"Sometimes the things I say
In moments of disarray
Succumbing to the games we play
To make sure that it's real " 
Aaron Lewis, Everything Changes

"...and the pain of losing her child overwhelmed her, to the extent of causing a psychotic break. Now her whole life is built around and focused on her tragedy. That's why she's trying to attract public attention to it."

"In order to achieve that, she's tampering with non-alcoholic drinks and leaving them at small stores, for anybody to buy them and get infected."

"The kind of delusion she's trapped in will not subside. She's doing this in her child's memory and she's convinced it's right. So she'll keep doing it until we stop her."

"Look for a single woman with no social interaction other than her professional activity. In her everyday life, she keeps to herself and people see her as polite and even apologetic. Nobody will be able to tell you anything about her private life—save what happened to her child, because her obsession would make her talk about it to everybody around her."

"Tonight, six new cases of encephalitis were admitted at city hospitals and they're being tested for BVD. All of them are children under twelve. So you can see why time is of the essence to find this woman. Thank you."

The police senior officers crowding the room needed a minute after Brock and Russell finished explaining the subject's profile. The last bit about the new victims being children had just kicked all of them way out of any comfort zone.

While Brock and Russell accepted fresh water from an aide, a man in a yellow shirt and a flowered tie made his way to them through the murmuring officers.

The man tried a smile as he wiped the sweat off his face with a wrinkled handkerchief. "Good evening, Agents. I'm Ken Marshall, with the Mayor's staff. We're working on a press release about the situation, and we could really use your help."

"Wanna show me the draft?" said Russell.

Marshall flashed an apologetic smile. "Would you come with me? The Mayor's waiting at the City Hall."

Brock and Russell traded a look.

"I got this," Brock said quietly.

Russell nodded and faced the man. "Let's go, then."

They left together, and they'd just walked out of the conference room when the Commissioner approached Brock with a couple of captains and their questions.

Brock breathed deep. He didn't want to linger there. He wanted to go to the Memorial, where Gillian waited for Hank's results of the blood tests while she talked to the parents of the infected children. But no matter his own anxiety, the Metro Police HQ was where he could be of most help. So he listened to the captains' questions and tried to clear their doubts.

It was past ten when he finally made it to the Memorial, and headed straight to the second floor. The three children admitted that night were there, at another isolated ICU, next to the patients from the theatre.

Just out of the elevator, he saw the fuss past the nurse station at the bend. The patients' relatives were a tight group outside one of the ICUs where the adult patients remained. The curtains were closed, hiding whatever was going on inside, which had medical staff hurrying in and out. A young pregnant woman sat right outside, against the wall, hands to her face as she cried. Two more women tried to soothe her—a nurse and Gillian.

Brock paused by the water dispenser to fill a paper cup and take it to them. Gillian grabbed it with a quick glance up at him and gave it to the pregnant woman. Then she looked at the nurse, who nodded. So she stood up and motioned for Brock to walk with her toward the vending machines down the hall.

She'd changed her skirt and high heels to jeans and sandals, and carried her FBI badge hanging from her belt, like she used to when she was a cop. Brock thought that was a nice touch. She'd been there for the last two hours, with the relatives. They knew there was nothing she could do to heal their loved ones. But it'd be comforting for them, seeing that the people running the investigation cared about them.

Gillian spoke in a low, curt voice, as she fought back her own feelings about the situation. "Larry Mendoza, the first patient admitted with encephalitis, is convulsing."

Brock scowled deeper. "What about the children? How are they?"

Gillian raised a finger to ask for a minute and Brock saw the phone in her other hand. She glanced over her shoulder, to make sure nobody would come around to scold her, and ordered a coffee from the vending machine, then dialed. She couldn't put the call on speaker, but held the phone between her and Brock. So he had to come closer to her in order to hear.

Aldana didn't wait for questions. "Believe it or not, none of the local labs have all the pieces of equipment required to do this."

"Hank said a couple of these devices are not well-seen, due to the kind of test they're used for," said Ron. "So if any lab has them, they wouldn't keep them on paper. To go deeper, we need not only more warrants, but also a time window we don't have anymore."

Gillian cursed under her breath, her eyes always low. "The search?"

"Nothing here in Savannah, so we're going nationwide," Tanya replied.

"There's no way the subject's not a local, lads."

"We know, so trust T's kung-fu," Kurt replied.

"Only two companies have those questioned devices for sale in America," said the girl. "So I'm gonna find out who bought them over the last... how far back should I go?"

Gillian looked up at Brock, who understood she expected him to answer the question.

"Seven years," he said.

"And we're gonna run background checks on whoever purchased them," said Kurt.

"You better give me five names here in Savannah before midnight, Kurt, or I'll have your ass."

"Chill out. You'll have them in thirty."

"Russell convinced the Mayor to have all the soda cans removed," said Aldana. "Citywide, right tonight."

"Good. Gotta go. Keep me up."

She disconnected, grabbed the coffee and nodded at Brock. He followed without a word, but wondering why she kept avoiding eye contact.

Gillian led him to the second ICU, where they stood, looking in through the glass wall. Inside, two boys and a girl lay in bed, surrounded by monitoring equipment, all kinds of tubes and wires plugged to their little bodies. Brock's guts squirmed at the sight.

"Mike, six; Sue, ten; Mark, seven," said Gillian. "Their parents told me they use to buy their kids a soda when they pick them up from school." She met his eyes, dead serious. "Different schools."

Brock's scowl deepened as a chill ran down his spine.

Gillian arched her eyebrows instead of shrugging. "Problem is these kids drank the tampered sodas at least a week ago, at different stores near their schools, and there's no telling how many others did as well. So far, seven have been admitted all over the city."

Brock stiffened. "Seven...?"

Gillian nodded. "Another case of encephalitis was reported at St. Joseph's twenty minutes ago. We're having all the blood samples sent over, so Hank can make sure they're tested correctly."

Brock nodded slowly. "So we're already past the number of victims from the aquarium," he murmured.

"Yes. You said we should expect more."

Brock sighed, a frustrated scowl darkening his gaze on the children.

It was every parent's worst nightmare—one moment their children are fine, next thing they're at the brink of death.

Brock knew that the fact that a mother targeted children showed how rapidly the subject was devolving. Rage was overcoming grief, and there would be no length she wasn't willing to go anymore. Which made her extremely volatile and dangerous. Because she wanted people to experience what she'd suffered, but no matter how many she infected, nothing eased her pain. And that only fed her fury. It could push her to raise the stakes dramatically. There was no telling if she'd stick to her MO, or unleash an airborne agent just to appease her consuming rage.

"You should get some rest," Gillian said then.

"So do you."

"No. I'm staying."

Something about her tone caught Brock's attention. She sounded as if she wanted to get rid of him to do something she knew he wouldn't approve.

"There's nothing you can do here," he said, the ultimate voice of reason.

Her face hardened as her eyes remained on the children. "Oh, yes. There's something very useful I can do here. I can get really mad. 'Cause tomorrow I'm gonna face a woman whose child went exactly through this and died. And I can't afford to sympathize."

Brock scowled deeper at the edge in her voice. But before he could say anything, they heard a desperate cry. They turned around and saw Doctor Hall and two nurses hold up the pregnant woman. Hall met their eyes and shook his head.

"Great," Gillian growled through clenched teeth. "Now we have'er for murder."