Sam Swarek ran a hand through his short black hair, taking a steadying breath as he waited for someone to return to the front desk. It was already proving to be a bad day. Between the extreme heat and the discovery of a woman's body earlier that morning, he really wasn't in the best mood, and having his own boss and friend send him to the asylum to try to question a patient really wasn't doing anything to improve his day.

He barely withheld a sigh upon seeing a woman finally came through the door. "I'm Dr. Vanarski," she said, holding her hand out to Detective Swarek.

Sam shook her hand, but didn't have the patience for any other formalities. "So… Andrea McNally, can I see her?"

The psychologist hesitated. "You can have a few minutes but I doubt you'll get anything from her."

Sam nodded, following the woman through the doorway, down several corridors and out a heavyset door leading to the courtyard. They stopped beneath a large oak tree where a woman sat with her legs crossed, her hands running aimlessly through her chestnut brown hair.

"Andrea?" Dr. Vanarski said cautiously.

The woman's hands continued to move in a steady rhythm, showing no sign of hearing the psychologist.

"Andy?" Dr. Vanarski tried, this time using a firmer voice.

The woman's eyes slowly raked upwards, her gaze piercing the other woman before she lowered it. Closing her eyes she hummed softly to herself.

"Andy, how are you feeling today?"

Again, no response.

"Andy?" the psychologist tried again, glancing over at Detective Swarek who looked puzzled.

"How are you?" Andy asked, finally looking up at the woman.

"I'm well thank you," Dr. Vanarski said. "How are you Andy?"

"How are you?" Andy asked again.

Dr. Vanarski sighed. "I have someone here who would like to speak to you. His name is Sam Swarek."

Andy tilted her head slightly before allowing her gaze to travel up the man's legs to his face, briefly pausing on the badge that hung at his belt. Sam caught the slight pause but said nothing.

"He just wants to ask you a few questions," Dr. Vanarski said.

Andy pulled her legs up to her chest and covered her ears with her hands, closing her eyes and humming again as she did so. She slowly rocked back and forth in a calming manner.

"Can I try?" Sam asked, receiving a nod from the psychologist.

"I'll give you a few minutes. If you need assistance, call out and someone will be here."

Sam nodded, then sat down on the grass across from her.

"You remember me, don't you?" he asked quietly.

All at once the rocking and humming stopped, her hands fell from her ears, and she opened her eyes. A smirk slowly spread across her face before she started laughing.

Sam stared at her as she laughed uncontrollably. He'd only seen her in passing once years ago when she had come in to visit her father at the station. They hadn't spoken, yet he remembered her face. He'd thought she was pretty then, and even with her current circumstances, she was still gorgeous. There was something in her eyes when she looked up at him though that made him certain she at least faintly recognized him, even if she couldn't place him.

"I need your help," he said slowly.

Her laughing gradually subsided, but the humming began again, though this time she continued to stare at him.

"Will you help me?"

"He needs help," Andy said. "Why does he want help?"

Sam schooled his features, but wasn't sure how to proceed.

"Nothing can help," she said, breaking out into another fit of laughter. A patient screaming on the other end of the courtyard had her hands flying to her ears again. "Make it stop," she said, rocking back and forth.

Sam hesitated, then cautiously reached forward and pulled her hands away from her ears. She initially tried to scramble away from him, but abruptly stopped and stared at his face before shifting her gaze to his hands. His own eyes shot down to his hands where an unfamiliar warmth was spreading through him. Looking back up at her face, he was certain she felt it too. For a few seconds she seemed to forget about the screaming patient and about everything else around her as she stared in confusion. And then he could almost see her slamming her barriers up again as she yanked her hands away. A frown creased his forehead as he searched her face for answers – he really wasn't sure what to expect from her, but in those few seconds what he'd seen didn't make sense.

"Andy, look at me," Sam said, missing the warmth of her hands. "I need to ask you some questions about what you saw three years ago."

Her eyes darted all around, never staying on one thing for more than a second or two.

"We have reason to believe that the guy who attacked you and murdered your father killed another woman," Sam said quietly, watching her carefully. He could see her tense slightly, her eyes stopping for a brief moment before they continued to move around. When they stopped again, he started turning to see what she was looking at, but her voice stopped him.

"Don't move," she hissed.

He turned back to find her watching him, the intensity of the look unnerving. "Why?"

She seemed to lose focus again, running her hands through her hair as the same tune returned.

"McNally, I need you to talk to me."

"Leave," she said. "It isn't safe."

Catching a glimpse of something on her wrist, he reached out to examine it, but she screamed, causing him to jump backwards while holding up his hands to show he meant no harm.

An employee immediately ran over, her gaze shifting from Sam to Andy. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave sir."

Sam hesitated, watching as Andy tossed the pills in her mouth that the nurse handed her. His gaze then moved to the nurse where it remained for a long moment as he took in her rather scrutinizing gaze towards Andy, and the way the woman was now roughly grabbing her.

"Make him go," Andy said, panic lacing her voice. "He needs to leave. He doesn't belong here. Make him go." When the nurse didn't respond, Andy repeated, "Make him leave. You need to make him leave."

Andy was roughly pulled to her feet and led back towards the building.

Sam sat at his desk, tapping his pen against the papers in the file he had open, completely unaware that his friend was staring at him.

"Making any progress Sammy?" Detective Jerry Barber asked.

Sam grimaced. "She recognized me," he said absentmindedly. "She didn't admit it, but I could tell that to some extent she remembered me."

"But you couldn't get anything out of her?"

He shook his head. "Something seemed off though, and she had bruises on her wrist."

"Maybe they had to restrain her," Jerry said, shrugging.

Sam leaned back in his chair. "Did you ever meet her?"

Jerry sighed. "Once when she was waiting for her dad. Sweet girl, smart… looked like she'd go far in life until the accident."

Sam nodded slowly. "And we don't know if she actually witnessed her father being murdered, or if she was just in the house at the time?"

"What are you getting at?" Jerry asked, frowning.

"Nothing," Sam said. He stood rather abruptly and said, "I'm going to try to talk to her again."

"Good luck with that," Jerry called after him as Sam left the detectives' office.