He slid the window cover shut and stood holding the handle for a moment, shaking his head then turned to face his colleague. Kristen Haver brushed at strands of hair, sadness in her grey eyes that they both felt.

"You did your best, Douglas."

He smiled grimly. "The best I could anyway. He needs someone smarter than me."

"Nonsense, you're tops in your field. If you can't get through no one will." She gripped his sleeve in emphasis.

Doctor Douglas Southall sighed, placing his hand over hers. "Thanks, Kris, loyalty is nice . . . it's just that- I don't know. . ."

They left the lockdown area and began walking down the drab corridor, shoes clicking on the stained terrazzo floor. A fluorescent bulb flickered, dancing their shadows on the faded green walls.

******

White Pine Psychiatric Facility stood sombrely at the end of a macadam drive that wound its way through a dense stand of its namesake trees, well back from the main highway. Built in the early 1900's, White Pine was the estate home of wealthy industrialist, Anton Lucirk, who crashed with the market in 1929. It was seized for taxes.

His daughter Angela paid the outstanding taxes and converted the property into a therapeutic facility for victims of severe trauma. Her father was the first of only a few patients admitted, and after less than two years died through a series of predictable circumstances that included insufficient skills, lack of equipment and a poor bottom line. Angela suffered her own breakdown from the stress and the property was once again reclaimed.

This time, through the enterprise of several wealthy entrepreneurs, White Pine Psychiatric Facility was created. Ironically, Angela became one of the first patients in the new facility. Reluctant at first, she insisted she did not need psychiatric treatment, but conceded on advice from her doctor and lawyer, citing the need for a clean mental record when they took her outstanding tax case to court.

Angela suddenly became docile and very accommodating to those studying her. For the most part she seemed quite normal but her condition could never be diagnosed satisfactorily, and so she remained a patient with special perks. When they found an intern curled up under her bed, screaming and scratching at her eyes, they decided Angela was not as normal as she appeared and needed to be studied with caution . . . or better still, left alone

******

Doctor Southall sat at his desk leafing through the file of the man he was gradually giving up on. Rafe Messenger had admitted himself for chronic depression. Almost immediately there was no voice communication and minimal response to all treatment. Southall hoped he could see something he was missing. The office door opened after a quick knock and Kristen entered, closing it softly behind her. She walked to the desk and glanced down at the file.

"You have to let this go, Doug. It's eating you up."

He shook his head and sucked in a deep breath. "I just can't believe there isn't some way . . ."

"You've tried everything that made sense; this is just one of those cases."

"I can't accept that. This isn't a police station that has a file of cold cases." He flipped the folder over. "And you're right; we tried everything that made sense. What about something that doesn't make sense?"

"What do you mean?"

"Angela."

Kristen leaned forward. "What?"

"We introduce him to Angela and see where their chemistry leads."

"Douglas, are you crazy? You know what she did to that intern, and there have been other incidents . . . it's why she's kept in that wing."

"The intern was- was normal, Kris. He isn't, and maybe, just maybe two abnormal minds will reveal something we haven't been able to find by conventional means."

"They won't let you do this, Doug. I think it's crazy too."

He got up and came around the desk. "I'm not waiting for clearance from a bunch of politically correct, non-medical managers."

She grasped his sleeves. "You realize you're throwing your career away?"

"Not if I succeed, Kris. Not if I succeed."

Her head fell against his chest and he slipped his arms up her back, pulling her close, then he kissed her . . . long and hard, bodies pressed together with familiarity.

******

Angela sat at the small writing desk in her oversized room in the lockdown wing of the facility. The wing contained ten rooms, seven of which were occupied. Three of the occupants were almost always comatose, the other three were in various stages of instability, prone to violent outbursts, hallucinations, and managed by daily doses of anti-depressants and relaxing agents.

Angela was not bothered in the least by her neighbours. She enjoyed the privacy and the special concessions to decor she received. Her room was as attractive as any downtown condominium with all the expected furnishings. Other than physically enjoying trips outside, everything was right here in her private room. The visits from the institution's medical and managerial staff she found amusing interruptions, which allowed her to glean little facts of information, carefully stored away for future exploitation.

The sound of the window sliding caught her attention and she looked up to see a pair of eyes peering at her. A moment later the door opened and she smiled as Doctor Southall re-locked the door and then faced her.

"Good evening, Angela. How are you doing tonight, things all okay?"

"Come and sit, Doctor Southall." She rose gracefully and moved to the long sofa against one wall, sitting and smoothing her dress around her legs. Another concession to Angela was her wardrobe of personal clothing instead of the standard, grey smocks.

"Thank you." He sat at the other end, out of reach.

"Am I to have another session, Doctor?"

"No, no, not tonight. I wanted to ask you- to ask a bit of a favour."

Her eyes lit up and she turned to face him, the dress skirt riding a touch higher.

"A favour? What could I possibly do for you?" Her tone suggested she knew plenty she could do.

"Your neighbour, Rafe Messenger-"

"Ah, the silent one." She nodded.

How did she know that? Douglas frowned.

"You'd like me to speak to him."

Now how did she know THAT? He licked his lips and cleared his throat.

"You uhm- you are quite perceptive, Angela." He felt slightly uncomfortable, his head began to ache and his mouth began drying up.

"I keep up on my surroundings." Her voice had dropped an octave and seemed to echo slightly.

"Maybe- maybe I'll come back later. I don't think I-"

"You will always be welcome, Doctor Southall."

The words reverberated in his head as he stood, fumbling for the key to the door.

"I'll talk to Mister Messenger."

He turned as he stabbed the key into the lock. "Huh? What are you- what do you mean . . ."

"You take care of that headache and drop back when it's gone." She seemed to rise effortlessly, hands clasped in front.

Douglas opened the door, blinking at the appearance of fire flickering in her eyes.

******

Kristen Haver closed her laptop after having answered her important mail and chatted with her mother, an evening ritual ever since she took the position with White Pine. She cranked open the old casement window and breathed in the scent of the forest. One wonderful feature of the place, she thought, was the smell of pines and how fresh the air seemed.

She thought about Doug's idea using Angela as a conduit to Rafe and shivered at the thought of dealing with that woman. The only contact she had shared with Angela was when she first began working at White Pine and was given a complete tour of the facility and all the residents. Several of the cases had been described on the tour but Angela's was by far the thinnest and least informative. Aside from learning her history and that of her husband, all she knew was that Angela, for the most part, was better left alone.

Slipping out of her clothes, Kristen padded into the bathroom and after a minute or two of examination, loaded up her toothbrush and scrubbed until the foam spilled out of her mouth. Rinsed, washed and cleansed of makeup, she grabbed her robe and went back to her comfortable living room. From the small beverage cooler doubling as a tea wagon, she took out her bottle of wine, poured a hefty glass and curled up on the sofa with the book she had been reading for weeks.

The noise startled her and she stopped reading, staring at her open window. It sounded almost like a roar but elongated and muted, at least that was her best definition as she got up and went to look. Kristen's room was on the same side of the building as the lockdown unit's windows. At this time of night there should be no light but she could make out a flickering on the lawn. There was no way to tell which room it was coming from but it pulsed in intensity and just as it blinked out, the noise repeated.

She returned to her desk and her laptop, connecting to the facility intranet. There was no alert or notifications and the channel allowing her to view several of the camera monitors were all quiet. She shut down and chewed her lip. Well, she hadn't imagined it. Something was happening down there. She got dressed again and went down to investigate.

The hall leading to the doctor's quarters ran at right angles to the lockdown wing and as Kristen reached the intersection, the lockdown hall lights flickered, pulsing bright and then dim in a steady rhythm. She paused and watched for a moment, curious. There was no sign of anything or anyone and that curiosity drew her down the hall toward the lights.

She paused at Angela's room and slowly and carefully, slid the window cover open just a hair, satisfied the room was dark, and closed it again. She moved further down the hall, glancing at each of the doors, unaware that the flickering of the lights had ceased. At Rafe Messenger's door she stopped again, her heart a tangible thump against her chest.

She slid the window cover open very, very slowly, pausing when she saw the lights in the room were on. Taking a breath she opened it further and leaned close to see in. Two wild looking eyes stared back at her and she screamed, falling back against the opposite wall.