Sara Sidle met Grissom the next day at the prison. She had been with Catherine Willows investigating a burglary case the previous evening, but had been reassigned after the second victim had been found.

"You're the person who investigated his initial crime," Grissom told her as they walked towards the warden's office. "Homicide about three or four months ago. A woman named Katherine Marshal found dead in her apartment. Remember?"

Sara did remember. The whole case had left her feeling slightly uneasy. She was certain that the man they found at the crime scene, who only gave his name as John Smith, had been certifiably insane. He had babbled incessantly, continually tried to convince Sara that historical events did not occur the way she knew they had, and kept mentioning words that Sara was pretty sure he'd just made up.

"John Smith," Sara said. "I remember. I was surprised that he didn't plead insanity in court. I thought pleading insanity was set up for people like him."

"Insanity aside," said Grissom, "he wasn't in very good shape at the end. Multiple lacerations in the stomach, severe electrical burns along the torso, and bruising around the neck. It appears he was in the hospital ward being treated for his injuries when Samuel Grandon entered and was shot."

"Samuel Grandon," Sara mused. "That's Sammy the car salesman from five years ago, wasn't it? That case made the national media."

"The very same," said Grissom. "Multiple homicide, arson, and armed robbery. Sentenced to life imprisonment."

"Any relationship between the two vics?" asked Sara.

"They did share a cell," said Grissom. "Although whether their relationship went farther than that has yet to be determined."

Sara tried to process the information she'd received into a possible scenario. "Maybe Sammy was abusing Smith, so much so that Smith landed in the hospital. If the prison staff thought that Smith was in any real danger, that would explain why the guards kept such a close eye on him while he was recovering. Somehow, Sammy managed to escape, decided to finish Smith off before he left, but wasn't expecting the armed guards in the hospital ward."

"It's a good theory," said Grissom. "But it doesn't explain why we found Smith's body in the dumpster, or why they cleared away all evidence of his existence from the crime scene."

Sara thought about this for a moment. "Had rigor mortis set in when you found Smith?"

"No," said Grissom. "Although it had begun to set in for Sammy, which means that Smith died after Sammy."

"And time of death?"

Grissom hesitated. "We couldn't really get a good fix on that," he said. "All signs seemed to indicate that he'd died only a few minutes before."

"But that's just ridiculous," said Sara. "You can't clean up a crime scene in just a few minutes. And you told me you were sure they'd cleared out any evidence that Smith existed."

Grissom thought for a moment. "When you met him, did Smith strike you as being sickly or unwell at all?"

"No," said Sara. "Deranged. Crazy. But definitely not sickly. The man couldn't sit still. He kept bouncing on his feet or pacing the interrogation room. And he was incredibly cheerful. If he were suffering from any sort of chronic pain, he definitely knew how to hide it." She glanced over at Grissom. "Why?"

"It's certainly one thing that changed since the time you met him," said Grissom. "The body looked emaciated and sickly. I assumed it was some sort of chronic illness, but it looks like something that happened since he went to prison."

They stopped outside the warden's office, and Grissom knocked on the door. Miss Verity Cordman, the prison warden, ushered them inside and shut the door behind them. Before they had even entered the office, she began explaining how Sammy must have escaped, how he's always been trouble—likes to beat up the newbies the moment they come here—how he's been getting increasingly paranoid and angry with the prison staff, as if they were doing something specifically to offend him.

Grissom cut her off. "Miss Cordman, can you please explain to us why we found the body of one of your prisoners in a garbage bag in the dumpster outside?"

Verity Cordman froze. She didn't say anything for several seconds. Sara could feel the thoughts turning over in her head. Definitely hiding something. But Sara had known that from before she entered.

"It was Sammy," said Verity Cordman. Sara could hear a slight tremor in her voice as she said it. "I told you, he was always a bad one. Must have killed the prisoner earlier, hid him. That's why Sammy was trying to escape. Because he knew we'd figure it out."

"So you're saying that Smith died before Sammy?" Sara clarified. She knew the warden's time scale was off, but wanted to see if she'd keep her story straight.

"I know it doesn't look like it," said Verity Cordman, "but I swear it's the truth. Dr Smith was definitely dead before Sammy found him. Ask anyone. If Smith were real, it'd all match."

"Before Sammy found him?" Grissom asked. "I thought you said that Sammy was the one who killed Smith."

"Okay, fine," said Verity Cordman. "Yes, Sammy came looking for him. Maybe he wanted to finish the man off, I don't know. But we don't usually have a prisoner abuse problem in this prison. This was just a special case, all right?"

"Abuse problem?" asked Grissom.

"From the other prisoners," Verity put in, a little too quickly. "We try to keep them in line, but what with budget cuts and all… you know how it is."

"So Sammy accosted Smith, and you put Smith in the infirmary?" asked Sara.

"Yes," said Verity.

"But you didn't think to stop the initial assault," Sara added.

"How could we?" Verity demanded. "We didn't even know anything was happening!"

"This is a prison," Sara pointed out. "I mean, there are cameras everywhere here. Didn't you check?"

If anything, this made Verity even more flustered than she already was. "Our surveillance… has been a little unreliable recently."

"How so?" asked Grissom. He had already gone across the room to her computer and was pulling up files.

"He sabotaged them," said Verity. "Inserted some sort of interference pattern into all the cameras between his cell and the basement. They haven't worked for weeks, and we don't have the budget to fix them."

"Sammy did that?" asked Grissom, looking at random bits of footage. "Mechanical sabotage? He didn't just pick up a rock and throw it at the camera? I'd think that would be much more his style."

By now, Verity was looking very much on edge, sweating and stammering, her hands shaking and her eyes darting back and forth. In fact, it was such a clichéd suspicious look that Sara nearly laughed. "Not Sammy," said Verity. "The other one. Smith."

"Really?" asked Sara. "Considering that he didn't know up from down the last time I saw him, I scarcely think he'd have the intelligence to sabotage the cameras."

"No, no, no," insisted Verity. "That's just an act. He makes you think he's an idiot, and then he goes and screws around with things all over the place."

"Sara, come over here," Grissom called.

Sara came over, leaning over Grissom's shoulder. He began to pull up video files of surveillance recordings. "Look, everything's fine," he said. The video showed an empty corridor, numbers in the corner showing the date and time. Then, from the right hand corner, Sara could see a glimpse of spiky hair. Then, static.

"Wait a minute," Sara said.

Grissom pulled up another one. Once again, the moment the spiky haired man appeared on screen, the video feed turned to static. Grissom looked at Sara. Sara looked back at Verity.

"How'd he do that?" asked Sara. She was reassessing the situation in her mind. The surveillance footage appeared to back up her testimony, but Verity was clearly attempting to cover up something important about the situation. And why had Smith wound up in a dumpster?

"I don't know," said Verity. Her hands were trembling, and her face was covered with sweat. Sara thought she could hear Verity's voice shaking. "I told you, he's not real. His name isn't even John Smith. He just started going crazy. He kept claiming we were poisoning him, and he stopped eating and drinking. He never slept. He just kept fiddling with things and drawing on the walls."

"Well, that doesn't explain how… wait a minute." Grissom paused, staring blankly at the static on the screen. The image didn't flicker back to life the way it had before, after Smith was no longer on camera. Grissom clicked forward, and he could see that from that point onwards, there was only static. "Oh, I see. This must be the footage from when Smith took down those cameras permanently."

Sara, meanwhile, was watching Verity, who had slumped down against the wall and was slowly sliding to the floor. Her forehead was drenched in sweat, and she was still shaking uncontrollably.

"Are you okay, Miss Cordman?" Sara asked.

"Look," said Verity, very quickly but very quietly. "He wasn't real. I swear, if he was a real person I wouldn't have done it. I swear, I wouldn't have done it. But the Doctor—he's an alien. He's not a person. We tested him. Three hours. Three hours he went without air. Not a breath! And two hearts. I don't, I wouldn't, not if he was really. But we never meant to kill him. Honest. We thought he'd come back to life, we really did. I swear we did. It wasn't my fault!"

"Wait a minute," Sara said. "What doctor? What are you talking about?"

"It's not my fault!" Verity nearly screamed. She was clawing desperately at the wall behind her. "It's this thing, in my head. The nightmares. The darkness. They told me to do it. I didn't want to. They made me. They made me do it all! I tried to fight, that's why I can still remember. That's why I got my mind back when they left. But I swear, I—"

Verity cried out, and suddenly toppled over. Grissom and Sara ran over to her, picking her up from the floor and giving her a quick medical check.

"What was that?" Grissom asked.

"I have no idea," said Sara. "It looked like she got some sort of panic attack and then she began going crazy. I'll call for an ambulance; I think she's ill."

Grissom looked up at Sara, setting Verity back down on the floor. "She isn't ill," Grissom said. "She's dead."

Nick Stokes and Warrick were having only slightly more success interviewing prisoners about their latest victim. Most of their interviews were pretty much the same, some nearly word for word identical. By the time that Nick Stokes got around to interviewing 'Suds', he had already heard the spiel several times through.

"Oh, you mean the Doctor," said 'Suds'. Suds drummed his fingers along the table. "Yeah, I remember him. Back a few months ago. Disappeared after he started saying that the food was poisoned."

"Did he?" Nick asked, waiting for the scripted reply.

"Yeah, he was kind of messed up," said Suds. "Kept thinking people were out to get him. Had to see a shrink. Then one day we heard he was really sick. Quarantined. Never saw him again." Suds paused. "I think Sammy saw him. Kept going on at me about it. Claimed they were torturing him. Who knows if it was true. Sammy's ideas of what was going on never really matched the cameras', if you know what I mean."

"What was Sammy's relationship with the Doctor?" asked Nick. "Was there any form of abuse?"

Suds actually laughed at this, and the sound made Nick jump a bit. None of the previous prisoners he'd interrogated had laughed at him.

"Sammy beating up on the Doctor?" asked Suds through his laughter. "Oh, he tried!" He managed to get himself under control, but still had a smile on his face. "Oh yeah, he definitely tried. After that incident with Joe."

That was a new one. Nick hadn't heard anyone named Joe. "Incident with Joe?"

"Yeah," said Suds. "It was the day the Doctor showed up. Joe was getting ready for a parole hearing, and the Doctor went right up to him, got in his face, and started threatening him."

Nick frowned, thinking about the thin body he'd found in the dumpster. He didn't think it was even possible for the man to seem intimidating. "Really?"

"Yeah, really," said Suds. "But he didn't pick up Joe and throw him against the wall and start shouting in his face. He just got up real close to him and said, 'I know who you are, Joseph Harold Trudge. I know what you're going to do when you get out of here. I'm going to give you one warning, and that's all you get. Leave her alone.'" Suds shuddered a little. "Gives me the creeps just thinking about it."

"And Sammy was there?"

"Naw, I told Sammy about it later," said Suds. "Figured that Smith guy's like a toothpick, he'd better figure out his place. Not head honcho around here, we figured. So Sammy comes over to him, looking to pick a fight. And that's when it starts getting weird."

Nick kept questioning Suds, but he knew this part already. It was about the fourth time he'd heard this fight described, and the only thing Nick was really interested in was whether Suds was planning to stick to the script, or if he'd actually been there. From the extra details Suds kept putting in, it appeared that he really had witnessed the whole thing. Nick sat back and tried to picture it as Suds gave his account.

The Doctor was sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, using his soup to doodle on the table. The doodles meant nothing to Suds—they looked like circles and squiggles. Sammy came over, and slammed a hand down on the table.

Usually, Suds told Nick, when Sammy slammed his hand down like that, the other guy would look frightened and start pleading for his life. Either that, or the other guy would stand up and flex his muscles, giving a sort of 'don't mess with me' vibe. But the Doctor didn't plead for his life or get ready to fight. He just stared at Sammy with a sort of mild irritation.

"Yes?" said the Doctor.

"Yeah, toothpick," said Sammy. "We gotta talk."

The Doctor actually beamed at this. He jumped up onto his feet. "Do we?" he said. "Oh, well that's brilliant! I love talking. I never manage to do enough talking, although I do have a tendency to babble. Do you think I have a tendency to babble? My friends are always nagging me about it—"

Sammy shot out a hand to grab the Doctor by his uniform, presumably to shove him against the wall and pummel him into next year. But when he reached out, the Doctor wasn't there. Sammy looked over, and found the Doctor standing a few feet to his right, pouting theatrically.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "A bit confused—when you said talking, did you actually mean using me as your surrogate punching bag?" He gave a half smile. "Bit of a Brit, as you can tell by the accent. Never really caught on to Americanisms. You might need to give me a bit of a translation."

Sammy's face turned red. His hands were bunched into fists, his jaw clenched. He gave a roar of anger and flew at this smug, babbling man. But once again, the Doctor was gone before Sammy had even come close to hitting him, and his fists made contact with thin air. From behind him, Sammy could hear the Doctor clearing his throat.

"You know," he said. "We could just sit down together and have a friendly chat. Not to point any fingers or anything, but at the rate you're going, you could be at this all day, and it really does seem to be making you frustrated."

Sammy began his assault again, but every time he took a swing, the Doctor was gone. The Doctor, Suds told Nick, was more slippery than a fish—ducking and diving out of the way, not even coming close to Sammy's barrage of blows. At some point, Sammy thought he had the Doctor cornered against the wall, and swung out to hit him.

In the blink of an eye, the Doctor was right beside Sammy, having caught his fist and stopped it inches from hitting the wall. The Doctor looked him right in the eye, and said in a very low voice, "I wouldn't, if I were you."

By this time, a crowd had gathered around the fight, and one of the guys shouted, "Ah, just let him go, Sammy. You can't even touch him!"

Sammy turned, and Suds was pretty sure that was the first time that Sammy noticed how many people were laughing at him. The anger began to boil in his veins, consuming his mind in fire and hatred. He gave an incomprehensible howl and ran at the mocking voice, probably (said Suds) because he figured if he couldn't lay his hands on that low-life coward of a toothpick at least he could show everyone else who was really in charge.

Before anyone knew what was happening, there was a blur of motion, and the Doctor had pinned Sammy to the ground. A dark look had flooded the Doctor's face, and his eyes bore into Sammy's as if reading his very soul. A hush fell over the crowd. Their laughter was gone. Their chattering was gone. Everyone in the room was silent.

"Don't you dare," said the Doctor, in a low growl. And everyone heard it.

Now that Sammy was pinned and defenseless, the other prisoners had expected bloodshed. They'd all seen that look on the Doctor's face, and they'd all recognized it. It was venom. It was hate. It was death. Suds had expected the thin guy to punch Sammy's lights out. But he didn't. Instead, the thin man slowly got up, helped Sammy to his feet, gave him a hard stare, and then he just walked away.

Before he left the room, however, he turned around to address his silent audience. "Oh, and by the way," he said. "My name isn't Toothpick. It's the Doctor."

And then he left.

Nick had already heard the story, of course, but he had never heard it in this much detail. It was as though he'd gotten the myth, and Suds was giving him the facts. Nick was trying to match what Suds had told him with the barebones accounts he'd gotten before, when Suds cut into his thoughts.

"Course, then Joe came back and told us what happened to him," said Suds. "Not a lot of us believed him, but it was still kinda spooky."

"What happened?" asked Nick. This was definitely straying from the script.

"Well, Joe got parole, you know," said Suds, "and we thought we'd never see him again. But then he shows up at the prison a little bit later, insists on seeing the Doctor. At that point, the warden wasn't letting the Doctor talk to anybody outside the prison, so Joe asks to talk to me. I'm telling you, Joe wasn't himself. Looked white as a sheet, his eyes were bloodshot. I thought maybe he was high."

"But he wasn't?"

"Oh, no," said Suds. "He hadn't seen any pink elephants. He'd seen the Doctor."

Nick blinked. "You mean in prison?"

"No, I mean on the streets, out in the open, running free," said Suds.

"And this was after the Doctor was quarantined and had disappeared?" Nick clarified.

"No, no," said Suds. "This was when he was still sharing a cell with Sammy. The Doctor was just on the other side of the wall from me, and Joe came in insisting that the Doctor was running around free on the streets of Las Vegas."

"Had Joe been drinking?" asked Nick.

"That's what I thought," said Suds. "Either drunk or high. But no, he told me. Stone cold sober, he insisted. Said he'd gone off after his wife—you know, she's the one who turned him in? Anyways, found her in an alley, tried to knock her off, when suddenly, there's this high pitched whining sound, and the gun goes red hot in his hand. He drops it, turns around, and there he is. The Doctor. Just the same way Joe remembered him, except now he's dressed up in brown pinstripes and holding what looks like some kind of pen light or laser pointer or something. Beside him is this really hot young black chic, and she runs over to Joe's wife and starts saying something soothing to her. Before Joe can figure out what's going on, the gun's in pieces and the hot black chic's gotten Joe's wife away from him, and the Doctor is looking at him with that terrible anger in his face, just the same way he looked at Sammy. Joe told him, 'you're in prison!' And according to Joe, the Doctor seemed surprised. 'Really?' said the Doctor. 'Wonder what I'm doing there.' Then the Doctor just gave him a wink and said, 'Don't tell Martha—she'll just tell me off for getting in trouble again.' And before Joe could think of anything else to say, all three of them were gone."

Nick frowned. He had remembered that incident—Mrs. Trudge, who had gone into the police station accompanied by a pretty black woman with an English accent. She'd called herself Martha Jones, and had said that the woman was assaulted by her husband, but had not received any serious injuries. Nick hadn't thought anything of it at the time, but it did seem to back up the terrified Joe's story. Nick made a mental note to find Joe and bring him in for interrogation when they were back at the lab.

The only other prisoner to break the script was one of Warrick's. He called himself Dart, and only veered off from the script after he described the fight between Sammy and the Doctor.

"After that," said Dart, "Sammy never left the guy alone. I thought maybe they were, you know, getting together, but who really knows!" Dart smiled, as if at some untold joke. "We always did like trying to get the Doctor mad, though. Me and some of the other guys. We had this game we liked to play, called it, 'Who's the Doctor killed?' Oh, you should have seen his face when he found out! We really got him that time. Good and proper."

"This… Doctor…" said Warrick, "liked to brag?"

Dart gave a derisive snort. "Course not!" he said. "That's what made it fun. He'd be talking about some nonsense or other, and then suddenly, he'd say a name and he'd get this look in his eyes—and we all knew that look. That's the look of a killer. And then we'd add the name to the list." Dart thought a moment, tapping his teeth together. "We got up to maybe fifteen before he caught on. We weren't serious or anything, we just wanted to tick him off. And at first, you know, that's what it did. When he found out, he just started pacing up and down the length of the room shouting at us about how murder is not a game, and his life is not a game, and you can't change the past no matter how much you want to. But then he took another look at the list, and he saw this one name and really blew his top. Got all quiet, sort of radiated anger, and when he looked at me, I swear, I thought I was going to die. I really did. He started moving towards me and my life literally flashed before my eyes. Then he just stopped in his tracks, and left. We stopped the game after that."

"That name you mentioned," said Warrick. "It wouldn't happen to be Katherine Marshal?"

Dart just gave Warrick a twisted smile. "Nah, Katherine Marshal never even made the list. Didn't kill her. Ironic, isn't it? The man's probably killed more people than everyone in this prison combined, and the one time he gets caught, he's innocent."

Warrick felt his breath catch in his throat. He couldn't think how he was going to tell Sara. "So what… was the name?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Gallifrey," said Dart. He clacked his teeth together a few times. "Not sure what kind of a chic would call herself that. We figure it's got to be a chic. No guy would get that angry unless it's over a chic."