When lunchtime arrived, Cody couldn't help but notice that his tray didn't have any silverware. In fact, the only thing they had to eat with was a strangely-small plastic spoon. "Not even a fork?" He muttered in annoyance.

When he entered the cafeteria, it wasn't anything more than he expected, but it certainly wasn't as decent as he thought it'd be. There were five worn-down wooden tables. People filed to their seats, though many appeared uncomfortable, or angry to be there. Only a few seemed excited for mealtime. One of three times a day when they could ignore their plain, monotonous lives. The tables looked ready to splinter if someone blew a kiss in its direction. That was an action Cody half-expected somebody to do around here.

On the far side of the room, he had to collect his food. In one part of the tray, a pile of sludge. In another, broccoli steamed-to-slush, and then there was some orange stuff he presumed were carrots. Just your everyday well-balanced diet, right?

The side wall was where the windows were. Large windows that stretched across the entire wall, allowing sunlight to filter in. These rays of light, these beacons of hope, were a source of freedom these people craved, always there, but always just out of reach.

Against that side wall, there were three small, round tables, with two chairs on either side of them. At the third table, in the chair farthest from the entrance and closest to the 'edible food', Cosette sat. She stared out the window, head slowly bobbing in an unheard rhythm.

Cody sat in the chair opposite to her, causing her rhythm to die. Her eyes shot over, panicked for just a moment, before she realized who he was. "Ah, there you are! I rarely get visitors." She smiled, picking at her pile of orange stuff with her plastic spoon. Cody watched as she chowed down, and couldn't help but ask a fatal question.

"What're you in for?" He asked. Her eyes reflected off the condensation of her glass. They were a clear, crystal blue, much lighter than his or his daughters. It made sense, since she was of direct Northern European descent. Maybe she'd be interested to hear that it was common over there, in case she didn't know. Something about her made him want to open up, share his knowledge. Asian eyes were generally much darker. Perhaps that would interest her. Something so innocent, yet so surface-level, it might be a good conversation-starter. Girls liked that stuff, right? Maybe she'd prefer learning the most common breed of dogs in the world. Almost every woman he knew was infatuated by canines.

"I stabbed someone." Her words fractured his ruminations, snapping him back to attention. "Excuse me?" He muttered, then shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I hope I didn't upset you." He pursed his lips, but the awkward air was only about him. She didn't seem to mind. "Don't be. Nothing to apologize for. You're in here for something they deemed you crazy about, too." She explained, a small smile on her face.

Her small, dainty hand took hold of her little red cup, and brought it to her lips. She wore both lipstick, and gloss on top of it. Cody found his eyes drawn to them, until she spoke again. "I apparently have a 'delusional disorder'. Whatever, right? I mean, come on, delusions? I've never taken drugs, and I'm not some wacky conspirator who's obsessed with like, the 'suicidals' the Clinton's hire." She chortled into her drink, then choked on her water when she started laughing. "Though, I bet the lot of them would be admitted into a place like this, no? Wouldn't that be funny?" She chimed, eyes twinkling in hilarity.

Then she looked up at him. "What about you? What are you in for?" She leaned back in her chair, gaze leaving him to the window once more. She was all there, and clearly invested in the conversation. She just openly admitted to stabbing someone, though he wasn't sure who. So why couldn't Cody open his mouth? Why not say anything?

She noticed his silence, and set her cup down. "I'm sorry, did I scare you? It happens sometimes. You see," She tapped her cheek, pausing briefly to figure out how to say what she needed to say. "When you've been stuck here for eleven years, and nobody will ever tell you when or if you'll ever get out? You tend not to care what you say anymore."

Eleven years ago. His daughter was five then. He'd made his first kill around eleven years ago, when Cosette had been admitted. It was an accident back then, when he was practicing on some 60-something year-old veteran in the VA. Where all the doctors really practiced.

It had scared him terribly back then, and he'd spent days, no weeks, seeking comfort from his pregnant wife. Little Evelyn was afraid, too. She was so worried that her daddy would never feel better. Her mother had only told her that her father felt bad that he couldn't help a sick man at work, and that he needed more practice in his job, just like she needed more practice with whatever subject she used to struggle with in her pre-school.

All this, while the dead man's family tried to file a dozen charges against him and the company. He felt he deserved the backlash anyway. He'd killed someone, how could he not deserve it? Heck, if they sued him for all he had, and that beautiful house he'd gotten just a few years before, then he'd still grovel at their feet. However, the VA themselves never allowed that family to see a dime.

He couldn't help but wonder where there justice was? What did they do other than lose a family member to war, then get him back after years of service, to lose him to PTSD, to get him back after years of therapy, to lose him to an overdose of anesthesia, and never get him back? How was that fair to them? He was a young, free, successful, happy man. His patient was the one who had fought for him to get that life. So why did his patient have to die?

During that time, just a few months after Evelyn's sixth birthday, her mother had miscarried. It was impossible enough dealing with the death of their unborn son, but the depression, stress, and an infection that soon followed ended up putting his wife six feet below his feet.