Driving was ever so excruciatingly slow compared to flying to the distant sites cases required. That had been possible when the Fringe Division was footing the bill. Now, with the Division shut down, her leave of absence stretching indefinitely, here wasn't much recourse. The heater in the car wasn't enough to keep the chill from seeing from the leather seats through her clothing into her bones. Olivia found herself alternately mulling over what little she knew of the case, and listening to whatever she could on the radio to simply keep herself awake.
She pondered the landscape, with its weathered, barren feel, black twisting figures of trees skeletal against the pervasive gray of the snow and slate sky.
Just a little further, she'd prod herself each time she yawned. Only a little further….
The afternoon stretched on into evening, with long shadows and clouded skies that blocked out the moon.
When she finally passed the sign for the town, she sighed. "Finally."
…
She reported to her new employer early the next morning.
Olivia stood before the large dark wooden desk, listening patiently as her client spoke.
"I've always admired the science of the late Dr. Bishop's work, although the ethics of his experimentation was unquestionably flawed. Here at the White Tower, we carry on his scientific legacy, preserving and building upon the same lines of research, but furthermore, strive to maintain the most impeccable standing in the field of biomedical ethics, working strictly in conjunction with the oversight of our esteemed institutional review board." Price relished in spinning the tale, in smoothing over the gaping holes in the pretty but ever-so-empty words.
"I know you conduct research in many areas outside the purview of your board, of which my father in law would not approve. Let's face it, there's scandal in the air. I'm not here to further the reputation of your White Tower. I'm here to find the woman and the child who were abducted. I will do what you hired me to do, and nothing more. This is business, and my business is not to further anyone's agenda, even yours."
"Very well, Agent Dunham. I only hope you'll conduct the investigation with due care and diligence. It's a shame, really, how easily things here can go wrong." he said lightly.
"All actions taken will be strictly within the confines of our contract," Olivia returned, her tone a steely neutral.
"Agreed," Dr. Price exclaimed.
Olivia sniffed, shaking his hand when he offered. "I will report in to you as I make progress," she returned.
"Yes, yes, that will be perfect. I look forward to working with you," Dr Price said, nodding to the door.
She turned and left the office, mulling over the conversation as she made her way down the hallway. What exactly is going on, she wondered. He's ostentatious enough, although something about this place, something about him doesn't feel right. I can always quit and go it alone anytime I like, or better yet, call in some favors and get Broyles to sink the agency into this. There's something I don't trust, something dangerous about this place, and Price be damned, I'm going to figure it out.
…
Back at the hotel, Olivia looked again at the security footage, shaking her head. Perhaps there was something she'd missed before. The roof camera had blacked out when the disappearance happened at 12:45 AM. Sighing, she scrolled back through the preceding minutes, film from all over the building.
She paused when a clip of a group of orderlies and a strangely tall girl fighting appeared. What… Did this have anything to do with it? Perhaps it was a diversion?
She flicked to another camera, and caught sight of what seemed to be the same crew of orderlies wheeling a girl in restraints down a hallway. She zoomed in a bit, trying to see if it was indeed the same person, into what a sign on the wall indicated was the psychiatric wing.
Well, she thought. It might not be much, but at least it's somewhere to start.
She took a screenshot of the best image of the girl's face she could find in the video, inserting it as an attachment in an email, which she addressed to Peter.
Hey, hon, can you do a favor for me? I need you to run facial recognition on this photo please.
With that, she shut her computer and headed back to her car for the Institute.
…..
After parking, she strode into the building, heading for the elevators. She was going to go to Price's floor, but seeing the diagram on the wall, on impulse, she selected the psychiatric floor.
A woman in a lab coat approached her as she got off the elevator.
"Ma'm, this is a restricted access floor. No one except authorized personnel are allowed."
"That's alright," she said, smiling as she produced the security badge Price had given her.
"Ah, H level clearance status. My apologies. Welcome to the White Tower, Ms. Dunham. What can I do to help you?"
"I need to interview this woman, who I believe is a patient here," she said, pulling out her phone to show the woman the photo.
"This way," she said, beckoning.
Olivia followed the woman around several corners and up a long tiled corridor.
"Just scan your thumb in the sensor here," the woman instructed. "And press the call button if you need anything."
"Thank you. I'll be fine." Olivia said.
As the woman strode off, she heard her phone ping. The energetic little sound seemed foreign in the sterile environment of chrome and reflective pale tile hallways.
She pulled it out to see that Peter had replied.
Hey Liv, hope everything's going well. I ran the image you wanted. Now, the database I'm using is a little bit older, since it hasn't been updated in a few years, but I got a hit. Shelley Godfrey. Hope that helps. Anyway, I'm off to get Etta to soccer. TTYS
She smiled reading what Peter had said, pausing for a moment at the name. It sounded vaguely familiar, although why she couldn't quite recall.
Shrugging, she placed her thumb on the fingerprint sensor, pushing the door open as a buzzer sounded.
The room was large but sparsely furnished, with plain white walls, a hospital bed, and table and chairs, which appeared to be made of molded plastic.
In one of the chairs a lanky teenage girl sat motionless, the oversized hospital gown she wore so loose it appeared to be slowly melting off of her body.
"Hi, I'm Agent Dunham. Can I ask you a few questions?" Olivia began in a friendly voice as she approached.
The girl looked up, her expression profoundly sad, then back at the wall, as if refusing to respond. Then, slowly, she nodded.
Olivia took the seat beside her on the other side of the small table.
"What's your name?"
She sat impassive, her gaze still fixed at the spot on the wall.
"Are you Shelley?" Olivia probed, glancing at the wall the girl stared at, as if something might be there. But there was nothing, merely an empty expanse of white paint.
The young girl began to shake.
"I know. It's OK. You don't have to pretend that I don't." Olivia exhorted.
Shelly lowered her gaze, tears streaking down her face.
"I didn't do it," she said, voice quivering as she began sobbing.
Olivia's forehead creased in concern, she reached Shelly's hand, where it lay wrapped in bandages, on the armrest of the chair. She gently squeezed it, saying quietly,
"Hey, look, it's—" she broke off as she startled at a commotion in the hall.
"Who the hell is up here?" An irate voice shouted over the sound of Shelley's quiet sobbing, footsteps and the rumble of conversation approaching up the corridor.
"But, Sir, you aren't allowed here," a lower voice said.
"I will go wherever I want! And nobody is going to mess with my sister!" The angry voice retorted hotly, as its owner now appeared in the window to the door, a tall, chicly dressed, but visibly irate young man.
The buzzer sounded as the door opened. "Who the hell are you and what the fuck do you think you're doing?"
"I'm Agent Olivia Dunham. I work with the FBI," Olivia said, giving Shelley a small smile as she took out her badge to show the agitated intruder.
"Sir, please, Dr. Price will—" the calmer party, a man in a lab coat, pleaded.
"Fredrick, do you think I give a fuck?! So, Olivia, tell me, what does the FBI want from my sister?"
"I'm actually here on private business, as a consultant," Olivia explained. "I was interviewing her before you interrupted."
"Sir, please—"
"Go away Fredrick! Don't make me tell you again!" the man shouted.
The recipient of his outburst nervously mumbled something unintelligible before scampering away down the hall.
"Exactly what sort of 'private business' does an FBI agent have here?"
"I'm working for Dr. Price," she replied. "Information pertaining to the investigation I'm conducting is confidential."
The man rolled his eyes at this.
"And who do you think Price works for?"
"Godfrey Industries," Olivia replied, frowning slightly, wondering where the exchange was leading.
"I'm Roman Godfrey," he said. "I own Godfrey Industries."