Author's Note: This is Part 2 of the Phoenix series. So, fair warning - it is not a standalone story, and some minor plot threads may not make considerable sense unless you have read part 1. This particular story also follows the plot lines begun in the original TV series episodes "Memories of Manon" and "Mystery of Manon."
Sometime you will weary of this world's arts,
Of deceit and change and hollow hearts,
And, wearying, sigh for the 'used to be, '
And your feet will turn to the porch, and me.
I shall watch for you here when days grow long;
I shall list for your step through the robin's song;
I shall sit in the porch where the moon looks through,
And a vacant chair will wait - for you.
You may stray, and forget, and rove afar,
But my changeless love, like the polar star,
Will draw you at length o'er land and sea -
And I know you will yet come back to me.
The years may come, and the years may go,
But sometime again, when south winds blow,
When roses bloom, and the moon swings high,
I shall live in he light of your dark brown eye.
- Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Part I
The Ides of March, 1999
The hallway was neat and clean, but the once crisp linoleum had faded and aged to a brittle yellow, the edges curling where they met the wall. The whole building smelled of a mélange of Pine Sol, urine, and vomit. The hallway led to an abrupt fork, one side leading to a compact observation room and the other side leading to a few storerooms and a small employee break room. Dr. Michael Healy flipped the chart he was holding closed as he turned down the corridor toward the observation room. He swung the door inward, careful not to slam it. Healy noticed a man already waiting, his back turned, arms folded, deep in thought as he stared through the one-way glass at the dismal figures beyond.
"Not every day do we get government visitors," Healy smiled genuinely, closing the door. Control said nothing, his steel eyes honed on a woman sitting in the corner, hugging her white gown periodically. Healy's smile faded as he noticed the man's intensity. He picked up a phone hanging on the wall, "Lincoln, could you clear the rec room and walk the patients down for their morning medication. Oh – but leave Maddie Doe, please."
"Maddie?" At last, the visitor turned momentarily to face Healy as the remaining patients were shuffled out of the large rec room by assistants in white uniforms. All of them had debilitating mental illnesses. The institution was underfunded, understaffed, and overcrowded, but it was the only state-run psychiatric institution prepared to assist many of the impoverished or troubled patients in Hunts Point.
"Yes, she didn't like 'Jane Doe' when she got here, and we tried to help her pick out a name she liked. She insisted on Maon or Madhon or . . . ."
"Manon," Control corrected him.
"Sure, something like that – but frankly, it was easier for the other patients and the staff to remember Maddie, and she didn't seem to mind it too much. Anyway - does that mean the law enforcement folks have figured out her real name?"
"Manon is French for Madeline," she had once told him when they had first met all those years ago at the Sorbonne. That seemed a lifetime ago. Control looked through the one-way glass again as the woman approached. "There are some potential leads," Control said, softly.
She stood just in front of the mirrored window, her eyes large. "I know you are in there," she hissed, under her breath. "Why don't you just let me go?" She hugged herself again and stared into the mirror.
Frowning, Control took a step toward the woman. There were now only a few feet apart. She had aged since he had last seen her almost eleven years before, but she was still beautiful. She moved with grace, even in a psychiatric ward. Her body and mind were scarred with the events of the last 16 years, but there was still a certain sharpness in her eyes. She was, in all likelihood, still very dangerous as well. "How is she doing?" he let the question dangle.
"She's certainly still a danger to society and herself," Dr. Healy shook his head. "We're not going to court to get her commitment lifted anytime soon. We've tried a variety of medications, but she has severe paranoia. Even after all these years, she still has vivid delusions about - well, you'll laugh at this - being a spook taken prisoner in the USSR, torture, murder - you name it, it's pretty out of this world."
Control nodded slowly, his eyes still following the woman. "Does she have trouble discerning present events?"
"Well," Healy mulled over the question for a moment, "I wouldn't say that. She has some pretty imaginative nightmares, and sometimes she refuses to sleep. She understands what is happening here, in the present, and she has fairly good memory recall about daily events. It is really the trauma of the past that she has created in her mind that poses the most danger. There are certain triggers that upset her to the point of almost complete debilitation. It can also involve physical violence against those she perceives as threats, so we avoid introducing those triggers in her environment."
"Such as?"
"Oh, things that remind her of spooks - international news and that sort of thing. It is the best way we have found to manage her illness. We try to focus her on the present."
"Her delusions - do they seem to follow any pattern?"
"No," Dr. Healy shrugged. "They are so fantastic; they don't make a lot of sense. She seems to remember some of her delusions vividly, but her mind twists sequences, names, dates, and places. It is almost like her fantasies are a jumble, and she can't sort them out. But of course, she has created such fantastic, complex nightmares in her mind that it would be hard for a sane person to sort them into a logical pattern. She blames drugs most of the time, and that is the one part of her story that we don't doubt. She probably does have some impaired brain functions from drug abuse. But her biggest obstacle right now is periodic but serious depression. Anyway, her medical files are confidential, but if you have more questions, you are welcome to talk with her. She really doesn't get any visitors; I'm sure she'd be thrilled to know someone asked after her."
"No," Control forced himself to pull his eyes away from the woman. He thought quickly, recalling her reaction to his appearance the last time he had been in a room with her. She had leveled a pistol at him, unsteadily, but if McCall had not intervened, disarming her, Control had no doubt in his mind that the woman would have killed him if he had made the wrong move. "I consulted with her prosecution team when she was made a ward of the state. I don't think she'd appreciate being in a room with one of the people that sent her here."
"Yeah," Dr. Healy stared off at his patient, "I can imagine she wasn't very cooperative at the hearing."
Control turned back to the woman on the other side of the mirrored glass. "How many times has she tried to escape?"
Dr. Healy grinned, "More than I care to count. She's not much trouble, really, except for her propensity to test our security."
Control thought a moment. "I understand you have an overcrowding problem."
"Oh, yes, we always are maxed out on our beds."
"Would it help you out if I could get her transferred to another facility?"
Dr. Healy looked at the stranger with a hint of disbelief. "Sure, any free beds would help us out, but you won't find many places with permanent beds open except for some of those high end, private institutions in Upstate New York. Those are expensive, I can tell you that. And she's in no state to be on the street, so if that's what you are thinking . . . ."
"I have one in mind," Control cut him off abruptly. "It's a very secure facility." Control's cold eyes returned to the woman and narrowed slightly. "Very secure." He paused one last time, his mood brooding and serious. "I'll send the paperwork over this afternoon."