St. Lucy of Syracuse Long Term Care Facility

Doctor Clyde Whyman, Joel Tarnower trotting at his heels, breezed into the main building, lab coat flapping behind him. He made his way toward the most secure area of the hospital, but stopped outside the first secured door. "Go on, Joel. Trot along."

Joel pouted. "I want to meet the new girl."

Clyde looked at him sternly. "And I told you that I have to see a little more of her before I allow that. Do you remember what happened to that nice little nurse who went in to see Poohbear alone?"

Joel shuddered. There were people housed deep within the facility that even a Malkavian would hesitate to allow to walk free. Poohbear had gotten his name due to his resemblance to his namesake. He was a pudgy, almost cherubic looking Asian, who had a perpetual half-smile, and hadn't spoken in the last five years. That had been when he had his last home visit--and attempted to skin his mother with a shrimp peeler. The nurse in question had been warned not to enter his room without an orderly, or Doctor Clyde. But the senior nurse had made the mistake of eating home prepared sushi before she came to work, and was spending a lot of time in the restroom, and the junior nurse was alone when she made her check, looking through the observation slit into each room on her floor. She was just in time to witness Poohbear drop to the floor and begin twitching violently in an apparent fit. Oh... she really should have gone for help. They had to provide complete lifelong care for the unfortunate victim (that actually wasn't much of an expense--the girl hadn't lived very long), and convince her family that she'd been in a car accident.

Joel knew what had happened--one of the less ethical security guards had taken photographs. Luckily Clyde had found this out before he could get them out of the building, and had taken care of the situation--but Joel had found the pictures while Clyde was disposing of the man. Clyde had found his little friend huddled in a corner, shivering and retching. He'd let the boy sleep with him for a month, and the nightmares had gradually faded, but Joel had developed a great respect for the security measures of the asylum.

All new arrivals spent their first few days in isolation. Clyde went deeper into the building, having to pause several times to unlock doors or punch in a security code. Finally he came to the room he was looking for, flipped the switch beside the door to turn on the interior light, and slid the observation slit open, then peered in.

The bed was a bunk, built into the wall. Kathleen Bahste lay in the alcove, on top of the bedding. Her eyes were open, and she stared blankly upwards. Clyde studied her. Her hair was limp and dull, but still pretty, even missing a chunk, where they had shaved it to tend her wound. He'd have to have the staff wash it--something so beautiful shouldn't be allowed to deteriorate.

He studied her for a good, long while, getting a feel for her. He was in no hurry. Kathleen had nowhere she had to be, and neither did he. If Clyde had learned anything during his unlife, it was that there was almost always time to spare.

*If she's aware of anything, she knows she's being watched. No voluntary movement, but she is blinking. That's good--we won't have to manually moisten her eyes.*

There was a clipboard tucked in a holder on the door, and he pulled it out. Taking his glasses out of his breast pocket, perched them on his nose, and started reading. He frowned as he read that liquid nutrients had been administered through a nasal tube that evening. *I saw her swallow a moment ago, so if we're patient we may not have to resort to a feeding tube. I wonder if they tried to feed her before they shoved that tube up her nose and down her throat?* He peeked through at her again, then scowled. *There's no reason why the little creature should suffer more than she has to. I may have to have a little talk with someone.*

He checked, and all vitals seemed to be quite healthy and normal. He put the clipboard away again, pulled out a heavy ring of keys, and sorted through them quickly, murmuring, "Okay, we had your admittance, but now it's time for our first one-on-one, my dear."

He unlocked the door and stepped in, pulling it shut behind him quickly. It was very unlikely that a patient, no matter how alert and clever, could escape the grounds, but you never could tell, and he didn't enjoy hunting down any but the most vicious ones.

He slowly approached the girl on the bunk. "Hello, Kathy. Do you remember me? I'm the one who peeked down your throat and squeezed your booby when you came here. Now, you mustn't take that the wrong way. It isn't that I'm snoopy, and I usually don't grope the female patients. I had to make sure you were hale and hearty aside from those nasty bullet holes," he hooked the collar of her gown aside briefly, studying the rough pink mark that marred her pale skin. "Which have healed up nicely. Anyway, that was just a quick physical. Now I'm going to see if there's anything I can really learn about you. I don't suppose you'll look at me? No, I didn't think so. That's all right. You'll hear me. I can be very persuasive when I want to." His voice dropped into a low croon. "You make a very pretty little dolly, but I have the feeling that there's something going on behind those lovely, blank, blue eyes."

He bent over her, moving close. He knew he was taking a risk doing this. In fact, he'd lost bits of flesh in the past, but it always healed after one or two good feeds, and he'd decided that what he might learn was worth the risk.

While there were certain talents shared by most vampires, there were few shared by all, and some that were very rare. No one was sure why they showed up--they just did, occasionally, and those who were blessed were well advised to cultivate them. Clyde had one of the rarest--the ability to detect auras. It didn't come easily, and he used it sparingly, conserving his energy. He used it now, though.

Clyde concentrated on the girl before him. The first thing he saw was the usual muddy yellow glow (he often thought that it looked like a mist of Dijon mustard) of mental disturbance. Such an aura, in greater or lesser intensity, enveloped every patient here, and a good number of the staff. He concentrated, and the aura slowly seemed to dissipate. In actuality he was filtering it out, rather like using red/green lenses to properly see a 3D picture.

He blinked. "Well. Sweetheart, you are one very, very angry little girl. That's the reddest red aura I've ever seen, outside of a lycanthrope in full on berserker mode. And it shouldn't be. No, no. You're catatonic. Even if it's red, it shouldn't be so--vivid." His eyes narrowed. "You're hiding something, aren't you?" He began the filtering process again.

This was more difficult than the first effort had been, but he managed, and what he found astonished him. He'd expected to see nothing more than the girl herself, or perhaps the clear vibrations of her core. Instead he found another aura. This one was indigo, with a deep purple tinge--totally at odds with the first one.

"I don't believe this," he whispered. He reached out gingerly, his hand hovering over her forehead. When he was in this state he could usually feel the aura, as well as see it. Though he couldn't see the first two auras, he felt them now--the first as a tickle, and the second as an almost hot tingle. The indigo aura felt cool and slick. He pressed, and it was a little spongy. Beneath the near chill of the purplish aura he sensed a warmth. "There's another one, isn't there? Son of a bitch, girlfriend--how many layers are there to you?"

He was beginning to feel tired, so he sat back, dropping his psychic efforts. The purple glow was replaced by violent red, then confused yellow--then it was gone.

"Well, Kathleen, now I have a better idea of what I'm working with." He giggled. "Or should I call you Kathleen? I guess I won't know until I can coax someone into talking to me, and that might take awhile." He stroked her hair. "That's all right. I have all the time in the world, and I know you don't have any pressing engagements."

He got up and went to unlock the door. Glancing back at her, he said, "You know, I think you're going to be the most interesting catatonic I've ever run across."

Out in the hall he made sure the door had locked securely, then made a not on the clipboard. It was very short. //Multiple personalities--number undetermined// He thought for a moment, then added, //Costly, I suggest you hold off on using this one as a donor. Things could get nasty if she decides to wake up suddenly.//

Clyde gave the attendant in charge of Kathleen a pointed ass-chewing over the expeditious use of a feeding tube. "If that girl can swallow, damn it, you will feed her!" He wasn't able to visit Kathleen for the next couple of days, but he kept an eye on her chart. He was pleased to see the notation that she would chew when spoon fed, and he ordered her to be put on a regular diet (everything cut into tiny, non-threatening pieces, of course). If she would chew, there was a good chance she might be induced to feed herself at some point in the distant future.

There was no report of independent movement, though. She would stand, if lifted to her feet, but she remained in whatever posture she was left. Classic catatonia. *Too classic,* Clyde thought. *It's like Miss Kathy read a text book, and is presenting exactly what would be expected. Curiouser, and curiouser said Alice as she fell down the rabbit hole.*

He went in to see her three nights later, wanting to take another stab at finding the bottom of the psyche-layers. Once again she lay still, staring blankly at the ceiling, when he sat beside her. He took both her hands in his. "You're going to start hurting my feelings, Kathy. I'm going to believe that you aren't happy to see me."

He felt something, and lifted her right hand for a closer look. A frown formed immediately. The girl's nails had been clipped, ruthlessly. Past, it seemed, the quick. Not even a skim extended--the nails were set back behind at least a millimeter of tender, raw looking pink flesh.

Clyde got up immediately and went in search of the nurse on duty. Without preliminary he snapped, "Who cut Bahste's nails?"

The woman blinked nervously. Clyde was usually jovial, but you really didn't want to get on his bad side. "Um, I did, sir. I had to, for safety's sake. Her nails were very long, and sharp. She could easily have hurt herself, or someone else."

"Well, what possessed you to do such a butchery? I've seen the results of torture that looked less painful."

The woman spread her hands in supplication. "I don't know what happened! I swear to you that I wasn't any more sever than I usually am. I had to clip each nail several times. It was like..." She trailed off.

"Go on."

"It's going to sound crazy."

He smiled at her crookedly. "That matters here?"

It looked like he wasn't going to go off on her now, so she relaxed a little. "It was almost like her nails were growing while I was cutting them. She kept flexing her hand a little, and I thought for a moment she might be going to respond to me, but it never went beyond that. I honestly thought I'd just clipped and filed to a normal length, but when I gave her hand a final check, they were like that. I put a soothing antiseptic on them."

Clyde considered this for a long moment. Finally he grunted, and said, "Next time, stop before you think you've gotten to a proper length. I think that will take care of the problem." Without another word he turned and went back toward the patient's cell.

In Kathleen's room, Clyde took his seat once again, eyeing the girl narrowly. He picked up one of her hands and examined it closely. Clyde bent one of her fingers into a curve. Keeping his eyes fixed on the fingertip, he squeezed. His eyebrows rose as he watched the nail seem to grow, sliding out till it covered the raw patch. He let go, and the nail retreated. He tried the same experiment with each finger, and got the same reaction.

Clyde bent down and pressed his face against the girl's throat, and inhaled deeply. His eyes closed, and his nostrils flared as he sifted through the subtle smells that made up the girl's personal scent. Plain soap and shampoo, the heavy scent of tonight's meatloaf (no garlic--never any garlic at St. Lucy's), the sharp alcohol of the antiseptic used on her nails, the floral scent of the fabric softener used on her gown, the subtle, bitter-sage scent he'd come to associate with madness... And something that really shouldn't be there--something feline.

Clyde knew how long the girl had been here, and in the hospital, and she would have been isolated from cats. Had it been very faint, he might have dismissed it as being a transference from one of her handlers, who had an affectionate pet. But no, this was much too strong for that. It... permeated the girl. For it to be this strong, it hat to be part of her on a molecular level.

He added up the scent, with the nails, and his own intuition, and came to a conclusion. What he had here was a lycanthrope--but a feline one. He'd heard of them, but had never run across one. They were much rarer than their lupine cousins. He started to smile. The authorities couldn't decide if she was an innocent victim who'd been caught up in the carnage at her stepfather's house, or the creator of that carnage. It looked like she was a little of both, and more than what any of them, his revered boss most certainly included, suspected. What an absolutely delicious joke on the world at large.

Clyde, grinning madly, stroked the girl's hair and crooned, "Kitty, kitty, kitty..."

When he left the room, Clyde added more notes to the clipboard.

//DO NOT observe this patient during the night, no matter what noises are heard, unless SPECIFICALLY directed to by myself. This is VITAL to my course of treatment, and I will bear all responsibilities. Transgressors will be terminated--in every meaning of the word.//

As he finished the notation, he murmured, "After all, most ladies don't like an audience when they change."