"You know you gotta eat sooner or later, girl." The nurse said and Marcella watched her insincere grin. Her colors weren't impressive, but still Marcella recoiled from the sight of them.

The lumbering woman left a tray of lack lustre food on the side table and disappeared, but Marcella paid no attention. She sat in the corner of her room, watching the world through the tiny slit of a window. The way that things looked out in the sunlight made her feel warm and safe.

It was different under the harsh fluorescents though, the colors on the inside were brutal and cold. They assaulted her and it made her skin crawl to have to look at them all the time.

"Marcella." The girl spun around at the sound of the man's voice.

"I don't know you."

"No, you don't. My name is Dr. Crenshaw. I'm what you might call a specialist in cases like yours."

Marcella chuckled and it didn't sound like the laugh of a stable person. "Specialist? How many different specialists do you think I've seen? What do you think they were able to do for me?"

"I promise you, Marcella, I am here to help and I am much more well equipped to do so than any of the other doctors you've seen."

"I don't need help, but the more I say that the more help they offer . . . No, not offer . . . They force it on me. They say I'm not normal, that parts of my brain are too active."

"Yeah, I can see that." He scanned another page on Marcella's chart and said, "there's a conversation with your regular therapist recorded here that goes something along those lines. You said that irony was the shackles of youth. That's an interesting thing for a thirteen year old girl to say."

Marcella stared at the doctor, his colors moved and shifted in ways that she'd never seen. It was almost as if they moved with purpose, like he was entirely in control. As she watched the intricate dance of his colors, she realized something.

"I've seen you before," she said, "on my first day here. You stared at me. You were green like violence then. Not today though. You don't feel violent today."

"I present myself to the world in a very deliberate manner, it's something I can help you learn to do."

Was he offering fashion advice, or help with the colors?

"Marcella, this might be difficult to understand but you should not be in this place."

"How could that be difficult to understand? I've been saying that for years."

"Yes, but now we're ready to get you out. All I need you to do is agree to let me help you."

Marcella looked down at her house coat. It was thin and stiff, like paper. She then looked up to the doctor and said, "how would we get out?"

"Why, we'd just walk right out, of course." He held out a hand and Marcella caught her breath as she reached to grab it. She watched the colors around his hand shift from green to fuchsia, then yellow. It was like an intricate dance and as soon as his fingers were wrapped around hers the light engulfed both their hands.

"Where would you take me?" Marcella asked. Her anxiety suddenly lifted and her mind seemed clear.

Dr. Crenshaw led Marcella out of her room and down a long hallway. One of the fluorescent lights flickered and she squinted her eyes. The colors of plastic potted plants and angry patients were easier to handle that way.

"Excuse me sir, but where are you taking this patient?" The disgruntled nurse stood in their path, hands on her hips, and Marcella knew it had all been too good to be true.

"I'm taking her out of here." The doctor said and Marcella watched his bright colors reach out towards the grumpy lady. They touched her face and she smiled.

"Of course." The nurse's boring colors were nearly enveloped by those of the doctor now and her eyes became unfocused. She stepped aside and Dr. Crenshaw led Marcella away.

"I know you already know that everything has a frequency. I believe you call it 'colors.' You've seen them all your life, correct?"

Marcella watched the doctor's colors shift around her hand and she once again felt like she had something to say. "Ever since I can remember."

"Your frequency . . . " the man said, his line of sight resting above Marcella's head, "it's out of control, but it's so beautiful."

"Wouldn't know, I never saw it."

"You're a special girl, Marcella, more special than any of these pathetic doctors could ever imagine. To think you've possibly been perceiving the Ways since birth . . . I've never seen such a thing before. It's no wonder they assumed you were crazy." The doctor seemed to be speaking more to himself than Marcella. As he pulled her onward he squeezed her hand too tight and she tried to tell him, but for some reason she didn't believe speaking was something she wanted to do.

They approached the front door, a door Marcella knew was always locked.

"Do you see the frequency of this handle?" He asked and Marcella stared at the faint colors surrounding it.

"Like mud, the gray kind at the bottom of the lake that slips between your toes."

"Excellent!" The doctor laughed and Marcella knew she'd done something more impressive than she'd intended. "The frequencies of inanimate objects are always the hardest to read. But like I said, all things have one. The trick is to understand the frequencies around you, then you can manipulate them, like so."

With that, the doctor grabbed hold of the handle. It's drab, gray colors lit up at his touch and his own slipped down around it. With a click and a turn of his wrist, the doctor exposed Marcella to the outside world and she felt at home again. She watched the colors of trees and flowers. She smiled at the warm colors of passing bumble bees and butterflies, who stopped to fly circles around Dr. Crenshaw.

"Where are we going? Are you taking me home?" She was surprised that she could over come the urge to stay quiet. From the look of it so was the doctor.

"Of course I'm taking you home." He sat her in the back seat of a car and she tried to smile, but she couldn't help but feel lied to.

"I can't wait to see mom and dad."

The doctor grinned and it didn't seem real. His deceptive colors shifted in patterns that suddenly made Marcella uncomfortable. "Of course, Marcella."

He closed the door and Marcella noticed there was no handle on her side. She turned to see a thick layer of plexiglass separated her from the front seat. Without Dr. Crenshaw's hand to hold Marcella suddenly became very nervous. The man got into the driver's seat and lifted what looked like a radio to her lips.

"I've got the girl," he said, "after all these years she's finally ours. Prepare the holding cell, we'll be touching down soon."