't know her as Jennifer Barns.' He leans in closer towards Verdad.

'Right ...?'

'I know her as Jennifer Parson. She's one of my patients.' He whispers.

'One of your patients?' Verdad's forehead remains creased.

'Yes. I'm the psychologist in charge of treating personality disorders at Grove Hospital for the Mentally Ill. I've been treating Miss Parson or I guess I should say Miss Barns for almost seven years.'

'What? You are kidding. Seven years? Are ... are you sure this is the same Jennifer?' He stopped. 'No, you must be mistaken.' Verdad told him, shaking his head.

'I've brought some photographs of her from her file, take a look.' Granger takes a few small head shots out of his tattered grey coat pocket and shakily hands them to Verdad. He takes hold of the photographs and slowly examines them, his entire face drops.

'My god. This ... this is her. I ... I don't believe this. She can't be ... What is she doing in a mental institution?' Verdad turns pale.

'So, you didn't know there was something wrong with her?' Granger is astounded.

'No! The last time I saw her she was as sane as you can get. What's wrong with her?'

'She has been diagnosed with a narcissistic personality disorder.'

'Narcissism? What, you mean she's in love with herself?' Verdad hands back the photographs forcefully.

'That is one of the symptoms, yes. But, with her extreme case though, her self-obsession has developed into something quite unique. She makes things up about herself to try to appear more important, she insults people; she has no emotions at all. She isolates herself, and she could care less about what anyone that she thinks is unimportant thinks of her.' Verdad squints. 'And lately she's become a little aggressive towards others. My colleagues say it's the worst and strangest case of narcissism they've ever come across.' Granger's discomfort begins to fade.

'Your colleagues think that, but what do you think?' Verdad leans forward.

'Well ... I think she's faking it.' He spits out quickly. 'But, no one else does and I have no way to prove it. I don't even know why she would be faking it. When I saw your add reporting her missing, I had to contact you. I know I'm her doctor and it shouldn't be any of my business but I just can't help wondering what the truth is. I'm not stupid. I can tell she's hiding something.' Verdad sits in silence, contemplating.

'You know, the entire time she's been there she hasn't had a single visitor. No family, no friends, nothing. Now, wouldn't you think if someone was concerned or worried about her they would visit? I don't know anyone who would not care if someone they knew was sick. The only contact she has with others is by letters that she appears to send to her parents, but, no one knows if that's where they actually end up, and we're not allowed to read them or check up on the address because writing letters is supposed to be a private privilege. An individual outlet for the patients.

'As far as I'm concerned,' he continues, 'she's just pretending to have contact with the outside world. I started to wonder if anyone, aside from her parents, knew she was there.' He pauses. 'Recently I've become more concerned about her so I've been researching. You know, trying to find out anything interesting about her past. I've tried contacting her parents recently but the details we have on file aren't current and the address Jennifer writes to is a PO Box which is listed as private. That's when I stumbled across your add reporting her as a missing person and calling her by a different name. I've begun to think maybe no one else does know she is there.' Verdad remains silent. He sits back in his chair, his brow creased with thought.

'All this is a little strange.' He finally says. 'Why would she check in under a false name?'

'I don't know. The only solution I have is so that no one would be able to find her there, but, why would it matter if anyone found her?'

'And you're sure her parents are aware she is there, she hasn't just pretended they know she's there?' Verdad leans into the table again.

'Well, it was supposed to be her parents that were responsible for making her seek help at Grove Hospital. And, not long after she arrived a whole heap of her personal belongings came that were apparently sent via care of her parents. I also conversed with them via email before she was admitted, and a few times afterwards but eventually they started ignoring my emails and I gave up.'

'And they've never visited her?' Verdad stares into Granger's worried eyes.

'Never.'

'Has Jennifer ever received mail from them?'

'No, she never gets mail, just sends it.' There is a hint of exhaustion in Granger's voice.

'This is strange. You know, Mr Granger, I have been looking for Jennifer for the last few weeks and her parents were the first people I went and contacted. They still live in the same house they lived in when I first met Jennifer ten years ago. It seems rather unusual you've had trouble trying to get hold of them. They told me they haven't seen or heard from Jennifer since she left town seven years ago. The say they don't know where she is. Are you sure it was her parents that you conversed with in the beginning?'

'Well, no, but ... who else could I have spoken to? Do you think maybe her parents don't even know she's there?' Granger's eyes widen with shock.

'Well, it sounds like that could be a possibility. As far as I know, they've never been the type of people to blatantly lie.

'Anyway, thank you for all of this ... interesting information Mr Granger; it's been more than useful.'

'You're welcome. I know I'm supposed to keep all information about my patients confidential but ... well ... your add said any valuable information would be rewarded and I'm unfortunately a little behind on the bills and my wife has been badgering me about going on some silly holiday ... I really could use the extra money.' He shifts uneasily in his chair.

'No need to explain yourself Mr Granger, I know as well as any man about the importance of money and nagging women.' Verdad smiles. 'However, I would like to confirm all of this information before I go out giving rewards. I've had a few bad experiences in the past which I don't care to repeat.'

'Of course, I understand.' Granger's face drops. 'But ... the story I've told you is not really something anyone can easily make up and I did bring photos of her to give you some extra proof. Isn't that enough?'

'I'm not saying I doubt you story, it's probably true, but like I said I have had a few bad experiences in the past. I mean, for all I know you could have gotten those photos from anywhere. I'm sorry. I will need a little more proof.'

'Okay.' Granger stares at Verdad. He glances back into the empty car park. 'What sort of proof?'

'That's my business. Once I've checked everything out I will be in contact with you about the reward.

'You can go now.' Verdad stares at him.

'But, I really do need that money now. How long will it take for you to double check my facts? I assure you I haven't lied. Can't you just ... take my word for it?'

'No, and I'll take as long as I like. This is not just a case of mistaken identity; it's much much more than that.' He stops. 'I need to be careful. If anyone apart from me contacts you about Jennifer tell them nothing about your suspicions and nothing about our meeting. If you do I'll know and you will definitely not be getting a reward then.' Verdad stops, staring into Granger's reddening face.

'Have a pleasant afternoon Mr Granger.' He finishes, a manic expression filling his face. Granger lets out a breath of frustration and gets up out of his chair with excessive force. He stares at Verdad for a few long seconds before saying goodbye. Quickly, he turns and exits the restaurant, slamming the door loudly, causing one of the bells to fall off its string and roll along the entire length of the floor. Verdad lets out a short amused laugh. He sits thinking for a few minutes until Quin walks silently back into the room.

'I heard your visitor leave.' He smiles.

'Yeah, so did everyone else in the vicinity.' Verdad looks up at him from the table.

'Did everything go okay?'

'Perfectly. So, are you and Gord going to hit the town tonight?' Verdad is barely interested.

'Yeah, thanks a lot Mr Verdad, you're right, we do need a night off. But are you sure?'

'Yes, I'm sure, and to show how sure I'll even pay for all of your expenses tonight.' He pulls out his black leather wallet and produces a thick pile of fifty dollar notes.

'Really? Wow, that's generous of you.' Quin takes the money and places it in his apron pocket.

'What can I say, I'm a generous guy. Now, how about dishing up some chicken burritos, the good tasting ones. And get me some sangria while you're at it. I feel like celebrating.' Verdad smiles.

'Sure thing.' Quin leaves the room and enters the kitchen again while Verdad resumes listening to a meringue salsa now blaring out of the speakers.

Across from the restaurant, on the other side of the car park, the man in the clothing store is still keeping watch. He observes as Granger angrily forces his ballooned body back into his car and drives out of the complex at an elevated speed. Curiosity spreads once again over the shopkeepers face.

He continues to keep watch on the restaurant until, an hour later, Marcus Verdad exits with a smile, practically skipping towards his shiny black Mercedes. The shopkeeper shakes his head and lets out a disbelieving laugh.

#5 Narcissism

A double story, cream panelled house glides into view. Peter O'Connell begins to slow, parking his white Volvo outside the front of the house. He admires the garden, smiling to himself. Miniature fields of colourful poppies and daisies wave in the breeze, exuding health. A fountain similar to the Trevi in Rome trickles along the far left fence separating this house from its neighbour.

O'Connell gets out of his car and walks fast and tall past the watch dog mail box and down a grey cobble stone path towards the front door. He turns his head to the left and stops to admire the fountain for a brief moment. He smiles to himself once more before turning towards his right, observing a gold Camry parked in the driveway. The black number plate reads 'IBARNS'.

He continues down the path and stops when he reaches the glossy white door. His eyes linger on the elephant shaped hedge growing towards his left. Another smile. Turning towards the door, he rings the bell; the opening bar of Mozart's Für Elise fills the air. After a long minute, the door opens carefully.

A woman squeezes out from behind the door; her eyes bulging out of thick glasses; her dyed blonde hair bobbing neatly around her ears. A narrow, tailored beige pant suit adds to her overall tidiness.

'Peter, my goodness,' her eyes bulge further still, as though about to break through her glasses. 'I haven't seen you in a while.' She pauses. 'What can I do for you?' She taps the hand that is not resting on the door knob on the side of her pants in uneven movements.

'Mrs Barns.' He nods. 'How about a friendly hello and a nice cup of tea?' The suggestion accompanied with a seamless smile.

'Of course, I'm sorry.' She fumbles with the door. 'I didn't mean to seem rude... It's just ... well ... I didn't imagine I would be seeing you again ... uh ... I mean, any time soon.' A nervous flutter of laughter ensues.

'Don't worry about it. Although, I should warn you this is not purely a social visit.' He looks down.

'I didn't think it would be.' She pauses once more. 'Come in,' eyeing him slightly, she steps back before opening the door wider.

O'Connell walks past her and into the foyer; footsteps echoing off the shining marble tiles. He stops and glances around the room, waiting for Mrs Barns to close the door. Every surface is clean and polished. China plates with floral patterns decorate white walls. Opaque lighting fixtures hang from the ceiling. Mrs Barns overtakes him and leads him out of the foyer and down an empty corridor, their footsteps continuing to echo around them. They enter the kitchen. He sits down at a freshly polished wood table in the centre of the room without permission.

'A cup of tea you said?' Mrs Barns asks, quickly walking over to the stone counter towards the left of the door.

'Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Black with one sugar.' He smiles.

'I know.' She glances at him. 'I remember.'

O'Connell stares around the room while Mrs Barns fusses around with the kettle and cupboards, admiring the many trinkets on display. Vases with floral patterns of bright gerberas and daisies, an abundance of animal figurines. O'Connell catches sight of a figurine of a dog riding in a London taxi resting on one of the shelves attached to the wall at the back of the room.

'That's quite a nice little figurine up there.' He remarks, pointing towards the dog. 'It's new.'

'Yes, it's lovely isn't it.' She glances at him. 'Ian and I just came back from a tour around England. I saw it in a gorgeous little shop in Windsor and I simply had to have it.' She spoke quickly, as though trying to speed the conversation along. 'It was a nightmare carting it back here but I think it was worth it, don't you?' She says, carefully churning a silver spoon inside a teacup decorated with a daisy pattern.

'Oh, absolutely.' He grins.

'So ... I'm guessing Jennifer is the reason you're here.' She changes the subject abruptly, walking over to the table, cup in hand.

'Yes.' He takes in a long breath. 'Is Ian in? I'd like to speak to both of you.'

'You know he is.' She frowns down at him. 'I'll go and get him.' She hands O'Connell his cup of tea and walks quickly out of the kitchen.

A few minutes later she is back again with her husband, walking behind her with conscious effort. The small portion of hair covering the back of his head is silver; his stomach protrudes out whilst his shoulders drape down, shrinking his frame.

O'Connell stands up when Ian Barns enters the room and walks the few metres from the table to the door, extending his hand. Mr Barns shakes it enthusiastically with a toothless smile.

'Peter, good to see you again. I hope you're staying out of trouble.' He winks.

'I always stay out of trouble Mr Barns. I think I should be the one making sure you're staying out of trouble.' He smiles.

'Yeah, you probably should.' Mr Barns lets out a hearty laugh. 'Sit down, sit down, no need to stand up on my account, I'm not royalty.' O'Connell returns to his seat, the Barns' joins him, sitting on the opposite side of the overly polished table.

'So, Carol says you're here to talk about Jennifer again.' His wife stares at him, thin lipped and furious. 'Oh, don't be such a grump.' Mr Barns responds to her stare.

'Well, yes. You see, last time I spoke to you there was something I didn't mention because ... well ... I didn't want to alarm you. But ... circumstances have changed slightly. I know you received a visit from Marcus Verdad a little while back.' O'Connell begins.

'Yes that's right.' Mrs Barns' face lights up. 'It was so nice to get a visit from him. He's become quite a nice young man, hasn't he Ian.' She faces her husband and waits for him to agree.

'A nice young man? More like a nice young suck up if you ask me.' Mr Barns scorns. '"Can I help you out of your chair Mr Barns? I can find someone to help you with your gardening if you like Mr Barns. Would you like me to treat you and you lovely wife to a night out on the town Mr Barns?" Toss head.' He crosses his arms.

'Ian, don't be so rude! Marcus is a lovely man and he would've been our son in law if Jennifer hadn't of run off!' Her lips crinkle as though she were chewing on a bitter apple.

'Not if I had anything to do with it.' Mr Barns replies out of the corner of his mouth.

'What does Marcus paying us a visit have to do with you Peter?' Mrs Barns snaps at O'Connell.

'Everything.' He says. 'As a detective I hear and see a lot of things and I work on a lot of different cases that no one even gets the opportunity to hear about. When I came and asked you about Jennifer earlier this year it wasn't just because I was concerned about her and wanted to try to find her. It was because I need her help to prosecute a criminal.' He takes a sip of his tea once finishing.

'A criminal?' Mrs Barns stares at him, eyes ballooning. 'How can Jennifer help you catch a criminal? You two were both as smart as each other. I would have thought you could figure out how to catch the bad guys all by yourself.' Mrs Barns patronises.

'It's not figuring out how to catch the bad guy that I have a problem with.' O'Connell lectures. 'I already know how. The problem I have is getting hold of the evidence I need to catch him with.'

'How hard could that be? These days they just do everything with forensics don't they? That stuffs pretty fool proof.' She waves away the importance of the topic with her naivety.

'The evidence I need is not forensic. Jennifer is my evidence.' O'Connell stares at her, blue eyes unflinching.

'Jennifer?' Mrs Barns' forehead creases.

'Yes. I'm pretty sure she witnessed something important and her statement would be more than enough to sentence this person to life imprisonment.'

'What did she witness?' Mrs Barns' eyes flood with panic, Mr Barns watches in silence, arms still folded.

'Well ... I don't exactly know. She never really said.' O'Connell's face flushes.

'So you're just guessing?' She laughs.

Mr Barns coughs. 'What if you ... did find Jennifer and she told you she doesn't know ... anything?' He asks unexpectedly in a slow drawl.

'Then the criminal continues to walk free, destroying more innocent lives. Mr Barns, trust me, she knows something.' O'Connell stares into his green eyes, pleading.

'Hold on, what does all this have to do with Marcus? Why did you bring him up?' Mrs Barns asks again in an attempt to divert her husband from continuing.

'Marcus ...' O'Connell returns his gaze to Mrs Barns. 'He's the criminal.'

Mrs Barns lets out an outraged laugh. 'Oh, don't be ridiculous, he's a perfectly honest, kind and genuine young man.' She says, holding back more laughter.

'Like I said, I hear and see a lot of things that most people don't. I know you told me you don't know where Jennifer is and I'm sorry to say I don't believe you. I didn't come here to argue that point however, I came here because I want to know what Verdad wanted and I want to know everything you told him.' O'Connell stares at the couple, seriously, hands cupped gently on the table.

'He wanted the same thing you want right now. To find Jennifer.' Mr Barns says, uncrossing his arms.

'And what were his reasons for wanting to find her?'

'He still loves her!' Mrs Barns, smiles. 'He was hoping we could reunite them, if she was still single of course. He said he hasn't been able to find any woman that has made him feel as happy as he felt when he was with Jenny. So sweet.' She smiles. 'He started to cry you know.

'Criminals don't cry.' She stared at O'Connell. 'I felt terrible for him after we told him Jennifer was missing.' Her expression saddens.

'You didn't tell him where she is?'

'We don't know where she is.' Mrs Barns says sternly, crossing her arms. 'She's missing.'

'What sort of crime has Marcus done?' Mr Barns asks, eyes creased and lips thin.

'Murder. In fact, I should say multiple murders. The current investigation is based on the assumption that he is involved in some kind of assassination business. Personally, I think it is more than that...' He stops. 'But like I said, I can't get hold of the evidence.'

Mr Barns sits in silence. 'You're serious Peter aren't you?'

'Yes.'

He nods. 'You never were a kidder. And I've got it in my mind that you're a half decent cop too...' He pauses, staring at the table.

'Ian! Peter, we don't know where she is.' Mrs Barns interjects, facing him with fiery eyes.

'Carol, didn't you hear him? Murder. If we keep our mouths shut it could just do more harm. I don't give a stuff about our reputation anymore, I'm too old for that nonsense. Anyway, Peter can't divulge this to anyone outside of the police, not unless it turns out to be something big, right? 'He looks at O'Connell who answers his question with a big nod. Mrs Barns turns her furious look away from her husband and directs it towards O'Connell.

'If Marcus is a murderer and Jennifer saw him do something then why would he want to contact her? Wouldn't he want to distance himself from her, pretend nothing happened?' She spits.

'Mrs Barns, I know Verdad told you he's still in love with your daughter and he wants to reunite but I can assure you it's a lie.' He scoffs. 'If he wants to find her it's because he wants to silence her before I get there, not so he can romance her.' O'Connell explains.

'You mean, you actually believe that Marcus would hurt her?' She asks in disbelief.

'Yes, which is why I want to make sure you didn't say anything to him about her whereabouts.'

'Don't worry Peter,' Mr Barns interjects. 'We told him the same thing we told you before, that we haven't heard from Jennifer in years.'

O'Connell examines Mr Barns' aged, honest face. 'I'm very relieved to hear you say that.

'Now,' he takes a huge gulp of tea, 'it's obvious that you don't want me to know where she is and I'm not going to force you into telling me, but, just keep in mind that as long as Verdad is free, innocent people are being targeted. If I know where Jennifer is, I can put Verdad in gaol.

'Did it ever occur to you that the reason Jennifer is supposedly missing is possibly because she's scared of what Verdad might do to her?' He continued. 'I can help protect her and once Verdad is in gaol she'll be free to live a normal life again.'

Mr Barns shifts his gaze to his wife and then to O'Connell. He nods stiffly.

'Ian, there's no point telling him where she is. She won't be any help in her state; no one will believe what she says. You'll just embarrass us.' Mrs Barns spits at him.

'What do you mean "in her state"?' O'Connell asks, his calm face changes.

'She's not missing... she's sick.' Mr Barns blurts out.

'Ian!' Mr Barns shushes his wife before she can add anything else to her objection.

'Sick? In what way?' O'Connell leans back.

'I suppose you could say she's got a screw loose, if you can understand that.' Mr Barns' voice is strangely casual. Mrs Barns slowly begins to turn red.

'A screw loose?' The question sounds strange with O'Connell's accent. 'I hope you don't mean what I think you do.' He finishes.

'Yep. She's mental, nutty, loopy, insane, crazy, up the pond or whatever else you fancy calling it. She's in a mental institution, under a different name though so no one can easily find her. That's where she's been all this time and that's where she's going to stay by the looks of things.'

'A mental institution? Right ... so ... she's not herself?' He pauses. 'Are

you sure?' O'Connell's face is wide, his heart skips a beat.

'Of course I'm sure. I wouldn't be paying thousands of dollars for my daughter to have a lifetime holiday in a mental hospital. Some of the best psychologists have seen her, and they've all said the same thing.' Mr Barns' tone is bitter.

'I see. So, what exactly is wrong with her?' O'Connell's curiosity drives him to continue.

'She's not herself anymore, her personality, it's different..' Mrs Barns says suddenly.

'Her personality, so a personality disorder?' O'Connell scoffs, a slight grin forms on his face. 'Well, that's nothing terribly serious now is it? I thought you were going to say she was schizophrenic or bi-polar or something like that.' He sighs relieved.

'You think it's funny?' Mrs Barns interject. 'You have no idea.' She pulls back.

'It's not a laughing matter Peter, trust me. Her case is serious.'

O'Connell squints, confusion spreading.

'I really don't know if telling you where she is will be helpful.' Mr Barns continues. 'The stuff that comes out of her mouth is either made up or exaggerated. No one, not a judge or a jury or whoever else is involved in murder trials will believe anything she says, especially since she has been committed for so long now. It's probably going to be a waste your time Peter. There won't be any incriminating evidence in it.'

Mrs Barns' tears up. 'Excuse me,' she says. She pushes herself out of her chair and hastily leaves the room.

'As you can see, she's not taken it well at all.' Mr Barns shakes his head. 'I know it's hard to believe. You knew Jennifer, you were friends with her and it's hard to grasp the fact that someone you've gotten to know well is, well, no longer well, no longer themselves anymore.

'I'll tell you where she is and you can go see her if you insist upon it. But, I'm warning you, you won't like what you see.' He shakes his head. 'We haven't visited her. Actually, she's put us down on some list that says we can't, but it doesn't really matter, Carol can't stand seeing her that way.' He stops briefly. 'I can't prepare you for what she'll be like now. We get an occasional progress report via email, and they always say the same thing; "no obvious improvement".' This time Mr Barns becomes teary.

'Can you give me a bit of an idea as to what I can expect, based on what she was like the last time you saw her?' The words stumble out of O'Connell's mouth.

'She might not acknowledge that she knows you. She'll probably insult you, hurt your feelings.' O'Connell lets out a laugh of disbelief. 'Don't! I'm serious! The rot that came out of her mouth when we sent her there ...' He puts his head in his hands. 'Try not to take it to heart like Carol did. She's just ... a completely different person. Makes things up. Self-delusions, they said. Carol's probably right, no one will believe anything she's says.' Mr Barns' voice is faint.

'Well, I guess I'll just have to take your word on that until I see her for myself.' O'Connell stares at him with ardency.

He takes a notepad and a pen out of his tattered jacket pocket and hands them to Mr Barns who shakily writes down an address. With an unsteady hand he gives the book and pen back to O'Connell slowly.

'They may not let you see her. It's usually only family allowed in such a high security place.' He says, once O'Connell's takes hold of the pad and slips it back into his pocket.

'Don't worry about that, as a police detective I get special privileges.' O'Connell grins.

'Well, good luck.' Mr Barns returns to his toothless smile.

O'Connell drains the remainder of his tea and stands up, towering over the table. 'Thank you Ian, you've no idea how grateful I am.'

Mr Barns responds with a simple nod and slowly rises out of his chair. 'I just hope something good comes out of this, I really do.' He sighs.

'Apologise to Carol for me will you, I didn't mean to upset her.' O'Connell purses his lips. The two of them exit the kitchen and head to the front door.

'Of course, I know you didn't mean any harm. It's just a touchy subject. Carol misses her so much.' Mr Barns looks down at his feet.

'She's not the only one.' O'Connell says.

'Maybe you can come back and see us sometime, you know, when you're off duty?'

'I'm rarely off duty, but thank you. I would love to come by and catch up. Perhaps when all of this mess is sorted out?'

'Yes.' He gives a stiff nod.

'Have a nice afternoon Ian. Thanks again.' O'Connell stops and smiles politely as they reach the door.

'See you when this is all over.' Mr Barns puts on a smile and raises his hand once more for O'Connell to shake. He opens the door and O'Connell steps out lightly.

O'Connell turns and walks back along the stone foot path with a grim smile. He enters his car slowly and meticulously fastens his seatbelt. As he turns the ignition on and drives away from the quiet house, a confused expression forms on his face. His eyebrows crease and within an instant his eyes flicker with realisation, he becomes elated. He smiles to himself wildly and fails to control a sudden burst of comprehensive laughter.

#6 The Henry Jennings Ward

I heard the faint echoing of footsteps, the rattling of keys and the sharp tones of the code being entered into the key pad outside the door.

Haydon entered right on cue. Instinctively, I stuffed my notebook under my shirt.

'Parson, you know the drill, come on.' He said to me. I stood up, slowly removing my notebook at the same time, sliding it onto my desk and mechanically placed my hands out in front of me for Haydon to cuff. I then followed him out of the room and along the same journey we had taken every weekday since our first day together. Within five minutes I was back sitting in the uncomfortable black plastic chair outside Debbie's office. Sharon did a very good job of ignoring me, always. I don't mind, I don't feel like saying anything insulting to her at the moment.

Through the door I could hear Heavy Debbie's footsteps getting closer, the handle started turning and the door slowly opened. Debbie poked out her torso.

'Jenny, come in.'

Instead of strutting into her office like usual, I trudged into her office and headed for the couch, landing onto it with full force, causing a squeaking noise along with a huge gush of air. Debbie raised her over plucked eyebrow at me, I did the same, except my eyebrow is not over plucked; it's dangerously under plucked.

'Not feeling well today Jenny?' She concealed a smirk.

'I feel fantastic.' I smiled. Debbie nodded her head up and down slowly, a minuscule smile present.

'It's good to see you're still in high spirits. You know, you've been in isolation just over a month now.'

'Really? I hadn't been keeping track. Time flies when you're having a fantastic time. It's actually not bad there.' I paused reminiscently. 'It's great not having to listen to those idiots on the third floor, or having to put up with Julian.'

'Julian?' She squinted at me.

'You know, Julian, Mike's seventh personality. Don't worry, I forgot you are stupid. I'll try to keep that in mind a little more.'

'How kind of you.' Debbie glared. 'You know, usually most patients, having spent a considerable amount of time in isolation, start to get affected by the treatment. You seem to be quite the exception. Why do you think that is?'

'I don't know, maybe because your method,' I accompanied this word with an appropriate hand gesture, 'doesn't work on sane people.'

'My method has been clinically proven time and time again. Although, I will admit on average it does only have a seventy-three per cent success rate. I was hoping it would work for you, but it doesn't really look like it is.' She paused. 'I've been thinking Jenny and it's probably best for you to go back onto Dr Granger's treatment plan.' She mumbled the last few words.

My eyes widened and my mouth opened.

'I can see why Dr Granger didn't really take any serious action with your case. I guess he could see you were just a lost cause.' She covered her mouth quickly, flushing red.

'A lost cause?' I stood up quickly and stared down at her. 'Excuse me! You're the one stuck talking to crazy people all day long, hoping that something you say might cure them, when in actual fact nothing can really fix them. And when you're not doing that, you're sitting down watching TV and eating every kind of snack known to the human race. And you think I'm the lost cause? Typical.' I rolled my eyes and began to walk around the room.

'Jenny, calm down, I didn't mean to say that you were a lost cause, it just ... it ... it came out wrong.' She angled herself so she could follow me walking around the room with her gaze. 'What I meant to say was that it's probably unlikely you will ever be completely cured and the isolation method doesn't appear to be helping at all. I mean, there is no sense keeping you isolated if it does nothing for your mental health.'

I laughed.

'I'm not going to give up on you Jenny,' Debbie continued, 'I'll continue treating you. I just think that in your case being around others might actually help to nurture you a little more as opposed to being in isolation. It's unlikely you will be leaving any time soon. I think it's best for you to live here as happily as possible and The White Ward is not a very happy place.' She paused and glanced up at the clock on the far wall. 'Once our session is over, I'll have you taken back to your old room in the Henry Jennings Ward.'

I stopped in front of the window and stared out onto the grounds, smiling. 'Whatever.' I said casually before removing my grin, turning around quickly and resuming my seat.

Debbie stared at me, mouth open. 'Okay ... That was easy ...' She continued staring at me for a few seconds, then coughed lightly, shook her head and hastily removed her gaze, shifting her eyes towards her clipboard and clearing her throat. 'So, moving on ... Today I thought we could talk about past relationships you've had.'

'Past relationships? Why?' I groaned, twisting myself around on the couch and resting my cuffed hands on top of me.

'It'll give me a good grasp of how you used to interact with people and how long it took for your illness to progress to the point where you were no longer able to sustain a healthy relationship.' She said simply.

'Wow, thanks for being so honest.' I scoffed.

'Well, one of us has to be. So, have you ever had a relationship with the opposite sex before?' She asked, quite unexpectedly.

'That's a stupid question. It's like me asking you if you've ever eaten a doughnut before.' I laughed at my own joke.

'I know it sounds a little silly,' she said, trying to ignore my comment, 'but a lot of people in your situation have never had a real relationship before.'

'Yes, I've been in a relationship!' I crossed my arms

'Okay, good ... How many would you say?'

I spent a second pondering the question before giving my reply. 'Oh, well, it'd have to be in the hundreds. Guys really do love me.'

'Jenny, come on, what did I tell you about lying?' She scolded.

'I'm not lying.' I faced her innocently.

'I'm not going to humour you Jenny, it won't help you.' She said slowly but seriously.

'You just said I was a lost cause, why does it matter?'

Debbie bit her tongue. 'Okay, fine, you've had hundreds of relationships. Were any of them serious?'

'One or two, most of the other guys were pretty stupid. You know, they really weren't good enough for me, I don't know what I was thinking. Those guys, they always thought they had a real chance.' I laughed.

'Okay, this is good. Tell me about the relationship that was the most serious.' She leaned in.

'Sorry, Heavy Debbie, that's my business.' I crossed my arms.

She glared at me. 'Come on, woman to woman. How long were you together?' Her sweet voice contradicted her expression.

'I dunno, a year or ... three, I didn't count.' I shrugged.

'So it was pretty serious?'

'Well, he seemed to think so. Personally I prefer my own company.'

'Right ... Can you tell me what his name was?' She had her pen to her clipboard ready to write down the details.

'Yes, I can.' Pause. I tilted my head and stared at her.

'Well ...' She pressed on, gesturing me to continue with her hand.

I stared up at the ceiling. 'Cameron? No, that wasn't it. Theodore? No ... Randolph? Definitely not. Kurt? Hmm ... no. Matt? I don't think I can remember his name.' I looked at her.

'Right, well ... let's just call him ... Matt. So, where did you meet Matt?'

'Umm ... at uni I think. No! Through a friend.'

'A friend, really?' She began scribbling.

'Yes, I do have friends. I'm sorry to rub it in your face; I know you're a loner.' I stopped. 'You know, now I think about it, I don't think I met him through a friend.'

Debbie bit her lip again. 'Well, let's just forgot about how you met him for the time being.' She stopped for a breath. ' Now, I'm assuming you and Matt were quite close. Three years is a pretty significant amount of time.'

'Hmm... I suppose you could say we were close-ish.' I stared back up at the ceiling.

'Why did you break up?'

'I got bored.' I replied simply.

'Bored? Is that all?' She stared at me, a disappointed expression on her face.

'Yes. That's all.' I was short with her..

'Do you want to add anything else?' She leaned in.

'No.'

'Okay. What about the other relationship. You said you had a couple of serious ones.'

'Oh, that wasn't really a relationship. Just an extra close friendship, if you know what I mean.' I nodded my eyebrows up and down.

'Yes, I'm sure I understand what you mean. How long did that close friendship last?' Debbie seemed slightly embarrassed.

'It's hard to say. It was a sort of ... on and off thing.'

'I see. Is there anything about these relationships in particular that you would like to talk about? Perhaps you want to talk about what it was like for you to be in those relationships, or the feelings you had towards those people.' She leaned in closer.

'No, not really.'

'Come on Jenny, help me out a little.' She pleaded. I stared blankly at her. 'Alright. I think maybe you're just a little bit drained from having all of these intense sessions and being isolated, a good rest is what you need. We might call it a day, hey? What do you think?' She put on a fake smile.

'Whatever.' I shrugged.

'Okay.' Debbie looked annoyed but strangely happy as well.

'You can go and wait back on the chair outside and I'll contact security and tell them to send someone down to un-cuff you and escort you back to your old room. We'll continue this discussion next week.'

I stood up and she let me out of her office. She was staring off into space, completely unconscious of what she was doing.

After ten minutes of sitting on the black hard plastic chair, the elevator opened and my old guard, Mathers, entered the reception area.

I eyed his greying tawny hair. He walked over to me, licking his thick moustache and rubbing a hand over his faded tattoo of a phoenix covering his left forearm.

He smiled and a mass of wrinkles appeared across his forehead. 'Jenny, it looks like you're back in my company again. We all missed you.'

'Well, of course you did. I know how much everyone counts on me being around.'

He laughed 'Come on then. I'll take you back to your room.' I stood up and followed him back towards the lift, the doors opened immediately.

As the doors closed, Mathers started whistling the theme to Get Smart. I rolled my eyes.

The elevator doors opened within a few seconds and I set foot on the third floor. We walked out of the elevator and stopped in front of the metal framed, glass security door leading into the ward.

Mathers took his swipe card off his belt and flashed it in front of the lock. The red light changed to green and he opened it, allowing me to pass through first.

I glided along the speckled grey carpet, staring at the pale blue walls. I noticed a picture I hadn't seen before, some kind of horse in a paddock. I scrunched my face up at it.

It only took half a minute before we arrived at my door. 'I love being so close to the elevator; easy access in case of a fire.'

Mathers laughed. 'Jenny, the elevators shut down in the event of a fire, remember? You go to fire training every year.'

'Yeah, and every year the trainer has a little bit of something stuck in his teeth that takes up all of my concentration. I mean, hasn't he heard of dental floss?'

Mathers sighed. 'Come on Jenny. Shall I let you do the honours?'

I lifted up my wrist with my arm band permanently stuck to it and ran it past the lock. It was a little difficult with the cuffs still on. The light flicked to green and I opened the door.

'I have a few belongings still in that other room they made me stay in; see that they're brought back down here won't you.' I ordered.

'Sure thing.' Mathers grinned. 'Here,' he motioned towards my cuffed hands, pulled a key out of his pocket. I lifted them up and allowed him to remove them.

'Freedom, finally!' I said. 'You can get lost now.' I waved him weakly out of my room.

'Sure. See you later Jenny.' He left, shutting the door behind him.

#7 The Complaints Desk

'Your garden is growing quite well, I added some fertiliser to it while you were away.' I glanced up just as I was pruning my Lavender. It was Rosie.

'I'm sorry? Why you are talking to me? Did I give you the wrong impression?' I looked up at her. 'And, why are you taking credit for my garden? I'm an excellent gardener, I've put so much effort into it. Just because I went on holiday for a month doesn't mean my effort should be thrown out the window. All you did was maintain my handy work.' I scoffed. 'I know you're jealous, but, you don't have to shout it out to everyone. Discretion is key Rosie.' I re-commenced pruning my lavender.

'Don't hack at the lavender, it'll die. And what are you cutting off all the flowers for?' She frowned at me.

'Excuse me! I know perfectly well what I am doing, now if you would just leave me alone and stop trying to take credit for my garden then I promise not to chop down your sunflowers ... again.' I brandished my secateurs at her. 'I'm not afraid of you, even if you did kill your husband with gardening shears.'

Rosie gave me an icy stare, turned around and headed back over to her garden a few metres away.

I moved over to my carrots. As I dug around the dirt, pulling out freshly grown weeds and squishing invading ants with my fingers, I accidentally flicked some dirt onto my face. I sat up quickly to wipe it away and caught sight of Foreman; the guard who had tried to speak to me in the elevator a while back.

I sat at the base of my garden and watched him walk around the yard admiring the other gardens along with the scenery of the rest of the grounds and the neighbouring orchard. He had his hands in his pockets, whistling. He glanced towards me and saw me watching him and immediately changed his course, heading straight towards me. When he arrived, he inspected my garden for a second before opening his mouth.

'That's a pretty garden. Did you plant everything yourself?' He bent down to get a better look. I stared at him with an expressionless face before replying.

'I sure did, I like to play in my garden when I'm not colouring in or making containers out of paddle pop sticks.' I twirled my shovel around in the dirt, pouting my lips.

'What's your favourite thing to plant?' He asked me, like a parent asks their four year old.

'Look jerk, leave me alone. I don't come up to you during your lunch break and ask you if you made your sandwich all by yourself and if mayonnaise is your favourite spread.' Foreman was taken abruptly by surprise.

'My mistake,' he said, standing up and brushing his hands down his pants. He paused a while, staring around awkwardly. 'Hey, I recognise you,' he yelled, 'aren't you supposed to be in The White Ward?' He continued, instantly forgetting I has just snapped at him.

'Aren't you supposed to keep your mouth shut and not talk to patients?' I used my shovel to flick some dirt from my garden onto his shoes.

'Sorry, I guess I just can't help it. I'm a chatty sort of person.' He cheerily stated, ignoring the dirt.

'Then why don't you go over and chat to Dave.' I pointed towards the right where Dave was watering his garden and dancing at the same time. 'I'm sure you two will hit it off stupendously.'

'Okay, I can take a hint. But, hey, if you ever feel like a chat, just come and find me. I'm on permanent grounds duty now.' He informed me with a smile, returning his hands to his pockets.

'I'll make sure not to do that.' I rolled my eyes and turned back towards my garden resuming my weeding as though nothing had happened. Foreman turned, humming what sounded like the Mexican Hat Dance, and eventually found himself in Dave's company.

After spending another half hour digging around and weeding my garden, whilst sporadically glancing up at Foreman every now and then, the announcement for lunch came.

'Attention residents, please make your way to the ground floor cafeteria for Japanese day!'

I tossed my shovel and gardening gloves on the ground next to my garden, got up and headed towards the recreation room.

I walked through the large open glass door, brushing past the purple curtains on my way and kicking a few bean bags.

Slowly, I strutted out of the room and turned right, towards the cafeteria. Halfway to my destination I was interrupted by Mike.

'Parson, what's your position?' He asked me in his cockney accent.

'Use your eyes, I'm standing right next to you dumb ass.' I crossed my arms.

'Roger that. What is your destination?' I eyes his thin frame, un-impressed. He put a strong hero-like impression on his face and proceeded to take his imaginary rifle out of its holster, scanning the corridor with it.

'You're Horace today...' I rolled my eyes. 'Horace, what are you doing?' I asked.

'I have word from command it's lunch time. Do you need back up? I can cover you from all sides.'

'The only thing that's going to need covering is your mouth.' At this point he turned and faced me then stuck his hands out, acting like a human shield. I continued to strut forwards, he responded by slowly walking backwards in the same direction, still trying to protect me.

'Great, my own personal defence force. If you actually had one ounce of a muscle I might not object but, Horace, I think you better get lost before your lieutenant and comrades get seriously injured. They're right in my line of fire.' I threatened.

'Roger that.' He backed off and recommenced walking beside me.

We entered the cafeteria and I headed straight to the service area, picked up a tray and proceeded to select my lunch from the display. From the selection of sushi there I chose a smoked salmon roll and a California roll along with a few packets of soy sauce. I also picked up a plate of green tea jelly and a bottle of water.

'Do-you-have-an-y-Sa-ké?' I asked the short, thin Japanese lady serving me with a drinking hand gesture. She answered in perfect English with a local accent.

'No. You ask me this every Monday, we don't have Saké. We never do and we never will, alcoholic drinks are not allowed.' She was angry.

'How-can-you-call-this-Ja-pa-nese-day-if-there-is-no-Sa-ké?' I yelled.

'There is water for you to drink, they have water in Japan as well, deal with it.'

'Fine! I-was-go-ing-to-share-all-of-my-se-cret-su-shi-re-ci-pes-with-you, but-now-as-a-re-sult-of your-rude-ness, I-don't-think-I-will.' I shouted.

'Good, go, you're holding up the line.' I turned in a huff and headed to my favourite table – the empty one.

I sat down and opened up one of my sachets of sauce, drizzling it onto my sushi.

'The lunch lady gave you some cheek, do you want me to take care of her for you?' Mike/Horace had followed me to my table after getting his own lunch.

'Oh my god, why are you still here? Isn't there someone else you have to protect?' I glared at him.

'Actually I'm not here to protect you. I wanted to have a private discussion with you about an evil conspiracy against us.' He sat down opposite me, a serious expression on his face.

'An evil conspiracy? Everything they do here is evil, you're only picking up on this now.' I turned my attention back to my food.

'I think they are trying to trick us into thinking we are losing our minds.' He said dramatically.

'Yeah, sure, they're trying to trick us.' I scoffed.

'You see up on the wall there, the weekly schedule for lunch and dinner.' He pointed at the sign on the wall toward his right.

'Yeah ...'

'Well today we're having sushi and the schedule says Monday is sushi day,' he stopped and glanced behind him before whispering, 'but today is not Monday at all.'

'Is that right?' I stared up at him.

'Yes. It can't be Monday because yesterday was Wednesday and the day before that was Friday, and so on. This has been going on ever since I came here. It's like they're trying to make me think I'm forgetting four days out of every five.' I stopped eating.

'Are you sure? What if they're actually making you forget eleven days out of every twelve. Did you ever think of that?' I whispered back to him.

'NO! My god, I hadn't even thought of that! I'm being deceived.' He looked around the room.

'What are you going to do about it?' I resumed eating my lunch, playing along.

'Don't worry, I have a plan.' He said smartly.

'I see ... but why are you telling me. I'm not forgetting days, and as far as I know yesterday was Sunday and the day before that was Saturday, and so on.'

'So, I am the only one that is being deceived,' he slowly stated.

'Yeah ... sure ... why not.' I said, finishing my first roll of sushi.

Mike/Horace picked up his first roll and took a manly chomp out of it, chewing it whilst seriously looking off into the distance. After he swallowed he said. 'Why are they targeting me?'

'I dunno, maybe because you're a highly ranked army official.'

'Yes.' He slammed a fist loudly on the table. 'That must be it. Jennifer you should join my platoon, I think we would make an excellent team. You know, I'm planning an escape, I could really use your mental power.' He whispered.

'Oh, why thank you. You know, I keep telling everyone I have the best intellect here, but no one has ever acknowledged it until now.' I paused. 'The word of a psycho who has twelve different personalities and currently thinks he's an army lieutenant means so much to me, thank you Horace.' I mocked.

'Your welco ... did you just call me a psycho who thinks he's an army lieutenant and has twelve different personalities?' He said outraged.

'Yeah ... sad, but ... true.' I mused.

'That's outrageous, how dare you! And to think I just offered you a position on my platoon. I will not work with liars. I might have to fight against the enemy by myself, but at least my dignity will be intact.' He dramatically got up out of his seat, picked up his lunch tray and joined another table. I waved him goodbye, paying more attention to the rest of my lunch than to his emotional rant.

After I finished, I got up, leaving my tray for someone else to clear, and decided to head up to the complaints desk.

I hopped into the elevator and charged out of it upon my arrival on the fifth floor. I strutted down the hallway; there wasn't a sole in sight. I made a ninety-degree turn to the right and headed straight until I reached the brown and cream reception area. The two front elevator shafts on my left, sealed off by a plexiglass container, were silent. I geared over towards the right where the reception desk, running straight along the back wall, a large window above it, was situated. I zigzagged dramatically between the black leather chairs in front of the desk, designated for patients and guest to sit on, and galloped over to the desk.

Upon seeing me, the nurse in charge of reception let out a groan. 'I thought they put you upstairs, how did you get down here?' She sighed, brushing her red hair out of her face.

'Didn't you hear the fantastic news Libby? Heavy Debbie has given up on me, sent me back to my old way of living. You didn't think they could contain me forever did you?' I leaned onto the desk.

'No, but there was always that small chance they would.' She contemplated, leaning back in her chair.

'So, what's the complaint today? You have a stomach ache form eating off sushi, the grass needs mowing, there are cobwebs outside your window sill?' She listed with her fingers.

'No. Although, you may have a point about the cobwebs ...' I pondered. 'Actually, it's about the moisturiser.'

Libby rolled her eyes and nodded her head. 'Oh yes, the moisturiser, how could I have forgotten about that melodrama.'

'I don't appreciate you patronising me. This is a serious issue.' I pulled away from the desk and glued my hands to my hips.

'Okay, I'm listening, what's so serious about it?'

'Well, because I don't have any moisturiser my skin is dry, see,' I raised one arm and pointed to it with the other, 'and I can't go outside with dry skin because the wind will cause it to become even dryer which will completely ruin my complexion. This means I am confined inside this stupid stinky hospital.' Libby held back a laugh. 'If I'm confined in this hospital, I won't get a sufficient amount of vitamin D which then means my bone density will start to decrease and I will end up in your company with multiple fractures caused by Mike when he is Julian.' Libby frowned up at me. 'Now, because you and your colleagues are quite incompetent, my fractures won't heal and I will live out the rest of my life confined to a bed. Do you want that to happen to me?' I finished, taking in a deep breath.

The nurse sat there a little perplexed and thought for a moment. 'Confined to a bed for the rest of your life,' she said eventually. 'Well, that doesn't bother me.' She glanced at her computer.

'What's that supposed to mean.' I snapped.

'Jenny, you know why you're not allowed moisturiser, and it's not just you, no one is allowed it anymore. I'm afraid I'm not in a position to overturn Dr Baker's orders. Even if I was, I don't have any moisturiser here to give you.' She placed one hand over another and looked straight up at me.

'Bullshit, you have a cupboard of it in the nurses' station.' I paused. 'Why should I be punished for some else's mistake?' I yelled. 'I didn't give my moisturiser to Dave! I'm not the one responsible for what he did with it! You should know what males are like if you confine them without an outlet for their sexual urges, they will find a way.'

'I understand what you're saying Jenny but I'm sorry, you can't have your moisturiser back. And besides, do you remember what you did to Dave after your moisturiser got taken away?' She frowned. 'He was up here again last week because of it.'

'Oh, come on! The idiot, how many times do you have to glue yourself to yourself to realise it's not worth the few seconds of ecstasy... Please Libby, I promise I'll keep it hidden and not lend it to anyone.' I leaned closer towards the desk and whispered, 'If it's money you're after, I can comply, I'm quite wealthy you know.'

Libby laughed. 'Bribery, come on. Where are you going to get the money from, the imaginary ATM downstairs?' She laughed again.

'Don't you speak to me like that, I know where you ... work. Now give me my damn moisturiser lady and don't make me drop kick you.'

'No.' Libby concluded. 'Now, if you can't accept that, then you'll have to go and take it up with Dr Baker, but I can assure you that because of what you did to Dave he will say no.' She sang.

'Well, I'll just have to go and do that then won't I. Thanks for being bitch.' I started walking off. 'And I'll make sure to tell Horsey Dan how rude you've been to me.' I called back. 'Actually, if I were you, I wouldn't even bother coming in tomorrow.' She waved me off with a smile and a short flick of the wrist.

#8 Conscience

Verdad leans back into his cushiony black leather chair behind his cold glass desk – a shiny black phone pressed to his ear. A window behind him filling the entire length of the wall is covered completely with grey vertical shutters voiding the room of daylight, the remaining walls, an icy steel grey make the room darker still. Aside from two black leather chairs on the other side of the see-through desk, there is minimal furniture. Verdad's voice oozes confidence as he speaks into the phone.

'So, I'll run through the main key points to make sure you understand how I want this to work.

'I want you to act as normal as possible when you are around her.' He places a polished tan leather shoe onto the desk. 'Don't try to ask silly questions. If she is faking and thinks any one is aware of it she might do something stupid. You have to be discreet. I don't care how long it takes to come to a conclusion. Do whatever you think is necessary whilst still acting like a professional.' He places his other polished shoe onto the desk. 'Is there any legitimate way you can test her that might make her cave?'

'Of course.' The feminine voice on the other end responds. 'If she is pretending, she'll slip up eventually, they always do. Pretending to be insane is not as easy as people seem to think.' The voice laughed. 'All I have to do is monitor her all hours of the day and perform as much relevant psychological testing as I can. It will all be very professional, I assure you. She'll give herself away without even realising it.' She says confidently.

'Good. Can you give me a rough estimate as to how long it might take you?'

'I imagine as little as a few short weeks.' Confidence exudes out of the receiver.

'Really? That soon?' Verdad smiles.

'Of course.'

'Excellent. You'll still have to wait a little while before going in though, I haven't quite worked out a fool proof way to get Granger out and you in.' Verdad takes his shoes off the desk, sits up and rests forward.

'Did I mention I know Dr Daniel Baker? He's in charge of the hospital. Just tell this Granger to mention me to him. You know, put in a good word.'

'I would, but there's a slight problem with that.' Verdad leans back into his chair.

'What?'

'Mr Granger is not in on my plan.' He smiles to himself.

'What do you mean?' She says slowly.

'Well, let's just say he has no idea he'll be retiring soon.' Verdad leans back into his chair, grinning.

'I see ... So, what are you going to do then?'

'Leave it to me. But, don't be surprised if you get a call in a few weeks' time from this Dr Baker asking if you're interested in working at his hospital.'

'You're not going to do anything bad to Dr Granger are you?' Her voice slightly shaky.

'No, no. Look, don't worry about it. He mentioned he was in debt, I can easily pay him off. What sort of a person do you think I am? I don't going around killing people.' Verdad lets out an eerie laugh.

'Of course not.' There is a long pause.' Why are you so concerned about whether or not this girl is actually sick?'

'That's none of your business.' Verdad is short. 'Now, I'll contact you again just before you start work there to tie up any loose ends.'

'Okay.' Another pause. 'What happens when I do give you an answer?'

'I'll work that out based on the answer you give me.' Verdad says simply.

'Well you must have some sort of idea.' She scoffs. 'If she's pretending, what are you going to do?'

'That's for you to know when the time comes.' Verdad grits his teeth. 'I'll talk to you in a few weeks.' He is short and to the point. 'Good day.'

'Okay, bye.'

Verdad shuts the phone and places it down, composed. He rests his elbows onto the desk and cups his hands, resting his chin into them, deep in thought.

'It's just business,' he says to himself, nodding. 'It's just business.' He repeats, removing his hands from his chin and running them over his face. He pushes himself away from his desk quickly and flies up out of his chair, thundering his way over to the grey wall. He leans against it, shifting the mass of his weight into his raised hands. He touches his forehead against the wall's cold surface and closes his eyes.

'It's just business, forget about her.' He affirms once again out loud.

The handle on the oak door of his office begins to turn, then abruptly stops as it hits the lock, it is followed by a series of frantic rapid knocks. Verdad opens his eyes and glances towards the noise, an onset of tears giving his hazel eyes the appearance of glistening marbles.

'Mr Verdad?' A concerned older voice screams from the other side of the door. The knocks turn into bangs. 'Mr Verdad? Are you there? Are you okay?' Verdad pulls out of his resting position, rubs his face roughly with his hands and finishes by running them through his gelled blonde hair.

'Yes Miss Coles, I'm here.' He yells through the door, wiping his away his tears.

'The door is locked!'

'I know, I locked it.' He sniffs, striding over to a mirror on the other side of the room.

'What on earth for, you know I always use the intercom and if I don't I knock and wait for permission before entering. Did you know the intercom is not working?'

'Yes, I turned it off.' Verdad's voice is weak, he inspects his reflection.

'But why?' Miss Coles is concerned.

'I just needed a little privacy, don't worry, I'll turn it back on now.' Verdad shifts back over towards his desk, rubbing his eyes.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realise. Don't turn it back on just because I complained.'

'It's okay Miss Coles, I don't need it off any more. In fact, I forgot I turned it off, thank you for reminding me.' Verdad yells through the wall. He slumps himself back into his soft leather chair and flicks the switch on his intercom back into the 'on' position.

'It's back on Miss Coles.' He says into it, remaining seated, not yet composed enough to open the door.

'Oh, okay.' Her voice yells through the door. A few seconds go by before she is heard through the intercom. 'Umm ... well the only reason I knocked is because there's someone here who wants to see you.' Her voice erupts out of the intercom and echoes around the office.

'Who?' Verdad's eyes are still red, his voice unsteady.

'Some detective, he says his name is ...' The noise of paper shuffling around her desk is heard for a second. '... Peter O'Connell.' She says. 'He's wandering around in the show room at the moment waiting for you.'

Verdad eyes widen. 'O'Connell?' He shoots into the intercom.

'Yes. Shall I go and get him?'

'No!' He shouts. 'I'll come out and see him.' He leans away from the intercom and brushes down the fabric of his tan suit with his damp hands. He lets out a long breath before getting out of his chair and walking towards the door. Slowly, he unlocks it and pulls down on the handle. Plastering a smile on his face, he steps out of the office and closes the door swiftly behind him.

Miss Coles, his sixty year old secretary, looks up at him. Her hair is set in a short mass of natural grey curls and her skin, wrinkled more from the sun than from age, creases as she gives him a kind smile.

'I'm glad you're okay Mr Verdad. I was a little worried when you didn't answer me on the intercom and then when I found the door locked, you could have just as well shocked my heart with a defibrillator. You know, sometimes the most unexpected disasters can happen to the least likely people. You could have collapsed from a brain haemorrhage and I wouldn't have known.' She reprimands. 'That's what happened to my husband.' She added.

'Thank you for taking such a kind interest in my wellbeing Miss Coles, I'm sorry I scared you. I assure you the next time I want a bit of privacy, I'll let you know in advance.' His tone soft.

'I'd appreciate that. I don't take scares as well as I used to, it's a good thing no one saw my hysterical face.'

Verdad gives her a toothless smile. 'Now — Mr O'Connell is in the showroom?'

'Yes, maybe he wants to buy one of those new black things we got in last week.' She enthuses, eyes wide.

Verdad laughs. 'I doubt it Miss Coles.'

'Oh, you never know, some people buy the most uncharacteristic things. I have a huge collection of vintage radios, but you never see me listening to the radio do you?'

'No.' Verdad smiles again. 'Thank you Miss Coles. I'll be back, soon, I hope.'

'Oh, I hope not, that means he's not buying a car!' She calls after him.

'Trust me,' his voice carries back to her, 'he's not here to buy a car.'

He strides down the friendly opaque corridor, passing the busy offices and jogs down the large white stone stair case leading to the showroom. He manoeuvres himself proudly around the numerous Mercedes on display, scanning the entirety of the showroom for the detective. He locates O'Connell a few short seconds later at the far end of the building, ogling the new range Miss Coles had referred to. Verdad casually walks over to him.

'O'Connell.' He smiles, once within ear shot.

'Oh, Verdad.' O'Connell turns quickly upon hearing his name. 'I was expecting to see you in your office.' His shabby pale green suit out of place against the midnight black car.

'Yes, well, it's actually being re-painted at the moment so it's not the best place to have a chat, fumes and everything. Here's just fine.' Verdad stares down at him, placing one hand inside his pant pocket.

'Alright then.' O'Connell crosses his arms.

'So, here to question me about my newest secretary?' Verdad condescends.

'No. Actually, I was just passing by and I thought I might stop in and take a look at the new SLK-class range.' O'Connell indicates the shiny black car elegantly displayed alongside him.

'The SLK-class range?' Verdad scoffs. 'O'Connell, I'm a very busy man, I don't need you coming down here and wasting my time.' He laughs.

O'Connell walks over to the car and runs his hand along its roof, admiringly. 'Wasting your time?' He glances at Verdad. 'That's rather rude. I could have just inherited a large sum of money and I might have every intention of buying a car.' O'Connell stares at his reflection in the black veneer.

'Might? Look, as I said, I'm very busy. I have a lot of work to do. I'm not in the mood for a hypothetical sale. Get to the point, will you.' Verdad creeps closer.

'Okay.' O'Connell sighs, turning away from the car. 'I'm not here to buy a car but, I do have a question for you.' Verdad stops and stares at him. His eyes light up.

'Go ahead.' He gestures.

'Well,' O'Connell places his hands inside his pockets. 'I was just wondering why you went and visited Ian and Carol Barns a while back.' He tilts his head to the side.

'Hhh ... how do you know I went and visited Ian and Carol Barns?' Verdad squints. 'Have you been following me?' His face reddens.

'No!' O'Connell pouts. 'My colleague, Rogers, has.' He grins.

'You know you have no right to have me followed, I can report you.' Verdad's tone icy.

'Actually, you're under investigation so technically you can't report me and I do have the right to have you followed.

'So,' he removes his hands from his pockets. 'Ian and Carol Barns? Trying to find out where Jennifer is hey?' He turns and leans against the car's glossy exterior. 'Waste of time wasn't it?' He smiles.

'I was giving them my condolences.' Verdad strides forward and yanks O'Connell off of the car.

'Your condolences?' He utters incredulously shaking his arm out of Verdad's forceful grip, glaring at him.

'Yes. Having found out Jennifer is missing, I naturally wanted them to know I'm here for them. Carol was always very nice to me.' Verdad brushes his hands down his golden jacket. 'I suppose she felt sorry because I never knew my mother. I just wanted her to know that if she ever needed help with anything, I'm just a phone call away.'

'Well, that's very nice of you.' O'Connell applauds. He strolls around towards the front of the car and stares at the windshield, checking out the price tag. He lets out an arched whistle.

'I'm usually a nice guy when I'm not being accused of murder.' Verdad spits, remaining where he is.

'Is that so?' O'Connell raises his eyes at him. 'Well, I'll be sure to remember that.' He smirks, strolling back over to Verdad. 'You won't find her you know, no matter what you do.' He leans into Verdad's face. 'She's mine.' He whispers with a grin.

'Is that right?' Verdad leans in as well. 'Do you know what I think?' He pauses. 'I think that if you actually knew where she was, you wouldn't be here chatting with me.' Verdad matches O'Connell's grin.

'How do you know that?' O'Connell delivers cheekily.

'Good afternoon O'Connell.' Verdad pulls away. 'I don't want to see you in here again unless you're actually buying a car,' he laughs, 'or arresting me. And since neither of those two options are plausible, I guess I won't be seeing you any time soon.'

'Don't be so confident Verdad, it could bring forth your downfall.' O'Connell smiles once again, giving Verdad a friendly tap on the arm. 'See you.' He smiles. Verdad stares after him. O'Connell walks away, skipping lightly out of the spinning glass door at the front entrance of the building.

'Hey you!' Verdad turns fuming towards a cleaner wearing beige overalls, sweeping the floor a short distance away from him. The man looks up, his gaze turns to fear.

'Yes Mr Verdad?' His voice shakes.

'Some idiot has smothered their filthy fingerprints all over this car.' He points to the car O'Connell had been admiring. 'Polish it. Now!' The cleaner jumps.

'Of ... of course Mr Verdad.' The man drops his broom and runs in the opposite direction.

Verdad smiles to himself, chuckling as he watches the cleaner leave as fast as possible. He gives the brand new car one last glance, turns and heads back up the shiny white stone staircase.

#9 Group Therapy

I looked over at my schedule Debbie had written up for me and pasted onto my wall. I cringed, searching for today and read, 10am Group therapy, Indoor Group Therapy Room, second floor, printed on it in red ink.

I looked up at my chrome wall clock; ten past ten. I stopped writing and got up out of my cream chair and selected a pair of white and purple Converse sneakers out of my vast collection of colourful sneakers lining the inside of my wardrobe.

I put my purple shoes on and inspected myself in the mirror. My white pants were a little creased and there was a faint stain on the left leg where I spilt some of my orange juice at breakfast time. I licked my finger and tried to dampen the stain, but instead made it horrifyingly worse. I tore open my closet and located a purple sash hanging up right at the back. I tied it around my waste, letting the ends dangle down in such a way to cover up the stain.

I tied my hair in a neat pony tail and brushed my fringe towards the left side. Picking up my white sports jacket off of my bed I proceeded to the door, stepping out into an empty corridor and turning left towards the elevator.

I walked in and waited a few seconds before pressing the call button.

When the elevator arrived I glided in swinging my arms violently, hitting a nurse who was already in the elevator right in the face with my jacket. She jumped back a little and gave me a sour expression. I ignored her. The elevator came alive again, the doors shut and it descended downwards, arriving within a few seconds on level two. The nurse walked forward to exit the elevator. I waited until she was almost out before pushing her backwards and walking out in front of her. I heard her stumble and crash into the back wall of the compartment knocking the fern over. I didn't look back.

I passed Debbie's office and continued, turning right as I hit the end of the beige corridor. I continued until I reached the other side of the building before doing another ninety degree turn to the right. The wooden door leading into the group therapy room was shut tightly. I headed straight for it and with excessive energy pushed on the handle and flung the door wide open. Debbie along with the other eight or so patients were all sitting in black plastic chairs like the ones outside Debbie's office. They were positioned in a circle so everyone was facing each other. There was one vacant chair sitting on the opposite side of Debbie. The entire group turned their heads in improvised unison directly towards me as I entered the room. The patients' expressions were mostly unperturbed; Debbie's expression however was one that resembled a slightly pissed off bull.

After entering the room I kicked the bottom of the door with my foot causing it to bang loudly and shake as it re-aligned itself with its frame. Debbie jumped in her seat.

'Jenny, how nice. I didn't think you were coming.' She said in a falsely sweet tone.

'What? You didn't think I would miss today's only decent form of entertainment did you? And now you're in charge it's got to be at least ten times more entertaining. Now, get out of my chair.' I blared.

'Excuse me?'

'When we're in this room, I always sit in the chair right in front of the window. That way I get maximum fresh air and minimum glare in my eyes. Of course, seeing as this is the first time you've hosted a therapy session in this room with me I'm willing to let your mistake slide, but only this one time.' I paused and stared at her. 'What are you waiting for, get up.'

'Sit down over there Jenny, now.' She ordered. I stared at her, refusing to move a single millimetre. 'Look Jenny, you may have had some hold over Dr Granger and he might have been a little more lenient towards your demands but I will not follow orders given by a patient. Now go over there and sit down and do try to be a little quiet today.'

I let out a gasp of disgust. 'You'll regret this.' I said revengefully and stomped over to the only remaining vacant chair in the room. I sat down as dramatically as I had opened the door and crossed my legs and arms with a practised synchronicity. Debbie tried her best to ignore me whilst I was doing this and stared at her notes, fascinated.

'Right,' she said after a few silent seconds. 'As I was saying, today all of you are going to share with one another what important things you have learned whilst you've been here at Grove Hospital and also I would be interested to hear what some of the highlights have been for you and if you are willing to share, perhaps you might like to talk about the low points as well.

'Now the aim of this exercise is to really try and get each and every one of you thinking about your own emotions and also to help you to get more used to sharing your thoughts and feelings amongst a wider audience of people. I hope we will all make a lot of headway based on what we do this morning and maybe even learn something truly valuable from it.' She finished with a pleasant smile on her face, clearly in love with the fact she had made this rather impressive speech free of mistakes. I rolled my eyes, although, I don't think anyone saw me.

As Debbie stared back down at her notes, attempting to decide which patient would be the best one to start the exercise with I stared lazily around the room.

I let out a sigh and began waving my hand in front of my face to create an artificial breeze.

'Something wrong Jenny?' Debbie looked across at me.

'No. Other than the fact this room is like a sauna.' I paused. 'I can't believe you stole my window seat, I mean, it's just rude and ...'

'Jenny!' Debbie interrupted. 'I thought you were going to try to stay quiet today.'

'Fine.' I crossed my arms. Silence filled the room.

After a few more moments of silence Debbie looked up and stared directly at Mike who was sitting two seats from my right.

'Mike, why don't you go first?' she directed to him. There was no reply. Instead, Mike turned his head and looked to see if there was anyone behind him. All he saw was vacant space followed by the shut door. He turned and stared at Andrew who was sitting on his left side and gave him a questionable look.

'Oh, it's you, you idiot!' Andrew shot. Mike jumped as Andrew shouted at him and cowered slightly. I ran my special rhyme I use to help figure out which of the twelve multiple personalities Mike is each day through my head and quickly realised that today Mike was William, the shy guy who barely utters a word.

In response to the situation I started waving one of my legs up and down in rapid motions and tilted my head to the right with an expression that mirrored my physical movement in order to overly emphasise my frustration.

'Oh, right.' Debbie said embarrassed. 'Sorry, I forgot your name.' She directed towards him again with an inviting expression.

'It's William.' He quickly whispered. Debbie took a moment to process what he said and then consulted her notes again. She flipped over a few pages and traced down a selected page with her finger.

'William!' She exclaimed to herself in a congratulatory matter, she must've found her notes about him from their last encounter. 'Oh yes, I see you here now. Sorry about that, I'm still finding it a little hard to remember your ... everybody's names.' William gave a nervous laugh, his facial expression then turned to one of desperation as he clearly didn't wish to be the first one to speak; he probably didn't want to speak at all.

'So, William, what have you learned while you've been here?'

'Um ... ah ...' He bowed his head, shaking it whilst making incoherent pleading noises that could probably turn any un-loving mother into The Madonna. 'I ... dunno.' He finally mumbled.

'There must be something important you've learned. Be it about yourself or life or others. You've been here for ten years.'

'Huh? N ... nn ... no ... I've been here for less than a year.' He looked worried. Debbie appeared immensely confused.

I snickered. 'Jenny? Do you have something to say?' She asked.

'Oh, so now you want me to say something?' I looked down at my pink fingernails. 'It's just, I was sitting here, contemplating just how bad at math you must be.'

'Oh?'

'Yes. I mean if Mike is a particular person every twelve days and there's three hundred and sixty-five days in a year then obviously you would be each personality a little over thirty times a year, depending on whether or not it's a leap year.' I looked up at her. 'So if Mike has been here for ten years then each of his personalities has been here for just over three-hundred days each, which is technically less than a year each. Of course some of his personalities, like Horace, are aware of the whole skipping time thing and do know they've been here for ten years. But,' I looked over at Mike/William. 'William is too reserved and doesn't socialise or even bother to check what the date is.' I lowered my voice to a whisper and directed it straight at Debbie. 'I actually think he carves the number of days he's been here on a tree, I saw him doing it one day, at least that's what I think he was doing ... so obviously he thinks he knows how many days he's been here, which of course is less than a year. You'd think he would've noticed himself aging ...' I pondered.

'What?' Mike/William turned to me.

'That's quite enough Jenny, thank you.'

'Pshhh.' I spat.

'William.' Debbie re-focused her attention. 'Sorry about that little interruption.'

He nodded shortly.

'Where were we? Oh, yes, sharing our thoughts with the group. So, William? Come on now, tell us what you have learned.' Debbie gave him an unfaltering stare.

'Okay ...' He looked around sheepishly. 'Well, I guess I've learned a lot of people aren't ... well ... that scary or mean.' He paused. 'Some people are ... okay. But then ... a lot of people are actually quite scary and mean.' He mumbled, contradicting himself.

'Do you think I'm scary or mean?' William looked from side to side, too scared to tell Debbie what he was really thinking. He remained silent. 'Come on, don't be so shy. I want you to tell me the truth. More importantly I want you to stop being afraid of what other people might think of you if you tell them how you really feel. Everyone admires people who speak their mind.'

'Huh! Could've fooled me.' I commented.
'Jenny, wait your turn.' Debbie snapped. 'Now William,' her voice returned to a calm babying tone, 'do you think I'm scary and mean? I don't care if you do.'

'Well ... yes.' He finally said. I started to clap.

'Jenny!' I stopped abruptly. 'I see.' Debbie was clearly pissed. 'Why do you find me scary and mean? I've never done anything to hurt you or said anything remotely damaging. In fact, the only thing I can be accused of here is trying to help you. Haven't I been nice?'

'Well ... you ... never mind.' There was silence. 'I answered you're question, and I don't have anything else to say. Can we move on?' He pleaded.

'Of course.' Debbie sighed and quickly continued on to the next person.

The minutes painfully ticked by. It felt like everyone was functioning at normal pace but for some reason the clock didn't feel like keeping up. Eventually it was my turn.

'Jenny.' Debbie looked at me. 'Guess what, it's your turn.'

'Well, about time. You know, I'm beginning to think that the reason you made me sit here, was so that I was one of the last people to have a turn in talking, and therefore wouldn't have enough time for me to say everything I wanted to say otherwise tomato head next to me wouldn't get a turn.' I crossed my arms.

'Jenny, don't be ridiculous.' She pouted. 'And, it's not nice to call people tomato head.'

'He has red hair.' I said simply.

'Yes, well ... that's not the point. Anyway, moving on. Not much time left.' She took a slow breath. 'Now Jenny, I'm rather interested to hear what you've learned in the entire time you've been here.' She said to me.

'Where do I begin.' I drew in a long breath. 'Well, obviously I've learned psychology is not a science and it is an absolute waste of time because clearly those who practice psychology know absolutely nothing and they spend their time trying to cure people that have nothing wrong with them and even if those people did have something wrong with them a psychologist still couldn't cure them even if the outcome of the apocalypse depended on it.' I said, finishing with a deep breath. My speech was followed by an icy silence.

'I see ... Well, aside from that interesting fact, what else have you learned Jenny?' Debbie asked with practice tolerance.

'Nothing. I know everything else.'

'Okay then. Perhaps you would like to share with everyone any highlights you've had whilst being here.'

'Naturally there have been no highlights because this place is a dump.' I let out a disgusted laugh.

'The low points then?'

'Oh, that's easy. Well first of all the lowest point for me would have to be when Huey retired because he was so much better than you and I'd rather spend an hour a day with him than with you because he didn't smell like sardines.' Debbie let out a huge guffaw. 'And then of course when you banished me to that plain, un-original white room for an entire month, which was pretty crappy.'

'Oh, so you acknowledge you actually went to The White Ward. Everyone has been saying you've been telling them you went on holiday.' She smirked.

'Yes ... I was trying to make you look good.' I explained.

'Oh?'

'Well, if I went around telling people you put me into isolation, and then took me out again because it was a useless waste of time, wouldn't people start to realise that you were not competent in your position here?'

'I see. But, why should you care Jenny? You've been wanting me to leave since the day I arrived.'

'Well, maybe I've realised it's more fun to keep you here. That way I can sit here and insult you all day.'

She glared at me. 'I see ...'

'Anyway, I wasn't finished telling you about the low points.'

'Go on then.'

'Actually, all of the real low points I have experienced whilst being here have been in your presence so I mean, you shouldn't really have to ask me that question because you should already know the answer. But, then of course, you are a psychologist so I guess I shouldn't expect much from you.' I laughed.

'Right ...' Debbie bit her tongue. 'Would any one like to contribute or add to this ... provocative statement Jenny is making?'

Unsurprisingly no one volunteered. In fact most people seemed not to be paying any attention to what was going on. Just as the silence was starting to become a little bit too uncomfortable Franny spoke up.

'I agree one-hundred per cent. Jenny is absolutely right.' She said.

'I'm sorry I didn't ask for your opinion Yes Man Fran.' I said to her.

'Jenny! That is a very rude thing to say. Now, stop being so inconsiderate of other people's feelings. We've had this discussion in our private sessions. I thought you were starting to appreciate the fact the other people have feelings.' Debbie said.

'And I thought you were smart enough to tell when someone is lying.' I replied. 'No matter,' I continued, 'at least someone agrees with me. Now, is there anyone here with a valid educational background that agrees with me?' I stared the room down.

'That's quite enough Jenny. We're running out of time, I think we better move on to Andrew.'

'Excuse me. You were the one who asked if there was anyone who agreed with my statement.'

'I know and that question was answered by Fran, but we don't have time to scare anyone else into agreeing, okay. We must move on.

'So, Andrew, what about you?' Debbie directed her attention to the guy next me. His arms were crossed and he was avoiding Debbie's eye contact with stupendous control.

'I'm not answering your question, it's stupid.' He uttered the words stiffly.

'Come on. Can't you be a little bit co-operative for me today?' Debbie looked fed up.

'Of course you would say that. A person of your authority thinks they're so fantastic. But what about us honest citizens? You sit there on your chair and pretend to be so interested in what we all have to say but deep down I bet you don't give a shit.' He said, as though he were reading my mind.

'I see, so that's how you feel is it?' Debbie said, almost as if she was off in another world.

'Yeah and if you don't like it then you can go and fly a kite.'

'Ugh, that is horrifyingly cliché.' I interrupted.

'Hey, it's my turn, who the hell asked you for your input?' Andrew fired at me.

'I don't need to be asked to provide input, especially not from some fat Prince Harry lookalike. I'm important enough to be listened to twenty-four seven.' I turned my entire body to face him. 'You know, aside from your horrible cliché I actually agree with the former part of your opinion.'

'Fuckin' shut the hell up.' He blurted in my face.

'No, you shut up you un-original festering pile of faeces. Don't you bathe?' I blocked my nose with my fingers.

'You wanna fight, cause I'll fight.'

'Oh yeah? And what will the rules be? Wait let me guess, rule number one, don't talk about fight club. Rule number two, don't talk about the fight club.'

'What? That makes no fuckin' sense.' He put his arms on his chair, ready to lift off.

'Neither does "if you don't like it then go and fly a kite" but you still said it didn't you, you dumb ass.' He looked at me confused. Debbie didn't appear to be paying much attention to us.

'Alright let's go.' He stood up, knocking his chair to the ground. He looked rather awkward, pulling his pants up over his tummy. He stretched his neck from side to side producing a sickening crunching sound and then proceeded to do the same with his knuckles. He advanced directly towards me, and just before he attempted a mammoth lunge onto my erect leg Debbie finally felt the need to intervene.

'You two stop it now or I will call security and you will both be taken into isolation immediately!'

Upon hearing this Andrew stopped, thinking twice about pursuing his violent act towards me.

'I am sick of the two of you. Half of the time you always manage to get into some kind of a fight. Serves me right for sitting you two next to each other.' Debbie sighed.

'Yeah, well it's not like anything bad even really happens. This sissy loser always backs down.' I egged him on.

'Jenny.' Debbie looked at me. I sat back down. 'Okay, I think this will be it for today.' Debbie uttered with an extreme lack of energy. 'I'll see all of you in your individual sessions with me next week. Jenny, Andrew, I will have a special discussion with each of you during your own sessions about your behaviour today.

'You may all go.'

Immediately I busted out of my chair and stomped to the door, whacking those in my path. I headed back towards the elevator dramatically assuring the doors closed shut just before the rest of the patients started to board.

#10 Silenced

Verdad pulls his eyes away from his computer, stretching his neck backwards, it cracks with gratification. The stretch moves gracefully from his neck through to his shoulders until it reaches the tips of his fingers. He allows his lungs to inhale a magnified quantity of air, oxygen rushes to his brain, his heartbeat slows. He leans back into his velvet chair resting his back and studies the room.

It houses some expensive treasures. Verdad sits behind a deep mahogany desk on a matching chair upholstered in blood red velvet. An ensemble of magnificent bookcases cover the right side of the room from ceiling to floor, each one overflowing with books on all facets of interests. A fresh pile with their spines still in pre-purchased condition sit on a polished table next to an antique chair opposite the row of bookcases. The books possessing a common subject; personality disorders. The outermost book on the pile is open halfway and resting upside down, marking the page that it had been abandoned on, a pair of oval, black framed glasses balance on top of it. Warm yellow light shines from a red lamp on the other side of the table, highlighting the fact the space was recently occupied.

Verdad's eyes rest on the pile of books that sit solely on the small table at the other side of the room. He moves to get up out his chair but stops when his mobile begins to ring.

The Nokia ring tone sings its way out of his ebony jacket. He pulls one hand away from the desk and reaches inside his pocket until it grasps the shiny black phone. He looks at it the screen; the name of the caller sends his heart racing.

'Verdad.' His voice calm.

'Hi, it's me.'

'It's about time. You said you would have an answer within a few weeks.' He spits.

'Calm down, I'm only a few weeks late. You wanted it to be done properly, and as I recall you told me to take as long as I needed.'

'Yes yes, alright. Sorry, I'm just a little anxious that's all. So, tell me, what's the diagnosis?'

'Well, I don't know what kind of training Dr Granger had, or what he spoke to Jenny about in order to doubt his initial diagnosis, but in my professional opinion, and I have a degree from one of the finest universities in the country, she is certainly not what I would call mentally healthy.'

Silence.

Verdad halts for a moment. 'So, she does have a disorder?'

'Yes. Sorry Marcus, I can tell you were hoping for a different conclusion.'

'You're sure? I mean, did you try everything?'

'I tried every test and technique we have, they all came back with bad results. I even put her in an isolated, fully monitored ward for an entire month in order to see if she would crack or accidentally slip up but she didn't. In my opinion no one, not even the best actor in the world, could keep up this kind of charade. Not for seven years. I'm sorry but, it looks like she's here to stay.'

'Does she act at all like her old self, I mean, like the Jenny I described to you?'

'No, but like I said a several weeks ago, it is hard for me to comment on that, having never met her until now. I tried to talk to her about her life before entering the hospital. Everything she told me was a heavily fantasised version of the reality she used to live but there was no mention of you at all. I even prompted her, I asked about past relationships but she just fed me this silly rot. Chances are, she's either forgotten you completely or simply chosen to ignore all memories from the past that actually meant something to her. Narcissists have trouble recognising true emotion, if thoughts of you bring emotion to her, then she's probably eliminated them until they no longer appear to exist.' There was more silence, Verdad's face disbelieving.

'Isn't this a good thing though?' She continues, 'I mean, this means she can't possibly be a threat to you. You should be out celebrating.'

'Celebrating!' Verdad yells. 'Are you mad, how can I celebrate the fact that the only person who ever meant anything to me at all, the only person who still means something to me, is sick. I will never mean anything to her again, never.' His face droops.

'Calm down, look, I know this is hard to hear, and it will be hard for quite some time but eventually you'll get over it, you'll move on. I'm sure there is someone waiting for you, somewhere. You just have to be pati ...'

'Don't feed me your psychology crap, that's not what I'm paying you for.' He yells.

'Then don't get angry at me for doing my job properly.'

Verdad takes a second to calm down before resuming the conversation. 'I don't believe you.' He says weakly.

'Oh, Marcus, come on. How many more diagnoses do you need? There are other psychologists that work here too and I have asked all of them for their personal opinions as well, all of them. They agree with me.'

'I have to see her for myself.'

'What! No, I won't allow that. Do you know what sort of damage that could do? I don't know what it was you did to her in the first place to make her leave you, but if she's like any other woman she probably doesn't want to see you again.'

'I thought you said she didn't remember me.'

A sigh erupted out of the ear piece. 'I said she most likely has made herself forget you, that doesn't mean that deep down she has forgotten.' She explains.

'Good, then that means that deep down the real Jenny might still be there.' He decides.

'Oh, okay, and what do you propose to do when you see her, if she agrees to it that is.'

'She will agree to it because you will make her.' He leans back.

'I will certainly not!'

'You will if you don't want to end up like Granger.' He threatens.

'What do you mean, "end up like Granger?" I thought you paid him off ..."

'You'll find out soon enough.' He smirks.

'What do you mean?' Her voice is firmer.

'Buy a copy of tomorrow's newspaper, then you'll know what I mean.'

'You can't threaten me. I can go to the police at any time.' Her voice trembles.

'Yes you can, but I can guarantee you won't make it out of your street before something unfortunate happens to you if you do that. Now, as soon as I am able to clear some time in my schedule I will be on my way down there to pay her a visit. You may be a psychologist but you don't know Jenny, not like I do. I need to see this for myself.' He puts a hand to his head.

'Alright then, and when you realise the truth do you think you will be able to accept it. She is different. And if you have to come all the way down here to realise that in order to get this stupid angelic image of her out of your head then by all means go ahead.'

'Thank you, and when I prove you wrong then you might just have to resume looking for another job, if I decide to keep you alive that is.'

'What makes you think you have the capability to get me fired?'

'The fact I'm responsible for them hiring you in the first place is a pretty good reason. Without me prompting them, they would've thrown your application in the shredder. You're reputation isn't as good as you think it is.' He smirks.

'And neither is yours. Look, I want out. I'm happy to keep an eye on her for you but as soon as the police are off your back I don't want anything more to do with your business. Okay?'

'Sounds good to me. I'll be glad to get rid of you.' He retorts.

'There is one condition though.' She says.

'Excuse me, who's the boss here?' He scoffs.

'I keep this job, and you keep paying me to keep my mouth shut.' She is overly confident.

'Come on Deborah, you know far too well what I do with black mailers. I've never paid anyone to keep their mouth shut, ever, and I don't intend to start any time soon.

'You can keep the job, but that's it.' He finishes. 'And I think that's more than generous.'

'You're an evil soul Marcus, I'm glad I'm not you.'

'You can only be an evil soul if you have one, and I don't.' He laughs.

'Whatever helps you live with yourself.'

'I think this conversation is over, don't you? Remember to keep me posted if anything out of the ordinary occurs. And especially if she gets any other visitors, besides me'

'Fine.' She is short.

'Good bye.' Verdad hangs up before receiving another reply and tosses the phone onto his desk, face livid.

Once calm, he turns his computer off, gathers up his paperwork along with the pile books splayed on the small side table at the front of the room and strides out of the house into the dark night.

*

The next morning fresh piles of the daily news are distributed around the country. Loyal subscribers receive their copies and those whose interest is sparked by front page headlines purchase copies too. Some are interested by the headline Politician Runs off with Millions of Embezzled Dollars, others attention is grabbed by the headline Crackdown as Obesity Epidemic Reaches Dangerous Levels, but it is the headline reading Missing Man Found Brutally Murdered-details page four, that captures the attention of Dr Deborah Fuller, who after purchasing her copy from the news agency near her house, lets out a shriek as she turns to page four and sees a photograph of a young Dr Harrison Granger positioned next to another photograph of a blurred paddock, police standing in the background amongst tapered lines.

Dr Fuller's takes a huge gulp as she reads the accompanying article.

Dr Harrison Granger, who was reported missing last month, was found murdered, late last night on the outskirts of a cattle farming property near Wagga Wagga. He was found by the owner of the property, Shane Doughty, as he conducted his usual late night check of the fields before going to bed. Doughty found the body whilst walking along the property fence and immediately notified police of his finding.

Police in charge of the investigation describe the details of the murder as horrifying and too gruesome to reveal to the public at this point in time.

When asked if they had any idea who committed the murder and why, the police chose not to comment merely stating it was under investigation.

Dr Granger was a certified psychologist, retiring a short time before his disappearance from Grove Hospital, a leading psychiatric institution in Tasmania, with plans to go travelling with his wife of forty years, Catherine Granger. Mrs Granger was unavailable for comment.

Staff at Grove Hospital say they cannot believe this has happened to one of their oldest and closest former colleagues.

Police say it could be months before they come to a conclusion on their investigations.

Dr Granger is the third missing person to have been found murdered in the last few months sparking concerns of a serial killer.

Dr Fuller clasped onto the newspaper.

#11 The Photograph

Peter O'Connell pulls out a cream, double knit jumper from the dusty depths of his messy wardrobe; a gift from his grandmother. Looking more like a fluffy rag picked out of a Life Line dump bin than a hand knitted jumper, he slips it over his head none the less and moves into his small cluttered lounge room. He settles onto his miniature green couch, its upholstery riddled with holes. Lying down he sighs to himself and allows his eyes to wander around the dirty room. They stop when they reach a photograph, recently framed, hanging above his broken television. It is the same photograph he had on his office desk months earlier, the photograph of Jennifer Barns. He allows his mind to wander back to the day it was taken.

*

Jennifer rushed into the lecture theatre and sat down next to him. It was mid-morning; her cheeks were pink from running and her chest bulged up and down, but there was an excited expression on her face.

'What's up with you?' O'Connell asked staring into her eyes, his Scottish accent much thicker.

'You'll never guess what happened to me last night.' She smiled.

O'Connell's heart began to race as he took in her beauty, elevated by her grin. 'What?' He asked casually, though his heart still raced furiously.

'Well, last night I was at home trying to study for our test this afternoon but my mum was driving me insane, continually walking past my room, talking to me, muttering to herself ... so I decided to take my books to a café near my house to study.' The words spilled out of her mouth. 'Anyway, I got carried away going over and over the content for health law,' she told him, 'and the waiter kept on coming up and asking if I wanted more coffee. I kept saying yes because I was too comfortable to move and he looked like the kind of guy who would kick you out if you didn't keep ordering stuff and before I knew it, it was almost midnight! I figured my parents would have a panic attack if I didn't go home, so I went to pay my bill.' She paused for breath. 'Ninety dollars! I only had a fifty on me. I couldn't believe I'd spent that much on coffee!' She reprimanded herself.

'Ninety dollars? How long were you there for?' O'Connell asked only mildly interested, his attention turned to the fitted deep green dress she was wearing.

'A long time.' She said slowly. 'Anyway, I was trying to negotiate with the guy, you know, offering to wash dishes. I even tried to give him my watch but he wouldn't budge. He was going to call the police or something which was ridiculous, I mean, they have better things to do. So I was just about to start up the fake water works when this guy came up and offered to pay my bill for me.' Her grin reappeared.

'Really?' O'Connell vaguely responded.

'Yeah, I didn't think those kinds of people existed these days. I went to turn around to say thanks but no thanks, I wasn't going to let some guy pay for me. I mean if all else failed I'm sure my dad would've bailed me out, but then I saw him.' She said the last part of her sentence in a dream-like state. O'Connell zapped out of his trance and looked at her, querying.

'He was the hottest guy I have ever seen!' She enthused. O'Connell's stomach lurched as he took in her words. 'His smile ... oh ... I practically melted. Before I knew it he'd talked me into sitting back down and having another cup of coffee ... with him!'

O'Connell stared blankly at the wall nursing the sudden hole in his stomach. He replied before she asked him if there was something wrong, ignoring the pain welling in his chest.

'Wow. That was lucky. So ... what did you talk about?' Jennifer took a second to comprehend his words; she found his Scottish accent thick and hard to understand at times.

'I don't know! I couldn't stop picturing him with his shirt off let alone hear what he was saying. But I did catch one thing though, he's rich! Not that I'm a gold digger.' She added quickly.

'Rich?' O'Connell said, finally focussing on her words.

'Yeah. His uncle owns a Mercedes car dealership and he's in charge of running it. Can you imagine the kind of commission he gets?'

'How old is he?' O'Connell frowned suspiciously.

'Well, he's a little older than me.' Her voice was apprehensive. O'Connell gave her a questioning stare. 'Okay, like, seven years. It's not that much of an age gap really.'

'Yeah ... but ... you're only eighteen.'

'So are you!' She retaliated.

'Yeah, but I don't let older women hit on me.' He defended.

'How do you know if he was hitting on me? You weren't there.'

'Are you seeing him again?'

A smile spread across her face. 'Friday night.' She said shortly. 'Don't worry, I'll be careful.' She had misunderstood O'Connell's look of sadness for a look of concern. He felt his stomach twinge with pain.

'What's his name?' He managed to ask.

'Marcus Verdad,' she sang, 'but he prefers Marc.' The two were silent for a minute.

'Hey, would you do me a favour?' She asked suddenly, changing the subject.

'What kind of favour?'

'Well, I want to get the photos from my eighteenth developed but I'm sort of grounded indefinitely for staying out late last night.'

'Grounded?'

'Yeah, ridiculous I know, I mean, I'm eighteen years old! But, I can't afford to be kicked out so I have to put up with their stupid rules for now.'

'Yeah, I 'spose.' O'Connell vaguely nodded, still sore about the new development in Jennifer's love life.

'Anyway would you take the film this afternoon and get it developed for me? I'll give you some money.' He sat there, enchanted by her eyes.

'Of course.' O'Connell was all too willing. She smiled and leaned down, grabbing her black leather bag off of the floor. She opened it and dug around inside for a minute before producing a camera and a few rolls of used film. 'I think there's still film in the camera, I was running late this morning so I just chucked everything in here without looking.' She inspected the camera before saying, 'Oh, there's still one photo left on the roll.'

'Give it to me, I'll take your picture.' Jennifer eyed him reluctantly. 'Come on.' He urged.

'Okay, here.' She shoved the camera into his hands.

'Go on, smile.'

She rolled her eyes before producing a tooth filled smile. He pointed the lens towards her, her eyes shone like emeralds against her deep green dress and her dark hair draped down over her shoulders like a curtain. O'Connell snapped the photograph. The camera came to life and the roll of film began winding itself up.

'Thanks.' Jennifer said, collecting the camera from him after he had removed the roll of film.

'I'll take it after our test this afternoon.' He promised.

'Thanks, I really appreciate it.' The conversation was put to an end as the lecturer ordered silence amongst the noisy room.

Later that afternoon, O'Connell arrived at the local shopping centre, the roll of films secured tightly in his bag.

When he arrived at the photo counter in one of the stores he waited patiently for someone to serve him. After a couple of minutes, a middle aged lady, slightly overweight with greying red hair approached the counter.

'Hi,' he said, before she even had time to open her mouth. 'I want to get these films developed.'

'Sure.' The woman replied, bored. 'Mat or gloss finish?'

'Ah, gloss please.'

'Normal sizing?'

'Yes please, that would be lovely.'

'Okay.' She scribbled down on the top sheet of large receipt booklet. 'And did you want singles or doubles?'

'Singl ... ah ... doubles please.' His eyes lit up.

'No problem.' She tore the strip of paper off of the bottom of the receipt with the number on it and handed it to him. 'I'll have them ready for you in an hour.' The woman droned.

'Thanks.' He smiled, taking the small piece of paper.

An hour later he returned to collect and pay for the photographs. Once outside the store, he sat down on a nearby bench and began to separate the photos so that one lot of copies remained securely inside their paper packages and the other lot was held tightly in his hand. As he left the shopping centre, he walked past a small rubbish bin. In it he placed the second copies of the photographs, except for one.

*

O'Connell gets up off of the couch and walks towards the photograph. It's brand new, shiny silver frame the brightest object in the dark room. He stares at it for a minute, a smile forming on his face before he turns and heads towards his kitchen table. On top of the table, surrounded by a few odd sheets of paper, dirty plates and a varied collection of stationary items is an e-ticket. He picks it up and smiles once more.

#12 A Conversation

I'm currently sitting in my favourite tree. It's my favourite because it's easy to climb and I can hide myself quite well in it, but also because during spring time, when it's flowering, it is breath taking. I can see it from my bedroom window, a spectacular collection of purple flowers. At the moment, it looks kind of dead.

Everyone knows not to talk to me when I am sitting in my tree, I should have the entire afternoon to myself. I've got my note book with me to fill in the time.

I turned it over to the next page, having filled the previous one with neat script and glanced up for a minute. That idiot Foreman was about a hundred metres away from me. I sat still, trying to blend in with the branches, but, my white uniform stuck out far too much.

He spotted me after a few seconds then made a beeline towards the tree.

Once he reached the base of the tree he called upwards in his all too cheery voice. 'Hi, I'm surprised to see you here.'

'Really, who did you expect, a bird?' I replied with a groan.

He laughed. 'You know, you never told me your name.' He said taking off his hat.

'I'm not supposed to talk to guards and you're not supposed to talk to patients.'

'Yes yes, we both know the rules ... but who's going to find out, hey? There's no one around watching us.' He smiled. 'You must be bored talking to patients and psychologists all day. I know I'm bored walking around the grounds all day by myself.'

'If I tell you my name will you go away?' I asked.

'Maybe.' He grinned.

I rolled my eyes. 'It's Jenny.'

'Nice to finally be introduced to you Jenny, I'm Ja ...'

'James Foreman,' I cut him off, 'I know, I've only heard you introduce yourself to about fifty people in the last couple of weeks.'

'Oh, right. So ... what brings you here Jenny?'

'Are you kidding?' I stared at him blankly. 'What do you think; I just decided to come here for a holiday? Retard.' I shook my head.

'I know this is a mental hospital, I just meant that, well, you don't seem overtly crazy, like a lot of the other people here, I just wondered wh ...'

'What is wrong with me?' I cut him off again.

'Well, I suppose you could say it like that.' He said to the ground.

'Nothing, absolutely nothing is wrong with me, all the psychologists here are idiots.'

'I see ... so why are you here?' He looked up again.

'They won't let me leave ...'

'So ...'

'So if I were you I would stop that sentence right there.' I cut him off for a third time.

'Right, sorry. So um, why aren't you inside watching Gone with the Wind?'

'I'm not allowed.' I crossed my arms.

'What? Why?'

'Because that leopard leotard wearing bitch of a Pilates teacher was walking around with c major camel toe, so naturally I pointed it out to her. Then she had the nerve to go and complain about me, said I was being rude. They phoned Heavy Debbie, and she said that from now on I'm not allowed to go to the movie screenings unless I behave myself.' I rolled my eyes.

'Sounds like a punishment a parent would give their child. Haven't you been good?' He folded his arms in front of his stomach.

'That depends on what you define as good. Today, some might say I have not acted incredibly angelic, I however disagree but no one takes into account my thoughts, which goes to show just how dumb everyone is, apart from me of course.' I added.

'What else did you do?'

'That's none of your business. Now if you don't have anything interesting or smart to say to me then perhaps you should be on your way.' I waved him off.

'Oh, come on.' He sat down on one of the lower branches of the tree and rested his hat on his lap. 'Don't you wanna be my friend?'

'Absolutely not!' I scrunched my face at the thought. 'I can't be friends with a security guard. That's way too beneath me.'

'Well then, how about I climb up the tree a little higher so I'm level with you.' He grinned.

'Are you trying to be funny, because if you are you're failing miserably.'

'You're a hard one to please.' He scratched his head. 'Say, how come you're always so nasty to people?'

I let out a horrible gasp. 'Excuse me! Nasty? What kind of a person are you? Obviously you have no manners. I have every right to go up to the complaints desk right now and have you fired.'

'The complaints desk?' He frowned up at me.

'Yes, on the fifth floor.'

'Fifth ... no, that's the medical ward.'

'Whatever loser. Any way, it's not my fault that all of the people who reside here are stupid and need to be put in their place. I'm the only one here who has the guts to stand up to all of the jerks. Everyone knows most of the other patients here are winging sissies. And yet I get a bad reputation.' I scoffed.

'So, have you been diagnosed with some type of aggressive disorder or something?' Foreman asked me, unsure.

'Aggressive disorder! Even if that actually existed I wouldn't waste my breath trying to explain to you how much of an idiot you are coming across as right now. If I were aggressive wouldn't I be attempting to fight you by now?'

'Well ... I 'spose so.' He pondered.

'And am I fighting you right now? No, I'm peacefully sitting in this tree.' I gestured towards the branches either side of me.

'Well, I guess you're right.' He paused. 'I only ask because some of the guards told me to watch out for you because you are prone to lashing out with physical violence.' He laughed.

'It was one time!' I yelled. 'One time I punched some stupid pervert of a guard in the head. And conveniently no one chose to believe my story that he was feeling me up. They all wanted to believe the poor lovely guard who was recovering in hospital from a concussion. Concussion my ass, there's no way I hit him that hard.' I mumbled the last part.

'I see. So, you're not aggressive?' He raised his eyes.

'Look, I don't have time for your idiotic questions' I returned to my notebook.

'Okay, but, what else are you going to spend your time doing, this place isn't exactly bursting with time consuming activities.'

'If you must know, I'm writing my memoirs.' I said importantly, brandishing my notebook.

'Memoirs? I thought memoirs were usually written by old people who have lived interesting lives or by people who have something important to say.' He enthused.

'I have lived an interesting life and I have incredibly important messages I must get across to the other citizens of the world.'

'Really? Like what?' He tilted his head.

'I'm not going to tell you!' I said, appalled.

'Why not?'

'Because you'll steal my ideas and take all of the credit. If you want to know what important things I have to say then you will have to wait until I publish my memoirs and then you will have to go out and buy yourself a copy.'

'Okay then, I'll remember to do that.' Foreman re-adjusted himself on the tree branch into a more comfortable position. He then placed his hand inside his pocket and pulled out a packet of chewing gum.

'Wanna piece?' He asked me, thrusting the packet upwards.

'No! Chewing gum is disgusting and is an occupation taken up by those who clearly have no sense of self-image or taste.'

'Oh.' Foreman stared at the packet of gum. 'Well, I have pretty bad breath, or so I've been told. Chewing gum helps. You can't say I have no self-image if I'm trying to stop bad breath, can you?'

'Yes.' He stared at me. 'There are other alternatives to gum.' I said, concentrating on my memoirs.

'Such as ...?'

'Breath mints, mouthwash, or you could try brushing your teeth.' I laughed.

'Well, yeah that's true ...' He popped a couple of sticks of gum into his mouth, 'I just like gum and then of course there are those ads on TV that say chewing gum helps to strengthen your teeth and prevent cavities.' He justified. 'I like to think that by chewing gum I'm doing a little more than just stamping out bad breath.'

'Those advertising Nazis have definitely got you wrapped around their digits.' I mumbled.

'Digits?' He looked at me quizzically.

'Fingers dip shit.' I shook my head.

'Oh, well why didn't you just say fingers then?' He laughed.

'Because that would be too predictable and extremely unoriginal.'

'Right ... Has anyone every told you that you use rather offensive language?'

'You think I listen to or care about the things that people say to me? There's no law against using offensive language. It's like you and your gum, you like to chew gum and I like to use vibrant language. I promise to get rid of my problem against you and your gum chewing if you promise to stop pointing out my distinct choice of words.'

'Sounds like a deal to me.' He sat there in silence for a moment, chewing, before attempting to recommence the conversation. 'So, have you been here very long?'

'Look, didn't I just tell you that I am busy writing my memoirs?' I put my hands to my head.

'Well, yeah, but I mean, I'm sure you've got time for a little chat. You've got the rest of your life to write your memoirs.' He smiled up at me.

'Fine, I'll be honest. I just really don't want to talk to you. I've tried to give you subtle hints but obviously you're not the brightest diamond in the ground so naturally you haven't realised that I'd rather you just leave me alone. You should actually savour this moment because I think this might be the nicest way I have ever told anyone to get lost and I've done it quite a few times.' I finished.

'Alright, I get your point, I'll go. I was hoping I could change your mind, but I guess there's always next time.' He got down off of the tree branch and stood up tall. He brushed off some pieces of bark stuck to his trousers and placed his hat back on his head.

'I'm sorry but there will never be a next time, it would be a wise move on your part to leave me alone for the rest of your time here. A very wise move.' I told him.

'Alright ... Goodbye then.' Foreman turned, whistling, and walked off in the direction he had been going before he'd spotted me sitting in the tree.

#13 Locked Doors

I jumped as my phone began to ring. Scrunching my face, I leaned over me desk and answered it.

'What?'

'Good morning Jenny.' Mathers.

I groaned. 'What?' I repeated.

'It's Mathers.' He said cheerily

'I know. What do you want?'

'You have a visitor!' He barked through the phone.

'Hhhh ... huh?'

'A visitor!' He repeated loudly.

'Are you sure?' I felt my forehead crease.

'Yes. Aren't you glad? I thought you would be glad. I mean, you've never ever had a visitor.'

'Oh, yes, well... It's not that it's just, I'm terribly busy right now. It's most inconvenient. Tell them to come back another day.' I brushed a wad of hair out of my face.

'Sorry Jenny, I can't because ...' He stopped.

'Because?'

'You'll see. Any who, I'll be up in ten to escort you down to the visiting rooms. Just wanted to call and give you a heads up so you were presentable and everything.'

'Well, at least you did something right.' I sighed. 'Okay, fine, I guess I will just have to do my work later.' I slammed the phone down.

Turning in my seat, I gathered a pair of red sneakers and jammed them onto my feet. I then pulled my hair out, and began to brush it furiously. It's nearly down to my waste again. I examined this look in the mirror, nodding to myself with approval before putting on a jumper.

There was a knock at the door. Mathers opened it and poked his head through.

'You said ten minutes!' I stared at him blankly.

'I know, sorry, I'm just so excited.' He danced on the spot. 'A visitor! I mean, you haven't had a visitor ... ever. I was actually supposed to come and get you an hour ago but Dr Fuller stopped me.' He scratched his head. 'She said she needed to give approval in order for you to have visitors, but then Dr Baker said that was nonsense and you were perfectly sane enough to see any visitor as long as they wanted to see you.' He paused. 'Well, they had a bit of an argument but Dr Baker won out in the end and here I am. I can't imagine what your visitor must be thinking right now, left to sit all alone for an hour.' He finished with a light chuckle.

'Who is it?' I said suspiciously.

'Your visitor? I have no idea ... I'm just supposed to collect you and take you down to the visiting rooms.' He leaned against the door.

'No one asked me if I wanted to have a visitor you know. I don't, for the record. I've changed my mind. Go back downstairs and tell them I simply refuse to see anyone. I mean, my hair is an absolute mess and white is most definitely not my colour. I can't have anyone seeing me in this state.'

'Oh, come on Jenny. Don't be a pain today.' He moaned. 'This is your first ever outside visitor, I mean who cares what you look like, I'm sure they won't.'

'That is a terrible thing to say. I care what I look like and I won't allow anyone to see me looking at my worst.' I glared at him.

'But you look fantastic. You're in great shape, your hair is casually stunning and regardless of what you say I think white suits you very well.' He complemented.

'Right, and this is coming from a guy who has the same haircut as Mr Martin from Hey Dad.' I rolled my eyes.

'Come on, aren't you just a little bit curious as to who might have come all the way down here to see you after all this time.' He sung, walking further into my room.

'Well, maybe a little ... but that's not the point! I'm a very busy person you know. I don't think I could possibly spare the time.' I turned back to my book.

'But they've been waiting a long time to see you.' I felt his eyes staring down into me.

'I don't care.'

'Well I do and I'm not going until you agree to come with me and see them.'

'You're going to regret this.' I glared at him again.

'Jenny, you've been saying that to me the entire time you've been here and you've never once done anything to me to make me regret saying or doing anything to you.' He sat down on my bed, I cringed.

'That's because I've been too busy to plan my revenge, but one day you will regret everything you've done to me.'

'Does that mean you're going to come down and see your visitor?' He smiled.

'Well I can't possibly get any work done with you sitting on my bed can I? I suppose I will have to go and see whoever has come to visit but, it better not be one of my parents.' I threatened.

'What's wrong with your parents?' He frowned.

'Everything.'

'Okay, well, I don't think it's one of your parents because I heard Dr Fuller going on about how they weren't your relative so they shouldn't be allowed to see you. It must be one of your old friends.' He said.

'That's impossible, I have never met a single person on the outside that was worthy enough to be my friend.' I closed my notebook.

'Oh come on, I'm sure that's not true.' Mathers stood up.

'Yes, it is.' I snapped.

'Well, maybe they were your friend but you just didn't realise it, you know. I always get a surprise when someone I've known for a short amount of time introduces me to someone else as their friend and I never even considered them to be my friend in the first place.'

I scoffed. 'Look, even if anyone thought I was their friend there is no way they would come to see me.'

'How do you know that?'

'Because my parents are the only people who know I'm here and I've given them strict instructions not to tell anyone else my whereabouts. I mean, it's embarrassing! If they've blabbed then they're going to be in so much trouble they will really wish they never made me come here.'

'Well, maybe someone looked you up in the hospital files and found you.'

'That's impossible because ...' I stopped.

'Because ...' He prompted, rolling his hand in a sideways circle gesturing me to continue.

'Because ... just because, okay?' I got up out of my chair.

'Okay. Well, we better get going, you don't want to keep them waiting any longer do you?'

'If they want to see me this much I'm sure they won't mind waiting a few more minutes whilst I straighten up my hair and find some more appropriate shoes to put on.'

'Sure thing. I'll just wait outside then.' He walked out of the room whistling.

I tried to stay calm, selecting my royal blue sneakers instead and gently tying them onto my feet in place of the red ones.

'Ready?' Said Mathers once I walked out of the room

'As ready as I can be with absolutely no time to prepare and no decent beautification products.'

'Great. Let's go then.' He chuckled.

We headed towards the elevator. Mathers pushed the down button and started whistling again. Today his tune of choice was the theme from Cheers. His hands were behind his back and he was swaying backwards and forwards to the tune.

The elevator arrived, empty like it usually is. We hopped in and Mathers pressed the button for the first floor.

The elevator stopped on level one and we got out.

'Alright, ready to face your visitor?' Mathers tapped me on the back.

'Yeah, sure.' I crossed my arms, un-impressed.

I strutted behind him for the entire length of the hallway and when we arrived at the steel door at the very end I stopped and casually leaned against the wall. Mathers swiped his security card in the mechanism beside the lock and then punched in a code on the key pad. The door made a loud buzzing noise and the light on the lock changed colour from red to green. Mathers turned the handle and opened the door.

I walked out and turned my head towards the left. Freedom. I could see the big glass double doors across the reception area that led to the outside. In front of them was the waiting area with about twenty chairs, half of them occupied and in front of them, right up against the wall was the thin, long wooden reception desk.

On the wall behind the reception desk, written in gold letters, was the name Grove Hospital and next to, also in gold, a picture of a little tree.

I barely managed to breathe in the atmosphere of the entrance when Mathers ushered me to a door a few metres opposite the one we had just exited.

This door was steel as well and it was locked in the same way but instead of being one solid mass of steel it had a little window in the top half. Mathers swiped his card and entered in a pin code just as he had with the previous door and we entered.

To the right of the door was a guard I had never seen sitting behind a desk with a bunch of monitors on one side. He was middle aged with blonde curly hair and was sipping a cup of coffee when we entered.

'Rodney, you were ages mate.' He spat a few drop of coffee onto his desk as he spoke.

'Yeah, we needed a little convincing before we were ready to come down.' Mathers said nodding his head towards me.

'Excuse me, I'm right here.' I said.

'This blokes gettin' a bit annoyed. He's come out about ten times asking me how long it'll be. Says he doesn't have all day.' Said the guard.

'Well, he doesn't have to wait any longer.' Mathers said smiling at me.

'Nope. Alright, Miss ...' He picked up a sheet of paper sitting on the desk in front of him and trailed his eyes along a list of names, 'Miss Parson.' He smiled. 'Your visitor is in room 1G. Come on, I'll take you there.' He turned to Mathers. 'Thanks Rod, I'll let you know when you're needed again.' He got up.

'Sure. Good luck Jenny.' Mathers patted me on the shoulder. I let out a noise of disgust and whacked his hand away. He laughed to himself before turning and walking back out the door, closing it quietly behind him. I turned and faced the new guard.

'I'm Grant.' He said. 'Don't think I've seen you here before, are you new?'

'No.' I did my best to avoid his eye contact.

'Right,' he paused, 'well, come on then, the room's just down the corridor.' He led me down a narrow plain white corridor on my left side that was about seven metres long. There were four doors, two on either side, with standard metal handles. We passed room 1D and 1E simultaneously and reached the end of the corridor where rooms 1F and 1G were staring at each other.

'Okay. Now I'm guessing this is your first time here?' He asked me.

'Yes.' I said flatly.

'Alright then. Now, there's no time limit with visiting, you can stay as long as you like but when you're finished there's a green button right next to the door on the inside. Press that button, sit tight and I'll come and collect you, okay?'

'Collect me?' I raised my eyes at him. 'Okay ...'

'Now, I'll also be keeping an eye on you on the monitors from my desk so no funny stuff alright?' He winked at me.

'What! I've got higher standards than that thank you, besides I don't even know who the person sitting on the other side of this door is.' I gave him a disgusted look.

'Oh yeah? Well he sure knows who you are.' He sung. 'Gave us quite a hard time when Doc Fuller said she didn't want you to see him.' He grinned.

'Yes, well ... just open the door so I can get this over and done with. I'm a very busy person and I can't afford to waste any more time. This visitor has proven to be quite an inconvenience.'

'An inconvenience?' He looked a little dumb founded.

'Just open the door moron.' I folded my arms.

'Okay okay, calm down. They told me I might get a bit of attitude from you.' He brushed his hands down his creased security pants.

'Oh, and who exactly are they?' I stared him down.

'The old men in white jackets of course.' He chuckled. 'Anyway, the door's unlocked, you can let yourself in. I'm just the escort. It's my job to make sure you go to the right room, although it's not like it's very hard to get lost in this ant farm.

'Remember, the green button. Not the red one, that's for emergencies only.'

'Yeah, I get it.'

He held his hands up pretending to defend himself and turned away with a laugh, walking back down the corridor.

I stood facing the door and took in a deep breath before putting my hand onto the cold steel handle. Slowly I forced it down, pushing the door open at the same time. I pushed my way into the room in my same old dramatic fashion.

#14 Short-Term Ignorance

He was sitting at a small white table in the centre of the room facing the door. He was wearing dark jeans, a grey cotton top and a brown leather jacket; his blonde hair styled perfectly. When he heard me enter he looked up, a smile on his face.

'Jenny!' He said. He got up out of his chair and walked over to me, opening his arms wide for me to embrace him. I simply stood still, staring into his face as though he were an animal at the zoo.

'You remember me, don't you? I'm Marc? There's nothing wrong with your memory, is there?' He added, lowering his arms.

'What the hell are you doing here?' I spat.

He frowned. 'Well, I'm here to see you. I missed you, you know.'

'Don't feed me that bullshit, what are you doing here? I'm not wasting my time talking to you for absolutely no reason, dip shit.' I folded my arms.

'What? Jenny, why are you being so rude?' He scoffed. 'You're the nicest person I know!'

'You know me? Hold on ... oh, you're that stupid ex I dumped?'

He shifted back, confused. 'Who did you think I was?'

'Oh, just someone important.' I brushed a hair out of my eye. 'So, why are you here?' I asked again. 'I have no need to see you nor do I want to see you. I can't believe I came all the way down here just for you.' I headed for the door.

'Wait,' he pleaded, 'can't you just be a little more lenient, I came all this way after all. Sit down, chat; humour me at least won't you.' He said kindly, indicating the table behind him.

'Why?' I squinted.

'Because ... I have something important to say to you and I will come here every day for the rest of my life until you agree to sit down and hear it.' He said importantly.

'Oh god.' I put a hand to my face. 'Geese, first Julian and now you. This is not my day.'

'Julian?' He raised one eye brow at me.

'Just a guy who happens to be madly in love with me.' I shrugged. 'You know, spends all his time bidding for my attention. We went out on a date the other night. I didn't want to but, well, he has a mansion on Sydney Harbour and he said I could stay there whenever I wanted if I went out with him for dinner. Naturally I complied.'

'Oh.' Marc looked down. 'How exactly can you go on a date in here?' He looked back up at me.

'What do you mean by that!' I shot angrily.

'Nothing ... I'm very happy for you.' He smiled. 'Please, can't you just stay for a little while? I promise it will be worth it.' A pleading look in his eyes.

'Fine, but I'm not staying for long.' He smiled again. I followed him over to the table and sat down opposite him in one of the white wooden chairs.

'I've got something for you.' He said to me.

'Oh ... great.' I un-enthused.

He opened up his jacket and slipped his hand into the inside pocket, pulling out an old photograph.

'Here.' He passed it to me. I collected it and looked down. It was a picture of the two of us sitting in front of an elephant enclosure at the zoo, smiling.

'Do you remember that day?' He placed his arms gently on the table.

'No.' I said paying little attention to the photograph. Instead, I allowed my eyes to wander around the room. There was a surveillance camera in the far left corner.

'That was the happiest day of my life.' He said to me. 'The day I proposed ...' I let out a moan of disgust and tossed the picture on the floor. He sat silent staring at it. 'Do you know what the saddest day of my life was?' He looked up at me, vacant.

'Do I look like I care?' I folded my arms.

'It was the day you left.' He said. 'I never really understood why you left.'

'Because I don't like you!' I said simply, turning sideways in my chair and lounging into it.

'You know, I thought you were joking, when you said you were through. I thought you would come back in a week all happy again – but ... you didn't.' He looked down. 'You never even answered my calls. I went looking for you but it seemed as though you just disappeared ... But, now I know the truth. You left me because of your illness. Because you were scared of what you were becoming.' He reached his hand towards me, I jerked back.

'Blah blah blah,' I motioned animatedly with my hands. 'Who frickin' cares? Look, what I want is for you to tell me how you found me. Then, I want you to tell me why you are here.'

'I'm just trying to be supportive. I want to help you Jenny.'

'Like I don't get enough help during therapy. Cut the crap and get on with it.' I stared at him.

'Alright. I heard you were here from your parents.'

'What! Bastards – I can't believe they told!' I said, more to myself than to him.

'Don't be angry with them, they mentioned it accidentally.'

'Accidentally? Sure they did.' I tilted my head. 'Why were you talking to my parents anyway?'

'Oh, well, I just ran into them in town. They asked me to lunch. When they told me you were here I couldn't believe it.' He shook his head. 'Naturally I wanted to come and see you to see if it was true.

'I want to help you Jenny,' he said again, 'if you'll let me.' He sat back. 'I've organised the best medical team back in Sydney. They assure me they can help restore you to your old self.'

'My old self? I don't know what you're talking about. My current self is just fine thank you very much.' I threw my feet onto the table. 'Besides, you don't have any authority in the matter. In fact I can't believe you're here right now saying this. It's been years since we were acquainted.' I stretched my arms behind my head. 'I know I'm a fantastic person and everyone loves me, but I could care less about you and your plans for my recovery. Truth is there's absolutely nothing wrong with me, I just stay here for my parent's sake, but as soon as they drop dead I'll be gone.' I finished, dramatically.

'I know it's been a long time, but the only reason I never came to see you sooner is because I didn't know you were here. You just vanished! I couldn't find you anywhere. I gave up in the end.' He said slowly. 'But now I've found you, I'm not going to let you get away.' He said slowly, a hint of cheek.

I frowned at him, pretending to gag.

'I still love you.' He blurted out. 'Hell, I've been miserable ever since the day you left. I want you to come back.' He tried to reach out and grab my hand again but I pulled away, lifting my feet off the table and returning them to the ground.

'I don't want you!'

'You're only saying that because of the illness. As soon as you're better you'll feel differently.'

'Illness? I told you there is nothing wrong with me. There is no way I'm going to let your psycho doctors fiddle with my brain just so you can be happy. Move on – weirdo.' I looked at him, disgusted.

'So, that's a no then?' His eyes widened.

'No ... It's an absolutely not, over my dead carcass, no.'

'I see.' He stared down into his lap. I looked at him in silence wondering what he was going to say next.

'Jenny, I know you saw me.' I looked back up, there was the faintest of smirks on his face.

'What are you talking about?' I said innocently, to my purple fingernails.

'That night, the night you started to act all funny. I heard someone running up the stairs. And you were at the restaurant. You must have seen ... everything. I want to explain.' There was a strange look in his eyes.

'I really don't know what you are talking about.' I looked up at a small white clock on the wall, ticking loudly. 'Your time is up.' I shifted forwards, intending to get up.

'The police are after me – and you. If they come here, don't tell them anything. I can't go to gaol.' He said, shaking his head.

I shifted back into my chair. 'I wish you would go to gaol. That way you wouldn't be here bothering me.'

'You don't mean that.' He shook his head faster.

'Yes, I do.'

'You wouldn't say anything to them,' he said, threateningly, 'if you like your life so much.' His words slow and serious. 'You think you've got it good in here? You think that no one will get to you? I don't know if you're sick or not Jenny – you are different, I'll say that, but you can act and actors make great liars.' He glared.

I sat in silence.

'I've been watching you Jenny, quite closely. I know everything you've been doing in here.' He smiled.

I remained silent, staring off at the far wall, my heart racing.

'Are you listening to me Jenny?' He angered. 'Gaol, a lifetime sentence!' He shifted closer, breathing heavily. 'You know you will go as well if you tell the police what you saw.' He paused. 'You've been hiding valuable information for a long time. And what if I were to tell them that you were in on it?' He leaned in, smiling. 'Don't think they'll overlook that.'

He stopped, waiting for me to say something. 'I'm assuming by your silence that you're not going to say anything?' He questioned. 'Because if you do – you will wish you hadn't.' He threatened again.

'Didn't you just say you love me?' I looked up at him, diverting his thoughts.

'Don't make this harder for me Jenny.' He frowned.

'Harder for you? I'm the one who's going to go back in there worrying about someone coming into my room in the middle of the night and dragging a knife down the front of my body!' I yelled, pressing a finger to my chest. He stared at me blankly. 'Anyway,' I continued. 'I don't associate with the police; I wouldn't waste my breath on any of them.'

There was a short silence. 'Thank you Jenny.' He said. I ignored his gaze. 'And ... once after all of this blows over, maybe I'll pay you another visit and we can sort everything out.' He smiled lightly.

'No. The past is the past. Besides,' I sat up. 'I'm pretty sure I can do better. I mean a woman with my intellect and beauty can snatch any guy she wants. I can't believe I almost settled for you.' I eyed him up and down.

'You don't mean that.' He shook his head.

'Whatever makes you sleep.' I laughed to myself.

'I'm still going to be keeping a close eye on you, regardless of your decision.' He looked straight at me.

'Yeah, well, I can tell you now it's going to be waste of time.'

'We'll see.' He paused. 'I guess there is nothing else to say. I would like to stay longer and chat with you but I can sense you don't want to.' He said shortly.

'Why would I want to chat with you?' I chuckled.

'My point exactly.' He sighed. 'Maybe you can oblige me with a hug before I go?' He sounded hopeful.

'No way! I don't want your stench all over me.' I folded my arms and leaned back, cringing.

'Perhaps a kiss then.' He smiled cheekily.

'Oh god, that's even worse.' I gagged.

'Maybe next time.' He mused. 'Goodbye Jenny.' He smiled.

'Whatever.'

He got up out of his chair and walked casually towards the door. When he was a few metres away from it he stopped and turned around again.

'I just wanted to tell you that that night, the guy you saw wasn't me Jenny. I mean, he's not the man I am now. Back then, I didn't have any remorse. I couldn't care less about who I was hurting. I'm different now. I only work at the car dealership and I'm a sad and sorry homebody. I'm the guy you fell in love with, and maybe, deep down, still love.' He paused. 'Please, if there's any part of the real Jenny in there, just ask her to consider these facts. I'm not the bad man you think I am.' He pleaded.

I did my best to ignore his eye contact and twiddled with a piece of my hair. After a few seconds of staring at me he turned back the other way and continued to the door. He stopped abruptly again before exiting and walked back towards the table. I followed his feet with my eyes. He picked the photo of the two of us at the zoo up off of the ground.

'You might not want this, but I do.' He said putting the photo back into his pocket. 'By the way, you look ... beautiful.' He sighed and turned once again, walking back to the door. This time he let himself out.

I didn't get up straight away. I remained seated on the hard white chair, staring into the table.

On the other side of the door, Verdad is grinning as though he just stole Christmas.

#15 Watching

Hundreds of kilometres away Detective O'Connell slowly pulls his white Volvo into the deserted car park of a dilapidated shopping complex. The sun shines high in the sky reflecting off of the cement, its warmth complemented with an icy breeze. The Volvo traces the car park until it comes to a stop outside a small Mexican restaurant.

O'Connell's lean figure steps lightly out of his old car, eyes scanning the neighbouring shops; only two of them remain un-abandoned. One, a second hand clothing store on the other side of the car park and the second, a small post office immediately to the left of the restaurant.

O'Connell walks confidently towards the entrance of the restaurant, eyeing the façade.

Faded red and yellow paint is peeling off the outside walls; shards of it litter the blackened pavement like confetti. The sign on the glass door reads La I ie ta; a faded blue 'open' sign hangs limply beneath it.

O'Connell strides up to the door and opens it, a small collection of bells clatter above his head. Immediately, O'Connell is confronted by loud Hispanic beats blaring out of small speakers spaced out along the walls of the dining area. O'Connell looks around the empty restaurant, jumping when a young, thin man with curly blonde hair appears from his left side, zooming straight up to him; a faded green menu in one hand, a glittering orange and red sombrero perched on top of his head and a black apron tied tightly around his girlish waist. His grin matches the vibrant colours of his sombrero.

'Hello sir, welcome to La Fiesta. Will you be dining with us today?' The young man enthuses.

'Yes,' replies O'Connell. 'A table for one if you've got it.' O'Connell smiles. The young man looks around the deserted restaurant.

'Yes sir, I think we might be able to spare a table for you.' He grins. 'Would you like a booth or a table?'

'Um, I don't really mind, anywhere is fine.' O'Connell shrugs.

'Okay. Follow me then.' His waiter skips towards a table for two at the far right side of the restaurant next to a grimy window overlooking the deserted highway, O'Connell follows. He motions towards the table. O'Connell takes off his faded beige jacket, revealing a thin white cotton shirt, and hangs it casually off the back of one of the splintered wooden chairs. He tugs the chair away from the table and sits down, tucking his brown polyester tie close to his chest. The waiter hands him the menu.

'I'm Jason, your waiter for today.' He pauses. 'Can I get you anything to drink first?' With an eager hand he pulls an order pad out of his apron pocket and slips a pen out from behind his ear.

'Oh, just some water thanks.'

'Sure thing, I'll be back as fast as possible.'

'Oh, there's no need to rush, I'm not in a hurry.' O'Connell leans back casually.

'Well in that case, I'll be back as slow as possible.' The young man laughs. O'Connell joins him, laughing awkwardly. The young man then turns and skips lightly away, heading towards the kitchen.

O'Connell glances at the menu quickly before turning his attention to the rest of the room. His eyes scan every dusty inch and cobwebbed surface until they reach the small hallway leading to the kitchen. He leans forward into the table stretching his long body across it, attempting to get a better view. The table scrapes a few inches along the terracotta floor, the noise muffled by a flamenco guitar solo echoing around the room. O'Connell leans further still but snaps back quickly into his chair when he catches a glimpse of a flaming sombrero racing towards him.

Jason appears, brandishing a round tray. On it, a tall cup of iced water, a circular plate of dips and a small, wooden bowl filled with corn chips.

'Here you go sir.' Jason says politely. 'Your water,' he places the tall frosted yellow plastic cup on the table, to the left of O'Connell's hand, 'and a complementary dip platter.' He settles the cacti decorated plate of dips and the wooden bowl full of corn chips directly in front of O'Connell. 'Are you ready to order your main meal?' He asks, pulling back lightly.

'Yes, I'll have the ah ...' O'Connell scans the menu once more, 'Mexican Chicken please.' He says vaguely.

'Fantastic choice!' The waiter beams. 'Would you like any side dishes?' Jason's pen is glued to his order pad.

'No, no I think that will be plenty for me.' O'Connell taps his flat stomach. 'Say, what happened to the other chap who used to work here, what was his name?' O'Connell asks casually while Jason scribbles down his order.

The waiter thinks for a moment. 'Oh, you mean Quin?' He bounces.

'Yes, Quin, that was it. He's been here for years, what happened to him?' O'Connell tilts his head.

'Oh, he's just gone on holidays. I'm filling in.'

'Really? How long has he been away for?' O'Connell's interested eyes stare into the waiter.

He pauses. 'About a month ...' He says eventually.

'When does he get back?'

'I'm not sure ... My boss didn't tell me.' The waiter eyes O'Connell suspiciously.

'Well, if you don't mind my saying, you're a much better waiter than Quin.' O'Connell's winks, distracting him with his complement.

'Oh, thanks! I think I was born to do this, only, I haven't had much experience. You're my third customer. Since I started working here, I mean, not today. And the other two were my parents so I don't think they count ...' He adds sheepishly.

'Yes, well, this place isn't in the best location. It would probably do a lot more business if there were a few more people in the area.' O'Connell states.

'Yeah, I guess you're right. So ... you must be a regular?'

'Well, I come every now and then, so I guess you could say that.' An awkward silence follows. 'Say, is there a restroom here? Funnily enough, I've never needed to use it before.' O'Connell laughs lightly.

'Yeah, just go towards the kitchen but turn left instead of right. You can't miss it.' The waiter points behind him.

'Oh, okay. Thanks.' O'Connell peers down the narrow hallway.

'Right, well, I better give your order to the cook.' Jason smiles, tapping the order pad. He prances back to the kitchen.

O'Connell remains seated watching the waiter as he bounces away. When his sombrero disappears from view O'Connell turns his attention to the complementary platter of dips in front him; his stomach bellowing with hunger.

Three different types of dip sit before him, neatly arranged on the plate in their own individual ceramic bowls; a bright red chunky salsa, a concoction of refried beans, and a slightly blackened guacamole. O'Connell leans in and picks up a corn chip from the wooden bowl in front of him, carefully dipping it into the salsa. He smothers the chip in the chunky red substance, bringing it towards his crooked nose and inhaling deeply before moving it down towards his thin lips and placing the chip into his mouth. He starts to chew, a strange taste fills his mouth, and his jaw begins to move in a similar motion to that of a cow chewing grass. After a long minute of concentrated mastication, O'Connell allows the chip to sink down his throat, clutching his right fist to his chest with a pained expression. He covers his mouth quickly with his other hand and coughs rapidly, shards of corn fly out into his palm – instant relief.

He drags the plate closer towards his chest; the aged porcelain scrapes painfully along the colourful tiled surface of the table. He picks up a second chip and bends it. It complies, folding in half without breaking. He moves his face even closer towards the plate, his crooked nose a mere centre metre away from swimming in the guacamole. His eyes fill with disgust observing faint bits of mould speckled on every single corn chip and a nice colony growing in the centre of the guacamole. The refried beans also coated in fluffy moss, coloured hairs sprouting out of their skins. O'Connell pushes the plate as far away from sight as he can and lunges for his cup of water. He takes a huge swig and swirls the icy liquid inside his mouth before swallowing. His lips smack with content. He goes to take another gulp but stops, angling the cup towards his eyes instead only to observe a black fly frozen inside one of the ice cubes. His forehead scrunches and his nose twitches upwards. He cries out in distaste.

He returns the cup to the table and returns his gaze towards the kitchen. Slowly, he pushes his chair backwards and stands up, wiping his hands on his beige pants. He leaves the chair a metre away from the table and swiftly heads towards the corridor leading to the restroom. When he approaches the end of the hallway he tilts his head to the left and stares into the kitchen. His waiter, Jason, is in front of the stove flipping over a piece of half cooked chicken breast. O'Connell's eyes widen with surprise; there is no cook.

He lingers a moment before continuing at a slow pace, following the narrow hallway as it shifts left. He stares at the faded yellow walls, the dusty plastic parakeets hanging from the ceiling, until he comes to three doors; two towards his left, one towards his right. Out of the two doors on his left, one has Caballeros, and the other Dammas printed on the front in a faint elegant gold. The third door on his right has PRIVATE traced along it in the same elegant gold. He walks straight towards the latter door and without hesitation proceeds to turn the handle.

'Hey, that's not the men's room.' O'Connell turns rapidly. Jason is standing outside the kitchen door wiping his hands with a tea towel, his face red.

'It's not?' O'Connell asks innocently.

'No. It says private not restroom.'

'I thought it was a private restroom.' O'Connell shrugs.

'Well, it's not. Why would you want to go in a private restroom anyway? There's nothing wrong with the men's room.' Jason is short with him.

'Yes, well, I ... er ... didn't know which one was the men's room.' O'Connell pauses. 'I'm afraid I don't know a word of Spanish. I didn't want to go in the wrong one so I thought I would be safe going in the staff one.' O'Connell feigns embarrassment, crossing his arms in front of his body.

'I can't speak Spanish either, but I've seen enough movies to know that caballeros means gentlemen in Spanish.' The waiter spits.

'Well, I ... er ... don't get around to seeing many movies. So,' another awkward pause, '— caballeros you say. Right well, I guess I'll go through the door that says caballeros.' He chuckles. 'Thanks for your help.'

'Don't mention it.' Jason glares.

He eyes O'Connell suspiciously as he turns casually and walks through the door marked Caballeros. The door squeals open, slowly grinding shut behind him. O'Connell opens his eyes widely taking in the mass of ceramic green, yellow and blue tiles covering the bathroom. Three washed out yellow cubicles, each with a faded sombrero painted on the door, are on the right side of the room. A basin opposite them filled with green scum, one solitary tap dripping to its own tune. O'Connell walks over to it and looks into the foggy mirror above; a furious face stares back. He paces around the small room letting the minutes slip by; footsteps echoing eerily.

When enough time has passed, he walks quickly to the door and re-enters the narrow hall. Jason is still standing in the kitchen doorway, staring, arms crossed. O'Connell smiles at him when he passes the kitchen, walking quickly and purposefully back to his table and the sounds of a Mariachi band. He throws himself into his chair, a crack splinters down one of the wooden legs. O'Connell ignores it, placing an elbow on the table and leaning his head into his palm; his thin lips forming a pout. He stares out the cloudy window, watching the vacant highway.

Fifteen minutes later the waiter returns with O'Connell's lunch. He throws the plate and some cutlery in front of O'Connell and quickly returns to the kitchen without a word. O'Connell stares down at the golden piece of chicken, smothered in a rich tomato salsa, garnished with wilted coriander. He picks up his knife and fork and slices into the fat chicken breast – the inside raw. O'Connell tosses the knife and fork onto the plate with a loud sigh. Slipping his left hand into his pant pocket he pulls out a tattered brown wallet, forces it open and yanks out a scrunched up twenty dollar note; tossing it onto the table. Rising out of his chair he quickly collects his jacket, jams his long arms furiously into it and storms out of the restaurant. He slams the door shut; the bells above it rumbling.

Once outside O'Connell turns towards the post office.

He enters the small building, silently taking in the room. An isolated and dusty fake pot plant leans up against one of the stale white walls; a fan spins lazily above. At the end of the room, a middle aged woman with a pudgy face and purple lips is sitting behind a grey counter; red talons grasping firmly onto a gossip magazine. She glances up as O'Connell enters the store and quickly folds the corner page of her magazine, stuffing it under the counter. O'Connell's feet pound silently on the grey carpet as he approaches her.

'Good afternoon.' He says, stopping inches from the woman's painted face.

'Hello.' The woman eyes him curiously. 'What can I do for you?'

'I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the place next door.' He jerks his head in the direction of the restaurant.

'Oh?' The woman's overly plucked eyebrows arch quizzically.

'Yes. Do you know the owner?' O'Connell drums his fingers mindlessly on the counter.

'No, I don't.'

'Do you know what he looks like at least?'

'Umm ...' She glances behind her.

O'Connell speaks impatiently. 'Blonde hair, muscles, arrogant demeanour.'

'Oh ...' The woman giggles. 'Yes, I've certainly seen that man.' She poufs her hair.

'Tell me, how often does he come here?' O'Connell leans closer.

'Why?' The woman pulls away.

'I'm just curious.' O'Connell says simply with a smile.

'I really don't think it's any of your business.' She snaps.

O'Connell pulls his faded wallet out of his pocket again and shows the woman his police badge. A spark ignites in her eyes. He repeats his question.

'Hardly ever.' She says quickly, resting her chin into her hand.

'I don't suppose you could give me some kind of estimation?'

'I usually see him once a month perhaps, maybe twice. Why does it matter?' She wheels her chair sideways a little.

O'Connell ignores her question. 'Do they get much mail next door?'

'Mail?' She squints.

'Yes, isn't this a post office?' He patronises.

'It is, yes.' She glares. 'But I don't have the authority to give you that information.'

'Is there anyone here who does have that authority?' O'Connell looks around the deserted foyer.

'No.' She folds her arms. 'Manager's gone home for the day.'

O'Connell returns her glare. 'Thank you.' His tone icy. 'Have a pleasant afternoon.'

The woman grins. 'You too.'

O'Connell slips his wallet back inside his pocket and strides out of the building, caring little when the door slams shut.

He continues quickly down the faded bitumen path until he reaches the second hand clothing store at the other end of the complex.

A delicate sign above the door reads Out with the Old, in with the Second Hand. The neat and clean exterior is white and freshly painted with a deep blue wooden door standing out in the centre; two flower gardens on either side housing fake marigolds and poppies. O'Connell skips up the three cement steps leading to the blue door and opens it. A loud 'ding dong' proceeds. He closes the door carefully behind him and walks towards a minuscule counter at the back of the shop where a man is sitting. The shop is small and cluttered.

He approaches the counter taking in the elderly shopkeeper, dressed casually in grey pants and a matching knitted V-neck jumper; his nose large and his eyes cloudy.

'Good afternoon,' O'Connell calls out as he approaches the counter.

'Yes, it is isn't it? Such lovely whether, even with the cold breeze. Hopefully it doesn't get too cold. I don't take well to the cold these days.' The man cringes.

'Nor do I, and I'm from Scotland.' O'Connell laughs.

'Really? You know, my parents came from Scotland. From a small town called Helmsdale. Do you know it?'

O'Connell pauses, thinking. 'Helmsdale, it doesn't ring a bell.' He says apologetically.

'I think it's on the east coast.' The man says.

'I'm from the southern end. Glasgow to be precise.' His head wavers.

'Ah, yes, I've heard of Glasgow. You know, I always wanted to go to Scotland but I never got around to it. Is it nice there?'

'It's lovely.' O'Connell says.

The elderly man smiles. 'So, are you here on a holiday?' He shifts around in his seat.

'No, I live here actually, have done for the last ten years.'

'And this is your first visit to my shop!' The man playfully scorns.

'Yes, well, I don't get a lot of spare time with my job.'

'Oh, what do you do?' The man raises his eyebrows.

'I'm a detective, for the police. So usually when I go places it's for work not pleasure.'

'I see ... And are you here now for work or for pleasure?' The shopkeeper raises an eyebrow.

'Work, to be honest.' O'Connell blushes.

'Well then, what can I help you with detective ...' The man lingers, not knowing his name.

'O'Connell.' He pauses. 'I wanted to ask you a few questions regarding the restaurant at the other end of the complex.' O'Connell points towards the sparkling window where the restaurant is perfectly visible.

'Oh, now that doesn't surprise me.' The man chuckles.

'Why's that?' O'Connell frowns.

'Well, the amount of funny business that goes on there I'm surprised it's taken this long for someone to come investigating.' He explains.

'Funny business?' O'Connell's heart skips a beat.

'Yes, I often see unusual people over there, coming and going. And on more than one occasion I have seen them come and never go.'

'Really? What kind of people? I mean, how are they funny?' O'Connell leans onto the counter.

'Well, I guess when I say funny I mean the people don't look like your average restaurant goer. I see people dressed up as if they were going to a function, others looking as though they were dragged there from the wilderness and some look as if they're going in there to pick a fight. Those kinds of people ... I only ever see once, but there is one man the goes there quite often. He's always well dressed, usually in a suit and he drives a black car. I can't imagine why he goes there, the food is terrible.' The man scrunches his face.

'This man, would you say he's in his mid-thirties with blonde hair?'

'Yes, that's him. Is he in trouble? I'm mean, is he the man you're after?' The elderly man whispers.

'Well, he is the man that is of interest to me ... He's actually the owner of the restaurant, that's why he goes there so often.' O'Connell explains.

'Oh, I thought the owner was one of the men who worked there. Come to think of it, I haven't seen either of them there for a while now ... A young skinny boy has been working there instead.'

'Yes. You're very observant!' O'Connell applauds. 'I was just in there and he said that the other waiter is on holiday, but he implied the cook was still there. However, I happened to look in the kitchen and there wasn't a cook in there at all, he was the one cooking.'

'That's strange. Why would he tell you the cook is there when he hasn't been there for a while?'

'I don't know ...' O'Connell pauses. 'When you say a while, what time frame are you talking about exactly?'

'Oh, I'd say about a month or two, maybe a little longer. The older I get, the harder it is to keep track of time ...'

O'Connell nods, digesting the man's words. 'I was wondering if you could describe one of them to me. I've seen the waiter many times, but never the cook. Do you know what he looks like?'

'Yes. He looks rather similar to the waiter, actually. Dark hair, young, but he's certainly not as ... muscular as the waiter and perhaps a little shorter.'

'Hmm ... that doesn't really help much, but thanks anyway.' O'Connell smiles lightly. 'Can you tell me if you've seen anything especially unusual lately, whether it be a person or an event, anything at all really.' He casually folds his arms.

'Well, now that you mention it ...' the man pauses, 'there is one thing but it could just be coincidence ... I mean I only noticed it by chance.' The man gently disregards.

'Go on ...' O'Connell gestures.

'Well, you may not have seen this but in the paper last week there was an article about a doctor who was found dead near a farm not so far from here.'

'Dr Harrison Granger?' O'Connell's eye light up.

'Yes, that was it. Well, this might not mean anything but he was here, well not here, but over at the restaurant, a few months ago. I'm certain it was him. A very large man with a moustache. And the man, the one you said was the owner, well he was here at the same time.

'I only mention it because I remember thinking at the time how odd the man looked, I mean, he looked scared. I don't know about you but I don't usually look scared when I enter a restaurant.' He chortles. 'Although, that particular restaurant ...'

'That is interesting.' O'Connell says slowly. 'How long did Granger stay for?'

'Not long. Maybe ten minutes. I assumed he left after tasting the complementary dips.' The man shrugs.

'I know what you mean ...' O'Connell grimaces. 'Did he look scared when he arrived, or when he left?'

'He did when he arrived. When he left he looked angry. That's why I assumed it was the food. Do you think it may have had something to do with the owner?'

'Well, it's hard to say. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't.' O'Connell shrugs. 'It does interest me to know that there is a possibility the owner knew the doctor.'

'The owner, is he dangerous?' The man leans back.

'I'm afraid I can't really go into any details about that.' O'Connell pauses, looking around the cluttered store. 'You haven't by chance happened to have noticed whether any other visitors to the restaurant have wound up dead have you?' He looks back at the owner, sheepishly.

The man laughs 'No, I'm afraid he's the only one.'

'Well, it's a start I guess.' He stops. 'Tell you what, I'll give you my card, that way, if you notice anything else unusual, you can give me a call.'

'Of course, I'd be happy to.'

O'Connell pulls out his wallet a third time and removes a faded business card. He hands it to the man who places it inside a drawer underneath the counter. 'I'm not in any danger, am I?' He asks after putting the card away.

'No, no of course not.' O'Connell smiles. 'Well, I better get going. Thank you for your help.

'Don't forget, if you see anything, or if you feel concerned or scared, please call me.' O'Connell gives him a kind smile.

'Of course.' The man nods.

'Good afternoon.' O'Connell leans forward and grasps the man's hand into a firm shake before turning and heading steadily to the door. When he exits, he skips down the stairs, almost dancing to his car. He hops in quickly, a huge smile plastered onto his face.

#16 Goodbye

A plane touches down effortlessly on a thin stretch of tarmac; frost glitters either side of the runway. O'Connell stares out of the small man hole next to his narrow seat watching the cloudy breaths of air traffic controllers as they yell directions to one another. Thick fluorescent coats bulk up their frames, arms pushing against the fabric as they direct the plane towards the gate. Once the plane is docked, the doors open and the seat belt sign is turned off. O'Connell un-wraps his crossed arms and stretches his lengthy legs with a groan. He waits patiently as the man next to him battles with the other passengers for a space in the aisle. When the inside of the plane is still and quiet, O'Connell straightens his legs. Crouching he scurries towards the now spacious aisle to collect his small sports bag from the overhead.

He steps out of the thin plane; face contorting. He shudders, rubbing his spacious palms against the sleeves of his grey jacket. He makes his way quickly into the depths of the airport where the temperature is mildly elevated and heads to the nearest car rental desk. The line stretches past the designated ropes, patrons pushing against the hard black coils. O'Connell scopes his eyes across the line from start to finish as he adds himself to the end of the long queue. He drops his small bag to the ground and unzips it noisily, pulling out a thick rust coloured coat. He slips into it with difficulty, the fabric stretching against his arms, forcing out the air residing between his flesh and the other two jackets he is already wearing. After taking a baby step, closing the gap slightly between him and the front of the line, the pocket of his khaki pants begins to vibrate. He forces his arm to bend long enough to retrieve his phone.

'Hello,' he breathes, lifting it quickly to his ear.

'O'Connell, it's me.'

'Oh, Rogers ... Hi.' Guilt floods O'Connell's voice.

'I'm sorry to disturb you, I know it's your week off and you're probably at home relaxing.'

'Oh, that's okay.' He looks around. 'I was only watching a bit of TV.' O'Connell lies, quickly placing his hand over the mouth piece of the phone as an announcement is made for a customer to retrieve forgotten baggage.

'Really?' Rogers' sounds surprised.

'Yes.' O'Connell says slowly.

'How loud do you have the volume on your TV?'

'Err ... what?'

'It's just that, I'm knocking on your front door at the moment and you don't seem to be answering it.' Rogers' is smug.

O'Connell's stomach squirms. 'Oh, well ... that's because I'm not watching TV at my flat.'

'O'Connell, where are you?' Rogers' exasperates, fed up with the charade.

'Okay fine. I'm at the airport.' He takes another step forward.

'The airport? You never said you were going anywhere. You going back home to see the family? Good on you.'

'Err ... not exactly. You know I can't afford a plane ticket to Scotland.'

'You could if you didn't waste your money on jugs of Guinness every night. Where are you?' He pries.

'Ugh ... Fine. I'll tell you but don't say anything to Holmes!' O'Connell threatens

'O'Connell, you better not be where I think you are!'

'I have to see her. I know she's not sick.' He shifts his phone to the other ear and takes another step forward.

'You know? How could you possibly know?' He patronises.

'Instinct. Plus, I remembered something she said to me the last time I saw her and now everything makes sense.'

'What do you mean?' Rogers' says, confused.

'I think she planned this.'

'Planned what?'

'Planned to leave her life behind, planned to be admitted into a mental institution.' He whispers.

'Holmes was right, you don't need a week off you need a year off – preferably at a good health resort.'

'Oh, you don't believe me either?' He spits.

'O'Connell ... Look, you have a personal attachment to this woman, and it's really obvious. Holmes felt that the only reason you were still working on the case was because of her. He had every right to take us off it. I mean, Verdad technically hasn't done anything wrong.'

'Verdad is a murderer and you know it!' He whispers into the phone.

'Yes, but there's no proof and until something comes up there's no point pursuing the case. He's not going to do anything if he knows we're watching him.

'Look, why don't you just come back home? Hang out at my place for the week.' He suggests weakly.

'Yeah, I'm sure your wife would love that! I don't need to be baby sat. I know what I'm doing and it's not a mistake!' O'Connell shuffles along the line, he is almost at the front.

'Okay, tell me, what are you going to do?'

'I'm going to get proof that she is not insane and I'm going to find out what she knows.'

'What if she doesn't know anything?'

'Trust me, she does.'

'Well, I hope you're right. Not for the sake of this case but for the sake of your own sanity. I don't think us boys at the station could cope with another bout of your depression.'

'Shut up!' O'Connell puts his free palm to his forehead.

'Sorry ... that was out of line. Just, don't get your hopes up, okay?'

'Yes, okay, fine. Look I have to go.' O'Connell is next in line. 'Promise me you won't say anything to Holmes.'

'I promise. Take care.'

'You too. Goodbye.' O'Connell slaps the phone shut and pushes it back into his pocket just as the woman behind one of the counters calls him over. He dumps his bag at his feet upon arrival and smiles at the young woman with tiger striped hair sitting opposite him.

'I'd like to hire a car for the day.'

'Just today?' She asks, bored.

'Yes, I'm flying back out tonight.'

'Okay. Just a minute.' She turns her attention to her computer and drums rapidly across the keyboard. 'May I see your driver's licence?'

O'Connell pulls out his tattered wallet and hands her the necessary document. She collects it monotonously and resumes tapping her keyboard.

'Do you want insurance?'

'No, that's okay.'

'Are you sure?' She raises her styled eyebrows.

'Yes, I only need the car for one day. I think I'll be fine.'

'Okay, but just so you know if anything does happen to the car you will have to pay for the full extent of the damages, unless you get insurance.'

'I'm more than aware of that, thank you.'

'Is a standard four door sedan alright?'

'Does it have GPS?'

'All of our cars have been fitted with GSP.' She says plainly.

'Well, in that case a four door sedan would be perfect.' He smiles. She punches the necessary details into the computer.

'That'll be seventy-five fifty please.'

'What?'

'One day-ers are more expensive.'

O'Connell scrunches his face up, reluctantly pulling out his scratched MasterCard. She takes it from his grasp and swipes it into the computer quickly, placing it on the counter signature side up along with a black ball point pen. The printer sitting next to the computer comes to life, spitting out a short invoice. O'Connell signs it unwillingly.

'Here you go.' She hands him his copy in replace for the signed one. 'Just follow the dotted line around to the back and exit through the glass door. Someone will be along with your car shortly.'

'Thanks.' O'Connell retrieves his receipt and credit card slipping both inside his wallet. He collects his bag and nods goodbye to the woman, following the huge yellow dots on the ground around a corner towards the right. He slips through the glass door at the end of the trail into a stretched parking bay. Roaring engines break through the calm, strong odours of petrol and grease fill the air. He stands along the side of the parking bay and waits impatiently shivering amongst an already cluttered mass of people. After the passing of twenty minutes his name is finally called. He is handed the key to a shiny navy sedan. He hops inside quickly, inhaling the leather interior and pulls out the overly creased piece of paper that Ian Barns had given him detailing the address of Grove Hospital. He programs it into the GPS and takes off just as a large grey four wheel drive begins honking behind him.

He remains silent for the two hour journey, deep in thought.

SEVEN AND A HALF YEARS AGO

It was late afternoon. Thunderous storms had been plaguing the city all week and in a moment of weakness had subsided long enough to drag Jennifer outdoors.

She was sitting on the steps leading into her apartment complex, a bottle of water loosely held in her left hand, a cigarette in the other. She was dressed in sweats; a grey jacket hung lazily off her shoulders. Her hair was down, unwashed and messy.

The stairs she sat on were dull, wooden and chipped and they led to a door that was half open.

Jennifer was lost in thought, her face empty and hollow. She looked up towards the noise of a spluttering car engine making its way to the side of the road outside the complex, coming to a stop. Recognition flooded her eyes when she took in the white third hand Barina. O'Connell exited, a look of concern on his young face. He was dressed casually in jeans and wore a slightly aged cream cabled jumper. He spotted Jennifer sitting on the stairs and ran up to her, positioning himself on a stair a couple lower than hers. He looked directly at her face.

'Jen, I've been calling you for the last three days, why haven't you been answering your phone?' He said hurriedly. 'Has something happened?' He demanded. She shook her head stiffly. 'Come on. I've never seen you like this, what's wrong?' He reached out, rubbing her arm.

She took a drag from her cigarette. 'Why don't you talk to Marc anymore?' She looked over at him.

He frowned at her odd question. 'What do you mean, I talk to him.' He said bitterly, turning away from her and coughing into his hand. 'Do you think you could put that out for me?' He gestured towards her cigarette. 'Asthma.'

'Sorry.' She took one more drag then stubbed the cigarette on the steps, blowing smoke out of her mouth simultaneously.

'Since when do you smoke?'

'Since Friday.' She paused. 'You talk to Marc, but not like you used to. You used to enjoy talking to him, now you talk for the sake of it, like you have to, because I'm there. Why?' She insisted.

'Well ... I guess you could say we had a disagreement.'

'About what?'

'Does it matter?' He looks away.

'Yes, it does.'

O'Connell ignored her question. 'What's wrong? Is this to do with Verdad?' He asked, eyeing her oily, limp hair.

'You never really approved of me seeing him, why?' She looked directly into his blue eyes.

'I don't know ... male instinct I suppose. He's much better looking than me, and rich, better not forget that.' He grunted. 'A man like that is pretty intimidating.' He paused. 'Why? Did you two have a fight or something?' His eyes widened, elated with the thought.

'Not yet.' She looked down into her lap.

'What does that mean?' He scrunched is face up.

There was silence. Jennifer's mouth remained locked. Her eyes staring into the distance. O'Connell brought his hands towards her face and tilted her chin up so that he was staring directly into her murky eyes. 'Jenny, Verdad is not a nice man. I know you don't like hearing me say this, but he's not. Look, if you need help just ask. I can make it so he'll never find you.' Jennifer sat still, acknowledging nothing. 'What did he do? Did he hurt you?' O'Connell asked desperately.

Silence.

'Jenny?'

'No ... at least ... no.' She said emotionless.

'Did you see something?' He probed, taking hold of her shoulders. Jennifer didn't answer. 'You did, didn't you? You can tell me you know, I'm your friend, I always will be.' He held her tightly.

'I know.' She assured him.

'Look, come with me to the police station, we'll sort something out.' He took hold of her hand and tried to coax her down the stairs. She resisted.

'No, if I go to the police, I'm dead.' She pushed his hand away, fearful.

'No, trust me, nothing bad will happen.' He promised.

'Yes it will! Look, don't worry about me, I know what I'm doing. If things get too bad, I have a plan.' Her voice is shaky. O'Connell snorted disbelievingly.

'You have a plan? Well that makes me feel a whole lot better now doesn't it.'

'Don't be an arse.'

'Well excuse me for caring about you.' Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He sat still for a moment. 'What's your plan, run off to another country under an alias? Do you know how many people have done that and get found within days, weeks?'

'Yes I do know, don't worry, I'm not going to do that.' She said sternly.

'Then what?'

'I can't tell you, I can't tell anybody, it wouldn't work if I did.'

O'Connell's forehead creased with frustration. 'Well good luck, I hope it works out for you.' He said angrily. They sat together in silence for a minute, using the time to calm down. It was Jennifer who spoke first.

'Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be insane Pete?' Her tone was no longer angry, if anything, it was contemplative.

'What?' He looked up at her confused.

'Insane, I bet those people don't have a care in the world. All they know is the crazy existence that goes on inside their head.'

His brow furrowed with trepidation. 'What are you talking about?'

'Nothing, just a silly thought I have from time to time ... I wonder how you know if someone is insane, like, really insane.'

'Do you think Verdad is insane?' He sits up.

She shrugged. 'Maybe we're all insane. I'm insane for talking this way, you're insane for wearing that jumper in the middle of summer.' She snickered.

'Hey, it's cloudy, and there's a slight cool breeze you know.'

'I also know you're not wearing a T-shirt underneath your jumper.'

'Okay you got me. I hung all of my shirts out on the line last night and they all got drenched by the downpour. This was the only dry thing I had.

'Come on, come with me. I can help you get away from him safely.' He pleaded disregarding her change of subject.

'No. I don't need you.' The words burned into him. His mouth opened disbelievingly.

'Fine! In that case, I guess this is goodbye.' He stood up in one quick movement. 'I've tried to help you Jenny, more than once. If you don't want my help then that's your decision but I can't sit here and watch you let him destroy your life.' Anger burned through his cheeks.

'Pete, don't be stupid.' She motioned him to sit back down.

O'Connell stared at her for a second before firmly shaking his head. He turned angrily and stomped down the stairs.

'Pete!' Jennifer called weakly. He ignored her.

When he arrived at his car he turned and faced her once more. She was standing, leaning on the railing staring down at him, her eyes pleading for him to come back. He stared straight into them, malice carved into his cheeks. He yanked the car door open and thundered into the seat. The car flew off, tyres screeching.

*

The feminine voice of the GPS tells O'Connell to take a left. He drives two hundred metres before the voice reveals he has arrived at his destination. He stares into the elegant black and gold gates of Grove Hospital, smiling.

#17 Another Visitor

'Jenny! Jenny!'

I looked up. 'Huh?'

'You were staring off into the distance; completely ignored my question.'

'Your question?'

'Yes, about your visitor yesterday. Mr Verdad.' Debbie raised her pudgy lip at me.

'Oh, that idiot. What about him?' I turned to face her.

'How did his visit affect you?'

'Affect me? Why should it affect me?'

'Well, because, you haven't' seen him for so long. I understand the two of you had quite a history.' She lowered her voice.

I laughed. 'Yeah, sure, a history.'

'Did seeing him bring back any memories of your old life?'

'Yeah, it did actually.' I pondered, leaning forward. 'It reminded me how irritating the people I used to spend my time with were.'

Debbie rolled her eyes. 'So, you don't have anything you want to talk about or share in relation to his visit? You spent the rest of yesterday locked tight in your room. Now, that's not usual routine for you is it Jenny? You usually spend a good majority of the afternoon wandering around the facility ... insulting people.'

'Well, yes, that's true but you see, yesterday, Mike was Julian. Remember?'

'Oh ...' She sighed.

'And you know I can't go outside my ward when Mike is Julian. He tries to fondle me any chance he gets.' I cringed. Don't look so upset, I know what you were thinking. Poor Jenny, horribly affected by her visitor, choosing to spend the rest of the day locked in her room, shaken, torn, not wanting to talk to anyone.' I said dramatically. 'Well, sorry to disappoint you Debbie but the real reason was that, I just didn't fancy getting sexually assaulted yesterday.

'I stay in my room every time Mike is Julian, ask anyone, they'll tell you.' I finished.

'Yes Jenny, I am aware of Mike's ... ah ... Julian's little fascination with you.' She paused. 'Say, just out of curiosity, how do you know which personality Mike is going to be everyday? You always seem to know who he is, even before he's said a word to you.'

'Well, I'm clever, first off. I really don't know why you have such a tough time figuring it out. It's like some kind of rotation. He has twelve personalities, and he rotates them. All you have to do, is remember which order they come in.'

'Yes, I see.' She put her pen to her lip. 'And how do you remember?'

'Well, I made up a rhyme.'

'Oh? Care to share?' She smiled.

I rolled my eyes. 'My gran was picking capsicum and just had time to have a wee.'

She frowned, 'huh?'

I sighed. 'My gran was picking capsicum and just had time to have a wee.' I repeated. Debbie still looked confused. 'Mike, Garry, William, Peter, Cruz, Antonio, Julian, Henri, Tanya, Tommy, Horace and Winston.'

Debbie paused. 'Could you repeat that?' Pen to clipboard, ready.

'No ...'

'Oh, come on Jenny.'

'It's not rocket science Heavy Debbie, figure it out yourself.' I rested back into the couch.

'Alright then. So nothing you want to tell me about?' She changed the subject again.

'No.' I sighed. 'Can I go now? It's five past eleven.'

'Yes alright, go. She waved me off and tossed her clipboard onto the table beside her.

I stood up quickly, yanking the door open and leaving it that way as I brushed past and strode over to the elevator. I pulled my note book out of my pocket and started flipping through it, waiting for the elevator to arrive. I hopped in and descended to the ground floor. Hopping out, I turned to my right and galloped into the recreation room. I kicked Fran off of the orange bean bag at the back of the room and I sat down, retrieving my pen.

I'd been writing for about fifteen minute when I heard shouting outside the room.

'I forbid it, she just had a visitor yesterday and she has not recovered, I mean, she won't even accept that she had any real relationship with him prior to coming here. She can't handle another visitor, I won't allow it.' Debbie's voice screamed outside the room.

'You have no authority in the matter. As far as I'm concerned, the more visitors, the better! It might spark back thoughts and feelings from her old life, help her recovery. To be quite honest I am amazed by your reaction. You know better. You really are losing your touch Deborah.' It was Horsey Dan.

'Daniel, you don't see her on a day to day basis like I do. I know what I'm doing.' Dr Fuller's voice echoed around the corridor.

'Look, even if I did agree with you, there's nothing either of us can do. He has the authority to see her whether we approve or not.'

I heard Debbie scoff. 'Fine, but if she takes a turn, then it will be your fault!'

'I hardly doubt anything bad will come of this. Now, don't you have other patients to see too or are you just going to continue following me around again all day.'

I looked up in time to see Dr Baker open up the recreation room door and poke his head through. He scanned the room. When he spotted me, he slipped his skinny body through the small crack he had made between the door and its frame and walked over to where I was sitting.

'Jennifer, you have a visitor.' He said, smiling.

'Excuse me?' I raised my eyebrows, staring at him.

'You know, a visitor. I believe you had one yesterday too. Word must have finally gotten out that you're here. All of your old friends must be hunting you down.' He folded his arms, still grinning.

'I'm busy.'

'Writing? You're always writing! I'm sure you can afford to take a break.'

'No, I can't. The words only appear on the page if I write them, not if I put the book away and take a break. I already lost valuable writing time yesterday. I'm not going to see anyone.'

'He's come a long way. Besides, you saw your visitor yesterday.'

'Reluctantly, I saw him reluctantly and I might add that it was a rather pointless meeting and I do not wish to see him again if he comes.' I looked back down at my book. 'Who is this new visitor anyway? I doubt I know him.' I said to my notebook. 'So many people meet me and think that I bother to take an interest in them and naturally they beg to speak to me when I haven't got a clue what their name is.' I laughed.

'He registered under the name of Mr O'Connell.'

I pulled my eyes away from my notebook sharply and stared at Dr Baker. 'O'Connell?'

'Yes. Mathers is outside waiting to take you to the visiting rooms.'

'I shall have to put my book away first.' I said, as though it were a necessary pre-requisite for me seeing my visitor.

'Give it to Mathers, he'll take it back to your room for you.' Dr Baker said simply.

'And risk having it read by unworthy eyes? I don't think so! If you won't let me go back to my room I shall take the book with me.'

'Then take it with you, just as long as you go to the visiting rooms now. There are quite a few visitors today and I'd rather not clog a room up longer than necessary.'

'I shall take as much time as I like.' I snapped, leaning back.

I got up out of the orange bean bag I had been lounging in, straightened up my white ensemble, then my hair, and headed for the door. Mathers was pacing back and forth on the other side of the corridor.

'Wow,' he said, 'how did you convince her to come out so quickly?' He stared up at Dr Baker.

'Authority Mathers, maybe you should try using yours from time to time.' Dr Baker frowned at him, Mathers laughed.

'Come on then Jenny. Who would have thought; visitors two days in row! I wonder if you will get one tomorrow.' I remained silent.

Mathers led me back down the same route we had gone yesterday. When we entered the visiting room reception area I noticed the same guard was on duty again.

'Hello, I didn't expect you here so promptly. I told your visitor he might be waiting a while,' the guard leaned back in his chair, 'not that he minded.' He added.

'Dr Baker went and got her straight away, I don't know how, he just seems to have a way with patients.' Mathers said with a smile.

'Righto then.' He looked at me. 'D1 today, right in front.' He pointed diagonally across his desk towards the door marked D1, the first door on the left side of the corridor, perfectly visible from his desk. 'It's unlocked, just go on in when you're ready.'

'See you Jenny.' Mathers waved goodbye. I ignored him, walking slowly towards the door.

When he was gone I turned, placed my hand onto the cold metal handle and pushed it open. The room was identical to the one I had been in yesterday, except for the person sitting at the table. He was wearing jeans and a messy grey jacket covering an un-tucked black T-shirt. Another jacket hung lightly on the back of his chair.

I closed the door silently, diverting his gaze and walked over to the table. Slowly, I looked up at him. He was smiling.

'Hi.' He said.

'Hi.' I sat down, scanning him. He looked exactly the same; except for few extra creases on his face.

'Nice place here; charming, clean, and oddly strict. They tell me it's one of the highest security hospitals in the country. Certainly made me wonder what you did to get in here.' He laughed lightly. 'They wouldn't tell me.' He spoke as though he had only just seen me yesterday.

'My parents are paying.' I mumbled.

'Ah, I see.' He leaned closer towards me. 'So, how have you been?'
'Okay.' I crossed one arm over my chest and rested the other on my lap.

'I have to hand it to you Jenny. This is a pretty good plan.' He looked down at the table, still grinning before looking back up at me. 'I never thought to look for you in a place like this.' I pulled my head back, surprised.

'That's the point.' I paused. 'How did you find me?'

He took in a deep breath. 'Your parents.' He said.

'They told you too? I don't believe them.' I looked away, facing the wall.

'What do you mean, too?' He leaned in even closer. 'They haven't told anyone else you're here, I asked them not to.'

'Marc.' I spat rudely, turning back towards him.

'Verdad? He knows you're here?' He fell back into his seat. 'Shit. He's been here?' He sounded furious.

'Yesterday. He said my parents told him I was here.' I explained.

'No, they didn't.' He shook his head. 'They told me they haven't mentioned that you're here to anyone else, and I asked them to keep it quiet until I told them otherwise. He's found out some other way Jenny.' He put his hand to his mouth.

'But, why would he tell me my parents told him I was here?'

'Because the truth is probably something he doesn't want you to know,' he leaned in again, 'or anyone else for that matter.' He added.

'Do you know what the truth is?' I leaned in.

'I have a pretty good idea. I had hoped he didn't know you were here though.' His smile was long gone. 'What did he want?'

'To see if I was a nut case or not, and, to tell me he has spies in here, watching me.' I bit my lip in anger.

'What! Shit.' He put his hands to his head. 'This is bad Jenny.' He let out a groan. 'Why can't I get a break for once?'

'What are you talking about?'

'I'm trying to put a case against him, put him gaol. But I can't get any solid evidence. The only chance I have is if I can get the only known witness to one of his murders to talk.' He sung.

'Who's that?' He laughed at my feigned ignorance.

'You!' He stared at me.

'And to think I thought you were here for a friendly catch up.' I said, crossing my arms.

'I am, I'm glad to see you. I'm glad you're alive.' He backtracked.

'Alive?' I tilted my head.

'I've thought all of these years that you were dead Jenny. You told me you had a plan, but, I thought I would've been able to find some kind of trace of you, somewhere, with my connections, but I never did. I honestly thought Verdad had killed you.' His eyes became glossy.

'So, what, a chance encounter with my parents led you to me?' I sat back.

'No, Verdad swearing he hadn't seen you at all or killed you led me to start looking for you again. Verdad always seemed to be strangely obsessed with you, even though I convinced myself he killed you, part of me still found it hard to believe. Then, I asked him, straight out if he had or not. He said no, even got a bit angry about it. I reckon it was the first time he'd ever been honest in his life. Your parents only told me you were here because I told them he is a killer and you are the only witness alive and you need to be protected.' He cautioned.

'Look, I don't know anything.' I said innocently. 'Okay? I can't help you.' I turned and faced the wall again.

'Forty-eight.' He paused, cupping his chin in his hands. 'I have forty-eight homicides with no identified killer. I have loose evidence that every single one of those forty-eight people were at some point in time acquainted with Marcus Verdad. I'm pretty sure he killed all of them. One witness to one cold blood murder is all I need to put him away.

'Forty-eight,' he repeated, 'it's only a rough estimate Jenny, it could be more; and, if he stays on the streets – it will more. You can save lives, can't you see that?' He put his hands on the table, frustrated.

'How? The best psychologist in the country has sworn that I am mentally unhealthy. No one will care about what I have to say.' I crossed my arms.

'Jen, you're as sane as I am.' He leaned closer towards me.

'Maybe ... but even still, it'll be a little hard to convince them. And even if I wanted to, no one would look kindly upon a person who has lied and wasted money and time and space. It's too late Peter.' I shook my head.

'I don't understand why you didn't just go to the police when it happened.' He ran his hands nervously through his hair.

'I was a twenty-one year old idiot. I was convinced he would kill me. It seemed better to just forget about it. To escape.' I sighed. 'And then, I got here and ... decided it was pretty good. Besides, the damage is done now.' I stopped, thinking. 'Can't you just ... accidentally shoot him? Pretend your gun went off. You're a police officer, I'm sure you can get away with it.' I said casually.

'A detective now, actually, and you know I would never do that Jenny.' He looked at me sternly. 'I'm going to get him the honest way. I just need you to say you'll help me.' He begged.

'Detective ...' I looked down into my lap before staring back up at him. 'I guess your dreams came true after all.' I smiled lightly.

'Some of them.' He paused. 'Yours could've too if you had let me help you in the first place.' He leaned back into his chair.

'Peter, I spend way too much time in here thinking about what my life would've been like if I had listened to you, and I'm sick of it. It's done, I've moved on. I had completely forgotten about all of this ... until yesterday. I wouldn't be too concerned though. I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a nut case which means I will live another day, which is exactly what my plan has been about from the beginning – to keep myself alive.' I spoke animatedly.

'Alive? What is the point in being alive if you're sentenced to live here for a lifetime? And what about all of those other people, the ones you could have kept alive by doing the right thing?' He lectured.

'Let me give you a little scenario.' I took in a long breath. 'I agree to help you, you get me out of here, I make a statement, we go to court and the night before I'm due to testify – I GET SHOT!' My tone vicious.

'That won't happen.' He started shaking head. 'I will personally protect you.'

'Oh, gee, that makes me feel better; knowing that we will both get killed. There goes the witness and the prosecutor in one night.'

'Why are you so cynical? Let me play you out a scenario Jenny. You agree to help, I get you out of here, you testify, he gets convicted, he goes to gaol for life, and you go back to being the real Jennifer. You're still young. You can go back to work, enjoy life, rather than being stuck in here and getting told what you can and can't do every day. You can be happy.' His gaze didn't leave me for a second.

'What makes you think I'm not happy here?' I paused. 'Tell me something. You're free to do as you please every day. So, are you happy?' I unfolded my arms and leaned into the table.

'I will be when I get him.' He said to the wall.

'You will be. Are you sure?' I sat back. 'Or will there then be something else in its place you have to then achieve before you will be happy? You know, one thing that I like about this place is that there are no life stressors. I don't worry about bills, mortgages, clients, how I'm going to be able to pay off my car. I sleep like a baby every night. I don't cook, I don't clean, and all I have to do is act like a horrible person and go to therapy.'

'You can't honestly enjoy living here?' He said, disbelievingly.

'I have good days and I have bad days. Yesterday was a bad day, today, possibly a good day.' I summed up.

'Possibly?' He frowned.

'Well, I'll see how I'll feel after this conversation.'

He snorted. 'You don't have to give me an answer today Jenny, or even tomorrow, or this week for that matter. Just think about it for me, for now, okay? And ... when you've decided, write to me and I'll come back and we'll work out what we're going to do. But, I wouldn't mind a little confirmation that you actually saw something worthy to put him in gaol,' his voice rose, he seemed embarrassed. 'Because I might be a little disappointed if you agree to help me and then you tell me that you saw him singing to Cher in the shower and that's why you think he's going to kill you.'

I burst out laughing. 'You know, I think that's the first time I've genuinely laughed in seven years.' I said, smiling.

'Well, hopefully it's not the last.' He grinned.

I paused and stared into his eyes. 'What I saw ... it's bad enough to get him a thousand life sentences.' I shivered.

'Where were you when you saw it?' He shifted his chest closer.

I hesitated. 'At the restaurant.'

'The restaurant? He did it there?' He said, frowning.

'I think everything happens at the restaurant. Or happened rather.' My voice was quiet. 'Well, at least, seven years ago it did.'

'Really? I'm going to have to keep a closer eye on it from now on. Does Verdad know you saw him?'

'Yes.' I stopped to take in a breath. 'If they tell him I've been let out, he'll kill me, just to be safe. He probably knows by now that you're here too which means he's probably really pissed off.' My palms felt clammy all of a sudden. 'This inclines me to disagree to help you. If I say nothing and stay here, he won't kill me.'

'There are worse things Jenny ... Please, think about it, take as long as you like,' he smiled, 'but, not too long.' He added.

'I don't suppose we could talk about something else?' I folded my arms again.

'Sure.' He nodded.

'So, what else did my parents say? I bet they're pretty embarrassed to have me in here.' I blushed.

'I think upset would be a better word.' He looked down.

'I hate lying to them. I said and did some ... terrible things to them. I didn't mean them, but how else could I get them to believe it.' I rested my head in one hand.

'They'll forgive you when they find out the truth.' He leaned across the table and rubbed my shoulder.

'Maybe ...' I looked down for a second. 'So, what's your life like? A house full of kids? Spending Sundays at the park, throwing Frisbees on the beach?' I smiled.

'I wish.' He scoffed. 'More like working, seven days a week, going back home to an empty apartment at the end of the day, feasting on a microwave dinner for one.' He sounded resentful.

'Working? Well, I guess you always were a workaholic. What about taking a break every now and then?'

'I guess I've forgotten to.' He stared at the wall behind me.

'What happened? You always talked of marrying, settling down.' I shifted myself around in my seat.

'Yes ... the problem with that is you need another person to do it with.' He leaned back.

'What, have you been working so much that you haven't found that special person?'

'No.' He shook his head. 'I found her, years ago.' He smiled to himself.

'Then, what's the problem?' I frowned.

'I never told her how I felt at the time.' He looked away.

'And she just ... passed by.' I added.

'Actually,' he looked back towards me, 'she left town and admitted herself into a mental hospital under a fake name. But, the good news is that I've just recently gotten back in touch with her.' He said casually.

I stared at him. 'Don't joke around Pete.' I said.

'I'm not.' He leaned in again, I felt his warm breath wash over me.

'You're serious?' My forehead creased.

'Yes. Perhaps that's another reason for you to leave here.' He said, hopeful.

'Peter ...' I let out a sigh. 'And I thought I couldn't get any more confused.'

'You must've known. I was more obvious than a fly. Have you ever felt the same?'

'I ... I don't know. When I first met you I thought you were cute, especially with your accent but, I dunno, you were just an exchange student. I thought you'd go back to Scotland after graduating, and nothing good comes from long distance relationships.' I paused. 'But you didn't. Of course, I'd already met Marc by then and gotten ... side-tracked. We were always just friends.' I stopped. 'I mean, I knew you hated Marc, which made me think that you might've had some feelings for me, but, you never said anything.' I turned away.

'I didn't want to ruin your fairy-tale.' He said bitterly.

'Huh, I would hardly call it a fairy-tale.'

'Well, you know now. So ... what do you think?' He leaned even closer towards me.

'Pete, you've had ten years to develop your feelings, I've had a minute.'

He nodded, shifting away. 'I brought something for you; I hope you'll take it. It's not meant to mean anything, just ... something that I wanted to give you, to remind you of me and perhaps to get you to change your mind.'

He placed his hand in his left pant pocket and pulled out a tattered gold jewellery pouch.

'Pete ...' My face fell.

'Don't jump to conclusions.' He defended. 'It's just a gift – from your best friend. It was my grandmothers.' He explained. 'She passed a few years ago and left this to me, along with a few other things. I've no use for it and I don't think it will come in handy any other time soon. I want you to have it.'

He opened up the jewellery pouch and pulled out a rose gold necklace with a small oval shaped sapphire pendant.

'Pete, I can't take that.' I shook my head.

'Yes, you can.' He pushed it towards me.

'No, I can't.' I pushed it back. 'Besides, I'm not allowed jewellery in here. I have a history of violent outbursts and necklaces can be used to strangle people – ask the guards.' I said, embarrassed.

'Violent outbursts?' He said, stifling a laugh.

'I have to stay in character ... They'll scan me and pat me down when I re-enter the ward, they'd take it off of me. Keep it. But, it's a lovely thought anyway.' I smiled.

'Does that mean you'll leave here?'

'I'll think about it but I'm not going to promise anything.'

He nodded. 'It's been nice seeing you.'

'Yeah, you too.' I smiled again.

'I ... er ... suppose I better get going. I've got a mountain of paperwork that I've been neglecting. Technically, I shouldn't even be here.'

'Why?' I tilted my head to the left.

'Well, my boss kind of closed the case. He gave me a time frame to build up the evidence and ... it expired. He said the case was a waste of time, a dead end.' He scoffed.

'But you still came here?'

'Yeah. I guess when you've been working on something for so long, you want to see it finished. Plus, I really wanted to see you.' He placed the necklace back in the pouch and returned it to his pocket. He then stood up and walked around the table, resting his left hand gently onto my shoulder. 'You'll make the right choice Jenny, I know you will.' He brushed the tip of my nose affectionately with his index finger then began to lean in towards me.

I pulled back. 'Pete, there's a camera over there, the guard outside is watching and who knows who else.' I improvised.

'Yeah, you're right.' He shifted away. 'Maybe next time.' He turned and walked towards the door, placing his hand on the steel handle with his head still facing me. 'No matter what you decide Jenny, I'd sure like it if you'd write from time to time, it'd be a change to what I usually read – suspect reports.' He grinned.

'Yeah, I will.' I smiled back at him.

'You remember my address, don't you?'

'You still live at that dump?'

'Yeah ... its home, has been ever since I came here. Besides, there are only two reasons why a person should ever move.' He said seriously.

'Oh, and what are they?'

'Well, the first is if you have a bad neighbour and the second is if your wife tells you to.' I laughed. 'I have neither of those issues, so I've stayed.' He took in a deep breath. 'Goodbye Jen. Stay safe.'

'You too. Bye Pete.' And with one more smile, he pulled the door open and left.

*

O'Connell arrives home in darkness, flicking on his dim kitchen light, grimacing slightly. The sink is piled with dishes, teetering dangerously. The ivory bench littered with crumbs, the tiled linoleum not as white as it should be. He strides over to the metal table on the left side of the room and shoves a mass of papers, pens and scraps covering its surface towards the back. He takes off his grey jacket and throws it on top of the high pile, causing it to lean dangerously. He covers the new vacant space with his sports bag and unzips it lightly, shuffling its contents until his hands grasp onto a solid black object. He yanks it out and tosses the bag onto the floor, pulling a metal chair out at the same time. He studies the object, a voice recorder, before pressing the play button.

"What I saw, it's bad enough to get him a thousand life sentences." Jennifer's voice resonates. O'Connell clicks the pause button, re-winds for a second and presses play again. "What I saw, it's bad enough to get him a thousand life sentences."

He smiles.

#18 Advice

I put on my warmest white jumper and a pair of ug-boots and headed to the garden. Mike was sitting exactly where I thought he would be, leaning on his wooden cane. He was slouched over it, a melancholy expression on his face.

I sat down beside him and crossed my legs, he jumped slightly. I searched the vicinity around us and waited until there was no one within earshot before speaking.

'You know, this is my favourite bench.' I said. 'You're lucky I'm allowing you to sit on it.'

Mike/Winston cackled. 'You're allowing me to sit on it? Kids. I sit here every day, and I've never seen you come anywhere near here until now.'

'Well, that's because you're old. I mean your eyesight must be practically non-existent.' I crossed my arms.

'What are you doing here anyway? Can't a man live out his days in peace?' He groaned.

'Well, I need some advice and I thought, seeing you're the oldest person here, I would ask you.'

'You want to ask me for advice? I thought you were perfect and never needed advice, at least that's what you told me, last week, when I tried to tell you that you should wear tighter pants.' He cackled, eyeing my behind.

'You only said that because you're a rotten old perve.' I spat. 'Perhaps advice is the wrong word. I just want to know what you think about something.'

'What I think about something? That's just another way of saying advice.'

'No it isn't.' I look at him, appalled.

'Alright. I don't have forever so why don't you just tell me what you need my opinion on.'

'Well.' I looked around to make sure no one else could hear. 'Say you knew something and if you told people what you knew it could save lives, but, there's a one hundred per cent chance that your life will be taken in the process. What would you do? Would you tell someone what you knew and get killed or would you keep it a secret and remain alive.' I stared at him eagerly, waiting for an answer.

He thought in silence for a moment. 'Neither.' He said eventually.

'What?'

'I would choose neither scenario.'

'Well ... then what would you choose to do?' I frowned at him.

'I would tell someone, and save all of those lives, whilst remaining alive in the process.'

'But, that's not an option. You either tell and die, or stay silent and live. There are only two options.' I held up two fingers to emphasise my point.

'Why? Why can't you tell someone and stay alive?'

'Because ... because ... you just can't. It's not possible.' I groaned.

'Everything is possible. You just have to find a way for it and believe in it as much as you can. You will only die if you think you will. However, if you think you will remain alive and you stay positive, then no one will kill you.' He said simply, resting further onto his cane.

'What is that, some Buddhist crap? Come on Winston, be realistic. This is real life not some fantasy world.' I crossed my arms.

'When I fought in WWII', he paused, 'I was asked to go on a secret mission into one of the most dangerous parts of Germany.'

I frowned.

'A death sentence they told me.' He continued dramatically. 'No one expected me to come out alive, but I did. And do you know why I did? Because I believed that I would.' He hollered. 'I believed that it was possible to go into a death trap and come out alive, and that's exactly what I did. Everyone was astounded when I showed up, they all wanted to know my secret.' He cackled. 'And when I told them it was simply a positive attitude, no one believed me, just like you don't believe me now. They all thought I'd stumbled on some secret weapon or something, but I didn't, I just stayed positive.' He smiled. 'I think if you stay positive and decide that you're not going to die, then you won't. And you can save those lives too.' He leaned back, peacefully.

'You honestly believe that?' I stared at him blankly.

'Sure, that's what's keeping me alive now. I don't want to die, so I won't.'

I laughed. 'Yeah, it's not because you're actually thirty-three years old ...' He frowned at me. 'Well, maybe I'll test out your theory before putting it into proper practice.' I stared around the grounds. Foreman was lurking close by. He hadn't been anywhere near us a minute before.

'How?'

'I don't know, maybe I'll will Tracy's hair to fall out.' I schemed.

'It doesn't work like that.' He bellowed. 'It's a personal belief. Tracy's hair will only fall out if she wants it to fall out, not if you want it to. Why don't you try willing your own hair to fall out?'

'Are you mad?' I ogled him. 'I have the best hair in this hospital; I'm not going to let it fall out!'

'That's good, because if you don't want it to fall out, then it won't, but if you do, it will.' He reiterated.

'Yeah yeah, okay, I get it now. My thoughts only affect my own life, not other peoples' lives.' I rolled my eyes.

'I'm glad to see it only took you two goes to get it.' He cackled.

'Are you insulting me?' I said outraged.

He pondered for a moment. 'Yeah, I think so.'

'Well ... I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave now. I have other important business to attend to. I can't afford to waste any more time with you.' I got up off of the bench dramatically. 'And by the way, you smell really bad, don't you ever bathe?'

'Not unless the nurse offers to help.' He laughed. 'Unless ... you're offering to help.' He slyly nodded his eyebrows up and down.

'Ugh, that is disgusting. I wouldn't touch you even it was your last day on the planet. Grow up.' I turned and stomped off, almost running into that idiot Foreman.

'Geese, watch where you're going.' I spat at him.

'Sorry, I didn't know you were going to turn around so abruptly.' He laughed. 'What are you up to? Haven't seen you outside since our chat last week.'

'Yeah, that was the plan.' I went to continue walking but he blocked me.

'Oh, that's not nice. I just want to be your friend.' He smiled.

'You think I would ever let someone like you be my friend. I don't associate with guards, okay?'

'No, you just insult them, and then if they're really unlucky you punch them.' His voice was strangely cheery.

'Once,' I held up an index finger. 'I punched a guard once. Can't you people just forget about it and move on?'

'Maybe. Say who's gonna kill you?' He crossed his arms.

'Excuse me?' My heart erupted.

'Well, I couldn't help but over hear your chat with that ... weird guy over there holding onto that cane. Sounded pretty serious.' He dragged out the last few words.

'Hardly, I'm just doing a bit of research for my memoir.' I brushed his comment aside.

'Aren't memoirs supposed to be non-fictional?' He raised his eyes at me.

'Yes, as far as I'm aware they are. I'm sorry, what is your point?'

'Well ... why ask someone what they would do in a certain situation? I mean, if you're writing something non-fictional, shouldn't you already know what happened and what choice was made?' He said smugly.

'Come on, you have to be dreaming if you actually believe that people who write memoirs keep them completely non-fictional. You have to add a bit of padding otherwise no one will read them because, let's face it, life is way too boring.'

'Oh, well ah ... your memoir must be full of padding.' He laughed.

'Are you saying my life is boring?' I crossed my arms.

'Well, I don't really know you that well but, I mean if you live here, what exciting things could possibly happen to you?'

'For your information my memoir is about the fantastically interesting life I led before coming here.' I spat at him.

'Really ... So ah ... you're not worried about someone killing you?' He tilted his head.

'No, I'm not. Actually, I would be more worried about someone killing me if I were you.'

'Now, I'm sure you don't mean that. 'Cause if you do, I might just have to tell the head guard, who will definitely see that as a threat on my life.' He leaned in and whispered.

'Right, because that is such a bad thing.' I pulled away. 'I threaten people every week, the head guard is used to it. He stopped punishing me years ago. If anything he'll get up you for talking to me.

'Now, I really have to go so if you could just get out of my way that would be great.' I began to push him aside.

'Certainly.' He complied, stepping to his right. I continued walking, heading back into the warmth of the hospital.

'Stupid annoying idiot,' I muttered to myself, 'I don't know why he's so ...'

I looked back around as I was walking away to catch another glimpse of Foreman. He was heading back out into the grounds with his hands in his pockets, smiling to himself.

I frowned. 'The inside man ...'

At that point, my thoughts were distracted by a voice calling my name.

'Jenny, there you are! Its two o'clock, you're supposed to be in with Dr Fuller now. She's not impressed you know.' The voice scalded. 'If you're not careful you'll lose some of your rights again.' It was Mathers.

'What are you talking about, it's Sunday. I don't have sessions on the weekend.'

'You do today. Dr Fuller's not in tomorrow, so she's seeing patients today instead.' He stopped in front of me, folding his arms.

'Why? Does she think we will all go even loopier if she's away for more than two days?'

'I don't know, I'm just the messenger.' He tossed his arms into the air.

'And why are you here today? Don't you usually do other things on the weekend?' I eyed him suspiciously.

'We're short staffed so I got called in. What does it matter anyway, I'm just a guard remember? You don't care about me.' He mocked.

'You're right. Anyway, no one told me that I was to have a therapy session today so I don't think I am obligated to go.' I began to walk away.

'There was an announcement at breakfast time.' He said slowly, voice raised.

'Well I didn't hear it.' I sung.

'Come on Jenny, you have to go, and quickly, your late enough without me having to argue with you again.'

'Geese, I'm not that late, can't she wait two minutes.' I yelled.

'Apparently not. And it's been more than two minutes.' He followed after me. 'This is the last place I came to look for you. What are you doing out here? You haven't come out here at this time of day since last summer.'

'That is none of your business.' I said shortly. 'Now, if I am forced to go and see Heavy Debbie I think I'm perfectly able to escort myself to her office, so why don't you just run along.' I waved him off with my hand.

'No can do, I have to make sure you go there, Dr Fuller's orders.' He said importantly.

'Oh, and when have I ever not gone to a therapy session before?'

'Last Thursday, for starters ... You usually don't show up at least half of the time.'

'And that is pretty good considering I have to go five days a week! You'd think this place were a prison.' We reached the recreation room door. 'I don't see why I need to go to so many therapy sessions.' I continued. 'I have nothing to talk about with that witch. It's not like lots of things happen to me in here. I don't need to discuss stuff with her on a day to day basis. My time is wasted in those sessions.' I complained.

'I don't know why, I'm not a doctor.' He tried humouring me.

'Well of course you aren't, you're not smart enough to be a doctor.' I commented, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

'Thanks.' He glared.

We arrived at the elevator, the doors opened instantly when Mathers pressed the button and we headed to the second floor. When the doors dinged open I strolled out to see Dr Fuller standing outside her office, livid.

'Well, I'm not surprised that out of all of my patients you're the one who decides not to come Jenny.' She blared, walking towards us.

'I didn't decide not to come. I merely did not receive word that I had a therapy session today. Perhaps if you'd sent a memo to my room ...'

'A memo! What do you think this is, an office?' She raised her plucked eyebrows at me.

'Well, it certainly looks like an office to me.' I stared, motioning my hand around the reception area.

'Enough of your smart talk, come in here.' She said, turning and waddling into her office.

'How rude.' I commented to Mathers.

'Have fun Jenny.' He grinned. I rolled my eyes and followed Dr Fuller into her office.

'Shut the door please Jenny.' She ordered.

'Please. Well, that's a first.'

'I'm not in the mood. It's a Sunday. I should be at home resting.' She puffed, sitting into her chair.

'Then why aren't you? We all could use a bit of an extended vacation from you. Actually, why don't you take the whole week off instead of just tomorrow?'

'I'm not taking tomorrow off, I have an important meeting I must go to and Dr Baker didn't want me to cancel any sessions so I was forced to put them forward to today.' She grunted.

'Oh, poor baby.' I mocked, grinning.

'Sit down.' She ordered again.

I walked over to her couch and slammed into it, taking off my shoes and lying down, as always. Debbie cringed.

'So, what's on the agenda today? My childhood fears, bed wetting episodes or maybe my forever present fear of robots.' I mocked.

'No.' She said, biting back her frustration. 'I thought we might try and talk about the visitor you had the other day again.'

'Why?' I screwed my face up.

'Because, I think it's important. You've been here for seven years, without a visitor, then all of a sudden you get two within one week. That's like winning the lottery.' She stated.

'Umm ... no, no it isn't.' I paused. 'People are generally pleased to win the lottery and let's face it, it's probably easier to get someone to come and visit you than it is to win the lottery, especially if you're me and you don't even play the lottery.'

'You weren't pleased to have visitors?' She tilted her head back.

'God no! I mean, if they had been someone like, say, the Queen or maybe Michael J. Fox, I might've been pleased, but they weren't so ... no.' I folded my arms over my chest.

'But weren't they your friends from before you came in here. Surely it was nice to see your friends.' She picked up her favourite clip board.

'They weren't my friends, just annoying idiots that followed me around like flies who follow sticky fingers. I'm not surprised they came to see me in the same week.'

'Oh, and why is that?' Pen ready to write down every word.

'Well, they're both madly in love with me of course, so, they're competing with each other. They had to come within close proximity in order to allow me to judge who was the better candidate for my affections.'

'And who was the better candidate?' She leaned in.

'Michael J. Fox.' I stared up at the ceiling.

'But, Michael J. Fox didn't come to see you.' She babied.

'I know that! I'm just emphasising the point that both of my visitors were completely unsatisfactory.' I stared at her.

'I see. So, that's all they wanted. To talk about their feelings for you?'

'For the twenty-ninth time, yes.' I screamed.

'What about the second visitor, you seemed slightly less hostile when we spoke about him.'

'What do you mean?' I returned my gaze to the ceiling.

'Well, I mean, you seemed less ... agitated after he visited you than you did when the first man visited you.'

'I really don't know what you're going on about.' I started tapping the arm of the couch with my feet.

'Okay then. Why don't we talk about how you two became friends? How did you meet?'

'We weren't friends.' I repeated.

'Fine, you weren't friends. But still, how did you meet?' She persisted.

'Hmm ... I think we met on a bus.' I said dramatically.

'A bus?'

'Yes, a bus. You know, those large automated vehicles that carry large quantities of people around cities.' I half got up and stared at her.

'Don't be silly Jenny.' Her face reddened. 'I mean, were you sitting next to each other, did he offer to pay for your ticket when you had no money, was he the driver?' She listed.

'No.' I waited for her next prompt, lying back down again.

'Well, then, how did you meet?'

'He had a heart attack whilst riding the bus and I saved his life by delivering CPR. Naturally he was very grateful and wanted to do everything he could to thank me. It was really quite annoying.'

'You know CPR?' She didn't believe me.

'Of course! Don't you?'

'No, I can't say that I ever got around to learning.' I could hear her pen tapping furiously on her clipboard.

'Well, I guess that's okay for you, you probably won't ever need to use it.'

'What makes you think that?'

'Well, you're so fat it's more likely someone will need to perform CPR on you before you will have to perform it on them.' I laughed with extreme animation.

'I see.' She tried her hardest to ignore what I had said. 'So, you kept in touch with each other after that?' She continued.

'No, he kept in touch.' I corrected.

'Of course, and there's a difference between those two things.' She humoured me.

'Naturally, you're catching up faster than I anticipated.' I applauded.

'So, what did the two of you talk about? He didn't stay for very long.'

'Well, I asked him to leave of course. I didn't want to talk to him.'

'But, you still talked about something. I watched the surveillance footage and you were both talking the entire time.

'What do you think this is, a soap opera? Why would I tell you what we spoke about? It's none of your business.' I stared up at the ceiling again.

'He didn't say anything to upset or annoy you at all?'

'No. He only spoke of his admiration for me. He even tried to give me a necklace. Can you believe that? And if you don't, try re-watching the footage, I'm sure you'll catch a glimpse of that sad moment when he actually thought he had a chance.' I laughed quietly to myself and then sighed.

'A necklace, really? What did it look like?' Debbie's femininity sprang toward the surface.

'Why does that matter?' I scrunched my face up.

'It doesn't, I'm just a big fan of jewellery, that's all. But, would you call a commitment necklace?' She sang.

'Well of course, I mean, who wouldn't want to commit to me?'

'I can't imagine who wouldn't want to commit to you.' Contempt oozed out of her.

'Are you making fun of me?'

'No, no not at all.' She lied. 'And, that's all? He just wanted to tell you how he felt and give you a necklace?'

'Yes, which I rejected.' I added. 'Do you know what I said to him?' I sat up.

'No, what did you say?' She leaned towards me.

'I said why would I want to be with you when I can clearly do better. I mean look at me, who wouldn't want to be with me?'

'You actually believe that?' She asked, astounded.

'Yes.'

'If I may say, he was rather good looking. You know, tall, dark and handsome.' She smiled.

'Handsome? Didn't you see his nose? It looked like a battle ground the day after a war.' I folded my arms.

'What do you mean by that?' She tilted her head.

'It was full of craters and it looked like a torpedo had ploughed straight into the middle of it.' I accompanied this with hand gestures.

'Well, that's quite an inventive ... ah ...' She stopped, thinking.

'Simile.'

'Yes, that's the word I was looking for, thank you.'

'Well, originality is one of my personal favourite qualities.' I began inspecting my fingernails.

'Yes I have noticed that from time to time ...' She paused. 'So, you don't think he's nice looking?'

'Well, he does have some positive attributes, but I really can't look past a nose like that, it's just too ... distracting.' I shook my head.

'Don't you think perhaps that you could try to look past the nose, maybe see his personality, rather than his exterior?'

I laughed. 'No! But I can see why you favour personality, most people without looks do, but it appears a little pathetic when you try to pretend as if looks don't matter, when they always do.'

'Jenny, you're so shallow.' She reprimanded.

'Yeah ... Hey, isn't it your job to fix that, 'cause you kind of suck at it.'

'Well, you know, it does take two to tango.' She sung.

'Ugh, that is so cliché and rather disturbing at the same time.' I scrunched my face in disgust.

'Well, what would you rather me say?' She asked, annoyed.

'I dunno. How about saying it takes two to tune a TV?'

'A TV?' She raised her eyes.

'Yes, one to do the tuning, and the other to tell them how terribly wrong they're doing it. Do you see the metaphor in that?' I said to the ceiling.

'No, I can't say that I do.' She scrunched her face, confused.

'Well then, maybe you should write that down and ponder it after dinner.' I pointed at her clipboard.

'Right. So, what does your visitor do for a living?' She asked, resuming her cheery manner.

'I can't say I know.' I began inspecting my fingernails once more.

'You don't know?' She raised her bleached eyebrows.

'No, I don't.'

'But, how long have you known him?'

'Oh, well, I think it's been quite a few years since that day I was forced to save his life on the bus.' I stared up, deep in thought.

'Can you estimate how many years?'

'Maybe ten or so. I really didn't take much notice as to when it exactly happened.'

'I see. So you don't know what he does for a living?'

'No. But he's usually pretty poorly dressed so I would guess that he works in some kind of useless profession. Maybe psychology, like you.'

'Oh how nice of you to say that Jenny.' Her nostrils began to flare out and her face turned a slightly brighter shade of red. 'So,' she continued, 'did your visitor tell you anything about what's been happening outside the hospital?'

'No, he didn't.' I replied shortly.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes.' I waited.

She froze for a second. 'Nothing at all about what he does for a living?' She repeated.

I sighed. 'No. Why are you so concerned about what he does for a living, and what does it have to do with what goes on outside of here?' I frowned.

'I just wanted to get a bit more of an idea as to what kind of a person he is. You know, whether or not he's a bad influence on you. Because if he is, I can't exactly allow him to come and see you again, can I?'

'Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I told him never to bother visiting me again because I would refuse to see him on account of the fact that he's an arse.' I said simply.

'I see. Well, I don't know why I'm worrying anyway. Neither of your visitors seem to have affected you very much at all. It's like you're living in some kind of bubble and you only see and hear what you want.' She concluded.

'And, that's a bad thing?' I stared at her.

'Some people would say so, yes. You know, I think we're probably done for the day Jenny.'

'Thank god. I didn't think I would be able to stay in here for much longer with that horrible stench.'

'Stench, what stench?' She sniffed in all directions.

'The one coming from your mouth, I mean, what have you been putting in there? Wait, on second thoughts, I'd rather not know. Goodbye.' I smirked.

I picked myself up off of the couch and jammed my shoes back onto my feet before strutting out of her office, leaving the door wide open upon my exit.

#19 Vigilance

'O'Connell, I thought I told you to forget about the Verdad case.' An angered voice yells.

'I know, but, I'm so close to getting him. I've got new evidence.'

'New evidence? What? Where from?' The two men's striding steps echo down a brightly lit, busy corridor.

'From the source I told you about.'

'Jesus Christ! The nut case? O'Connell, I would expect something like this from a newbie but not from you. You're the best man we have, why are you looking for witnesses in a mental house?'

The two men approach the end of the corridor, arriving at a grey door. A sign in the middle of it reads Commissioner Greg Holmes.

O'Connell's boss is well built for his mid-fifties age, his hair more salt than pepper, an old pair of rectangular glasses balance on the middle of his nose. Holmes opens the door to his office forcefully and leads O'Connell inside.

A small black couch rests towards the far right of the room, against the wall behind it are three solid filing cabinets. On the opposite side of the room is a dark, heavily polished wooden desk. Holmes strides over to it, footsteps echoing off the wooden floor, and sits down with a fiery face. He invites O'Connell to sit opposite him.

'She's not a nut case; she's only pretending in order to protect herself.' O'Connell continues the argument, dragging a chair out from the desk and sitting down.

'Oh, and you believe that? How can you be certain?' Holmes flails his arms about.

'Well, I went and visited her the other week.' O'Connell says quietly.

'What! What do you mean you visited her?' Holmes' voice bounces off the opposite wall. 'You were supposed to spend that week off forgetting about the case.' His face reddens.

'I know, but like I said, I'm so close. Closing it now means that I just wasted every hour over the last six months I've spent working on it.'

'No, it doesn't. It means that we've exhausted every possible way we have of making a case against him. Look, I know you and Verdad have some history and you seem to have a pretty big grudge against him about something but don't let that ruin your career.'

'I'm not! Look, I know when to stop and if I knew I couldn't get this guy then I would stop, but I'm confident that I can. Even more confident now.' O'Connell enthuses.

'Now? You mean now that you've spoken with the nut case?' Holmes snorts.

'She's not a nut case!'

'Okay. Why do you think she's in the coo coo's nest then?' He patronises.

'I already told you, she's hiding.' O'Connell's voice is barely a whisper.

'Seems like a pretty drastic thing to do, admitting yourself into a mental institution. Why not ask us for help, get re-located or something, wouldn't that have been better?'

'She was afraid at the time. And it's not a stupid place to go. I actually think it's a brilliant idea.' O'Connell says the latter part more to himself.

'A brilliant idea! O'Connell you think everything is a bloody brilliant idea.' Holmes' glasses slide a little down his nose.

'No I don't! Look, can you just here me out? I think you'll be really interested in what I have.'

'Really? Well, what do you have?' He mocks.

'A voice recording.' O'Connell smiles.

'Of ...' Holmes rolls his wrist, humouring him.

'Of our conversation, I mean the one I had the other week with Jennifer.'

'And Jennifer is the nut case, right?' Holmes says, trying to keep up.

'She's not a nut case!' O'Connell raises slightly in his seat.

'Okay, she's not a nut case.' He says, raising his palms in an attempt to calm O'Connell down. 'So what's so special about this conversation?'

'Well, I think that you can tell just by listening to it that she is perfectly sane.'

'O'Connell, you could talk to my mother all day and think that she is perfectly sane and then out of the blue she'll go and jump in the swimming pool wearing only a dressing gown and singing Let's Get Physical by Olivia Newton John. Not something you would expect a sane person to do is it?'

'Well, no ... but ... this is different.'

'How? A nut case is a nut case.' He concludes. O'Connell bites his tongue.

'Well,' he says, composed, 'I suspect your grandmother is suffering from something related to her age, not insanity. And Jennifer is only twenty eight so nothing like that is going to happen to her just yet, and well ... she just wouldn't do that, I mean ... there's nothing wrong with her.'

'You know, you're really not selling your case very well O'Connell.'

'Look, why don't you just listen to the voice recording and make your own conclusion.' O'Connell suggests. 'She saw something that can put Verdad behind bars, she told me.'

Holmes lets out a lengthy sigh. 'Alright then, let's hear this stupid recording.'

O'Connell reaches his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out his old recorder. He presses the play button, the conversation echoes around the room. Holmes listens, humouring O'Connell at first, but as the minutes pass he begins to listen more intently, leaning further into his desk. O'Connell presses the stop button just after Jennifer's voice says, "I don't suppose we could talk about something else?"

He places the tape recorder onto the desk and looks up at his boss. 'Well?'

'Well ... as much as I hate to say this, there may be something there.' O'Connell lets out a small cheer but stops when he sees Holmes' unimpressed expression.

'I told you.' He says, smiling, fighting the urge to scream out.

'Yeah, yeah, okay. Look, even though there could be something there it doesn't change anything.' He concludes.

'What do you mean it doesn't change anything? You can tell that there is nothing wrong with her! You just heard her admit it, along with the fact that she saw Verdad do something. How does that not change anything?'

'O'Connell, I'm not as dumb as some people around here seem to think. I can tell you're biased. You like this girl, you want her to be sane, you want her to testify because you hate Verdad and you want him in gaol. Now, just because you want something, doesn't mean you'll get. It doesn't even mean it's possible to get. Whether or not this girl is healthy, no one is going to believe a thing she says.

'I looked up this hospital when you first told me about it. Only the most extreme psychiatric patients get treated there. They have the best doctors in this country, how can anybody possibly fool them into thinking that they are insane? She's been there what ...' Holmes invites O'Connell to give an answer.

'Seven years ...' He breathes.

'Seven years! O'Connell, look at the facts objectively. Regardless of her intentions, regardless of her sanity, she can never be used as a legitimate witness. No judge will give her the time of day. And to top all of this off she doesn't even want to testify. You can't make anyone do something they don't want to do. A plane example of that is you!' He splutters. 'I told you to forget about this case until something viable came up, something that can actually be used against Verdad. But you think that you know better. You don't want to give up the case and I seem to be having a tough time trying to get you to. Do you see what I'm saying?'

'Yes sir, I understand.' He stops. 'But, I just have this gut feeling.' O'Connell leans in.

'O'Connell. If you continue to pursue this case you will no longer have a job here. Do you understand that?'

O'Connell lets out a long sigh. 'Yes, I understand.'

'Do you have anything else that you want to add before I tell you to get back to some proper work?'

O'Connell hesitates. 'Sir, you heard Jennifer say that Verdad has someone in there watching her.'

'She's probably just paranoid.' He leans over towards the front of his desk, picking up a few sheets of paper.

'No, she was genuinely scared.'

'O'Connell ...' Holmes looks up at him.

'Just listen!' He cuts him off. 'I will stop pursuing this case if you give me permission to put a guy in there undercover to keep watch over her.'

'Absolutely not! I am not going to pay a valuable officer to trudge around some mental facility until god knows when, keeping an eye on some supposed nut case who may or may not be being watched and who may or may not get killed. We're short-handed as it is. Either you drop this case completely or you go back to your office, pack your belongings and leave.' His face bright red. 'And good luck finding another job because I can guarantee that you won't get one.'

'You can't do that!'

'Watch me.' He smirks, looking back down at his paper work.

'Fine, I'll drop the case.' O'Connell mumbles.

'Good. A homicide just came in, my secretary's got the details. Go and figure out who did it.' Holmes says casually to his desk, flipping through the sheets of paper. O'Connell glares at him, returning his face to a placid stare when Holmes suddenly looks back up. 'What are you waiting for?' His tone intolerant.

O'Connell pushes his chair back and paces out of the office, closing the door with a bang. He turns and blares at Kerry, Holmes' secretary, whose desk is a few metres away from the door.

'The commissioner has a file for me I believe.'

'Yes.' Her red lips barely whisper. She turns hastily in her chair flipping through a bunch of files piled all over her desk. O'Connell taps his fingers noisily against the wall. After a minute she clumsily drags the correct file out and hands it to O'Connell. He snatches it from her grasp, she jerks back into her chair. He strides down the corridor without a word and thunders into his office, ignoring the glances from those on either side of his path. He chucks the file on his desk, throws himself into the chair, and forces the drawer on the left hand side open at the same time. He pulls out a small black address book and begins flipping through it furiously, stopping sharply on the desired page and bending the spine of the book to stop it from snapping shut. He reaches for his telephone at the far right of his desk and punches in a series of numbers, his eyes flicking back and forth from the book to the telephone.

He allows it to ring, impatiently tapping the black book on his desk in a fast staccato beat. When the call is answered he speaks quickly.

'Jones?'

'Yes.'

'It's O'Connell. Remember that favour you owe me?'

#20 Slip of the tongue

'Mr Verdad,' Miss Coles leaps up from her desk when Verdad gallops past her. 'Mr Verdad!'

'What is it Miss Coles?' He stops, his bulky hand grasping onto the silver door handle of his office.

'Where have you been? I've been trying to contact you all week! Those Japanese men have been calling here non-stop trying to arrange a meeting with you this afternoon.' She says, half shouting.

'I can't see them today, I'm busy. Tell them to call back next week.' He hollers.

'I can't, I mean, I already tried and they won't listen. They said that if you don't meet with them today then that's it. They don't want to do business with you.' She exasperates.

'Then that's their loss.' He states. 'I've got personal business I need to tend to this afternoon. Now, my door will be locked and my intercom will be switched off, okay.' He babies.

'Oh. Okay, Mr Verdad. Is there anything I can help you with?' Her lips and brow crease, illuminating her aged face.

'No.' He glares.

'Right, well ... I guess I'll cancel the rest of your appointments for today?'

'Would you.' He spits before forcing the door handle down and entering his office. He slams the door shut.

Verdad twists the lock on the door, strides over to his clear glass desk and yanks the intercom forcefully out of the wall. He lands into his chair, air gushes out noisily. He pulls his shiny mobile out of his black suit pocket, jerks it open and dials. The call is answered monotonously by a computer.

'You have one saved message. To hear your message press 'one', to delete your message press 'two'.'

Verdad jams his index finger onto the number 'one' key. 'Message received at two twenty-three pm on Wednesday eighth of July.' The computer reports.

"Marc, its Deborah. That guy, the one you said to tell you if he shows up here, well, he's here. I tried to stop him from seeing her but Dr Baker over ruled me. Just thought I'd let you know."

'End of message.' Verdad's eyes dart towards the date on his computer's electronic calendar, July seventeenth.

Verdad flips the black phone shut and stares directly at the door, intensely biting his lip and rocking minutely in his chair. He re-opens the phone and searches for a number. When his eyes lock on the name 'Fuller's Office' he hits the 'call' button and waits.

'Dr Fuller's office.' A bored voice sings.

'I'd like to speak to Dr Fuller.' His speech is fast.

'I'm sorry she's about to start a session with a patient. Can I take a message?' The voice drones.

'No. I want to speak to her now.' He demands.

'I'm sorry but ...'

'I will speak to her now!' His tone threatening.

'What's your name?' The receptionist asks annoyed.

'Marc.'

'Marc ... who?'

'Just Marc, she'll know who it is.'

'Okay, hold on for a second, I'll ask her if she wants to speak with you.'

Verdad sits impatiently tapping his foot on the overly polished floor. After a couple of minutes the voice of Deborah Fuller shoots through the earpiece of his phone.

'Marc! You're not supposed to call me on this line.' She reprimands.

'I figured this would be the only way you would take my call.'

'I'm working!'

'Oh, I'm sorry. But, based on the message you left me a week and a half ago I felt as though I should call you. But, for some reason when I called your home phone and mobile, you never seemed to be around to answer it. I thought maybe if I called you at work, over and over again, you might be a little more inclined to take the call, you know, to avoid suspicion.'

'I've been busy.'

'Busy? Gee, I didn't realise talking to crazy people was such an active job.'

'There's a lot more to it than you seem to give credit for.' She is bitter.

'Apparently. Look Deborah, you must take my calls, no matter what, from now on. I don't care where you are, what you're doing, you must take my calls. I want to know what is happening. Do you know what has been going on in my head, you leaving me a message about O'Connell coming and then not adding to it or anything and just ignoring me. It's not acceptable.' He half yells the last sentence through the phone.

'Yes, yes okay. Look, I told you I was busy, don't worry, it won't happen again.' Still bitter. 'I have been very attentive you know, this whole time and I have barely asked you any probing questions.' Verdad laughs. 'I've held up my end of the deal. I've done everything you've asked of me, everything. And, still, I spend half of the time panicking, even though you tell me nothing is going to happen.'

'Panicking?'

'Yes. Do you know what I've thought the last week? First, that detective comes here to speak to Jenny and he's not even supposed to know she's here. Then, you call me during working hours, leaving me these flustered and panicky messages. I thought the police had gotten you and I know how you just love taking people down with you. I've been sitting here out of my mind waiting for someone to come here and cart me away!'

Verdad couldn't constrain his laughter. 'Deborah, don't you have any faith? The police have nothing on me. O'Connell is fishing around in a murky pool of water void of life. He has no idea what he's doing. I admit, I wasn't aware he knew Jenny was there, I imagine he followed me there the other week and found out. Naturally he would go and see her straight away.'

'You certainly seem calm about the fact he came here now, nothing at all like the panicked message you left me.'

'Yes, well I soon figured things out for myself. The only reason I have continued to call you so vigilantly is because I want to know how Jenny has been acting after my little visit, and after O'Connell's visit as well, of course.' His tone a little friendlier.

'Yes, well. I'm not happy with you. Didn't I say she was sick, couldn't you have just taken my word for it?'

'No.' He picks up a toy model Mercedes sitting at the far end of his desk and starts playing with it.

'Well, are you convinced now? Did you get your closure?'

'Yes ... and no.' He drives the car along the width of his desk.

'What does that mean?'

'Well, I'll admit, Jenny does seem different, but ... traces of the real her are still there. You should forget about that nonsense you fed me about her pushing all thoughts and emotions aside and forgetting me. She knew exactly who I was, though I will say she wasn't impressed to see me. But, I got what I wanted out of her. She swore she would never reveal my secret and that's all I wanted to hear.'

'Really? You're not upset?' Surprise.

'Why would I be upset?'

'Well ... I just got the impression that you were hoping she was pretending so that you could start over with her, or something like that ...'

'Admittedly, that was my initial thought, but ...' He hesitates.

'But ...?'

'The way she looked at me. She wants nothing to do with me, sane or otherwise. I'm man enough to accept that.' He bites his lip.

'Are you?'

'Yes!' He chortles. 'Do you think you can let this little theory of yours go? It's rather annoying.' He gives the model car a hard push, it rolls right off the desk and clunks down onto the polished wood floor.

'Okay, you're the boss. So, you want to know how she's acting?'

'Yes.' He leans back into his seat.

'Well, she's exactly the same. She couldn't have cared less about you or O'Connell visiting her. I had to ask her about it, if I hadn't of she wouldn't have mentioned it at all.'

'Well, what did she say when you asked her?' He leans even further into his chair.

'She said that you and O'Connell were madly in love with her and were both vying for her attention and hand in marriage.' She snorts.

Verdad smiles. 'Well, she's not half wrong there.'

'What does that mean?'

'Nothing, only that ... well ... it was very evident when I was with Jennifer that O'Connell had very strong feelings for her. He hated me – still does actually. He couldn't bear being in the same room with us, you could tell by the look on his face. I almost felt sorry for him.'

'Almost?'

'Yes, well ... she is quite an enamouring woman. No sane guy would throw that away just because he felt sorry for the best friend. Did Jenny say anything else?'

'No. Well ... she fed me this silly story about how she met O'Connell, which I knew wasn't true because you've told me everything about both of them, so after that I just gave up.'

'Right ... well, thank you Deborah. I appreciate everything. It doesn't look as if anything is going to happen at the moment. Like I said the police have nothing and I'm more than confident that Jenny will keep my secret so I don't have to worry about her. However, just to be safe I still want you to watch out. If you notice anything strange or unusual, besides the unusual stuff that already goes on there, call me straight away.

'Besides that, enjoy your apparently busy new job.'

'Alright. Good afternoon Marcus.' She says quickly.

'Goodbye.' Verdad hangs up the phone. Relief washes away his anger.

*

'Verdad!' O'Connell calls. Verdad, clutching a crisp black leather briefcase and hurrying towards his car in twilight stops when he hears the familiar Scottish accent.

'O'Connell.' He replies stiffly, turning to face him. Verdad notices that O'Connell's hair is slightly longer than the last time he saw him, his suit, however, just as crinkled. 'What are you doing here?' He demands.

'Believe it or not, I was just going for a casual stroll. What a coincidence. I mean, me running into you right outside your car dealership, at the exact time you go home.' O'Connell smiles.

'Yes, a meticulously timed coincidence.' He stares icily at O'Connell. 'Goodnight.' He continues towards his car.

'Goodnight? Can't you stay and chat?' O'Connell crosses his arms and leans against a street light, illuminating himself.

'Chat with the detective who is trying to send me to gaol? No, I don't think so.'

'But aren't you curious?' O'Connell's eyes open widely as he grins.

'Curious? About what?' Verdad tilts his head.

'About why I felt the need to stroll by here at this exact time?'

'Should I be?' He sighs.

'Some might think so.' O'Connell begins inspecting his roughly cut fingernails.

'Okay, let's chat then.' Verdad humours.

'Good. Say, do you remember when you told me to get a little something called ev-i-dence?' O'Connell looks away from his finger nails, smiling as he phonetically pronounces the last word.

'Yes ...'

'Well, you're looking at a man who has recently acquired some ev-i-dence.'

'Oh?' He tilts his head.

'Yes. I went and saw Jennifer Barns the other week. But you probably already know that. She told me you paid her a little visit as well, that was nice of you. Tell me, how did you manage to find her?'

Verdad stares at him blankly. 'Her parents told me in passing. I can't imagine why they made you believe they hadn't seen her in seven years.'

'Well, technically, they haven't seen her, but admittedly they do know where she is. But, they didn't tell you that. They told me, but not you. That really does make me curious, how did you find her?' He asks again.

'Her parents told me in passing.' Verdad repeats slowly, staring into O'Connell's eyes.

'Okay, I really don't feel like playing games tonight.' He sighs. 'You can tell me how you found her when you're in gaol.'

Verdad snickers. 'Gaol? You wish.'

'Do you know what else Jenny told me, aside from the fact that you visited her?' O'Connell continues.

'No. Wait let me guess, she told you to get lost.' Verdad's laughter irradiates around the empty car park.

O'Connell chuckles to himself. 'No. She said she saw something, something that can put you away for life.' O'Connell couldn't stop himself from grinning.

'Yeah? What?' Verdad's heart begins to pound, though his face remains still.

'Well, I'll be honest. I don't have all of the details, but I'm sure I will soon.'

Verdad laughs. 'Look, she may have said that, I don't know. As far as I'm concerned I really don't have any idea what she might be referring to but when I went to see her, she was pretty much off with the fairies. Hardly a credible witness, don't you think?' Verdad starts to walk away.

'Oh, absolutely, only she's not off with the fairies.' O'Connell smiles.

'Really? Did she tell you that herself?' Verdad stops, laughing.

'Yes, as a matter of fact she did.' O'Connell shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

'Yeah, well ... she said the same thing to me.'

'She did?' O'Connell says, unsurprised.

'Yes. She told me that she was sane and nobody believed her, that she was only there because her parents were making her stay.'

'And did you believe her?'

'No, the rest of the time she acted nothing like her old self. There is something wrong with her, she's not there just for a holiday.' Once again, Verdad attempts to walk away.

'Maybe she just wants you and everybody else to think that there is something wrong with her, when there actually isn't.' O'Connell says simply.

'Come on, how can you believe that? Who would spend that much time and money pretending to be insane for no apparent reason? You're just hoping there's nothing wrong with her because you're in love with her; and don't act like you're not.' He adds as O'Connell chortles, rolling his eyes. 'You could never keep your eyes off of her, and even though you tried to be all nice to me when I first started going out with her I could tell you hated my guts, that you wanted me to go away so you could have her.' Verdad's anger instantly intensifies, he creeps towards O'Connell. 'You're pathetic, I mean holding on to this fanta ...'

'Shut up!' O'Connell yells, interrupting Verdad's rant. His voice echoes around the deserted car park. He steps away from the street light and takes a stride towards Verdad. The two are centre meters away from one another. 'You know, I may have feelings for her, and I sure as hell resent not telling her before you showed up but that doesn't make me a jaded fool. You believe what you want. There is nothing wrong with her and she is more than ready to get herself out of that hospital and testify against you. And then, she's going to start her life over with me, and she's going to forget about you.' O'Connell breathes heavily into Verdad's clean face.

Verdad stares at O'Connell, taken back by his unexpected outburst. 'Whatever you think O'Connell.' His eyes harden. 'But, if I can't have her ... then neither can you.' He says bitterly.

O'Connell raises his eyebrows. 'What's that supposed to me?'

'Wait and see. Goodbye. Have a nice night.'

O'Connell bows and slowly turns and heads away from the once again silent car park, and continues on down the footpath beside the main road.

Verdad stares after him until he is no longer in sight before turning and thundering to his car. He yanks the door open and pulls his mobile out of his pocket. While tossing his briefcase onto the passenger seat, he hops in. Once seated he searches through his address book until he finds the name 'Quin'. He hits the dial button. The call is answered on the first ring.

'Yes Mr Verdad?'

'Quin, the plan has changed.'

#21 A Phone Call

I looked up at the calendar. Saturday: Pilates 9am.

I put on my pink converse sneakers and tied my hair into a bun, making sure it was air hostess neat before stepping out into the corridor to head down to breakfast.

I was strutting towards the elevator when it dinged open all by itself and Tracy exited. I stopped. She waddled out, clutching a few chocolate muffins.

Tracy let herself in through the glass door and stopped when she saw me, she glared at me before re-fixing her face so it resembled someone who had just smelled dog poo. After lingering for a few moments, she tilted her head upwards and re-commenced her penguin waddle. When she passed me she made a point of knocking me over; I crash landed into the wall. Before waddling over to her door and unlocking it, she stopped and turned her glare towards me again. I glared right back.

'Hello Jennifer.' She said slowly with a hint of hatred.

'Hello Tracy.' I replied in the same manner. She turned and continued waddling into her room. I got up from my landing site. There was a dull ache in my left elbow and my buttocks. I rubbed my elbow and then brushed the back of my white pants to remove any dirt residue from the carpet off them and continued towards the elevator.

When I arrived at the elevator I had to wait a few minutes for it to arrive again. When it did it was occupied by a few nurses and Mike.

'Hi Jenny!' He said to me.

'Hello Mike,' I replied.

'Off to breakfast?' He said bobbing up and down.

'Yeah.'

'Great, so am I.'

I walked into the elevator and pushed the nurses out of the way so I could stand next to Mike.

'Nice day. Are you going to work on your garden this morning?' He asked me.

'Ugh ... No! It's way too cold outside. I couldn't possibly go out there, especially with no moisturiser, I would completely ruin my complexion. There's nothing worse than wind burnt cheeks.' I said. Then I stared at the nurses red, wind burnt cheeks.

'Won't your plants die?'

'No. Rosie always looks after them. I have her wrapped around my little finger.'

'Oh, well I might go and work on mine for a little bit.' He said happily.

'Well sure, but if I were you I wouldn't waste my time.' I replied crossing my arms.

'Why?'

'Because Tommy chucked a tantrum the other day and stomped down your entire garden.' I explained.

'He did! Why I ought to give him a big smack.' He then smacked his own behind a few times with his right hand. Tommy is Mike's tenth personality – an eleven year old boy. 'That should teach him.' He laughed.

'Yeah, it sure will.' I rolled my eyes.

The elevator arrived on the first floor and we exited. I strutted straight for the cafeteria. Mike followed, trying to keep up with me. The cafeteria was quiet, most patients are usually done with breakfast by eight-thirty.

I walked up to the serving counter and picked up a tray. I piled a few pancakes on a plate and drizzled on some maple syrup, grabbed a cup of coffee and headed towards my favourite table.

'So,' Mike said, following me, 'what are you going to do this morning then?'

'Pilates.'

'Why?' He asked, as if he could think of nothing worse.

'Because I need to keep myself well-toned, there's nothing worse than flabby arms.'

'Do I have flabby arms?' He asked me before raising one of his stick thin arms in the air and moving it back and forth to see if it wobbled, it didn't. 'Huh, I guess I better eat some more waffles then.' He put his arm back down and shoved a fork full of waffle into his mouth; his cheeks puffed out like a fish. He chewed with concentration.

'Hey, guys!' A voice yelled from the door. I looked up to see Dave running over to our table, simultaneously brushing his brown hair out of his eyes.

He sat down next to Mike, facing me.

'Jennifer, you are the most beautiful person in the world. Every day I wish I were you and until that day comes I vow to be your slave.' He chanted.

'Nicely done Dave, but I don't have any more ... moisturiser for you today.' He looked disheartened.

'What's up Dave?' Mike asked.

'Well, you'll never guess what I heard last night.' Dave said, enthused.

'Ghwatt?' Mike spat through his mouth full of waffle.

'Excuse me?' I stared at him like he was a disgusting pig. He put his index finger in the air indicating us to give him a second so he could finish chewing and then he swallowed the large mass of waffle in his mouth.

'What?' He asked Dave again, this time it was audible.

'Someone inside this hospital is going to be murdered!' He said dramatically.

'Huh?' I looked at him confused.

'Yeah, what do you mean?' Mike asked forgetting about his waffles.

'Well, last night I got rushed up to the medical ward again for ... uhhh ... an outbreak of heat rash.'

'Heat rash? In this weather?' I raised my eyebrows.

'Hey, the heater in the men's ward is broken or something, it's like a sauna.'

'Sure.' I said, not believing a word. Mike giggled.

'Anyway,' Dave continued, 'while I was waiting for the nurse to un-glue ... to treat my heat rash, I overheard some guards talking outside the door.' He paused.

'Yeah ...' Mike prompted, captivated by his story.

'Well one of the guards said to the other that he had just gotten a phone call from their boss who told him that he had decided to change the plan.'

'What plan?' Mike asked.

'I don't know!'

'Oh, sorry. Continue.'

'I will. So then this guard said that the boss wanted to kill her instead.'

'Kill who?' Mike shouted out.

'I'm getting to that.' Dave was annoyed. I remained silent. 'I'm just trying to tell the story the same way I heard it so I don't miss anything out.'

'Oh, yeah. Good thinking.' Mike said nodding.

'So then the other guard said "when does he want us to do it?" and the first guard replied "he doesn't want us to do it, he wants to do it himself" and then the second guard got all annoyed and started saying how that would be impossible because he, their boss that is, would never be able to get close enough to her, the person he wants to murder, and even if he did he wouldn't be able to get a weapon in here to kill her with. Then the first guard said that their boss wants them to sneak him in through security in the middle of the night so he can do it.' Dave stopped to draw breath.

'No way! Is that possible?' Mike turned to me.

'Well, that's exactly what the second guard started to argue.' Dave continued. 'He said that they would never be able to get him in because the other guards would intervene. But then the first guard said that they could as long as they sedated all of the other guards so they would be the only ones in charge.' He paused for breath. 'That way their boss could get in and do his killing undetected and then leave again and the other guards wouldn't know what had happened until they woke up and by then it would be too late.'

'No! That'll never happen.' Mike paused. 'So when are they gonna do it?' He asked casually.

'Tonight!' Dave said dramatically.

'Tonight?' I shouted without thinking.

'Yep, tonight.' Dave nodded.

'What time?' Mike asked.

'I'm not exactly sure, they said sometime after midnight, that way they can be sure most of the people in here will be asleep, especially the victim.' He finished dramatically.

'Wow. Did they say who the victim is?' Mike asked.

'Yeah, except I don't know who they are. I was hoping maybe one of you guys would know them, you've both been here for ages.'

'Maybe.' Mike said.

'Who?' I asked hurriedly. 'Who is it?'

'Well, they used the name Barns.' Dave said.

'Barns?' Mike asked, scrunching his face.

'Yeah.'

'Hmm ... I don't think I know anyone called Barns and I've been here for ten years. Jenny, do you know who it is?'

'Umm ... maybe. Hey, what do you think my chances are of placing a telephone call to the outside are?' I said quickly.

'A telephone call? Who do you want to call?' Mike asked me. 'And why change the subject? We're trying to figure out who this Barns person is.' He brandished his fork at me.

'Okay. Can you guys keep a secret? And I don't mean a "Tracy took a dump in the grounds" kind of secret; I mean an actual legitimate secret.'

'Yeah.' They said in unison, eyes wide.

'You swear.'

'We swear.' Once again in unison, they both leaned into the table.

'Okay.' I checked either side of me to make sure no one was listening. 'I'm Barns.'

'What?' Dave didn't believed me. 'No, you're name is Jennifer.'

'Yeah. Jennifer Barns.' I said.

'No, it's not.' Mike piped up. 'It's Parson, that's what the guards call you.'

'Yeah, but it's a fake name. I admitted myself under a fake name. My real last name is Barns.'

'Why would you admit yourself under fake name?' Dave scrunched his face at me.

'Because ... I didn't want anyone to know I was here.' I said quickly, returning to my pancakes.

'Why? Are you embarrassed or something?'

'Yeah, I guess you could say that.' I stabbed a piece of pancake with my fork.

'Well, you know what that means.' Dave said.

'What?' Mike asked.

'That Jennifer is going to be murdered tonight!' Fear spread across his usually cheery face.

'Oh my god!' Mike shouted, dropping his fork.

'Hey, will you keep your voice down.' I spat.

'Sorry.'

'Look, I need to call someone. Someone who can help me.' I whispered.

'We can help you Jenny.' Mike said.

'Thanks Mike, but this guy is a professional. There's no point putting you two up against a murderer, he'll kill you before you even see him. I need to call someone that can provide real assistance.'

'Well, whether or not you can use the phone depends on how you've been categorised.' Dave said.

'Categorised?' I felt my forehead scrunching.

'Yeah. Some patients are always allowed to use the phone, some are designated a certain number of phone calls per month and others can't use the phone at all unless they have permission from their doctor. You've been here for ages, how can you not know that?' He put his hands in the air.

'I've never needed to use the phone before.' I said simply.

'Well, my advice to you would be to just go up and casually tell them that you need to use the phone. With a bit of luck you won't need permission.'

'Yeah? I'll bet all of the chocolate in the world that I will.' I said bitterly.

'What's so bad about needing permission?' Mike asked.

'Well, for starters, Debbie isn't here today and even if she were here she wouldn't give me permission unless I told her she could listen in on the conversation. You should've heard her when I got visitors the other week. It's a good thing the visiting rooms aren't fitted with microphones ...'

'Well, what about Dr Baker? I'm sure he'll let you use the phone.'

'Maybe, but he's not here today either.' I put my head in my hands.

'Look, why don't you just go and ask. If they say no then we'll think of something else.' Dave said.

'Yeah, alright.' I left the rest of my pancakes and got up.

'Do you want us to come with you?' Mike asked.

'No, that's okay.' I shrugged them away.

'I think we better go with her.' Mike said to Dave. They both got up. I rolled my eyes before striding out of the cafeteria. Dave and Mike followed like they were my own little possie.

The three of us headed over to the phone booths located on the ground floor opposite the doors to the outside. There's a little old lady who sits behind a counter protruding out of the wall that is in charge of them. As we approached the phone booths the two guards that man the doors to the outside gave us strange looks. I guess they don't usually see people heading their way in groups. I walked up to the elderly lady behind the counter.

'I want to use the phone.' I yelled.

'I'll need to see your identity bracelet.' I gave her my left hand with a sigh, as if I were doing here a huge favour. She scanned the bar code on it.

'Name?' She asked blandly.

'Jennifer Parson.'

'Do you have a permission slip Miss Parson?'

'No. I wasn't aware this was high school.' I laughed.

'You're a class one.' She said un-enthused.

'And what do you mean by that?' I asked rudely.

'It means that you're not allowed to use the phone without your doctor's permission.'

'My doctor is not in today so I cannot get her permission.'

'Then you'll have to wait until Monday.' She said blandly.

'Monday? I'm afraid this cannot wait until Monday. Isn't there anything I can do? If a little bribe is what you're after, I have a fifty upstairs with your name on it.' I whispered, leaning in towards her.

'I'd rather not lose my job. Come back on Monday with a permission slip.'

'But she'll be dead by then!' Mike interjected.

'Mike, shut up.' I spat at him.

'Oh, right, I forgot – it's a secret.' He sheepishly took a step back.

'Excuse me?' The old lady looked at Mike. 'What do you mean by that young man?'

'Nothing, just a little game we're playing, that's all.' Dave said quickly.

'A game?' She raised her wrinkled forehead.

'Yes, whoever ever doesn't get to use the phone must die, figuratively of course. You know, like the game stuck in the mud, when you get caught you're stuck in the mud but you're not actually stuck in the mud. You get it.' He fumbled.

'No.' The woman said looking at us like we were perhaps a little bit crazier than the rest of the patients.

'I guess you lose Jenny.' Dave patted my back.

'Let's go.' I said. 'Thanks for nothing you useless old hag.' The woman opened her mouth in shock and then turned and picked up her telephone. 'There's no point reporting me, they won't do anything about it.' I said before turning and walking back in the direction we had come. Dave and Mike lingered for a second staring at the woman before following me back down the corridor.

'Jenny, hang on a second.' Dave said when we were halfway back to the cafeteria.

'What?'

'I'm allowed to use the phone.' His eyes lit up.

'So?'

'So, I can ring whoever it is you need to ring for you.'

'Hey, that's not a bad idea ...' I stopped and faced him.

'Come on then.' Dave ran back to the phone booths. When he reached the counter he said to the lady, 'I'd like to use the phone please.'

The lady stared at the three of us before saying in a slightly angered voice, 'Let me see your identity bracelet.' Dave showed it to her and she scanned the bar code just as she had done with mine. 'Name?'

'David Hunter.'

'Okay, go into booth number two.' She said. She pushed a little button underneath her counter and booth number two clicked open. 'You're only allowed half an hour.'

'I know.' Dave walked over to booth number two. 'What's the phone number Jenny?'

I stared at him blankly.

'Um ... I don't know. Shit, what should I do?' I said.

'Don't panic.' Dave said calmly. 'Just tell me their name and where they live and I'll call information and find out their number.'

'Excuse me, I won't allow this.' The woman from behind the counter shouted at us. 'You cannot get someone else to make a phone call for you Miss Parson.'

'He's not making a phone call for me.' I said innocently.

'Then what are you all talking about?'

'It's a game.' Dave said. 'Whoever can successfully find the phone number of a random person designated by another player doesn't die. Jennifer gets to do the designating seeing as she can't use the phone.'

The woman eyed us suspiciously. 'I suggest you hurry up. Your half hour started when I unlocked the door to the booth.'

'Well, you're the one who's holding us up.' I said. I turned back to Dave.

'Peter O'Connell, that's his name and he lives in Sydney.'

'Peter O'Connell, Sydney.' Dave repeated. He went to go inside the booth. 'Hang on,' he stopped and stepped back out again, 'what am I supposed to say if he answers?'

'Well, first of all make sure it's really him.'

'How?'

'Ask him if he knows me, and if he's the same Peter who visited me the other week and if he's from Scotland. If he says yes to all of those things, it's him. Then tell him everything you heard last night.' I whispered all of this to him so no one could hear except for Mike who was standing right next to me. 'And make sure you tell him that they're coming tonight to ... you know.'

'Kill you.' Mike shouted.

'Shh.' I glared at him. 'Then tell him that he has to come and help me and if he does I will agree to do what he wants me to do.'

'You will agree to do what he wants you to do if he comes and helps.' Dave recited.

'Good.' I said. 'Now, tell me what his name is.' I tested.

'Peter O'Connell from Sydney.'

'Yes ... Actually, Detective Peter O'Connell. Use that instead, it might be easier to get the right person then.'

'Detective? Okay.' Dave nodded. He went inside the booth and shut the glass door. Mike and I watched him as he picked up the phone and dialled.

We waited in silence as Dave picked up a pen and wrote down a list of phone numbers. He hung up and dialled a new number, within seconds he hung the phone up again. I looked up at the clock, it was eight fifty. He'd been in there for just under ten minutes. Mike and I watched as Dave dialled countless numbers, hanging up every time. Then after another ten minutes, Dave dialled a number without hanging up after a few seconds. He then turned around towards us and gave me two thumbs up.

I could see him retelling the story he had overheard last night, see him telling Peter to come and help. He started writing something down onto a piece of paper. After another five minutes he hung the phone up and walked out of the booth, paper in hand.

'Come on, let's go outside where we can talk freely.' Dave said.

This time Dave led the way. We walked to the end of the corridor and into the recreation room. At the far end of the room I could see the Pilates instructor along with a small group of patients getting ready to start the class.

We walked outside, through the individual gardens and towards a small courtyard on the right hand side. We sat down at a wooden table. No one else was around, it was too cold for morning strollers.

'Well ...' I said. 'Is he coming?'

'I think so.' Dave said.

'You think so! What do you mean? Did you tell him everything?'

'Yeah, of course.' He defended.

'Well ... was he concerned or worried?' I asked.

'I dunno ... he was efficient.' He shrugged.

'Efficient?'

'Yeah. As soon as I told him who I was and what I heard and how you told me to contact him because you can't use the phone he was really quick to take charge. He told me a bunch of things to tell you, I wrote them down.'

'Well, let's hear them.'

'Can I read them out?' Mike asked eagerly. Dave looked at me for approval. I nodded. Mike eagerly took the piece of paper out of Dave's hand.

'Number one,' he said, 'stay calm. Number two, don't tell anybody else. Number three, continue to act normal. Act normal?' Mike laughed. 'Now that is funny.'

'Mike, stop mucking around.' I said.

'Sorry. Number four, lock yourself in your room after dinner and stay there, do not leave under any circumstances.' He flipped over the piece of paper to see if there was more on the other side, then flipped it back around again. 'That's it.' He looked up at us, disappointed.

'What? What do you mean that's it?' I yanked the piece of paper out of his hand and read it to myself. Stay calm, act normal and stay put. 'That's exactly the kind of thing you would expect from a police officer. I could've thought of that myself!' I turned to Dave, tossing the piece of paper aside. 'Did he say at all if he was coming?'

'He said that he would handle it and that everything would be okay. I think that means he's coming.' He said confidently.

'I hope you're right.' I picked up the piece of paper slowly and put it in my pocket before standing up.

'Hey, where are you going?' Mike asked.

'To Pilates.' I said.

'What? You're still going to go?'

'Yes. Peter says to act normal. If I hadn't of found out about all of this I would be going to Pilates, so in order to act normal, I'm going to Pilates.' I then left the two of them to sit and chat amongst themselves.

#22 The Plan

O'Connell jumps slightly in his chair, it responds with an old, tired squeak. His telephone is ringing. He sighs, dropping the pen clutched in his right hand and reaches towards the black receiver.

'O'Connell.' He says monotonously.

'Detective Peter O'Connell from Sydney?' A young male voice chants.

'Yes ...' O'Connell raises his eyebrows.

'Do you know Jennifer Parson ... ahh ... I mean Barns?' The voice asks.

'Who is this?' O'Connell's voice raises half an octave.

'Do you know Jennifer Barns?' The voice repeats.

'Yes ...'

'Did you visit her last week?'

'Yes ...' O'Connell plays along, shifting back in his chair.

'Are you from Scotland?'

'Wha ... Who is this?' O'Connell presses.

'Are you?' The voice is persistent.

'Do I sound like I'm from Scotland?

'Yes.'

'Look, would you please tell me who you are?' He leans back towards his desk and places his left elbow firmly on top of it.

'Hey, I'm Dave.' The voice greets, as though the previous interrogation never happened.

'Hi ...'

'I'm a patient at Grove Hospital.' O'Connell sits up tall in his chair. 'I'm calling on behalf of Jenny, she's not allowed to use the phone.' Dave explains.

'Right ...?'

'She needs your help. She says that if you come down here she'll agree to do what you want her to.' O'Connell's eyes light up.

'My help? What's happened?' O'Connell leans his free arm onto his desk once more.

'Well, that's where I come into play.'

'Yes ...' O'Connell is eager.

'Last night I was in the medical ward because I was ... um ... ah ... sick. And I overheard two guards talking.' He pauses.

'Keep going ...' O'Connell listens intently.

'Well one of the guards told the other that he just got a phone call from their boss who told him that he'd changed the plan. And then this guard said the boss wanted to kill her instead. So the other guard asked him what they had to do and the first guard said that they didn't have to do anything, the boss was coming himself. Then the second guard got annoyed and said that would be impossible because he, the boss that is, would never be able to get close enough to her and even if he did he wouldn't have a weapon to kill her with. Then the first guard told him that they have to sneak him in through security in the middle of the night so he can do it.' Dave stopped, gulping a huge breath.

'Um ... Dave was it?' O'Connell takes advantage of the silence.

'Yeah.'

'I don't think I follow you exactly.' O'Connell's eyes are squinted.

'Oh ... sorry, I'm not very good at explaining things.'

'Why don't you just wrap up the story in simple terms?'

'Okay, I can do that. Well, basically ... guards working for some guy are going to sedate all of the other guards and take control of the security system so their boss can sneak into the hospital tonight at midnight and kill Jenny.'

'WHAT! Kill her? Tonight? Are you sure? This better not be some prank call.' O'Connell threatens.

'No no no no! – I'm dead serious. Jenny wanted to talk to you herself but the old bat at the phone desk wouldn't let her use the phone. She's desperate for you to help.'

'Okay ...' O'Connell stops briefly to think. 'Do you have a pen and paper?'

'Yes.'

'Good, I want you to write this down and give it to Jennifer.' O'Connell waits a moment. 'One, remain calm.' He pauses for a second. 'Two, don't tell anyone else. Underline that point. Three, act normal.' He waits while Dave the instructions down.

'Anything else?'

'Yes, tell her to go to her room after dinner and stay there. And ... tell her not to worry, I'll take care of everything.' He clutches his free hand to his head, running it through his tangled curls.

'Okay.'

'Thank you so much Dave, you've no idea what you've just done.' He takes in a long breath.

'Wow. You're welcome.' Dave says, taken back by O'Connell's praise.

'Take care.'

'You too.' O'Connell hangs up the phone, letting out a huge gust of air, his heart is racing.

He sits in thought, drumming his fingers across his wooden desk. Only his eyes show glimpses of emotion. Fear, concern, exasperation, worry, anger. His fingers cease drumming and start tapping short staccato notes, they stop unexpectedly. He re-collects the phone and dials. It rings, unanswered. O'Connell is about to hang up when a disgruntled feminine voice breaks through the ear piece.

'Mrs Holmes?' The words erupt from his mouth.

'Yes, who is this?'

'Peter O'Connell, I work with your husband. I was wondering if I could speak with him.'

'Is it urgent? We were just about to go out, he's sitting in the car waiting for me.'

'Well, I'm afraid it is rather urgent. I mean, I really have to speak to him. I've just found out something very important about a case.'

'That doesn't sound terribly urgent. My husband really does hate to be disturbed by minor work matters when he's not on duty.' She drawls.

'I'm well aware of that Mrs Holmes, which is why I only call if it's urgent. Please, I really do mean it when I say it's urgent.' He presses, leaning into his desk.

'Oh, alright, I'll get him.' A loud noise thunders out of the earpiece when she clunks the phone down. A few minutes pass before O'Connell hears Holmes' voice.

'O'Connell?' Holmes bursts through the phone.

'Yes sir.'

'What is it? And whatever it is it better be important.' He threatens.

'Oh, it's important.'

'Well ...?'

'I just had a phone call from Grove Hospital.' O'Connell bites his lip.

'Jesus Christ! O'Connell ... What are you doing?' He splutters. 'I should've known you wouldn't just drop this case. You better have a damn good reason for calling me about this if you want to have a job on Monday.' He shouts. O'Connell moves the phone a few inches away from his ear, returning it when it is his turn to speak.

'Some guards were overheard talking last night at the hospital. Guards who are working for Verdad.' O'Connell spills into the receiver before Holmes has time to react.

'Guards who are working for Verdad? And you know all of this because your little nut case told you this. Is that right?'

'Will you just listen! This is not some stupid game, this is serious. Verdad does have men working at the hospital and he is keeping an eye on Jenny.'

'How can you be sure of that?' Holmes is more than doubtful.

'Um ... I sent someone in there under cover.' O'Connell whispers into the phone. There is a brief silence on Holmes' end of the line.

'O'Connell, you did not just say that. You did not just say that! Urgh! What are you doing, I told you not to do that, in fact I demanded that you not do it. You've never gone against my orders before. What is wrong with you?' He shouts.

'I know, I'm sorry, but ... I had a feeling, and, I was right! Verdad has guards there undercover.' He jams his head towards his desk out of frustration.

'Who did you send in behind my back?' The words poisonous.

'Uh ... No one associated with the police ... a private investigator. I've known him for years. He ... owed me a favour.'

'What's his name?' Holmes asks slowly.

'Colin Jones.' O'Connell sounds sheepish.

'That idiot! Jesus. Last year he was responsible for an innocent man being sent to gaol.' Holmes yells.

'I know, that wasn't his fault.' O'Connell defends.

'Wasn't his fault? He was the one who gathered the evidence against him. O'Connell, you're losing your touch.'

'No I'm not! Just listen.' He cupped his forehead with his free hand.

'You've got two minutes.'

'Okay. Verdad has decided it's finally time for him to get rid of Jennifer. The guards were overheard saying he will be going to the hospital tonight to kill her.'

'Kill her? Why? We're not after him anymore and she doesn't even want to testify. What reason does he have for just abruptly deciding to go and kill her?'

O'Connell hesitates. 'Uh ... I'm not really sure.'

'Yes you are.' Holmes says with a slow contempt. 'Come on, out with it.'

'Well,' O'Connell pauses, 'I'm not saying this is the reason why but it could have set him off, angered him.' O'Connell stops again.

'Go on.' Holmes is short.

'I sort of ran into him last night. Had a bit of a chat, you know.' He began tapping his fingers on the desk slowly.

'God, what did you say to him?'

'Nothing much ... I just told him that Jennifer was going to testify against him, but he didn't believe me. That was it. I was just trying to get him to slip up.' O'Connell collapses back into his chair.

'There must be more to it than that if he's decided to do away with her.' He sings.

'Well, we did get into a slight argument but it wasn't about the case.'

'What was it about?' Holmes sounds un-impressed.

'... Jennifer.'

'Of course it was.' Holmes sighs. 'Well, it must have been a pretty big argument if he wants to kill her now.'

'It's personal, I'd really rather not talk about it.' O'Connell barely articulates.

'O'Connell, your job is on the line, forget personal and tell me now.'

He grimaces. 'He got annoyed, said the only reason I was after him was because I was in love with Jennifer and that I wanted to get him out of the way so I could have her.'

'And what did you say?'
'Well ... I guess I didn't deny it.' He blushes.

'Then what happened?'

'He said ... he said that ... if he couldn't have her ... then neither could I.' O'Connell's chokes back a tear, remembering Verdad's words.

'So now he's going to kill her?'

'Yes.' O'Connell manages to whisper.

'Tonight? And you're absolutely sure?' Holmes presses.

'Yes, that's what I was told.' O'Connell repeats.

'Why would he go? Couldn't he just get his men to kill her? That would be easier.'

'Of course it would be easier but I'm sure Verdad would get more satisfaction out of doing it himself.' Hatred contorts his face.

'Yes, well, if he's done all of the things you say he has that doesn't surprise me. But, what are you ringing me for?' He returns the conversation back to business.

'I want your permission to get a small team of officers together to go down there and stop him.' Holmes begins to protest, however, O'Connell overrides him. 'I want to set up a trap. Verdad doesn't know we know about this. If we're careful we can catch him trying to kill her, that way we could definitely get him and we would still have Jennifer as a witness later on if we needed her.'

Holmes thinks silently. 'Okay.' He says after a moment. 'Do what you have to to get this bastard.'

'Thank you sir.' O'Connell sits back in his chair, relieved.

'But, if I were you O'Connell, I'd be praying this works in your favour, because if it doesn't, you'll be better off back in Scotland on Monday morning.' He threatens.

'I know sir. Don't worry, I haven't been waiting seven years for this moment to stuff it up.'

'I wish I could believe you. Good luck.' He says.

'Thank you sir. I'll speak to you tomorrow, I hope, when this is all over.'

'Only if you're still alive.'

'Oh, I will be. Goodbye sir.' He breathes quietly.

'Goodbye.'

O'Connell hangs up the phone, his blood flowing like a strong current. He launches out of his chair, the excess force of the movement sends it flying back into the wall. Galloping to the door, he thrusts the handle down and springs out of his office. He thunders down the hallway until he reaches a vacant tidy desk. A name plate on the front reads 'Jeff Rogers'.

'Where's Rogers?' He directs to a young officer behind him.

'Ah ... photocopy room I think.' The officer replies.

O'Connell continues his hurried pace down the hall and turns left through a door marked 'PHOTOCOPY'. Rogers is standing next to the fax machine gazing into the wall as a large piece of paper coils out of the machine, brushing against the floor. He looks up when O'Connell bursts into the room. One look at O'Connell's face is enough to alert Rogers.

'O'Connell?' He frowns.

'This is it. Verdad's going to kill her. Tonight.' O'Connell runs towards a large steel filing cabinet shoved against the right wall and kicks it; a bang resonates throughout the room.

'Jesus, O'Connell ... calm down!'

'Why have I been acting like such an idiot? Why did I have to go and tell Verdad that Jennifer was going to testify? Why did I have to piss him off? What's wrong with me?' He cups his head with his hands.

'Calm down. Look, what happened? I thought this case was on the back burner. You haven't still been following Verdad around have you?' He faces him, surprised.

'You were right. I've been letting my feelings cloud my judgement. I went and saw Verdad last night. We had an argument over Jennifer and now he's going to kill her to spite me.' He rests his forehead on top of the cabinet.

'What? Kill her? How could you possibly know that?' Rogers bends down to pick up the fax.

'I got a tip off. Someone close to Jennifer overheard Verdad's men talking about it last night.'

'Verdad's men? So, he does have men working inside the hospital?'

'Yes.' O'Connell starts repeatedly kicking the filing cabinet.

'O'Connell! O'Connell! Stop!' Rogers runs over to him and yanks him away from the wall, holding him tightly around the shoulders. 'You have to stop beating yourself up about all of this. It's done. We just have to do what we can to fix it.' O'Connell looks into Rogers' brown eyes and nods sporadically; his heart beat begins to slow.

'You're right. I need to stay calm, for Jennifer.'

'Yeah ... for Jennifer.' Rogers' rolls his eyes.

'Holmes has given me permission to put a team together.' O'Connell tells him. 'We're going to the hospital tonight to catch Verdad.

'Go and get Hudson, Finlay and Young and meet me in the conference room in one hour. I have to call Jones.'

'Who's Jones?' Rogers' eyes crease.

'Our inside man.' Rogers' nods slightly perplexed while O'Connell pushes past him and leaves the room quickly.

ONE HOUR LATER

O'Connell and his men are congregated around a grey oval table in the middle of a large room. It could easily seat twenty, but with the party of five, it is vacant and hollow. There are whiteboards splayed spaciously around the wood panelled room littered with odd sentences and diagrams; a large flat screen television hangs off the back wall accompanied with a mediocre surround sound system. O'Connell sits at the head of the grey table at the end furthest from the door. Rogers and Hudson sit to his left, Finlay and Young sit to his right.

Rogers' dark complexion stands out amongst the others; his thick frame and jaw make him appear the strongest of the five. His curly hair is messier than O'Connell's waves and he sits silently, his dark eyes darting around the room nervously.

Hudson's red hair reflects the mid-morning sun shining in through the window, his pale skin lit up. He sits still, a confused expression taped on his face.

Finlay and Young; the rookies. Finlay with his boyish blonde features stands out as much as Young's substantially noticeable stomach. The four of them remain silent, staring at O'Connell, waiting for him to speak.

'Okay guys,' O'Connell looks around the table at them, 'you've all been informed by Rogers about what's going on.' He says. 'Now this is how it will work.

'I've got us booked on a flight to Hobart leaving at six o'clock. We should be there around eight which will give us enough time to drive from the airport to the hospital. Now, I've just learned that Verdad has already left which means he's probably rented out a hotel room or something near the area to stay in until he feels the time is right for him to head into the hospital. This means he'll be very prepared so we have to be on our guard.' He gives them all a stern stare.

'Finlay and Young,' he continues, 'I was thinking you two could be lookouts. I want you to stay outside the hospital until Verdad gets there.' The two officers glance at each other, their faces mirroring their disappointment. 'I've just found out there are actually two entrances – a visitor's entrance and an employee entrance. I think we're safe to assume he'll being going in through the employee entrance and so will we. It grants easier access to the main part of the hospital and it's more secluded. However I want one of you at either entrance just in case.' He stares at the two young officers scribbling their orders down on a sheet of paper in front of them. 'We'll communicate via the radios. When Verdad arrives I want whoever sees him to notify everyone as soon as they feel safe enough to do so, then I want you two to follow him in, unseen of course.' Finlay nudges Young in the ribs with a smile, glad with this new development. O'Connell ignores them.

'I don't see Verdad wanting to muck around, he'll probably want to find Jennifer as soon as possible. I've told her to stay in her room after dinner. Now, in order to get Verdad properly we need to make sure we catch him with a gun or whatever weapon he's got, preferably while he's using it against us or her, if it comes to that.' He added. 'However we are trying to prevent that course of action. He's probably going to go straight to her room. I'll be hiding in there waiting for him to come.

'Rogers, Hudson,' He stares at the other side of the table,' I want you two hiding somewhere on the same floor as backup. Watch out for Verdad, when you see him enter the room start heading towards the door, that way you can jump on him.' They nod in unison.

'O'Connell,' Rogers' wakes up, 'Won't he have backup as well? His guards might follow him to the room.'

'Yes, I know, that's something we have to be aware of the whole time as well. I don't think Verdad usually likes his men to watch him, less witnesses that way, but he may need help finding the room so most likely he will have escorts. If that is the case then take them out first, with minimal force of course.'

'Okay.' Rogers nods. 'Don't worry, we'll play it as it comes.'

'Good. I have faith in you guys.' O'Connell stares at each officer individually.

'Finlay, Young,' he turns back to the two young officers, 'when you come in, head straight up to Jennifer's room as well. We're going to need full man power, especially if Verdad has men with him. Hopefully this goes the way we want it to and we get him, finally.' The officers nod.

'What about the other guards, the ones who aren't working for Verdad?' Hudson asks.

O'Connell turns to face him. 'Verdad has ordered his men to sedate the other guards before he gets there. Which is good for us because there won't be any one there trying to stop us from entering. If you do see a guard walking around, you can bet they'll be working for him.

'Colin Jones is our inside man.' He stops, stares at a collection of papers in front of him and searches for four pages with the same photograph. He hands one to each of his men. 'This is him. He will be patrolling around doing his normal shift. I'm assuming they'll try to sedate him, after all they'll think he's just a regular guard. I don't know what they intend to use to knock the guards out but Jones has been notified and he is going to be extra careful.' Finlay and Young study Jones' photograph with extra attention.

'He's told me that usually at night they have two guards patrolling each floor,' O'Connell continues, 'one patrolling the outside grounds and one in the main security office keeping an eye on the monitors and security system. Jones will be patrolling the fourth floor, which is one floor above Jennifer's. Verdad's men, the two guards that were overheard talking, patrol the fifth floor. There are seven floors including the ground level, which make sixteen guards in total when you include the one outside and the one in the security office. One is ours and at least two are his, which leaves thirteen unaccounted for.' O'Connell leans back.

'Jones will be keeping an eye on the other guards. My thoughts are that Verdad's men will try to use a very strong sedative which may mean they might be out of action all night. I've asked Jones to do whatever he can in order to prevent getting himself in trouble without raising suspicion. I'll be keeping in contact with him throughout the evening. If I lose contact then I'll assume they've gotten to him.' He pauses. 'One thing we don't know is when these guards are going to attack. But, we're going to have to wait until the guards have been sedated before going in there otherwise we'll be easily seen and stopped.' O'Connell finally stops, letting his officers digest the plan.

'Hang on, isn't Jones going to let us in? If he gets sedated how can he?' Finlay asks, concerned.

'He should be contacting me any minute now to give me the security codes to all of the doors. The guards usually use swipe cards but there are also key pads on the doors as well so you can manually punch in a code in case the card system fails. We'll all have a copy of the codes along with a map, that way we can let ourselves in.'

'Verdad will probably have them too.' Young adds.

'Undoubtedly, this makes us even in that field.' He takes in a slow breath. 'So you've got a few hours to prepare. I'll meet you back here at two o'clock and we'll take the van out to the airport.'

Slowly, the four officers pull out of their chairs and walk out of the room chatting to one another. O'Connell remains behind, sitting silently in thought for some minutes. He jumps when his mobile phone rings. Pulling it out of his pocket he answers swiftly, 'O'Connell.'

'Hi, it's me.' The voice on the other end is slow.

'You've got the codes?'

'Yeah, I'll need to fax them to you. Are you at the station?'

'Yes.'

'Okay, I'll send a fax through now.' He breathes heavily.

'Did you manage to get all of the codes?' O'Connell asks eagerly.

'Yeah, it was a little tricky but I got 'em.' Jones drags. 'Each floor has a different set of codes, see. I've only got limited access to the first four floors but I managed to talk a legit guy into letting me borrow his card so I could get into the main office and print out the security details while the watchman was on a break.'

'Good job Jones! I owe you one now.' O'Connell sighs back into his chair.

'Are the plans for tonight still the same?' He asks.

'Yeah. Just ... be careful, okay.' O'Connell frowns.

'Don't worry, I've done this kind of thing plenty ... of times.'

'Are you okay?' O'Connell's face concerned, he leans further into his chair.

'Yeah, just a little sleepy. Did a double shift to try to get these codes for you, been up all night.' He shrugs off the concern.

'Okay, well, just keep in mind that Verdad is a dangerous man.'

'I know, I'm not scared. They can do what they want to me, so long as I don't get killed and Verdad gets captured.' He laughs nervously.

'Okay then.' O'Connell says. 'You've got more guts than most men. Good luck.'

'I think you need more luck than me mate. See you soon.'

'Yeah, goodbye.' O'Connell hangs up, frowning. He leaves the room quietly, heading to the photocopy room, arriving just as the fax starts coiling out of the machine. He collects it before it hits the ground.

#23 Murder

Dear Peter,

This part of my 'memoir', is for you...

A little over seven years ago, I decided to surprise Marc for dinner at a restaurant he owned. I wanted to set up a romantic dinner in Marc's private lounge, below the restaurant.

It was a Friday. I remember that because Marc always went to his restaurant on Fridays. I was never allowed to go; the reason ... he wanted that night, after a busy week at work, to wind down by himself.

I arrived at the restaurant around five o'clock so I could set everything up before he got there. Marc arrived before I barely even started. He wasn't supposed to finish work until six o'clock. I guess he decided to leave early that day. Not wanting to be found creating a surprise dinner, or perhaps, because I just had a feeling that I shouldn't be found, I hid behind a black changing screen towards the far right of the room. I could see him through the small crack made by the seam in the screen walking casually down the stairs. I had hoped he would stay for a short while then leave to get something from the restaurant. That way I could sneak out, having decided by that point that maybe a surprise dinner was a bad idea. But he didn't. He stayed and sat down in his favourite black arm chair on the other side of the room. He was silent for a long time, he barely even moved.

Eventually, he got up after glancing at his watch and walked over to a large cupboard at the other end of the room. I watched him curiously. He unlocked it, fumbled around, and after a few seconds, pulled out a large folded up piece of blue tarp. He walked over to the centre of the room, holding onto the tarp, where there was a large vacant space and shook the tarp out, opening it up to its full size. He laid it down onto the dark wooden floor, spreading it out neatly. The tarp was easily five square metres in size and the bright blue colour of it looked very out of place in the dark lounge. I found myself wondering what he was up to. He returned to the cupboard and pulled out a folded up, steel chair. He carried the chair over to the tarp, opened it up and placed it gently in the centre of the plastic. I reaffirmed it really was best to stay put, not knowing what Marc was doing.

Returning to his leather chair, he sat back down, allowing the room to fall silent once more. Marc continued to glance at his watch every few minutes; he seemed irritable, tapping his hand on his chair impatiently. After about ten minutes, I jumped back after hearing a few loud, sharp knocks on the door resonating down the stairs. Marc immediately got out of his chair and swiftly walked up the wooden staircase, unbolting the door loudly. A deep voice carried down the steep decline; I recognised it as belonging to one of the waiters.

'Mr Verdad, there's a man in the restaurant. He says he's here to see you.' The waiter said.

'Yes, I'm expecting him. Go and get him. I'd prefer to talk with him down here.' He ordered.

'Sure.'

Marc jogged back down the stairs and returned to his chair; the tiniest of smirks on his face. A couple of minutes later the door opened again and I heard shallow, slow footsteps echoing down the stairs.

A man I had never seen before gradually appeared into focus. He was middle aged and skinny. He had dirty blonde hair that stood up in all directions and his eyes were large and bulbous; he looked the way I would imagine someone to look after being electrocuted.

Marc did not get up when the man arrived; instead he just motioned him to the fold out chair in the centre of the tarp opposite him. The man glanced at the tarp, a quizzical expression on his face and reluctantly walked over to the chair positioned neatly in the centre of it.

'Thank you for coming,' Marc said slowly, lightly.

The man jumped back when Marc spoke to him. I could see his hands were shaking, his legs jittering; he kept jerking his torso back and forth in uneven movements. He ignored Marc's greeting and sat down clumsily on the steel chair, hands still shaking. Once seated, Marc began to speak again. An icy feeling ran over me. I was shocked by the tone of Marc's voice; calculating, harsh. I'd never heard him speak that way before.

'So,' Marc began, 'do you think it's funny blackmailing someone? Tell me,' he shifted in his seat, 'do you get some kind of thrill out of it?' He grinned. 'A fantastic high?'

The man cowered back. Marc laughed. 'How much money are you demanding I give you to keep quiet?' Marc raised his eyes at him.

Slowly, the blackmailer began to open his mouth, lips shaking profusely, palms clasping onto either side of the metal chair. 'Three ... three ... three ...' he stuttered, 'thousand,' He finished with a large gulp.

'Three thousand? Hmm ...' Marc thought for a moment. 'Not a huge sum really, considering what you saw ...' He looked over at the wall, contemplating. After a few seconds, he faced him again. 'How do I know you won't come running back here once your precious three thousand is gone? Hmm?' He placed a hand onto one of his cheeks.

'I ... I won't ... promise.' His head kept jerking back and forth. Marc raised his eyes at him once more.

There was silence for a minute before Marc took in a huge gulp of air and let out a loud sigh. He removed his hand from his cheek and effortlessly pulled himself out of his chair.

'Stay seated.' He said to the man. He then turned around and walked over to a dark cabinet towards his left, lying flat against the wall. He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the top doors of the cabinet slowly, silently and began to pull out some objects. His back was facing me and I didn't see what the object were until a few seconds later when he turned around. He was holding on to a long silver knife and a gun – one in each hand.

The man caught sight of the weapons the exact same time I did and immediately, he started to get up. Marc glared at him, 'If you move one more step – I will shoot you.' He spat.

He returned to his seat, trembling.

Marc casually threw the knife and the gun onto his black leather chair. He then turned back to the cabinet and began pulling out more items – duct tape, a few bundles of thin, white rope and a shiny, sharp, silver axe.

He chucked the objects, except for the rope, onto the black leather armchair as well. He then walked over to the man, the rope held tightly in one hand. The victim, terrified, sat frozen.

Marc approached him, slowly; a demonic smirk on his face. When he was merely centre metres away from the man, he crouched down in front of him, unwound one of the bundles of rope and began to wrap the white fibre around the man's ankles. Instinctively, the man whipped his legs away, trying to deter Marc. Bending forwards, he reached out his hands and lunged towards Marc's head.

Marc dropped the rope and whipped back just in time to prevent him from lashing at his face. He turned swiftly, reached over to the leather chair, fumbled around with the array of objects sitting in it until his hands clasped firmly onto the gun. He drew it towards him, spun around smoothly and fired the weapon, aiming it directly at the guy's left foot. The shot was muffled, there must have been a silencer attached to the gun; no one would have heard it go off. He screamed. His cries for help, much louder than the sound of the shot, echoed around the room.

Marc chuckled to himself. 'There, there,' he babied. 'Now, sit still for daddy.' He knelt back down and re-collected the rope, leaving the gun on the floor at his feet. The man's foot was shaking uncontrollably. Marc grabbed hold of it vigorously; his victim winced, shrieking out in pain once more. Carelessly, Marc jammed the man's feet back together and slowly tried to wind the rope around his ankles a second time. Once finished, he tied the rope into a tight knot. He tugged at the knot a few times; making sure it was tight.

Marc then collected another bundle of the thin white rope and standing up, slowly began to unwind it. He walked around the side, his shoes crinkling and crunching as they travelled across the large piece of blue tarp. Once he was facing the man's back, he stopped and grabbed hold of his arms, pulling them back forcefully. The blackmailer once again tried to fight him off, jerking his torso back and forth; Marc's grip was too strong for his emaciated frame. He managed to wind the rope around the man's thin wrists easily, tying it into a thick knot, just as he had done with the rope now bound to his ankles.

Marc walked back around to the front and picked up the last bundle of rope off of the floor. Once it was un-wound, he reached over the man with either end of the rope in each hand and swung it over the man's head, wrapping it around his torso. He crossed the rope over at the front, and walked back around, where he tied the rope tightly into place.

The man cried out when Marc gave one last forceful tug on the rope, ensuring it was secure. I could see his arms changing a deep, reddish purple as the rope dug into his flesh. Marc stepped back, admiring his creation before quickly turning and walking up the stairs towards the door. I heard the bolt slide shut; the lock click into place. The blackmailer began taking in rapid, noisy breaths; fear spread all over his face. He screamed out for help a second time, though this time, his screams were much louder.

'There's no point screaming, no one will hear you.' I heard Marc chuckle as he descended the staircase. 'This room is sound proof.' Marc sung to him when he reached the base of the stairs. He was smiling widely. The man began to fidget in his chair. Marc, un-phased by this, casually walked back over to him.

'Perhaps the appearance of this tarp is starting to make a little more sense to you?' He grinned. 'I don't like to make a mess.' He added with an eerie laugh. His laughter stopped abruptly and he turned around and started heading straight towards where I was hiding. I felt my heart beat quicken and I gulped, feeling a dryness deep in my throat. He stopped when he was only metres away from me at the base of beige rug. He bent down towards the rug, lifted up one of its corners and tossed the heavy carpet back forcefully, revealing a huge trap door cemented in the shiny wood; a lock and a handle neatly hidden in the centre. I pulled back, shocked. He placed his hand into his front pant pocket and drew out a tiny silver key. Kneeling down, he unlocked the door and pulled gently on the handle. The door lifted upwards without a sound, revealing a large hole in the floor. He shifted around and swung his legs into the hole, descending quickly. His shoes echoed as he landed with a thud on the cement flooring. I heard his footsteps filtering out of the hole and found myself wondering what terrible things were down there. I could hear him groaning, as though he were pulling on something heavy. Loud noises; clinking, banging, screeching, the sound of pipes shuttering reverberated upwards. After a minute or two, I felt a sudden gush of hot air erupt out of the hole. Another minute after that, Marc's head re-appeared, poking out of the hole; he was facing the man. He slipped his brawny arms out and used them to pull himself out of the ground, swinging his legs gently onto the wooden flooring and standing up.

'Sorry,' he called over to the other side of the room once he was back on his feet. 'I just had to get the furnace started.' Grinning, he walked back towards the dark cabinet where he then pulled out some large sheets of clear plastic. He began to spread the plastic over the furniture close to the man; covering chairs, tables, ornaments

'I don't respond well to blackmail, I never have.' He started to say whilst laying the plastic over the nearby couch. 'I simply choose to ... eliminate it. That is one reason why I am able to get away with what I do.' He threw his last piece of plastic over a small coffee table. 'You know, it's interesting how most people always seem to think about blackmailing before they think about going to the police.' He walked back towards the man, inspecting the room. Everything within a five metre radius of the tarp was completely covered with the clear plastic. 'Money is a far better reward than a clear conscience. Don't you think?' The victim remained silent. 'Of course you think that, otherwise you wouldn't be here would you.' Marc laughed, wiping his hands together.

'Wh ... what are you gonna to do me?' The man finally stumbled, his chest pounding up and down.

'If I told you that, where would the element of surprise be?' Marc laughed again; high pitched, hysterical.

He picked the duct tape up off of the chair and pulled, tearing a large strip off with his teeth. He walked up to the man, his footsteps crunching across the tarp, and smeared the tape over his mouth. 'Just in case,' he winked. He then bent down and re-collected his gun; admiring its every surface.

'If you were a nice blackmailer, say a young woman in desperate need of money to feed her starving kids, I would probably just shoot you in the head,' he raised his gun quickly, aiming it at the man's forehead, '– quick and what I suspect,' he cocked the trigger, 'rather painless.' The blackmailer closed his eyes. 'But, you're not.' Marc lowered his gun. 'You're a crack addict. You're blackmailing me to get money to sustain your habit – I don't approve of that.' Marc swiftly aimed his gun at the man's other foot and without hesitation, fired. Muffled cries resonated around the entire room. I could see and hear him panting faster. 'You then showed up at my office.' Marc continued, pacing. 'Do you know what everyone said when they saw someone who was so obviously addicted to drugs walking into my office?' Marc said with malice. The man screamed even louder. 'They thought I was involved in drug trafficking. My image doesn't need that kind of damage.' Marc walked around behind the man, picked up his right hand and twisted it so it was lying directly on top of his left, palms facing upward. He shoved the barrel of his gun into the top hand. The drug man panted profusely. Holding both palms firmly in place, Marc fired the gun for a third time. The bullet ploughed through the middle of the man's palms. I jumped when I heard his chilling scream, muffled by the duct tape. Blood poured out of the fresh wound, like water spouting out of a newly broken river bank. It splattered onto the tarp and stained Marc's left hand. He walked back around to face his victim and wiped his bloody hand all over his face. The man sobbing, cried out in pain.

'Aren't you glad you didn't go to the police?' Marc laughed again. He dropped the gun onto the tarp and walked back to the chair. This time he collected the axe. 'Brand new,' he smiled, tracing his finger along the blade, 'nice and sharp.' The emaciated man winced, closing his eyes once more. He was terrified and so was I. Marc placed the axe back down, took off his grey jacket and silver tie, threw them onto the tarp and unbuttoned his sleeves; pulling them up so they were level with his elbows. He then re-collected the axe, walked the couple of steps over to the man and took a practice swing at the top of his left knee. The man jerked back as far as the ropes would allow. Marc cackled. I barely had time to blink before Marc had the axe lifted into the air again, this time taking a real swing. The blade landed down onto the man's knee cap. The surgery so practised I got the feeling Marc had performed it many times before. The sound of breaking flesh and bone made me feel sick. The leg hit the tarp with a crinkled thud after only two rapid swings of the axe. Blood splattered all over Marc and his victim. I looked away, feeling stomach acid burning its way up my throat. I wanted desperately to stand up and shout, to ask Marc what he was doing, to save the man's life. But he had an axe and a gun and all I had were a few rose shaped golden candles and a red tablecloth. I kept my mouth shut and remained hidden.

The man's head lulled to one side. Marc went up to him and slapped his face, hard. He jerked his head back up, sobbing. I couldn't bear hearing his cries. I'd never heard anyone in that much pain.

Marc smiled before stepping back. He un-tucked his white shirt and used it to wipe off the blood that had splattered onto his face. His focus returned and he walked around to the other side, pointing his axe at the other leg. This time his aim was off. He hacked at the knee no more than six times, the man groaning in agony, before it finally severed and fell to the ground. Marc pulled back, panting.

The blood on the tarp was rapidly turning from a few splattered puddles into a small pond. I could do nothing at that point but shut my eyes.

'I've always wondered what it would feel like to have no legs.' Marc paused. 'So, what does it feel like?' He laughed loudly. The blackmailer was beginning to turn ghostly pale and he was shaking uncontrollably. 'I've also always wondered what it would feel like to have no arms.' Marc chuckled.

Facing his victim directly, his bloody hands took a strong grip on the axe and raised it a third time, taking aim at the left shoulder. He chopped, once, the man moaned, cried. He chopped again. I could hear him panting; begging, pleading with Marc to stop. He chopped again; the left arm severed completely. It fell towards the ground but before it could land safely was stopped by the rope bound around the man's wrists, tying his two hands together. It dangled down as if that's exactly what it was supposed to do.

'You know, I've been told that when someone is tortured, like this, after a while the adrenaline kicks in and they don't really feel any pain at all. Some people actually experience euphoria.' He bent down so he was eye to eye with his victim. 'I wonder if it's true.' Marc asked thoughtfully. He pulled back and shifted towards the man's other side, raising his axe a fourth time. The man eyes were closed as the axe swung down on his only remaining limb. It took ten pounding swings of the axe before Marc was able to completely severe the arm. Ten crunching thuds. I remember counting; I muffled, faint moans. I remember the look in Marc's demonic eyes, his groans as he became more and more exhausted each time he swung the axe into the air.

Both arms landed on the tarp with the same horrifying, crinkling thud the legs had made.

The man was non-responsive, but, I could still see his chest moving quickly up and down. He was still alive – just. A living torso, tied to a chair, a sight so hard to believe, a sight no one can forget. I hate myself for this, but after that happened, I found myself wondering what else Marc would chop off or shoot. But he was finished with both the axe and the gun. He wiped his hands onto his shirt, now redder than white, and threw the axe onto the tarp, exactly as he had done with the gun.

He walked back to the chair, carefully making sure he didn't wander away from the plastic. He picked up his third weapon – the knife. Once again, he admired his new weapon for a moment; ran his finger gently along the blade. I knew the blackmailer would not be alive for much longer. I sat there, looking away, feeling numb, scared and sick all at the same time.

My focus shifted when I heard Marc speaking again. I looked back up through the small hole in the screen.

'In your next life, perhaps you should think twice before deciding to blackmail a murderer.' He laughed, walking over to him, slowly; the knife held tightly in his right hand. I don't even know if the man really heard what he said. Marc kicked the severed legs out of the way and crouched down onto the man's lap. Placing the tip of the knife onto his victim's forehead, he slowly peeled off the duct tape. The man's head lolled back and forth from the movement; eyes closed.

Gently, Marc transferred his weight into the knife and dragged it slowly down the centre of the guy's face. From side on, I couldn't see the wound he was making, just the tiny trace of blood it created, trickling down the side of his face. Marc guided the knife downwards, over his nose, through his lips. Marc's eyes lit up the entire time.

He didn't stop at the base of the face. He continued, dragging the knife down his neck, towards his torso. Marc's hand shook hard as he forced the knife down, ripped through his T-shirt and dug into his abdomen. The man didn't move.

When the knife reached his groin, Marc stopped. He pulled the tip of the knife out of the man's flesh and completely ripped open the victim's T-shirt with his bloody hands. He pulled the knife backwards and with force, jammed it straight into the blackmailer's chest. The man's head flopped back, pulled by gravity. Marc tried to pull the knife out almost immediately but couldn't, it was stuck. He twisted the knife, pulling it at the same time. His head flopped forwards. The noise of flesh being sliced and bone being cracked was sickening. Marc stopped for a second, recovering some strength, and then with a loud groan, yanked the knife out of the man's chest. His head, a distinct shade of blue flopped to the side; I was able to see his face front on for the first time. I pulled away from the screen.

I could hear Marc continuing to stab the guy's stomach over and over. Groaning, wrenching the knife in and out of his abdomen, until, he was finally satisfied.

I forced myself to look back up once more. Marc was wiping a few specks of the man's blood off of his mouth with his palm. He tossed the knife down onto the tarp, panting. It landed on top of the axe, creating a clinking sound as the two weapons connected.

He stumbled backwards a little, dazed. Once he got his breath back he began to undress himself. He un-buttoned his bloody white shirt, rolled it up into a ball and tossed it towards the body. He took off his belt, tossed it on the tarp as well and pulled off his grey pants, followed quickly by his briefs. Lastly, he carefully untied his black leather shoes, drew his long feet out and peeled of his clean, white socks; placing his clean feet onto the clean floor. He collected the plastic off of the furniture, bound it up and threw it onto the tarp as well. He then began to wrap the tarp up from the outside. I watched his naked body gather the ends of the tarp and make a gigantic sac to house the weapons, the body, and the blood. He dragged the tarp towards the hole in the floor, picked it up with a huge groan and placed it gently down into the hidden room, taking a few recovery breaths before following. He remained down in the room for some time. I could hear him, struggling to pick up the tarp, tossing it into the furnace. More heat made its way slowly upwards and out of the hole. I could feel the warm air, smell the burning plastic and flesh. It was all I could do not to vomit. When he came back out he was drenched in sweat. His naked body, once appealing, now disgusted me. He walked slowly across the room and entered the bathroom towards the back. I heard him turn the shower on. I started to think about getting out of there and how I could do it without being seen or heard. I would have left at that moment, if my legs hadn't of been shaking so much. I could barely stand, let alone run up the stairs and out of the building. I thought perhaps once he finished cleaning and re-dressed himself he would leave, which would mean I could go eventually, un-noticed, once I had recovered slightly.

After five minutes the shower stopped and he exited the bathroom with a fresh white towel around his waist.

He walked back over to the hole in the floor and shut the door to it, locking it with the tiny silver key. He placed scarlet the rug back, concealing the large door once more. The room was returned to normal.

At that point, I realised my hiding place was no longer safe. Behind me, against the wall, was a wardrobe full of Marc's clothes.

It was obvious Marc would be getting dressed and when he arrived at the wardrobe he would see me. I looked through the hole in the changing screen and saw him heading towards me. Quickly and clumsily, I managed to stand up, grab my stuff and scuttle to the end of the screen. When Marc arrived at the other side of the screen, I ducked around it quickly so he couldn't see me. Immediately, I ran for the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. I unlocked it and bolted out of the room.

I ran across the hallway into the ladies bathroom, shutting myself in one of the cubicles. Adrenaline had been responsible for me getting out of my hiding space and running up the stairs, but after I'd gotten myself out of there, my legs turned to lead. I collapsed onto the floor, dropping everything and tried to steady my breath. I couldn't believe what had just happened. I didn't want to believe it. The man I loved was a murderer. No, he was more than a murderer, he was a butcher. I remained there for a while, thirty or forty minutes at least. I wasn't sure, time seemed insignificant. Eventually I found myself beginning to calm down. My pulse was almost back to normal but my legs still shook. I stood up and sat on the toilet seat with my head in my hands. Tears streamed down my face, I couldn't control them. After what seemed like an hour of sitting, hearing giggling women clopping in and out of the bathroom, chatting about nonsense, I found the strength to get up and let myself out of the cubicle. I walked over to the sink and stared at my reflection. My eyes, blood shot, red and puffy stood out frighteningly; my nostrils inflamed, my lips pale, my skin, pearl white.

I turned the tap on and splashed my face with water, washing off the salty residue left behind by my tears. I remained there for a few more minutes, drying my face, hoping the redness would subside a little.

I gathered my belongings and slowly I walked to the door. Raising a shaky hand I let myself out of the bathroom. I tried to walk casually down the corridor, ignoring those scurrying past me, the looks of recognition on the waiters faces. I turned into the dining area where I was bombarded with loud music and laughing patrons. Trying my best to blend in, I headed towards the exit. Just as I placed my unsteady hand on the steel handle of the front door I heard a voice call my name. I turned my head and froze.

It was him.

He was sitting at a table near the window, sipping a cocktail, a plate of half eaten food in front of him. I hadn't even considered the possibility of him being there. His head was slightly tilted in surprise. I must have looked terrified, because that's exactly how I felt. He put his cocktail down gently, got up and walked over to me. I remained frozen.

'Jenny.' He said again, surprised. He approached me. 'You look ... nice.' He stared into my blood shot eyes. 'What are you doing here?' He asked me slowly, seriously.

I remained silent, not sure of what to say, not sure if I could even speak. 'Are you okay?' He asked me, frowning. I forced myself to respond.

'Yes, yes I'm fine.' I spluttered. 'I know its Friday, but, I haven't seen you all week and I knew you would be here so I thought maybe I would surprise you. I was going to set up a romantic dinner downstairs but when I got here one of the waiters said you were having an important meeting.' I improvised, attempting to steady my voice and failing. He eyed me suspiciously.

'Yes, but my meeting finished some time ago. Have you been here this whole time? No one told me you were here.' He crossed his arms and looked around for a waiter.

'I was in the bathroom.' I explained quickly.

'For over an hour?' He leaned to one side.

'I've been sick. I had one of those tostada platters while I was waiting. I think there was something strange in it.' My voice shaking a little less.

'I told Gord not to put anything bad in your food if you ever came here. Hold on, I'll go talk to him.' He moved in the direction of the kitchen.

'No!' I grabbed his arm. 'I think I was just allergic to something in it, you know, like a spice. I've never been able to stomach spices. It wasn't the chef's fault.'

'Right,' he eyed me, 'you're okay now though?'

'Yes, I ... I feel much better now.' I gave a toothless smile.

'Well, I'm sorry to have spoiled your evening Jen, but you should know better than to surprise me.' He towered over me.

'I know. I guess I should have checked with you first. Don't worry about it.' I faced the door again.

'Wait a minute.' He tugged on my jacket. 'You don't have to leave. I don't have any more meetings and seeing as you're already here ... how about I make things up to you.' He whispered, though the tone of his voice seemed strange.

'How?' I put on a smile.

'Well, come back downstairs with me. I'll show you.' He gripped my hands and pulled me towards him.

'No!' I blurted out, a little too loudly.

'No? What do you mean?' He pulled me closer, tighter and stared straight into my eyes, reading my thoughts. The sparkle had gone out of his eyes.

'I have to go home, I have a lot of work to do.' I said.

'Then why even bother coming here in the first place?' He gripped my hands tighter, still staring into me.

'I wasn't expecting you to be in a meeting.' I explained.

He looked down at the floor. When he brought his head back up again his eyes were sparkling once more. 'Well, if you have a lot of work, I don't want to be responsible for you not making your deadline.'

'Thanks.' I turned quickly towards the door again, desperately wanting to get out of there. However, his grip on my hands was still tight. He stopped me and pulled me back.

'Jen, you know that I would never hurt you. I love you.' He stared into my eyes. I stared at him before forcing myself to respond again.

'I know.' I said weakly.

'And you love me, right?'

I paused. 'Right. Look, I really should go. It's getting pretty late.'

'Okay ... I'll call you tomorrow.'

'I don't know if that's a good idea. I really have a heap of work to do. I'll probably need to go into the office. I'll be there till late.'

'In that case I'll call you Sunday.' He stared.

'Uh ... Okay, but I probably won't answer. I just ... I've got a really big case to go through and my boss is going to test me on it on Monday. I need to be prepared, and you know how I hate to be interrupted when I'm working. How about I call you when I'm finished?' The more I spoke, the sillier my excuse sounded.

'When will that be?' He glared.

'Monday night, most likely.'

'Most likely?' He spat.

'Okay.' I began to panic. I realised the worst thing I could do was make him suspicious of me. 'How about I come and see you Monday night instead ... no matter what. Will you be home?'

'For you, of course.' He smiled.

'Okay. Well, bye.' I said, shifting towards the door again.

'Wait.' He pulled me closer towards him and kissed me firmly on the lips. I put up with it, resisting the urge to pull away. Only then did he loosen his grip. 'Goodbye.' He smiled.

Once again I place my hand on the door handle, turning it and forcing it open, ignoring the melodic jingling coming from the bells above my head. I tried to walk out casually. When the door closed behind me I took a few slow steps until I was out of the street light, then I fled towards my car. I drove straight home, locked myself inside and didn't leave.

For days I thought about what I would do. Would I continue to pretend everything was okay or would I get the hell out of there?

I was watching TV on the Sunday night, trying to distract myself. A movie came on. It was about some guy who had a nervous breakdown at his job and he was sent to a mental hospital to recover and de-stress. While he was there he met this girl. He couldn't work out why she was there because she didn't seem crazy. She told him she was afraid of going out into the world.

I thought if someone could go and live in a mental hospital just because they wanted to – then why couldn't I?

So, that's ...

#24 Disobeying

There is a knock on the door. Jennifer stops writing, turns and stares in the direction of the echoing wood. Her heart is pounding. She slowly gets up and moves towards the locked door; she hesitates, reluctant to open it. Before her mind is made up about whether or not to open it, she feels something hit her feet – a note. She picks it up carefully and reads.

Jenny, it's Mike and Dave, open up!

She crouches down onto the ground and looks under the door, observing two sets of feet poking out from two pairs of white pants. She gets up and calls through the door,

'Guys, is it really you?'

'Yes,' Dave's voice says.

'We're here to help you.' Mike's voice follows.

Jennifer unlocks the door and opens it, revealing the two men. 'I told you guys that I didn't need your help.' She is annoyed.

'Well ... we couldn't stand sitting around waiting for ... you know.' Dave responds, tilting his head.

'... for you to be killed.' Mike finishes. Dave shoots him an evil glance.

'Well, we had to do something. Besides, your help doesn't seem to be here.' Dave stares down either side of the deserted corridor.

'I know.' Jennifer's eyes tear slightly. 'What do you intend to do anyway? Hang on,' her eyes light up, 'how did you even get in here? Only female patients can get through the door.' She places her hands onto her hips.

'Well, those guards weren't kidding when they said they were going to sedate the other guards. I walked out of my room just before and found the guard who patrols our ward lying on the floor, fast asleep.' Dave says.

'Yeah, and I stole his key card.' Mike flashes the white card, a smile on his face.

'I see ... So, what are you going to do?' Jennifer asks.

'We're going to hide you.' Mike says, excited.

'Hide me? How?' She tips her head back disbelievingly.

'Well, the guy who is going to kill you will most likely come here to do it. So, we figure if you're not here then he can't kill you. And if he can't find you, then he really can't kill you.' Dave explains, pleased with himself.

'Wow guys, that's such an ingenious plan.' Jennifer says sarcastically, crossing her arms and leaning into the door.

'Well, do you have any better ideas? Or would you rather just sit here and wait for this guy to axe you.' Dave shoots in a whisper.

'Peter said to wait here.' She seems disheartened.

'Yeah, but don't you think he'd be here by now?' He questions, folding his arms.

'Maybe he got held up.' She defends, looking away.

'Held up? Come on, he's not coming Jenny. Let us help you.' Dave pulls her away from the door.

'Yeah.' Mike agrees. 'We're two very strong and capable men.' He says, proudly bulging out his flat chest.

'Sure.' The word comes sceptically out of Jennifer's mouth. 'Well ... I suppose you're right. I mean, he's had the whole day to get here.' She takes a look down the empty corridor, half hoping for him to appear suddenly. 'Where were you guys intending on taking me?' She looks back at them, sighing.

'Well, we don't have a set destination. See, when this guy comes and realises you're not here he's gonna go and look for you. If we went somewhere and stayed there then eventually he would find us. I think we should just walk around, really carefully, until morning.' Mike says smiling, clearly impressed by his own idea.

'That is the worst idea I have ever heard!' Jennifer snorts. 'What if we run into him?'

'We use ... this.' Dave pulls a gun out of his back pocket, flashing a grin.

'Shit! Where did you get that?' Jennifer cowers back into her room.

'The unconscious guard. I thought it might come in handy.' He tries spinning the gun in his fingers but loses his grip. It lands on the carpet with a soft thud.

Simultaneously, Jennifer throws her bedroom door in front of her for protection and Mike flings himself to the ground, protecting his head with both hands. Nothing happens. Dave laughs.

'The safety hatch is on. I'm not going to try to twirl a live gun. I may be schizophrenic but I'm not an idiot.' He bends down and picks it up.

'Have you ever fired a gun before?' Jennifer's angry face asks when she appears from behind the door.

'Yea ... no.' Dave shakes his head.

'Hey! I think I have.' Mike shouts from the floor.

'Shh ... Can you be a little bit more quite? Tracy is a light sleeper and the last thing we want to do it wake her up.' Jennifer scolds.

'Yeah, you're right.' Dave agrees, cringing.

'Okay.' Mike whispers before hauling his long body up off the ground with his thin arms. 'Hey, I think I have.' He whispers once he is standing again.

'What do you mean you think you have?' Dave stares at him, eyes squinting.

'Well, Horace, one of my personalities is an army lieutenant. He should be able to fire a gun right?'

'He's not an army lieutenant,' Jennifer rolls her eyes. 'He only thinks he's an army lieutenant. I doubt he's actually fired a real gun before. He just walks around holding onto an imaginary one.'

'Yeah, but, I reckon if you gave him a real gun he would know how to fire it.' Mike defends.

'Fire it, sure. But I doubt he would hit what he was aiming at. Anyway, what's your point?'

'Well, I'm Horace, right? I mean deep down a part of me is Horace.' He crosses his hand over his chests to emphasise his point.

'Yeah, I ... I guess so.' Jennifer shrugs.

'So, in theory, I can fire a gun.' Mike says simply. 'All I have to do is channel my inner Horace.'

'And has that ever worked before?' She leans back into the door frame.

'Well,' Mike scratches his head, 'I've never tried it.'

'Okay ... well, in that case, my advice would be ... don't!' Jennifer's whisper elevates.

'But ... what if the murderer comes?' Mike's eyes widen.

'I don't know, just ... we'll worry about it when the time comes.'

'Hey, what does this murderer look like anyway?' Dave asks, turning towards her.

'Well ... he's tall ... blonde ... and quite ... muscular.' She looks down at the ground.

'Wow, he sounds hot.' Mike comments, nodding his eyebrows.

'Yeah,' Jennifer shifts her head back up, glaring, 'real hot – for a murderer!'

'I guess we better get going, it's a quarter past eleven.' Dave says glancing at his watch. Jennifer reluctantly pulls herself away from the door frame, leaving the door half open.

The three of them begin walking towards the end of the ward, Dave leading the way with long strides. Mike tip toes slightly behind him, his hands raised cautiously as he carefully tries to place each foot on the floor without making a noise. Jennifer plods along behind them, her arms covering her chest protectively.

The corridor is lit up dimly by small lamps running along either side of the walls. The three of them appear as ghostly shadows, making their way to the large glass security door at the opposite end of the ward. The two elevators that allow access to the visitors' entrance are still. They gaze through the glass, observing a second guard lying unconscious feet away from the security booth in the corner. Mike pushes forwards and shifts the swipe card to the door, unlocking it. Dave turns the handle and stealthily leads them into the small foyer. Jennifer walks directly over to the guard lying on the floor and kneels down beside her.

'This is the guard that goes up and down my ward at night.' She says, turning the middle aged woman with auburn hair onto her back. Her arms flop firmly onto the ground. 'Poor thing, she's really nice.'

'Yeah, when you're not insulting her.' Dave grins, high-fiving Mike.

'How would you idiots know, you're never in my ward?'

'No, but she comes into our ward a lot at night. She keeps everyone up half the night sobbing to our guard about stuff you've said to her before bed time.'

'Oh.' Jennifer looks away from them and into the guard's peaceful face.

'She must've been heading into our ward when the sedative took effect. Anyway, we can't afford to waste time, let's get going. I thought it would be safer to use these elevators,' Dave explains, 'because if I were a murderer I would want to use the patients' elevators and the staff entrance. Not this visitors' ones.'

'Nice thinking Sherlock.' Jennifer says, getting up from the ground. 'Say, what if someone is watching the monitors, won't they see us?' She puts her hands on her hips.

'Maybe, we'll just have to hope that guard is asleep too. I thought the second floor would be a good place to go seeing as it's mainly offices.' Dave walks towards the elevators and presses the down button on the wall. It takes half a minute for an elevator to arrive and the three of them board it. Dave once again leads the way followed closely by Mike and reluctantly by Jennifer.

He presses the button for the second floor and the elevator descends. When it arrives, the doors ding open lighting up a deserted and eerie corridor. The three file out.

'I think we should stay here for a while, it's pretty deserted.' Dave's voice echoes around the corridor. The elevator doors close, leaving them in darkness.

'What, just stand here in this pitch black corridor?' Jennifer asks angrily.

'How about we go to the group therapy room?' Mike suggests. 'He'll never look there first.'

'Yeah.' Dave agrees. Together, the three of them slowly begin to shuffle down the dark corridor.

'Man, I can't see a thi ... argh!' Mike lets out a girlish scream before thudding to the ground.

'Mike, are you okay?' Dave asks, bending down and extending his hands out in the darkness, trying to locate him.

'Yeah, I just tripped over something.' Mike picks himself up off of the floor. The three of them squint, allowing their eyes to adjust to the darkness, trying to see what Mike had tripped over – another guard. 'Hey, this guy has a torch.' Mike picks up the torch, turning it on. A narrow fluorescent light shines down the corridor highlighting their shadows. 'Neat.'

'Maybe that's not a good idea.' Jennifer puts her hand over the end of the torch, de-illuminating the corridor. 'If someone's here they'll see the light.' She says.

'Yeah, turn if off Mike.' Dave agrees. Mike shrugs and turns the torch off, making sure, however, to keep a strong grip on the 'on' button. They continue walking slowly in the direction of the group therapy room, their eyes finally adjusting to the darkness, allowing them to see a faint grainy outline of the corridor. When they arrive at the therapy room, Dave pushes forward towards the door and turns the handle. It stops sharply when it hits the lock.

'Damn.' He curses, jiggling the knob up and down.

'Here, just use the key card.' Mike shoves the plastic card in his face

'I can't! All of these doors are locked with ordinary locks, can't you see that? I completely forgot.' He puts his hands to his head. 'The key card is no use, I need an actual key!' Dave says. 'We can't hide in any of these rooms.' He begins to take in short panicky breaths.

'Oh well.' Jennifer sighs. 'I guess we'll just have to go back.' She begins to turn away.

'We can't go back! That's suicide.' Mike says, grabbing hold of her.

'Why did I listen to you two? I should've just stayed and waited for Peter, there's no way he's going to let me die. He's probably already apprehended Marc, you know, got him before he even entered the building. And here we are, a pack of psychotic idiots running around a deserted mental hospital for absolutely no reason.' Her words accompanied by sharp waves of the arm.

'Who's Marc?' Mike asks curiously.

'The murderer! You know, the guy we're trying to avoid.' Jennifer stares at him, her angered face unidentifiable in the dark.

'Oh, right ... of course.' He laughs.

'And if that's the case then there's no point sneaking around.' She concludes.

'But, what if it's not the case?' Dave asks. 'Then this is our only option.' The three of them are silent. 'Hey, I just had a great idea!'

'What?' She turns to face him, still annoyed.

'We take the elevator down to the first floor and leave the hospital, then we hitch hike to the nearest police station.'

'We can't leave!' Mike turns towards him.

'Why not?'

'Because ... we're not allowed.' He says simply.

'So? We have a key to unlock the door and legs to walk out of it. Of course we can lea....'

Ding.

The elevator in the middle of the corridor glides open.

*

It is 10:45 P.M. when O'Connell and his men arrive at the hospital.

Their dark rental van drives quietly down the winding bitumen driveway, coming to a slow stop in the employee car park towards the left of the main entrance. One by one they slither out of the van, silent. Once out, O'Connell takes the lead, directing orders to his men in a husky whisper.

'Young, I want you to go to the visitors' entrance now and hide in the bushes beside the door.' He points back in the direction they had come, the bushes barely visible in the dark night, still, Young nods ably. 'Make sure you're well hidden, okay?' Young nods. He double checks that he has his radio and map along with a copy of the security codes before plodding his way into the blackness behind him.

'Okay,' O'Connell continues once Young's head can no longer be seen bobbing away, 'let's continue to the employees' entrance.' The four of them scurry quietly towards their destination some fifty metres from their parked charcoal van. O'Connell's deep navy eyes scan the rest of the parking lot, searching for another rental car. He sees none but is no more relieved than he had been before arriving. They exit the parking lot and continue down a narrowly lit cement path leading along the front of the hospital and around to the left. They continue down until reaching the end of the path, turning towards a reinforced steel door marked 'EMPLOYEES ONLY'. O'Connell stops abruptly as do the rest of the men and pulls his radio off of his withered belt.

'Jones, this is O'Connell, are you there? Over.' He whispers into the radio.

Nothing.

He glances up at his colleagues, a look of warning on his face. He repeats his transmission.

Nothing.

He tries a third and final time. Nothing but the still black night.

'Okay, it looks like Jones won't be able to help us,' O'Connell sighs, 'but, now we know this is for real.' The others nod; fear in their eyes. 'Finlay, you stay here. Go behind that tree.' O'Connell points behind him, away from the door. 'You should be able to get a good view without being seen. Remember, when you see Verdad, straight after he enters contact us so we can get into position.'

'Don't worry, I've got it covered.' He says; his boyish face confident and stern. He nods goodbye, turns and heads to the large tree twenty or so meters south of the door.

O'Connell turns his attention to the steel door, pulling out his photocopy of the security codes. He scans the sheet housing a long list of numbers – a different code for every door. When he finds the correct code, he places his index finger on the point where the number is printed on the sheet and moves his right hand towards the fluorescent key pad above the door's thick metal handle. With care he punches in the numbers. Once finished he draws a deep breath before pressing the 'Enter' key. The small LED light above the handle, previously a dim red, changes to a bright green. With a sigh of relief, O'Connell pulls down on the handle; it gives way easily, opening in silence. He pushes on the door cautiously; it swings open without sound into a minuscule lit up foyer. Another locked heavy steel door awaits them on the left side of the room.

The three men shuffle into the tiny entrance, barely able to close the door behind them. O'Connell faces the steel door, preparing himself to punch in another access code. Once the light on the door turns green, he pulls the handle down and enters, leading Rogers and Hudson into a medium sized L-shaped locker room, curving around to the right.

Two rows of cream metal lockers cover the entire surface of every wall; each with a name printed on the door and a combination lock. The room is half lit with fluorescent light and vacant aside from a few pairs of running shoes littering the floor and some coats splayed across some metal benches in the middle of the room. The men follow the curve of the room until they end up at a small narrow walkway. The walls are covered with coat racks, one fifth of them occupied with thick, heavy parkers. At the end, a heavy metal door identical to the first two awaits them.

O'Connell pulls a large heavily folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and unravels it, revealing a basic map of the hospital. He studies it.

'This door takes us right into the patient's part of the hospital.' He says pointing towards the metal door. 'Let's hope there's no one on the other side.' He refolds the piece of paper, sliding it into his pant pocket. He then takes off his thick black woollen coat, hanging it on one of the coat racks in the walkway. 'May as well take advantage of their facilities, we are doing them a slight favour after all.' He says once his coat is perched neatly on the wall. Rogers and Hudson follow his move and remove their own coats, hanging them up sporadically along the wall. O'Connell pulls his radio off of his belt.

'Okay guys, we're inside the employee locker room. We're about to enter into the main section of the hospital where the patients are. Let me know if the situation changes. Over.'

Hudson and Finlay's voices shoot through the radio one after the other with affirmations. O'Connell clips his radio back onto his tatty black leather belt and continues towards the steel door. Once again he pulls out his sheet of codes and searches for the one that will open the door.

'Wow, this security is really tight.' Hudson muses, jittering centre meters away from O'Connell's shoulder. 'A different code for every door.'

'Yeah, well, it's home to a lot of the country's biggest psychopaths.' O'Connell explains.

'Really? What's your friend doing here then? I know that you said she's pretending, but she's not pretending to be a psycho killer or anything, is she?' A concerned look on his face.

'You don't have to be a psycho killer to be treated here. It helps of course but I believe the main prerequisite is a wealthy family who is willing to pay for you to stay in a first class facility. They're supposed to have some of the best doctors in the country working here which is why they have some exceptionally disturbed patients. Courts around Australia order people to be treated here because of their first class facilities.'

'So what, they have a random mix of really hard core crazy people and really rich not so crazy people? How does that work, I mean, they couldn't all get along could they?'

'They're all separated.' O'Connell's frustration coming forth. 'See ...' He pulls his map out of his pocket. 'There are three different wards here. Different kinds of patients get treated in each ward, the really psycho ones are confined to the top floor, which has the best security available, and they aren't allowed to leave their rooms at all. What's with the twenty questions now? You could have asked me all of this during the two hour drive from the airport.' He mutters, stuffing the map into the side pocket of his jacket for easier accessibility.

'I guess it didn't occur to me, sorry.'

'Well, we're kind of in a hurry so maybe you should save any more questions you've got for later, okay?' O'Connell stares at him, his eyes burning.

'Sure, sorry.' His pale face flashes pink for a short second. O'Connell stares back at the list of codes and cheers when he locates the correct code for the door. He punches the number into the key pad with care. The door opens out into a wide corridor running left to right. O'Connell pulls his map back out of his pocket. The corridor is dimly lit with small lights positioned every few metres along the walls. It is deserted and eerie; the grey carpet appears black in the darkness, the walls a murky blue. O'Connell turns his head towards the left observing a single elevator at the end of the corridor. He then turns to the right where the corridor continues down and around to the left. He glances at the map once more, turning it around in his hands. 'Okay,' he says, 'we have to go right and follow the corridor around to the left and down along the front of the building then around until we get to the end. There should be an elevator awaiting us like this one.' He points to the left. 'We have to take it up to the ... third floor. That should take us to Jenny's ward.' Hudson and Rogers nod. O'Connell leads the way, heading down the aforementioned path. Ahead of them, two solid steel doors, a motionless surveillance camera on either side, await.

'Those doors lead to the visitor's foyer.' O'Connell states as they approach them.

'Holy shit!' Rogers' exclaims, overtaking O'Connell and leaning down towards the floor at the base of the steel doors. O'Connell and Hudson shift their gazes to the ground where two guards are lying, one on either side of the door hidden in the darkness. Rogers' tends to the one on the left while O'Connell hurries over and inspects the one on the right.

'Hello!' O'Connell projects to his guard in a faint whisper, tapping him on the cheek. The guard shows no response. O'Connell places his index and second finger onto the guard's neck, feeling for a pulse.

'He's alive, but his pulse is incredibly faint.' He states, worried. 'I wonder what drug they gave these guards and how much they gave them.' He picks the guards head up and lets it fall back down gently.

'Can we do anything for them?' Rogers asks, gently rearranging his guards head into a more comfortable position.

'I doubt it. It looks like the only way out is for them to just sleep it off. Besides, even if we could do something it wouldn't be a good idea.' O'Connell pulls his hand away from the guard and checks his watch. 'We better continue on, we want to make sure we've got plenty of time to spare.' He gets up off the floor, Rogers follows. Hudson remains silent, his gaze fixed on the two unconscious guards, a slightly ill look on his face. 'Come on.' O'Connell pulls on his jacket arousing Hudson away from his thoughts. They continue, not stopping again until they reach the elevator at the very end of the long corridor. O'Connell presses the 'up' button on the wall next to the elevator. A loud 'ding' resonates around them instantly. The doors drift open revealing an empty compartment with a vibrant plant in the left corner. The three men step in and turn around to face the doors. O'Connell highlights the number three button with a swift movement and waits, strumming his hands along the sides of his legs while the doors shut gracefully and the elevator ascends. It arrives at their destination within seconds. They exit slowly into a corridor similar to the one they just left.

O'Connell leads them straight to a sparkling glass door a few metres from the elevator, a keypad glowing on the left above a metal handle.

'Whew.' Hudson whistles. 'Yep, tight security.' He places a hand into one of his pockets.

'In a place like this, you have to be efficient.' Rogers' responds.

'Yeah, I'll say. It's certainly not the easiest place we've ever broken into.'

'No,' O'Connell joins in, once again pulling out his list of codes, 'but we've still managed to get in.' He smiles lightly.

'Can you imagine the bad publicity this place will have if news of tonight gets out? They'll probably have a tough time recovering, seeing as they pride themselves on their security.' Hudson says, leaning against the wall.

'Yes, but we're not going to let that happen. If this runs smoothly then there's no reason for it to make the headlines.' O'Connell says, entering in the code and opening the glass door leading into the deserted corridor.

'She's in room three-eighteen. It should be just up here on the right.' He says, his heart pounding.

They walk a mere five metres to a door that is resting half open, light shining out of it. Rogers' gives O'Connell a warned look. O'Connell flicks his head sharply to the left and then to the right, signalling his men to move either side of him. Rogers' stays on his right side while Hudson walks around the left. O'Connell pulls his gun out and indicates to Rogers and Hudson to do the same. He aims it towards the door, Rogers and Hudson follow suit. Slowly, O'Connell taps the door with his foot, opening it wider, gun ready. The room is empty.

'Where is she?' Rogers projects lowering his gun. 'I thought you told her to stay put.' He stares at O'Connell, confused.

'I did.' O'Connell grinds his teeth, returning his gun to its holster. He strides over to the closet on the right and slides the door open, pushing around a large collection of white garments and colourful shoes, searching.

'Do you think he's already got her?' Hudson asks walking up to him. Rogers is looking underneath the small tidy bed.

'No. He would've killed her right here and then left, he wouldn't have taken her away. Besides, there's no sign of a struggle.' O'Connell turns and marches over to the desk. Sitting isolated in the centre of it, splayed wide open is a note book; a blue pen resting in the spine. His eyes fill with recognition.

'This is Jennifer's hand writing.' He states, picking up the book and beginning to read. 'Guys, this is interesting.' He waves them over to him.

'What?' Rogers and Hudson ask in unison when they reach the desk.

'This book ...' He flips back a few pages. 'Jennifer's written everything that's happened to her in it. It looks like she hadn't finished writing the last bit, like she stopped abruptly ... which I bet means she only just left.' His eyes excited.

'But the elevator we took was waiting on the first floor and we didn't cross paths with her.' Rogers says.

'There are two other elevators at the other end of this corridor, she must have gone that way.'

'Should we go and see?' Hudson asks, leaning back towards the door.

'No. Verdad obviously hasn't come yet, and it doesn't matter whether or not Jennifer is here, this is still the perfect opportunity.

'I'll go and find Jennifer, you two stay here, set up a trap.' O'Connell orders, looking around the room.

'A trap?'

'Yeah. One of you hop in the bed, pretend to be Jennifer and the other hide in the closet. Turn the lights out and shut the door so Verdad thinks Jennifer is in here asleep. Have your guns ready, when he comes in be prepared, he may not even check to see if Jennifer is really in here, he might just shoot – assuming he has a gun that is. Act quickly and do whatever you can to catch him without getting hurt.' He cautions.

'Don't worry, we've got this.' Rogers' says comforting O'Connell with a slap on the shoulder.

'Good, I have faith in you guys.' He stares at them giving a silent nod goodbye and exits the room quickly. He continues down the corridor at a hurried pace, turning as it shifts towards the right. When he reaches the glass security door he yanks the sheet of codes out and fumbles around with it, finding it difficult to locate the correct number. His heart beating faster as midnight creeps closer. With a huge sigh he locates the code, unlocks the door and flies through it, ignoring the motionless guard lying on the floor. He stares at the two elevators on his left, glancing up at the LED screens revealing the floor numbers that each elevator is currently located on. He observes one elevator on the first floor, the other on the second. O'Connell presses the 'down' button. The elevator on the second floor starts moving and arrives quickly. O'Connell scoops himself in between the doors before they are barely open, jams his finger onto the number 'two' button. The doors creep shut, sealing quietly. O'Connell, impatient and worried, recommences strumming his fingers rapidly on the sides of his legs. The trip to the second floor is short and when the elevator arrives he steps out into the dark corridor, pulling out his gun at the same time.

#25 Escape

Dave, Mike and Jennifer cease arguing and fall silent, turning their heads in the direction of the elevators. Dave places his right index finger over his lips and breathes a silent 'Shh,' before creeping to the end of the corridor and peering around the corner. The doors of one of the elevators are wide open, a dull orange light shines out of them. Standing in the corridor directly in front of the elevator, silhouetted by the contrast of light and dark, is the figure of a man with outstretched arms, hands firmly clasping onto a gun. Dave's eyes widen. The elevator doors seal shut quietly, returning the corridor to its former darkness, eliminating the figure from sight. Dave pulls his head away sharply and quickly sneaks back over to the others.

'It's a man – he has a gun.' He whispers frantically.

'Is he hot with blonde hair?' Mike asks in an equal whisper, leaning in with shallow breaths.

'No,' Dave shakes his head. 'He has dark hair.'

Jennifer's eyes light up. 'What else does he look like?' She probes.

'... Uh. Tall and thin and his hair looked kind of scruffy.' Dave stares at her, a little confused.

'And ...' She leans closer towards him.

'And ... I think that's a pretty impressive description seeing as it's really dark in here.' Dave defends.

'What are we going to do?' Mike asks the two of them excitedly.

'Why don't we go down the emergency exit?' Dave suggests, indicating the steel door behind them.

'What if he hears us?' Mike whispers.

'We'll just have to take that chance.' Dave takes a step towards the steel door.

'Wait!' Jennifer screams in a whisper. 'It could be Peter, or another police officer. Dave, are you sure he has dark hair?'

'Yeah, one hundred per cent.' He nods.

'And he isn't wearing a guard's uniform?' The words spill quickly out of her mouth.

'No ... I think he was wearing a suit, brown or beige or something.'

'Well, come on then.' Jennifer indicates towards the direction of the stranger.

'What!' Dave gives her a shocked look.

'What if he shoots us?' Mike blurts out.

'Something tells me he won't. Guys, give me the torch and the gun.' Jennifer orders. Reluctantly, Mike hands Jennifer the torch and Dave passes over the gun. Once she has the items, one safely in each hand, she strides back the way they came. Mike and Dave remain behind.

When Jennifer reaches the end of the corridor she peers around the corner, just as Dave had done. Everything is pitch black. She waves the other two over to her with the long thin torch, held firmly in her left hand. They glance at one another and shake their heads. Jennifer stares at them. 'Guys, come on! You're not bailing on me now.' It isn't a question.

Reluctantly they inch their way over to her.

Once re-united, the three of them continue around the corner in silence, finding nothing but empty space and the unconscious guard when they reach the elevators. They follow the corridor down to the end, turn around to the left, and continue. They reach the end of the corridor quickly. A thick beam of moonlight shining through a window on their far left illuminates the reception area outside Dr Fuller's office. When they arrive at the office door, Jennifer glances up and spots a figure moving swiftly in the moonlight.

She pauses and throws out the arm holding onto the gun to stop the others from creeping any closer. She breathes, 'wait here,' before continuing forward towards the figure. It is slinking around, looking behind and underneath the vacant receptionist's desk. The figure hasn't heard them. She eases herself closer stopping barely two metres away from the desk. She raises the gun in her right hand and points it directly at the figure. Gripping it firmly she steadies her hand before drawing in a deep breath and turning on the torch. A blinding beam of light springs forth, illuminating the desk and the figure crouching behind it.

'Peter! Thank god.' She erupts, lowering the gun.

'Jen! You're still alive.' He breathes, full of relief.

'What are you doing down here?' She squints down at him.

'Looking for you! I told you to stay in your room.' He spits.

'I know, but ... well the guys kind of talked me into thinking that you weren't coming and I wasn't just going to sit there and wait to die ... so I left.' She says, annoyed.

'Yeah, well next time I tell you to do something, do it.' He says angrily standing up straight and brushing down his jacket.

'Okay, no need to get sore about it.'

O'Connell takes a deep breath. 'I'm sorry,' he says.

'Psst, Jenny. Is the coast clear? I mean, are we going to get shot?' Mike's voice calls out.

'Yeah it's okay guys, it's my friend.' Dave and Mike tiptoe over to Jennifer.

When they arrive, O'Connell raises his hand softly, barely producing a wave and utters a brief and confused 'hi.'

'Pleased to meet you!' Dave says bounding closer towards O'Connell. 'We spoke earlier on the phone.' He outstretches his hand and shakes O'Connell's over the desk.

'Oh, yes. I recognise your voice. Thanks for letting me know about all of this.'

'No worries. I mean, I couldn't just sit around without telling anyone that I knew someone was going to be murdered.' He laughs.

'Yes, well ... you did the right thing.' O'Connell says walking around the desk.

'Hi, I'm Mike.' An eager voice projects. 'It's great to meet you.' He waves at O'Connell rapidly. 'You know, Jenny has never mentioned you and I've known her the entire time she's been here.'

'I suppose that was just part of the plan.' O'Connell shrugs.

'Plan? What plan?' Mike turns and looks at Jennifer.

'Nothing Mike, Peter's just being silly ... Say, I think it's time we got going.' She turns to O'Connell. 'We were just on our way out when we heard you arrive.' She explains quickly.

'Out?' He raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms.

'Yeah, that way Jenny can't get killed.' Mike explains, Dave follows with a nod.

'I see. Don't you think it best if we just stay put?' O'Connell suggests.

'Peter, when Marc goes to my room to kill me and sees I'm not there, he's going to come looking. It's best if we just get as far away from this hospital as possible.' Jennifer says.

'But I've set up a trap. My men are in your room waiting for Verdad to arrive, when he gets here they'll catch him.' O'Connell says excitedly.

'You think that will work?' She doubts, flopping her weapons either side of her.

'I don't see why not. He won't be expecting it.'

'Right ... How long do you think we'll have to wait then?' She looks at Dave and Mike who are both housing bored expressions.

'I don't know. I have two men keeping watch over both entrances. They're supposed to contact me when they see him enter but I haven't heard from either of them yet. It's not quite midnight though, maybe he won't come until a little after.' He shrugs.

'Maybe ...' The word is barely out of her mouth when a gunshot resonates above their heads.

'What was that?' Mike says panicking, his eyes widen and his chest bulges.

'It came from upstairs.' O'Connell says alarmed, staring at the ceiling.

'Why would someone need to fire a gun if Marc isn't even in the building yet?' Jennifer stare.

'I don't know.' He slips his radio off of his belt quickly. 'Finlay, Young, are you there? Over.' There is no response. O'Connell glances up, concerned, and waits for a minute. 'Finlay, Young. Can either of you hear me? Over.'

Silence.

O'Connell's looks up at Jennifer, scared, until a crinkle of static comes out of the radio; someone is picking up and fiddling around with one of the radios.

'Who's this?' A voice eventually oozes out. O'Connell's face creases, confused.

'This is ...' Jennifer snatches the radio out of O'Connell's hand before he can reply.

'Jen, what are you doing?' He looks up at her.

'Don't tell him who you are. He's not one of us.' She warns.

'You ... you recognise the voice?'

'Yes, it's a guard. And I'll bet everything he's working for Marc. He's been watching me for weeks, trying to chat me up and find stuff out about me. If you tell him who you are then he'll contact Marc and your plan will be ruined.'

'Hello?' The voice splutters out of the radio again.

'Well, what should I tell him?' O'Connell asks.

'How should I know? You're the detective. Try giving him a fake name.' She shoves the radio back into his hand.

O'Connell brings the radio back up to his mouth, presses the 'talk' button and says, 'Err ... this is ...' O'Connell lets out a few fake coughs, and then in his best Australian accent verbalises, 'this is Bert Whiley.' His attempt at an Australian accent made the name sound like Beart Whilai.

'Who?' The voice on the other end asks.

O'Connell coughs a few more times, trying to get the accent right. 'Bert Whiley.'

The radio is silent for a moment. 'How come your voice is different to before?' The voice questions slowly.

'I had some'in stuck in me throat. It's better now.' Mike stifles a giggle. Jennifer nudges him.

'Well, Mr Whiley, who are you and why do you have men positioned outside Grove Hospital?'

'What are you talkin' 'bout. I'm a truck driva. Just tryin't get in touch with me fellow drivers via the radio.' O'Connell shakes his head and runs his hands through his hair, embarrassed by his performance.

'Oh, well, you must be using the wrong frequency.'

'Yeah, I reckon you're right. Sorry to disturb you mate.'

'Why's he talking like that?' Mike asks Jennifer. 'He sounds like an idiot.' He giggles.

'Shh ...' She spits, this time slapping him on the arm.

'That's okay. Goodnight.' The voice utters shortly, still suspicious.

O'Connell looks at Jennifer again. 'Which guard was that?' He asks, popping the radio away.

'Foreman, at least, that's the name he uses. He patrols the grounds but ... I thought he did it during the day not at night.' She looks at him, confused.

'He must've swapped shifts for this occasion. Shit. This means he's got my other two men. I hope they're okay.' He puts one of his hands on his forehead and leans his head into it.

'So ... I'm guessing that it's highly probable that Marc is already inside the building.' The words creep out of Jennifer's mouth at a higher frequency, she glances around the still reception area.

'Yeah, which would probably explain the shot we just heard.' O'Connell wipes his hand over his forehead, taking some trickles of sweat off with it.

Unexpectedly, his radio comes back to life again, this time a different voice comes out of it. 'O'Connell, where are you? Did you find her?' It is Rogers. O'Connell yanks his radio off his belt again.

'Rogers, what was that gun shot? Is Verdad there? Did you get him?' O'Connell quickly asks.

It takes a moment for Rogers' to reply. 'Yeah, we got him.' He splutters. 'That was the shot you heard.' His voice is shaking slightly.

'You cuff him?' O'Connell half shouts into the receiver.

'Yeah.'

'Fantastic, great work Rogers.' A smile spreads over O'Connell's face.

'Did you find her?' Rogers' asks again.

'Yes, I did. Look, stay put, I'm coming back up.' O'Connell clips his radio back onto his belt and looks up, smiling. 'It's over Jen, we've got him.' He says, rubbing her shoulder.

She nods expressionlessly. Unable to contain himself, O'Connell closes in and hugs her tightly. Her arms remain by her side, she is limp. He pulls away and takes hold of one of her wrists, it gives way to him easily. 'Come on, let's go.' He tries to pull her around.

'What!' She forces herself back. 'You want me to go with you? No.' She shakes her head quickly. 'I think I should just stay here with Mike and Dave. I don't want to see him.' Her eyes gloss over slightly.

'Jen, there's no need to be scared any more, it's over. Besides, I think your friends deserve to get a look at the man they've just saved you from.' Dave and Mike shake their heads rapidly in unison. Jennifer stares at O'Connell's begging eyes, reluctant.

'Urgh ... okay. But I don't want to stay for long. I just want to go home, I miss home.' Her eyes begin to tear.

'I know. Come on.' He continues to pull her away with him towards the elevator at the back of the reception area. Dave and Mike linger behind. O'Connell stops and looks back towards them, 'you coming?'

They glance at one another before shaking their heads.

'It's alright,' O'Connell assures them. 'Nothing bad is going to happen.' He smiles at Jennifer.

'Pete, look at them, they don't want to come. Besides, it's not really anything to do with them. They don't need to be exposed to this. They're just innocent, helpful, harmless people.'

'Yeah, but, we can't just leave them here.' He whispers, 'I mean, wouldn't that be irresponsible? Aren't they, you know, mentally ...' He pauses.

'They're not retarded Peter! They are perfectly capable of looking after themselves.' She snaps at him.

'Sorry ... I just think it would be better if we didn't leave them here alone.'

'I guess ...' Jennifer looks over towards Mike and Dave. They are still and silent. 'Well guys?' She asks.

'I guess if we just stayed near the elevator ...' Dave muses, looking directly at Mike, who has his face scrunched up.

'Urgh ... Alright.' He says eventually. Together, they trot over towards O'Connell and Jennifer silently.

The four of them wait for the elevator in silence; Jennifer hugging herself, Mike and Dave close to one another, half panicking. When the elevator arrives, the four of them board it in silence. The silence lingers until they reach the third floor.

When the elevator doors open they exit, walking slowly but gradually over to the glass security door. They all stop and stare through it. The door to Jennifer's room is wide open, bright light shining out of it lights up the hallway. There is a bulky figure standing outside the room with their back to them, it is staring down the corridor, waiting. The figure has handsome blonde hair and is wearing an expensive black suit; its right hand accessorised with a gun, held ready to fire at a moment's notice.

'No!' O'Connell stomach sinks. 'He's tricked us. Hudson ... Rogers ... He must've been too quick for them. Jen, I have to get you out of here.' O'Connell grabs her arm and guides her back into the elevator.

'Arrrrrrgh!' Mike produces a high pitched, blood chilling scream. Verdad's head turns around, his golden eyes catch sight of the four of them. Dave gallops back into the elevator cursing, O'Connell straight behind him. Mike continues to scream. O'Connell stops, turns and grabs the top of Mike's white T-shirt, dragging him into the elevator with him just as Verdad reaches the glass security door. O'Connell runs his hand down every button fixed into the wall of the elevator and the doors snap shut. 'It'll stop on every floor and we can get out when we want. Verdad won't know which floor to go to.'

'Oh dear lord, oh dear lord, oh dear lord.' Mike starts hyperventilating, waving his hands in front of his face.

'What is wrong with him?' O'Connell says angrily, staring at Jennifer.

'I have no idea!' Jennifer says, turning to face Mike. 'Mike, what's wrong, did you see something? Did you hear something? Did you hurt yourself?'

'I ... I ... I'm nawt Mike. I told ya plenty o' times before I ain't Mike. Who is Mike any ways? And who are you?' He turns to O'Connell. 'You ain't gonna probe me like them aliens are ya? 'Cause if ya are I don't want ya tew.' Mike says frightened, in a Southern American accent, teeth chattering.

'Aliens? What the...?' Jennifer squints. 'Hang on, what time is it?' She demands. O'Connell looks at his wrist watch, confused.

'Right on twelve.' He says, casually.

Her eyes light up. 'Amazing! How the hell does his whacked up brain know what time it is without looking at a watch?' Jennifer asks, more to herself. The elevator doors open onto the fourth floor, they remain inside.

'I don't understand.' O'Connell's eyes crease.

'Mike has dissociative personality disorder, a.k.a multiple personalities. He's a different person every day. I would never have thought that his personality changed right on midnight.'

'Wow.' Dave says. 'This is extraordinary. I wonder why this guy isn't being subjected to extreme testing at some world famous university. There can't be anyone else in the world like him.'

'Yeah, well, I don't care how special he is.' O'Connell yells. 'He just stuffed everything up. Verdad wouldn't have known we were there if he hadn't of screamed.'

'You can't blame him, it's not his fault.' Dave says. 'And we didn't even want to come up here anyway. You practically forced us to!'

'I didn't force you! Besides, I didn't know this would happen.' O'Connell puts his hands to his head. 'Why is someone with his condition even in on this anyway?' O'Connell asks Jennifer as the elevator arrives on the fifth floor. He exits out into the peaceful medical ward.

'He was there when I told Jenny about what I'd overheard and he wanted to help. He probably didn't even think about what was going to happen to him at midnight, he was only thinking about saving Jenny.'

'Well that's very noble but who is he now if he's not ... Mike?' O'Connell asks.

'He's Garry.' Jennifer says, sighing, trying to keep up with O'Connell's quick pace.

'And what kind of a person is Garry?'

'A really, really stupid kind of person.' She says slowly.

'Oh, that's just fantastic! We need someone really, really stupid to ruin this night even more.' He hollers.

'Hey, I'm right here ya know.' Garry says, crossing his arms.

'Sorry Garry.' Dave apologises.

'Look, he's not that bad. We can just hide him somewhere and tell him to stay put. That way he won't be in the way.' Jennifer says simply. The four of them reach the end of the corridor and turn, heading towards the reception area.

'Where can we put him?' O'Connell asks.

'How about in one of the examination rooms?' Dave suggests. They arrive at the reception desk, the area is deserted. 'Hmm ... there's usually a nurse here all night.'

'Look behind the desk, on the floor.' Jennifer says. Dave gazes behind the desk, there is a nurse lying on the floor, unconscious.

'Looks like it wasn't just the guards they sedated.' He bends down, inspecting her.

'Hang on,' Jennifer stops, 'those guards you overheard talking last night patrol this floor, what if they're still here?' She panics.

'I doubt they'll be here.' O'Connell says. 'Verdad's probably in contact with them, they'll have split up around the hospital in order to look for us.

'Now, Dave I think you should stay with ... er ... Garry. I don't want anything happening to you either. If Verdad finds all of us together, the more casualties there may be.'

'What, you want me to just sit back and do absolutely nothing?' Dave protests, standing up.

'Yes, I'd be a fool to let you follow us out of here. Stay put and stay quiet, that way you'll be safe.' He says seriously, staring into his eyes.

'Do it Dave, I don't want to be responsible for any more deaths.' Jennifer says.

'FINE! Can we at least have the torch and the gun back for some protection?' He orders, dramatically. Jennifer looks at O'Connell for an answer, he nods shortly. She hands the gun and the torch over to Dave.

'Thanks.' He yanks the weapons out of her grasp. 'Come on Garry.' Sulking, Dave takes hold of Garry's hand. 'Good luck,' he says, carting Garry off past the reception desk and walking around the corner towards the examination rooms. Garry complies like an obedient school child.

'Well Pete, what now?' Jennifer asks, turning back to him.

'I'm going to get you out of here, hopefully without running into him or one of his men.' He takes hold of her hand again.

'We should use the fire escape, that way would be safest don't you think?' She looks at him, unsure.

'I don't know, at this point I'm willing to bet that no way is safest.' He scans the area.

'Well, I'm willing to bet taking the stairs is safest. I mean if we took the elevator the doors could open out into a sea of gun fire. At least with the stairs we'll be able to hear anyone coming.' She shudders.

'I think you've been watching too many action movies Jen.' He raises his eyebrows. 'But, at the moment, I think you may have a point. Come on.' O'Connell reinforces his grip on her hand and at a fast pace leads her to the emergency exit directly in front of them. When they reach the metal door O'Connell begins fumbling around with his sheet of security codes. Jennifer glances behind them.

'Do you hear that?' The sound of muffled footsteps resonates some distance behind them.

'Yes ... god where is the code!' O'Connell yells scanning his eyes over the sheet of paper again.

'We should've asked Dave for the security card he swiped of off the guard in our ward!' Jennifer scolds herself.

'What! You guys had a security card?' He yells, stopping to look up at her.

'Yeah. I didn't realise that you would be manually typing in codes!'

'Well how the hell do you think I've been getting through the doors?' He shouts.

'I don't know! Why are you yelling?'

'Sorry.' He returns his gaze to the sheet of codes. 'Yes!' He cheers after half a minute, quickly typing in the code and unlocking the door. The footsteps behind them grow louder.

O'Connell grabs Jennifer's arm and yanks her through the door, securing it behind them before starting down the stairs.

They gallop down the steep incline of solid concrete, flight after flight, their faces flushed, breathing heavily. O'Connell is half a flight ahead of Jennifer, flying downwards, when a loud bang echoes up towards them. Jennifer stops, grasping the railing with one hand and her chest with the other, panting loudly. O'Connell turns and stares back at her, sweat pouring down his face, his chest heaving.

'Shit.' He pants. 'Someone's coming up.'

'What are we going to do?' Jennifer just manages to breath. 'The guy that was following us upstairs is bound to be on his way down. We're trapped!'

'No, come on.' O'Connell back tracks, joining Jennifer halfway up the staircase, then continues to the top. She lets out an exhausted groan and follows hastily. O'Connell stops at the nearest exit door leading onto the second floor. He grabs the handle and pushes.

'Stop!' A deep voice yells from below. Jennifer turns, catching sight of an unfamiliar guard pounding up the stairs towards them, his gun ready. O'Connell ignores him and continues through the door, Jennifer stands paralysed. The guard raises his gun and aims it at her head; a faint cry erupts from her mouth, her legs refuse to move.

'Jennifer!' O'Connell pushes his torso back through the door and grabs hold of her cold, limp hand, yanking her towards him. She stumbles backwards clumsily. 'Jen, this is not the time to let your nerves get the better of you. You need to stay focussed, okay?' O'Connell slams the door shut and throws his weight against it. He can feel the guard pounding into the door from the other side.

'I'm sorry Peter, I just froze.' She brings her hands to her head, trying desperately to stabilise her shaking fingers.

'It's okay. The sooner we get you out of here the better.' He puffs, pushing even more weight into the door. 'Where are we?' He scans the dark space. Jennifer recognises the location instantly. She is back where she had been with Mike and Dave when they had heard O'Connell exit the elevator barley fifteen minutes ago.

Before she can answer, O'Connell lets out a scream of exhaustion as the door receives another pounding. His face reddens; the veins in his forehead bulging. Muffled voices escape through the door frame and within seconds the force being exerted from the other side ceases. O'Connell relaxes, panting, leaning the top half of his body against the door.

'It looks like they're going to go find another way to get to us.' He puffs. 'Can we hide in one of these rooms?' He asks quickly.

'No, they're all locked. I thought you wanted to get out of here?' She hugs herself.

'Yeah, yeah you're right ... What's the best way out?'

'The only other ways are to take the fire escape on the opposite side of the building or one of the elevators.' He nods, moving away from the door.

'Well, they know we're here so we can't keep chatting any longer. The fire escape is not safe so I guess we just take the elevator and hope for the best. Where does this elevator lead?' O'Connell indicates the elevator immediately next to the fire escape.

'It opens out at the end of the corridor right opposite the big metal security doors that lead outside.'

His eyes light up. 'That's where I came in. That looks like our best chance.' He hurries over to the elevator and presses the down button. They wait, barely breathing, for the elevator to descend from the sixth floor.

'What's on the sixth floor?' He asks her, curiosity emerging in his vibrant eyes.

'Why?' Her forehead creases.

'I just had a thought. They'll be expecting us to leave which means they'll probably have someone guarding every exit. We actually might be better off finding somewhere to hide until morning.' He pants.

'Well, you won't find anywhere good to hide up there. That's where they keep the high security patients. If you think the security on the first five floors is tough then you haven't seen anything. There's no point, we're better off trying to leave. Even if there is someone guarding the exit, there can't be any more than one person, Marc doesn't have that many men. There are two of us, we can fight them off.' She stutters.

'Jen, don't do anything stupid. If someone is there I will be the one fighting them off, not you.'

'I don't need you to fight for me. I've been doing pretty well the last seven years.' She crossed her arms.

'I ... I just ... I don't want you to get hurt. I already lost you once, I don't want to go through that again. I want to keep you alive.'

Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of the elevator. It opens revealing an empty compartment, relief floods over them. They step in and O'Connell pushes the button for the first floor.

'Alright then, let's pray there's no one down there waiting for us.'

Jennifer nods, arms still crossed. Their hearts pound and their breath halters when the elevator drops quickly to the first floor and drifts open.

The corridor is empty.

O'Connell lets out a huge breath before smiling and taking Jennifer's hand, leading her out of the elevator. Once they are out he drops her hand and stares into her dilated eyes.

'I want you to stay behind me, just in case.' He orders. She nods and drops back, positioning herself directly behind him. She grabs hold of his left hand again and squeezes it tightly. Slowly, with his gun held ready to fire, he directs her down the still corridor. They quickly reach the employee entrance. O'Connell lets go of Jennifer's hand and pulls out his sheet of security codes once more. Jennifer remains closely behind him, still and silent while he fiddles around, punching in numbers.

The cocking of a revolver wakes her up.

The thin barrel of the black gun forces its way into the side of her head whilst a cold, spidery hand takes hold of her left arm, twisting it behind her back. A familiar voice whispers in her ear. She lets out a weak scream. O'Connell turns to face her and bounces back when he catches sight of the guard forcing his gun into the side of her head.

'Who are you?' O'Connell asks. The guard smiles widely revealing a piece of chewing gum and a perfect set of teeth.

'Well, I wouldn't expect you to recognise my face, but you might recognise my cooking.' He grins, rolling the piece of gum around his open mouth. O'Connell looks at him.

'Cooking?'

'Yeah, I've been working at a little restaurant called La Fiesta for some years now.'

'Ah, so this is where you've been.' O'Connell speaks with slow recognition. 'He's got you doing something a little more exciting has he? I suppose this is a nice change, not having to cook disgusting food for people?' O'Connell stands up tall.

'Yeah, it is. You know, I think I like this kind of work a little better.' He shoves the gun harder into Jennifer's head and tightens his hold on her arm; she winces. He laughs. 'Those little guards you had out the front there weren't terribly well trained you know. I had them lying on the ground before they even knew I was there.'

'You better not have hurt them.' O'Connell glares.

'Oh, and what will you do if I have? Spend the rest of your life trying to come up with some way to put me in prison and failing miserably.' He laughs. 'Now, if you don't mind I have to take Jenny here up to Mr Verdad, he's been terribly worried about her.' He mocks.

'No! I'm not letting her out of my sight.' O'Connell spits, reaching towards her. Foreman jams the gun even further into Jennifer's head and twists her arm tighter still. This time she screams, trying to hold back tears.

'I'm afraid you're going to have to. Mr Verdad doesn't like audiences.' He grins.

'Yeah? Well, Mr Verdad isn't going to get anywhere near her. Now,' O'Connell slips his own gun out and aims it at Foreman, 'put your gun down and I might not shoot you.'

Foreman laughs exuberantly. 'You might not shoot me? How nice of you.'

'Put the gun down now!' O'Connell shouts, blood filling his cheeks.

'Okay, no need to get angry.' Foreman lowers his gun laughing, Jennifer sighs in relief. Within less than a second Foreman has his gun raised again, this time pointing it straight at O'Connell. Before O'Connell even has time to react Foreman diverts his aim to O'Connell's left foot and fires. O'Connell hollers out in pain, falling to the ground. His hands clutch onto his foot.

'Peter!' Jennifer screams. She tries to move towards him but Foreman's hold on her is too strong.

'Now,' Foreman directs to O'Connell, sprawled on the floor, 'try catching us, I dare you.' Hysterical laughter erupts from the pits of his chest. He returns his gun to Jennifer's head, reinforces his grip on her arm and begins dragging her away.

'No!' She screams at him, tears staining her face. 'No! Peter!' She cries. 'Peter!' She starts kicking her legs in the air and jerking her torso backwards and forth, trying to break free. 'Let go of me! Please!' She struggles, trying to release her arm, bound tightly behind her.

'Calm down, your death will be much less painful if you don't resist, I can assure you.' He grunts, struggling to keep her still. 'Mr Verdad doesn't want to hurt you; he only wants to kill you.' He chuckles.

'Are you insane? Can you even hear what you're saying?' She ceases struggling as he starts dragging her around the corner. 'You'll be an accomplice to murder, is that what you want? What has Marc ever done for you to deserve this kind of service?'

'Mr Verdad pays me very well.' He spits.

'Pays you? No sane person would do this just for money.'

'Well, I won't lie, the feeling of satisfaction you get when you're in control of someone's life,' he stops, tips his head towards her neck and sucks in the air around her, 'is rather addictive.' He jams the gun into her head harder. 'I'm sure Mr Verdad will agree with me.'

'You psychos should be the ones in here not me. I never did anything to deserve this. I've kept Marc's disgusting little secret all these years, why would I blab now?' She yells. 'All I want is to get out of here, start fresh. Can't you just let me go, pretend you didn't find me?'

Foreman laughs. 'Try as hard as you like, your little persuasion tactic won't work on me.' They arrive at the elevator. 'I've come to realise you're quite the little actress.

'He's waiting for you in your bedroom.'

#26 Last Breath

The elevator arrives on the first floor, Foreman throws Jennifer inside. She slams into the back wall, hitting her head. She rolls, half dazed, to the ground. Foreman laughs as he glides into the elevator and presses the button for the third floor. He turns and yanks Jennifer up off of the floor; blood is trickling down her face out of a fresh gash on the left side of her forehead. He grips her arm once more and twists it behind her; her skin slowly begins to change to a deep shade of purple. She cries out, eyes closed, forehead searing with pain. Foreman takes his other hand, still gripping onto his gun, and jams it into her spine.

'Why are you doing this?' Jennifer asks again, weakly. 'What are you getting in return?'

'Shut up!' He yells at her, all patience gone. The elevator arrives on the third floor quickly and Foreman yanks her out. She doesn't fight back; walking stiffly instead to where she is being directed. When they reach the glass security door Foreman unlocks it with his security card and pushes her through. This time the corridor is empty.

'You know, the other patients are bound to hear, they'll come out. They'll all be witnesses to your crime.' The words come slightly detached out of Jennifer's mouth.

'I don't think so. These doors are all hooked up to the main security system. They are controlled in the head office upstairs.' Foreman continues dragging her down the corridor. 'My colleagues locked every door in this hospital manually via the computer system earlier this evening, except for yours of course. The only way to unlock them is to do it manually the same way. Even if your fellow patients hear, they won't be able to leave their rooms to do anything about it.' He laughs, coming to a stop when they reach her room. The door is half shut just as she left it; dim orange light continues to shine out of it, illuminating the corridor.

'Mr Verdad. I have her.' Foreman yells into the room before pushing on the door.

It glides open. Jennifer screams. She turns her head away and shuts her eyes.

The room is unrecognisable. A dark skinned police officer, bloodied and bruised, is tied up on the ground at the far end of the room; his head bobs from side to side as he lulls in and out of consciousness. The once cream bed spread, now a bright crimson, is pulled back revealing an unidentifiable man; his head half blown apart, his torso swimming in blood.

Standing in the middle of the crime scene is Marcus Verdad, dressed neatly in his black suit and tie, his blond hair perfect as usual.

'Jenny!' He smiles, turning around. 'I wondered where you'd got to. Where was she Gord?' He directs to Foreman.

'I got her just as she and the detective were trying to leave through the staff entrance.' He glares down into Jennifer's face.

'What did you do with him?' Verdad walks slowly towards them.

'Shot him in the foot, he's downstairs bleeding and cowering in pain as we speak.' Foreman smiles, snickering lightly.

'Why did you stop at the foot?' Verdad pauses before letting out a manic laugh and rubbing his hands, focussing his eyes on Jennifer.

'Well, I thought he might like to be informed when you finally get rid of our little Jenny here. Plus I thought you would get more fun out of killing him than me.'

'Yes ... Good work Gord.' Verdad takes his eyes off of Jennifer and looks at his employee, smiling.

'Now,' He continues walking towards them, 'I am curious Jenny, how did you find out I was coming here tonight?' Verdad refocusses his gaze on her, clasping a hand onto her chin and pulling her face towards his. She remains silent, her eyes still firmly shut. 'Jenny, open your eyes – look at me at least.' She remains still. 'Look at me!' He yells, placing a hand on each cheek and shaking her head sporadically. 'How did you find out?' He orders.

Her eyes open into a poisonous glare, she yanks one of Verdad's hands away with her free one before answering his question. 'One of the patients heard your idiot guards on the fifth floor talking about it.' She spits.

'What! They were under strict instructions not to mention your name.' He glances as Gord. 'How would a patient know they were referring to you?' He squints at her.

'He didn't. It was just luck. He's a blabber mouth and I just happened to be the first person he told about it.'

Verdad chuckled to himself. 'Well, your luck has run out.' He stares menacingly into her eyes. 'You swore you wouldn't tell anyone Jenny. I don't want to kill you, I never wanted to kill you, but you've done this to yourself.' He stands up straight.

'What the hell are you talking about? I haven't done anything.' She tries to pull away from Foreman's grip but it is still too tight.

'You agreed to testify against me.'

'What! Who told you that?' She frowns.

'Your number one fan, Detective O'Connell.' His voice is icy.

'I never said that, I only said I would think about it, and the only reason I said that was to make him feel better. This morning I had decided not to talk at all, but that was until I got told that you were coming here to kill me! Needless to say I'm reconsidering my decision.' She looks away.

'O'Connell as good as told me last night that you were testifying against me.' He leans in closer once more.

'Well he lied. He was probably just trying to piss you off or get you to do something stupid, which it seems, you have. I thought you were smart enough to tell when someone is lying.' She looks at him, amazed.

'You're a shitty person Marc and you do disgusting terrible things. But ... as much as I want to hate you and to get even with you ... I can't! This whole time I've been thinking maybe he's decent, deep down, maybe he is the romantic loving guy that I thought he was the entire time and wished that he was. I don't want to believe what I saw.' Tears begin to fall from her eyes. Verdad reaches gently towards her face and strokes a solitary tear off of her cheek, she slaps his hand away clumsily. Foreman pulls on her tighter still. Closing her eyes again she takes a deep breath before opening them and continues. 'Declaring I witnessed something in court in front of a bunch of people, or even declaring I witnessed it to anyone for that matter makes it real. I don't want it to be real.' She sobs, closing her eyes once again in an attempt to stop the tears.

Verdad stares at her, mesmerised. He reaches his hand up again, this time directing it to her shoulder attempting to comfort her.

'Don't!' She spits, trying to pull away.

'You still love me.' He says, shocked. 'You ... you still love me. After all this time, after everything I've done.'

'No.' Jennifer shakes her head quickly; tears pouring down her red face.

'Yes you do!' Verdad defends. 'Why fight it? I've always loved you, ever since I saw you with your head stuffed into that big pile of books at the café.' He half chuckles to himself. 'I'll stop Jenny. I will. We can be happy.' He smiles, showing off his perfect teeth.

'If you think that I would even consider this then you're crazy. You should be the one living here, not me!' She yells, shaking her head.

'You're only saying that because you think it's the right thing to say. Who cares about right and wrong? What you think is the right thing to do isn't necessarily what you want to do.'

'We can't always do or have what we want Marc.' She pauses. 'Besides, you're wrong. I know what I want, regardless of what you say, and it isn't you.' She stares up at him. 'You meant a lot to me. But I've had a long time to think about this. Of course I still love you, you can't just stop loving someone, no matter what they do ... but ... the way you love someone ... that can change. The only reason you want me is to make yourself feel better. You think that if someone can love you and be with you, then maybe you're not such a terrible human being. You destroyed your life Marc, as well as the lives of innocent people and ... I can't forgive that. Whether you have me in your life or not isn't going to change who you are.' A new flood of tears run down her cheeks as the words splutter out of her mouth.

Verdad looks at her before turning and staring at the man lying dead on the cream mattress and the other one unconscious on the ground. His eyes are blank. He tilts his head towards the floor, silent.

'Mr Verdad, just do it already!' Gord yells, impatient. 'The hospital's guards will start to wake up soon.'

Verdad glances up at him, this time his eyes seem full of contemplation. After a moment he stumbles, 'I ... I can't kill her.'

'What! Of course you can. You're just under her little spell. I don't know what you see in her. She's a manipulator. She's got you wrapped around her finger, she's got O'Connell wrapped around her finger, hell, she's even got this entire hospital wrapped around her damn perfect little finger. Can't you see that?' He shakes his head. 'You've killed before, quite easily, what makes this any different?' Gord's eyes are wide, manic.

Verdad stares out into the empty corridor. 'I didn't know those people.' He says vacantly. 'Gord, get Quin and Liam. We're leaving.' He tilts his head towards the floor again.

'What! But ... what about this?' He indicates the bloody crime scene in front of him with his right hand, still firmly holding onto his gun. 'You have to fix this up before we go.'

'No.' Verdad gazes into Jennifer's eyes once more. 'I've ruined your life Jenny ... I'm sorry.' She looks away from him, saying nothing.

Elegantly, he ducks past her and Gord, passing slowly through the door.

Gord, still holding onto Jennifer, turns her around with him so he can watch Verdad leave, his face murderous.

'If you won't do it,' he shouts to Verdad's back, 'I will!' Verdad stops walking immediately and turns back around, surprisingly composed.

'Gord, don't be stupid.' He takes a step back towards them, hands raised. 'Go, start over, pretend you never worked for me.'

'You're a chicken!' Gord cocks his gun, pressing it deep into her back – she winces, scrunching her eyes. A shot resonates down the corridor; the bullet slams into the door frame above their heads, showering plaster over them. Jennifer opens her eyes, looking around for the source of the shot. Gord, distracted, loosens his grip on her and leans out into the corridor.

O'Connell is limping down the hallway, leaving behind a trail of bloody left foot prints, his gun pointing straight at Verdad. Sweat pouring down his pale face. Jennifer pulls herself away from Gord's weakened grip, runs past Verdad and gallops straight to O'Connell. She grabs onto his free arm and wraps it around her neck, helping to support his weight.

'Oh god, are you alright?' She asks him, trying to hold off a fresh onset of tears.

'Yeah, it's just a little scratch, nothing to worry about.' He jokes, panting. 'It looks like I just made it here in time.'

'This is bullshit!' Gord calls out, stepping up to Verdad. 'We came here to do a job. I haven't been running around after this bitch, watching her every move for the last couple of months for you to just ... give up.' He yells into Verdad face. 'If you wanna be through with this business, fine, but at least finish what you started.' He waits for a reply but doesn't receive one. O'Connell and Jennifer huddle together watching the strange scene.

'Fine!' Gord erupts, turning and aiming his gun at Jennifer's head. Her eyes balloon and her pulse speeds up. 'Goodnight.' He says to her, squeezing the trigger.

'No!' Verdad yells out. He lunges towards Gord and knocks his arm out of position as the gun fires. The two stumble sideways and crash into the corridor. Jennifer lets out a pained scream, releases her grip on O'Connell and clutches her hand onto her left shoulder. Blood seeps out of a fresh bullet wound, slowly forming a jagged circular stain on her white T-shirt.

'Jen.' O'Connell comforts her.

Verdad continues to wrestle with Gord's arm, twisting it sharply. Gord, too quick for him, swings around and whacks Verdad's forehead with his gun. Verdad stumbles backwards, touching his hand to his forehead where fresh blood is oozing out of it. Gord stands tall again and refocusses his attention on Jennifer, aiming his weapon at her a second time.

'No Gord.' Verdad yells, lunging back over to him.

He fires quickly before Verdad gets in his way. This time his aim is perfect. The bullet flies straight into Jennifer's chest. The force from the bullet shoots her back, she begins to fall, gasping.

'No!' O'Connell yells, catching her. He guides her down gently towards the ground, navigating carefully around his injured foot. Quickly, he pulls his jacket off, bundles it into a chunky ball and forces it onto Jennifer's chest, now erupting with blood. Still conscious, she stares up at him, her body convulsing uncontrollably. 'It's okay Jen, stay calm. I've got you.' He whispers to her.

Gord, grinning, raises his gun once more, this time aiming it at O'Connell. Just as he is about to pull the trigger for the third time, Verdad grasps onto him again. He flings his hand out, trying to reach desperately towards the gun, attempting to pry the weapon out of Gord's tight grip.

'Give me the gun Gord, you've done enough damage!' He yells.

'Not till the dick is dead.' He spits. Verdad continues to twist and turn Gord's arm. In one quick movement, he manages to get a strong hold on his wrist and twists it, forcing it back with his strength. There is an eerie snap and Gord screams, dropping the gun and pulling his wrist towards him.

Verdad quickly releases his grip on Gord and drops down after the gun, picking it up swiftly just as it comes to a stop on the grey carpet. As he tries to navigate the gun into position, Gord, still clutching on to his newly broken wrist begins to kick him furiously. Verdad yells out with each dull thud, refusing to give up his grip on the weapon. Gord kicks him back against the wall, ploughing his heavy leather boots into Verdad's face. Blood starts trickling out of Verdad's nose. Gord stops kicking him, kneels down beside him and once again tries to quickly pry the weapon out of Verdad's hand. Verdad, quick to recover, shifts suddenly and knees Gord in the stomach, revelling as his employee reels back, gasping. In one quick swift movement, Verdad sits up, aims the gun and fires a bullet directly into Gord's head. His gasping breaths stop suddenly and his face glosses over. He thumps to ground, coming to a rest at an odd angle. Verdad, panting chucks the weapon onto the floor. Verdad stares down at the lifeless body, watching blood trickle out of the bullet wound and drip down onto the grey carpet. He is mesmerised until the sounds of raspy gasps and loud tears bring him back. He looks up towards his right and sees Jennifer lying on the floor, O'Connell bending over her. Quickly, he leaps up and runs over to the couple, matted together tightly on the hard floor.

'Is she okay, is she alive?' Verdad asks O'Connell impatiently, dropping down onto the floor to join him.

'Barely, if we don't get an ambulance here soon ...' O'Connell sniffs, looking over at Verdad. Verdad pulls his mobile out of his pocket and dials '000', all the while staring down into Jennifer's pale face. The call is answered quickly.

'Yes, I need an ambulance. A woman has been shot in the chest.' His voice shaky. He takes a minute to quickly dictate their address and give further details of the injury over the phone. O'Connell takes little notice of him.

He snaps the phone shut slowly. 'An ambulance is on their way.' He says, more so to Jennifer than to O'Connell.

'Thanks.' O'Connell stares at him appreciatively. Verdad nods, becoming more alarmed as Jennifer begins to gasp even louder, taking in quick shallow breaths.

'No Jen, come on. An ambulance will be here soon, just keep breathing.' O'Connell yells at her. Her head moves shortly up and down.

'Jenny, I'm so sorry.' Verdad stares into her vacant eyes. 'I ...' He stops and turns his head away. 'O'Connell,' he says after a minute.

'Yes.' He replies, applying more pressure to Jennifer's chest in response to more loud gasps.

'I should go downstairs – someone has to let the paramedics' in.' Verdad turns to face O'Connell whose attention is solely on Jennifer.

'Yes.' He replies vaguely. 'Good idea ...' Verdad returns his gaze to Jennifer one last time, taking in her soft features. He stares into her green eyes, tear stained and bloodshot and washes over her pale complexion, losing even more life as the seconds tick by. Slowly, he pulls himself up onto his feet, stares down at the intertwined bloody mass that is Jennifer and O'Connell once more before turning around hurrying towards the elevator. O'Connell ignores him as Jennifer gasps, coughing up a small pool of blood. The red liquid standing out vibrantly against her pale skin.

'No! Come on Jen, you can't die.' He cries. 'This is all over now, you have so many reasons to stay.' He bends down and kisses her forehead softly.

'Pete.' She whispers, drawing a desperate breath. 'I'm sorry.'

'Sorry? For what?' His eyes well with tears.

She takes another raspy breath. 'It could have ... been over ... years ago. I'm ... sorry.' She coughs up more blood, gagging.

'It's okay. Don't worry about it now, we'll talk about it later. We've got our whole lives to talk about it.' He brushes her hair back smoothly with his free hand, running his fingers along her glistening, pale forehead.

'Promise you'll explain everything to my parents.' She gasps. 'I love them ... tell them ... I love them.'

'No, you can tell them that when you see them next.' He presses more firmly onto her chest.

'No ... point ... pretending ...' Her voice grows fainter.

'I'm not pretending, it will be okay! It will be okay ...' O'Connell cries out.

'Pete, you're a good friend.' She tries to reach out for his hand but fails, coughing rapidly, a larger pool of blood spilling out of her mouth.

'A friend ...' His face contorts, trying to hide his pain and tears.

'A ... good ... friend.' She closes her eyes, 'read my notebook,' she stops short, gagging.

'Jen, come on!' O'Connell starts shaking her un-injured shoulder. 'Stay awake, you have to stay awake.' More blood pours out of her mouth. Gently, her head drifts to one side and goes limp.

#27 The Chase

'Mate, excuse me, you're going to have to move.' A paramedic places a firm hand on O'Connell's weakened shoulder. He removes his gaze from Jennifer's face and stares up at the man speaking to him. He nods shortly, shifting his hands along with his balled jacket, now matted with warm, sticky blood. He drags his weakened frame along the grey carpet, leaving a trail of blood behind him and rests metres away from Jennifer's limp body. He watches as the paramedics begin working on her.

'No pulse, get the defibrillator ready, I'll start CPR.' O'Connell watches the paramedic who spoke to him pound on Jennifer's chest and force air into her lungs, while another begins inserting a cannula to her wrist. Her body doesn't respond. O'Connell turns his head away from the scene, focussing on the space behind the paramedics. His eyes squint, scanning down the vacant corridor before a spark of fury lights them up. Quickly and carefully, O'Connell stands, applying as little pressure as possible to his injured food. He hops around clumsily until he is forced to balance himself against the wall. Once he is straight he directs his attention to a paramedic preparing a stretcher.

'Where's the man that let you in?' He belts. The paramedic looks up at him, paying little attention.

'Mate, why don't you sit back down, I can see your foot's been injured, standing won't do it any good.' He says focussing on his job.

'WHERE IS THE MAN THAT LET YOU IN?' O'Connell yells, his voice cracking.

'Geese, mate ... calm down. I ... I don't know. He was with us when we got out of the elevator and he unlocked that security door for us.' The paramedic pointed towards the glass door behind them. 'He must've turned around after letting us in.' O'Connell stares at the other paramedics, they are busy performing CPR and take no notice of him.

'SHIT!' O'Connell yells and heads for the elevator. He lets out a frustrated cry of pain as he applies pressure to his injured foot, hobbles down the corridor and through the security door, propped open by a medical bag. Panting, he throws himself into the elevator, jamming his fist into the button for the first floor.

When the elevator arrives he launches out of it, half galloping, half limping. He turns the corner and peers straight down the corridor. The only obstacles he can make out are the faint outlines of the guards lying unconscious at the base of the security doors. He forces himself to apply more pressure onto his foot and brakes out into a hobbled jog, crying out in pain with every second step. His heart is pumping and he draws in a deep, exhausted breath when he reaches the employee entrance. He stops, lifts his injured foot off the ground, yanks out the overly creased sheet of codes and quickly punches in the code. Once the door is unlocked he flies around the locker room and pushes his way into the small foyer leading outside. He takes a brief second to rest his foot, leaning against the pale wall of the small space, then ploughs through the large steel door, entering the freezing midnight air.

He turns to the left, limping quickly down the cement path, heading towards the car park. Once around the side of the building he looks up and catches a glimpse of light, moving quickly down the darkened driveway. He picks up pace, cursing. When he reaches the car park, he throws himself into the black rental van, turns on the engine and reverses, screeching the tires along the bitumen. He slams his foot on the break just in time to avoid hitting a detailed black lamp post, throws the gearbox into drive and floors the accelerator, exiting the car park and flying past the main entrance to the hospital. The van races down the dark winding driveway, pursuing the car up ahead. When he reaches the end of the drive he looks both ways onto the long, flat road awaiting him. In the distance towards the right he can make out the red glow of tail lights. Without hesitation he turns the wheel and accelerates. The van's engine whines as he forces it up another gear, trying to close the gap between him and Verdad.

The van speeds down the long stretch of road, the space between the cars shortening with every kilometre. When there is less than a fifty metre gap, O'Connell turns his concentration towards manoeuvring the van in an attempt to block the navy blue sedan Verdad is driving. He sits perched on the tip of the driver's seat, his blood stained hands gripping the steering wheel forcefully. He keeps his eyes focussed directly in front of him as he creeps closer and closer. Within seconds he is close enough so the fierce light erupting from the van's headlights shines through the back windshield of Verdad's car, igniting a silhouetted outline of his head. O'Connell braces himself and attempts to overtake the sedan. Then, the bright red shine of brake lights appear on the car in front of him accompanied with a magnified screeching of tyres and the stench of burning rubber, Verdad had slammed his foot on the break. Instinctively, O'Connell turns the wheel of his van, hard, spinning it wildly out of control along the flat, empty road, avoiding a collision. The momentum of the acceleration and the sudden change in direction causes the van to topple onto its side. Sparks ignite along the ground as the metal frame of the van grinds its way along the bitumen before slamming into a large tree. On impact, the roof of the van crumples, pinning O'Connell into his seat and the windshield shatters, splintering his face with glass. The fall sends him into unconsciousness. Once the van has come to a standstill, Verdad glances into his rear view mirror to catch a glimpse of the crumpled black wreckage. Smiling, he returns his car into drive and flies off down the vacant road.

#28 Goodbye Again

An eager young man in a crisp, ironed police uniform wheels Peter O'Connell carefully down a steep, warn pebble path, more dirt than pebble. Frost bitten hills flooded with gravestones of dull shapes and colours surround them as they journey down for some minutes at a crawling pace, finally arriving at one of many flat bases after a very long descent. The small flat plane is crowded with people. Dark dresses, grey suits, hats and fascinators with subtle ribbons and feathers. The morbid atmosphere electrifies upon O'Connell's arrival. He sits silently in his chair as on-lookers pretend they are not taking quick sporadic glances in his direction whenever the opportunity arises. As they pretend to ignore the fact his face is decorated with blood matted stitches, his right arm wrapped in a sling tightly bound to his torso and his shoeless left foot pinned together and propped up safely in the wheelchair. Reflective sunglasses disguise his blood shot eyes and there are quiet whispers of how his light brown, un-tailored suit is more than out of place. The plane faced cadet wheels O'Connell closer towards the crowd of people who slowly begin to turn away and wrap themselves around a freshly dug grave where a sparkling white coffin covered in bright pink and orange gerberas awaits, ready to be lowered into its new home. O'Connell is brought to a stop at the end of a large collection of white fold out chairs facing the grave, he remains still, silent, while his companion collects a small program off of the nearest white chair and sits down. He offers the booklet to O'Connell who ignores him, his stare focussed on the freshly dug earth and the coffin that awaits it.

Time trickles past and more guests arrive, occupying the remainder of the chairs with quite conversation; a small collection of guests left without chairs stand scattered at the back of the audience. Some acknowledge O'Connell with short nods, he does not return them; the rest steer away from him pretending he is not there. The minister, aged and graceful, walks up to the glowing coffin; the crowd stills and turns silent. The minister calls for attention before raising his program and reciting the Lord's Prayer.

Our father, who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come,

thy will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,

the power and the glory,

for ever and ever.

Amen.

The audience follows his words in scattered unison, the echo of 'amen' eerie around the silent cemetery and is accompanied with gusts of wind almost playing a tune of sadness. The minister glances up at the vacant crowd and waits a few moments before continuing with the service.

'We are here today to say goodbye to Jennifer Barns, a young, lively girl who was sadly taken from us prematurely.' He draws in a slow rattling breath; sobs erupt from the first row. Carol and Ian Barns sit close to the coffin, hand in hand. 'Jennifer's life was not without its ups and downs. It is true to say that the last years of her life were lived in a rather unusual way, which this past week, sadly ended in tragedy. Her parents have asked that I spare no detail in retelling the events of her life for they want her to be represented truly, they want her voice to be heard.' He turns the page of his booklet and slowly wets his lips before continuing.

'Jennifer, weighed down with a burden much too harsh for her to bear, felt it necessary to lead a life that was, in her words, both equally fulfilling and un-fulfilling. A life where she was forced to pretend to be someone she wasn't for fear of her own safety. Instead of asking those she loved for help she suffered in silence until the night of her untimely death. If there is a lesson to be learned here it is that we must have more faith in our loved ones and friends, we must have more faith in ourselves, faith in our ability to cope when times may seem tough and to face our demons rather than to run from them.' His cloudy blue eyes stare into the crowd.

'I'm sure by now most of you have read in recent newspapers and seen on the local news that Jennifer spent the last seven years of her life living at Grove Hospital, an institution for the mentally ill, something she most certainly wasn't. Whilst there, Jennifer spent many hours writing, or I should say recording, her unique experience.

'Her parents, Ian and Carol Barns,' the minister gestures lightly towards them, 'have asked me to read to you some excerpts of what she wrote during her time at the hospital, to finally give her the opportunity to be heard.'

The crowd erupts into whispers; the minister turns another leaf in his program. O'Connell remains still, the faintest tear begins to trickle in a jagged motion down one of his stitched up cheeks.

'This fist excerpt is the very first thing Jennifer wrote during her time at Grove Hospital.' The minister clears his throat and draws a long raspy breath before beginning.

'Everyone needs an outlet. Here, outlets are supposed to be psychologists, but you're also supposed to tell your psychologists the truth. I can't do that, so I've decided to write. I'm going to write my thoughts and feelings, I'm going to write my story. It may come in handy one day, or it may end up at the bottom of my cat's litter tray, assuming one day, I have a cat.' The minister could not help but smile to himself before continuing. 'I need to stay sane and this is the best idea I have. I'm twenty-one years old, twenty-one. I'm inexperienced, I know nothing and I've chosen to run; I like to use the word escape. Life is not easy, I honestly don't know what I expected but it's not. Maybe I've had it harder than others, maybe I'm just a winger, or maybe I'm just scared. What I do know is that I've chosen the easy option, I've quit life. I've hurt everyone and I'm wondering why I don't care. My parents hate me and I don't blame them. What I did was inexcusable and I don't expect them to understand. I couldn't keep living the life I was living. There was a hard road and there was an easy road. Selfishly I chose the easy one. Maybe someday I'll forgive myself.'

Before continuing, the minister turns the page upon finishing the excerpt and coughs lightly.

'This excerpt was written a few years later.' He stares at the booklet, hands shaking and begins to read.

'I live a life that is both equally fulfilling and un-fulfilling. I'll expand on this statement for your benefit. Life here is fun. I get up when I want, I do pretty much whatever I want, and I act however I want. Sure, everyone thinks I am mean, rude, nasty and vein; but it's easy. Sure, at first I had a tough time, the whole morals thing kind of got to me, but now I find that as each day goes by I care less and less. It's fun being mean. It's fun having no cares, no job, no commitments. It's the perfect life, the perfect escape. Thus ends the fulfilling part. Because then I remember that people have feelings and I am hurting them, intentionally and I can assure you that doesn't feel good. If I were insane it wouldn't matter because there would be nothing I could do about being mean and horrible, but I'm not. Then there are days where you're reminded of family, like today, my twenty-fourth birthday. I can't speak to my parents, the only people who know I'm here, because I am ashamed. I was horrible to them and I know that if I were to re-open any lines of communication I wouldn't be able to keep on pretending. The only way I can remain focussed is to stay detached from life. Is it a small price to pay in order to prevent death? An easy carefree life without loved versus the certain prospect of a gruesome death. I guess I chose to stab myself with the blunter edge of the sword.'

The minister stops, stares at the audience and brings forth a new excerpt. Everyone listens, not wanting to miss a single detail of Jennifer Barns' mysterious life.

'Now I shall read an excerpt from more recent times before ending with her final entry.' The minister says.

'One thing I have been trying to overcome for the past seven years is my confliction of thoughts. I know Marc is a bad man, I know any woman would have to be insane to remain in his company, but, the feelings I have for him, they won't go away. I love him, and I hate myself for holding on to these feelings.' O'Connell shifts in his wheelchair. 'People say you can always get over things, as long as enough time has passed.

'When I was a kid I used to read about young girls who would get seduced by men who treated them terribly and I would think to myself how stupid these women must be, not realising what they had gotten themselves into. Then I became one of those women.

'I want to embrace Marc just as much as I want to imprison him. I know what the right thing to do is, I've always known, but I can't do it. That is why I came here. I could have gone to police, but I didn't. The only way to cope is to try to ignore it. That is what I have been doing and it has worked quite well. But now, after seeing Marc today, ignoring it is going to be hard.'

'Finally,' the minister says taking his eyes away from the booklet, 'her very last entry.' He clears his throat and reads, the faintest of tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

'When you know there's a pretty good chance that in less than twenty-four hours you'll be dead, Pilates isn't that relaxing, "Back to the Future" isn't that entertaining and food is, well, un-appetising.

'I'm in my room. Waiting to die or waiting to be rescued – I don't know which.' The minster finishes, turns the page and looks up towards the crowd; it is still and distant.

Once the ceremony is over and coffin laid to rest, the crowd begins to disperse. The minister makes one last announcement.

'Ladies and gentlemen. Ian and Carol Barns would now like to invite all of you to attend a small gathering at their home, to celebrate the life of the daughter and to share your memories of her. Thank you.'

Muffled noised brake through the crowd.

'We going to the wake Pete?' The cadet asks O'Connell.

He looks up at him. 'No, I don't think so.' He says slowly. 'I don't fancy my presence is wanted there.' He looks over at the Barns', who avoid his eye contact. 'Let's go.' He says to the cadet.

He hops up out of the seat next to him, walks behind O'Connell's wheelchair and slowly spins him around. After taking a few paces, a voice stops them.

'Peter.'

O'Connell turns in his chair as much as it will allow him to and catches a glimpse of Mr Barns, slowly hobbling towards him. Mrs Barns stays back, hidden behind a pair of white sun glasses. The cadet wheels the chair back around to face Mr Barns.

O'Connell holds out his good arm, a piece offering. Mr Barns gives it a faint shake. The two of them stare at each other for some time before Mr Barns speaks.

'I um ... I have to give you this. Carol didn't want me to ... but, I have to, it's the honest thing.' He pulls an envelope out of the inside pocket on his jacket and passes it to O'Connell.

'What's this?'

'Pages ... out of Jenny's books she'd been writing in. The last thing she ever wrote ... it's in that envelope.' He wipes his eyes.

'Oh ... The paragraph the minister read out?'

'No ... That wasn't the last thing she wrote. The last thing ... was addressed to you.'

'To me?' O'Connell takes off his glasses, staring up at Mr Barns.

2 MONTHS LATER

O'Connell's Volvo comes to a squeaking stop on the tip of a steep hill. He grinds the parking brake on slowly, staring at the small suburban home on his left. His eyes take in a dull white wooden fence covered by a row of neat deep green hedges. A metal gate is just visible in the middle, framed by an arch covered in budding wisteria. O'Connell, drawn and tired, steps out of his car, carefully making sure he doesn't knock his left foot firmly strapped into a thick black brace. He hops a few steps along the length of his car and reaches into the back seat, pulling out a pair of short withered crutches. Clumsily he places them underneath his arms and navigates his way towards the gate, his tall body swinging awkwardly in between each crutch. He opens the gate slowly with one hand while admiring the well-kept garden awaiting the arrival of spring. Ready to bloom flower beds circle the perimeter of the front yard with citrus trees planted evenly in the middle of them, emitting a fresh and fragrant inviting odour. He makes his way closer towards the white house, positioned elegantly on stilts, and eyes the steep set of stairs leading up to the front door, he cringes.

O'Connell approaches the base of the stairs with care and starts his ascent. He places his good foot onto the first step and uses it to pull the rest of his gangly frame up, careful to use the crutches as support. It takes him ten times longer than it normally would have to reach the top and once he arrives on the small tidy veranda he pauses for a moment to catch his breath before pressing the doorbell. He leans against the far railing of the veranda, resting his weakened body, waiting. Just as O'Connell gets comfortable, arranging his crutches so they stand by themselves and his broken foot gently resting on the ground, the newly painted white wooden door opens and a middle aged woman with dark skin and curly brown hair pops into view. She stares at O'Connell through the protective screen door and forces a smile before turning the handle and allowing it to squeal open.

'Hi.' She says, attempting not to be too obvious with her stares at O'Connell's heavily scarred face.

'Hello Diane. How are you?' He breathes; soft and weak, not moving from his position.

'I'm fine, thank you. How's your foot?' She says, staring at his brace in an attempt to avoid his face.

'Oh, it's getting there. Doctor says I'll be right as rain by the end of summer. Is Rogers ... ah ... Jeff in?' He peers through the door behind her.

'Yes, he's watching the cricket.' Diane smiles.

'Ah, who's playing?' O'Connell feigns interest.

'Australia vs. England. We're winning.' An awkward silence follows. 'Sorry, I guess you probably want to come in. Jeff'll be pleased to see you.' She half smiles.

Diane holds the door open for O'Connell while he collects his crutches and swings his way into the house. Once inside he waits in the narrow hall for her to show him into the lounge room. Rogers is sitting in a cushy brown arm chair, a beer in hand, watching the television with focussed attention.

'Jeff.' Diane calls. He jumps, turning his head to look behind him.

'O'Connell! How've you been?' He smiles, spinning his torso around so it is in line with his head.'

'Oh, well thanks. What about you, missing work?'

Rogers waits until his wife leaves the room before replying. 'Yeah, I'm missing work like crazy.' He whispers. 'A guy can go mad sitting at home all day, mad.'

O'Connell laughs softly. 'Well, I'm sure Holmes would be very glad to have you back.' He says.

'It's tempting sometimes, but I don't think so. Sit down.' He motions towards an identical chair next to him.

O'Connell manoeuvres himself awkwardly over to the chair, shifting his weight towards his good foot, removing his crutches from underneath his arms and setting them on the ground. He takes a few short hops around the chair and uneasily collapses into it.

'I just can't help but think that I could've ended up the way Hudson did.' Rogers continues. 'I was the one who was going to hide in the bed, not him. But, he figured I'd be able to stop Verdad more easily because I'm big, so we swapped. I didn't even get a chance. Verdad opened the door and fired without even hesitating.' Rogers' shakes his head, cringing. 'What kind of person does that? I mean, he thought the girl was in that bed, he had no clue she wasn't. When he realised she wasn't there, he was furious. He was too strong for me.' He shivers. 'He had me on the ground within seconds, took his anger out on me. The only reason he didn't kill me was because he needed me as a way to find out where she'd gone.' O'Connell had heard this re-telling of events many times.

'I had a lucky escape, very lucky.' He took a nervous swig from his beer bottle, gulping rapidly. 'And so did you mate,' he added. 'I can't imagine why you're so upset about being let go.'

O'Connell turns his gaze towards the window opposite him and stares, admiring the clear sky. After a minute he speaks, ignoring Rogers' comment. 'None of us knew that was going to happen. These kinds of things, they're so unpredictable ... they really aren't anyone's fault.' O'Connell says, although barely believing it himself.

'I know. But still, it makes you think, makes you appreciate life. My boys are still young. I don't want them to grow up not knowing their dad. It's different for you, you haven't got anyone.' O'Connell sits silent, biting his tongue. 'Sorry,' Rogers' sprouts quickly. 'I didn't mean for that to sound so harsh, I mean, you just don't have anyone ... yet.'

O'Connell nods stiffly. 'Don't worry about it, I understand. Family is important and ... I'm sure if I had what you have, I'd be doing the same thing.' He sighs quietly, Rogers doesn't hear.

'So,' he says after a short silence, attempting to appear unaffected. 'What are you going to do now then?'

'I dunno.' Rogers breathes. 'Diane is dying to go back to work. She was a teacher before we had the kids but she gave it up to look after them. She's been going on about a role reversal. She'll be the bread winner and I'll be the stay at home dad. Can you believe that? Me, a stay at home dad! The guys at the station would be laughing at me if they knew.' He shakes his head.

'Yeah ...' O'Connell chuckles lightly.

'So, what brings you here anyway? Not that I'm not glad to see you, I'm just surprised. You've never been one for social visits.'

'I umm ... wanted to see how you were going – you've healed really well.'

'Yeah, the doctors did a great job fixing up my nose.' There was a brief silence. 'I wish I could say the same for you.' A look of pity in his eyes as he takes in O'Connell's face, heavily scarred. O'Connell ignores his comment.

'I also thought you might like a little update on things as well.' He says.

'Oh? He raises one eyebrow and stares at O'Connell through the corner of his eye. 'You know what's going on?' He asks slowly.

'Some of the guys at the station have been nice enough to keep me posted about everything.'

'Right ...'

'I er ... went and visited the cemetery yesterday.' O'Connell says. 'Put some flowers on Hudson, Young and Finley; gave them my best, and yours too.' O'Connell shifted his foot around.

'Thanks. You know, I can't believe that guy, he just ... just ... shot Finlay and Young, in cold blood. I bet they didn't even see him coming. I guess we'll never really know what happened, seeing as he got killed as well. What was his name again?'

'Gordon Lynch. He'd been working for Verdad for years.' O'Connell stares at the television, avoiding Rogers' gaze.

'How come we never investigated him?'

'No reason to. I'd always thought he was just an absent minded employee, you know, helping Verdad out without actually knowing what it was that he was helping him with. Apparently he knew exactly what he was doing, knew the entire time. So did his brother, Quinton. They'd been involved in Verdad's little business since the beginning.'

'Do you know when the trial against this ... Quinton is?'

'Yeah, never. He committed suicide last week.' O'Connell said emotionless.

'What?' Rogers mouth opens wide.

'As soon as he got out on bail he fired a bullet right into his mouth.' O'Connell continues staring unemotionally at the television.

'And it was definitely suicide?'

'Yes, the coroner is sure of that.' Rogers says nothing. 'I know what you're thinking, that Verdad came back to tie up loose ends.'

'Well, it's possible, right? I mean, that's what he's done all along.'

'Yes, but there's no way of proving that. Besides, he hasn't been seen at all.'

'Where do you think he went?' Rogers leans closer towards him.

'Somewhere I can't find him.' O'Connell's crystal eyes turn cold.

'What about the third man that was undercover at the hospital?' Rogers asks.

'Skipped town. Apparently he was only newly recruited, didn't realise at the time what he'd gotten himself into. He's made things worse for himself now, running away.'

'Are they looking for him?' Rogers' voice raised an octave.

'There's a warrant out for his arrest but, he never did anything wrong, just an accomplice. He won't get much of a gaol sentence if he's ever caught.' He snorts to himself.

'No ...' Rogers resumes staring at the cricket, someone had been bowled out.

'I did learn something interesting last week though.' O'Connell continues.

'Oh?' Rogers half faces O'Connell.

'Apparently the psychologist in charge of treating personality disorders at Grove Hospital had been put there by Verdad as well.'

'What? How?'

'She was the right person at the right time. Of course, Verdad had arranged it so that she was the right person and it was the right time.'

'You mean the old psychologist, Granger, was murdered so she could be put in his place.'

'Not quite. Verdad gave him an incentive to retire so she could be put in his place. The thing was, Verdad never gave the old psychologist the incentive he offered him, so naturally Granger threatened to come to us – so Verdad killed him.'

'How did this all come out in the open?'

'The psychologist, Deborah Fuller is her name, came forward. Apparently she wasn't in on the plan to kill Jennifer. Her job was to just keep an eye on her and try to find out if she was really mentally ill or not. Verdad was apparently dying to know whether or not Jennifer was narcissistic, that's why he went to such lengths to change her psychologist. Fuller said that Verdad as good as told her over the phone he had killed Granger. She was scared the same thing would happen to her so she kept her mouth shut. After that, she said she tried to avoid speaking with Verdad, tried to stop him from visiting Jennifer. She was certain that Jennifer was ill and was worried he would send her off track, of course she didn't really know why Verdad was so interested in Jennifer, you know, that she'd seen him commit murder.' O'Connell stops, covering his face with his palms.

'Are you okay?'

O'Connell sits still, cradling his face. After a long silence he takes his hands away, eyes red. 'I just really wish it hadn't happened this way.'

'Why don't you get a drink, join me to watch the Aussie's thrash the poms.' Rogers says in an attempt to cheer him up.

'I think you're forgetting that I cheer for the poms.' O'Connell smiles lightly. 'Thanks, but I have to get going. I umm ... really came here to say goodbye.'

'Goodbye?'

'I'm going back to Scotland. There's nothing here for me now. The only reason I've stayed around this long after the incident is because of my injuries. But, the doctor gave me the all clear to travel last week.'

'Mate ... What do you mean there's nothing here for you. You could get another job, if you give it some time, you know, wait till everyone forgets.'

'No. I stuffed up, there's no point denying it. Even if I could get another job I wouldn't stay. Everything here reminds me of her.'

'What are you going to do? When you get back to Scotland I mean.'

'The police station in my hometown has been kind enough to offer me a position, I've accepted. I fly out on Saturday.'

'Two days ... Have you got everything sorted?'

'Yeah ...' Rogers' leans towards O'Connell and pats him on the back just as a tear begins to roll down his face. 'Sorry,' he sniffs.

'Don't be sorry mate. You've lost someone special, it's natural to be upset.'

'If you ever find yourself in Scotland, look me up, okay?' O'Connell says attempting to compose himself.

'Sure.' Rogers' nods, doubtful.

'Well, take care. Look after your family, enjoy your second chance.' O'Connell smiles then picks himself up out of his chair. He collects his crutches and fiddles around with them clumsily before securing them under his arms. Rogers stands up with him and grasps his hand, shaking it.

'You enjoy your second chance too, okay?' Rogers gives him a strong stare. 'You've been miserable for too long.'

'I will ...' O'Connell nods loosely.

'I'll walk you out.' O'Connell trails Rogers all the way to the door.

'Say goodbye to Diane for me.' O'Connell says passing through the door while Rogers holds it open for him.

'I will. Have a safe flight.' Rogers gives him two hard taps on the back.

'Thanks.'

'And be careful going down those steps.' Rogers laughs, lightening the mood. O'Connell throws him a short wave goodbye and begins his descent with care. Rogers waits until O'Connell is safely down the steps, waves one last time, and returns to his cricket match.

Epilogue

A black BMW glides down a peaceful winding road surrounded by majestic and calm snow-capped mountains. It descends gracefully until the road straightens and flattens out, passing by lush green meadows and plentiful livestock. After some minutes of silent un-interrupted travelling, the car turns down a small street and continues until a small collection of shops appear, almost out of nowhere. The BMW comes to a stop outside a grocery store. The shiny black front door opens smoothly and the driver hops out, whistling to himself in a cathartic manner. He is dressed in cream pants, a white shirt and a black V-neck woollen vest. His hair is blonde, neatly styled and his face cleanly shaven. He skips into the tidy, quaint grocery store. Inside he picks up a package of flour tortillas, mozzarella, sour cream, a ripened avocado and a jar of tomato salsa. Carrying his small collection of items he arrives at the counter and places each one down gently.

'Good afternoon.' The elderly, short man behind the counter greets him. He picks up the items, individually priced and one by one punches each number carefully into the register.

'Afternoon. You wouldn't be able to tell me if there is a nice butcher around here? I'm new to the area.' The man with the blonde hair asks.

'Yes, there's quite a nice butcher around the corner. Just continue down this road and turn left when you get to the end. You'll see it easy enough.' The shopkeeper starts placing the groceries into a bag.

'Excellent. I'm wanting to get a really nice quality beef roast. There's nothing like local produce.'

'True, very true.' The elder man chuckles. 'Cooking a Mexican dish?'

'I am indeed, I wonder what gave that away.' The man laughs. His laugh is sophisticated, melodic, practised; just like his new accent.

The shopkeeper smiles. 'Well, I hope it turns out well for you. So, that'll be eleven dollars fifty sir.'

The blonde man pulls out a shiny black leather wallet. 'I think I've got the correct change.' He shuffles his fingers around inside his pocket, selects the appropriate coins and hands them to the shop keeper who inspects them carefully with his failing eyes.

'Oh,' he looks up, 'this one's Australian.' The shopkeeper hands him back a ten cent piece.

'Oh. Sorry, don't know how that got in there. I suppose the currency looks so similar.' The man smiles.

'It certainly does, we get a lot of it, people trying to pass it as our own. Have you been to Australia recently?'

'No, I've never been.' The man takes his bag of groceries from the shopkeeper.

'You should go, it's different to here, even though it's only a few hours flight away.'

'Yeah, maybe one day I'll get over there. Anyway, thank you very much. Have a nice afternoon' He nods his head towards the shopkeeper and turns away.

'You too.' He steps out of the shop and walks back to his car. Elegantly sliding into the driver's seat, he places his groceries on the passenger side and drives off down the quaint silent street.

A man, perched on a motorcycle in the corner alley beside the grocery store, hovers there in silence. He stares at the black car as it drives off down the calm street. Once the shiny BMW turns the corner, the man ignites the bike, revs it a few times and pushes off, heading in the same direction as the car. Dark curly hair pushes its way out of the base of the man's helmet, blowing swiftly in the artificial wind. He is dressed in heavy black leather from head to toe; the blackened visa on his helmet disguising his scarred face. The only item out of place, his left foot, secured tightly into a heavy black brace, resting gently on the side of the bike – a revolver strapped onto the inside of the frame.

###

About the author:

Kristen Rose is a young aspiring author based in Brisbane, Australia. She has a Bachelor of Arts from Griffith University with a major in writing. During her studies she had a short story titled A Punch Bowel Full of Sangria published in the 2010 edition of Talent Implied, a Griffith University creative writing anthology. The Institution is her first novel which she has self-published in ebook format. She is currently studying a Bachelor of Nursing, however spends her spare time pursuing her passion for creative writing. Her next novel is currently in the early stages of development. An untitled fantasy/adventure, it is intended for audiences young and old.

Kristen describes The Institution as an intended work of popular fiction with what she hopes is a slightly unique twist compared to a lot of popular fiction currently circulation. At times she enjoys writing quirky stories bordering on interstitial fiction. Her aim when it comes to writing is to create something entertaining, easy to read and different.

