"Sometimes people carry to such perfection the mask they have assumed that in due course they actually become the person they seem."
- W. Somerset Maugham
"Good afternoon, Dr. Reid."
The room was poorly lit, and as was usual for his visits to the Harris County Psychiatric Center. The face of the person sitting opposite of Spencer Reid was mostly cast in shadow. He had gotten used to Amanda's wishes by now. Dim lighting, and a cigarette poised between two polished fingernails. The migraines that had plagued her alter ego came back ever so often, and the light only intensified the pressure building in her temples and behind her eyes. So the only light in the counselor's room came from a shaded lamp and the glowing end of the inpatient's cigarette.
"I haven't heard from you in a while," she drawled before taking a deep drag of the cigarette. "I thought you'd forgotten about me."
Reid stared placidly at the white smoke that issued from the shadow where Amanda's mouth would be. "I've been busy," he answered with no apology in his voice. "But I didn't forget about you… or Adam."
Another long drag of heat before another breathy steam of white emitted from the shadow of Amanda's face.
"I don't know how many times I've told you, Dr. Reid, but Adam is in a better place now. He does not need your protection."
The young doctor leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he stared into the darkness where Amanda's eyes would be. "But what about your protection, Amanda? You've always been the one to protect him. How can you do that if he's gone… if he's in a better place, like you say?"
The shadows of Amanda's face tightened, and the long nails swoop down and snuff out the bud of the finished cigarette. Reid felt her tension, even in the dim light her body language spelled out unease. He pushed her, "Or are you trying to protect him by saying he's gone? Are you hiding him behind you? Taking the blame so he doesn't have to experience all that the two of you have done? If you're just locking him away than you're hurting Adam like everyone else. That's not protecting him; that's trapping him."
Her effeminate hands rested on her very masculine thighs. Amanda leaned forward, showing her wide green eyes and painted face. "I am the only person to ever look out for Adam," she said the words quietly in her soft southern drawl. "I've known him all his life—don't you think I know what's best for him?"
"Only Adam knows what's best for himself."
The door opened slowly, and in stepped the counselor. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but visiting hours are over." The lights switched on, and Amanda's wide eyes flickered for just a moment. Reid noticed—it was like watching Adam flinch away at the light from behind those vacant eyes. Both the patient and the doctor straightened and Reid stood first.
He held out a hand for Amanda, who accepted it like a true lady. A smirk broke across her face, as she was lead from the room. She turned her head a fraction, and said, "You know, I think I may have actually missed your little visits Dr. Reid. They only let me smoke when you're here."
Reid glanced down at the ashtray on the coffee table. The single bud it contained still smoldered thinly.