A/N: Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. Enjoy!

The girl just sobbed, and Claudia sat, helpless, and watched her. She could hear Artie in the corner, flicking through the card catalogue, no doubt in search of the missing rosary, but she didn't want to take her eyes off the girl.

After what seemed like hours but couldn't have been more than one, the girl's sobs slowed, got softer. And after another long pause, the girl raised her head from her knees.

Her dark eyes found Claudia's face immediately, and she reached out. Claudia could definitely see the bruises ringing the girl's wrist – making two purple-bruise bracelets, as though someone had put handcuffs on the girl and then left her to struggle.

She made a soft, questioning, murmuring noise and her hand drifted across space, as though searching for someone.

"Artie," Claudia breathed, and her mentor was behind her before she realized she had spoken.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I think she's blind," Claudia said. "Did… did an artifact do that to her?"

Artie waved his hand in front of the girl's face, to no response. She groped out to one side and found the table, then pulled herself upright. Calmer than she had been on her first trip around the office, she carefully reached out and found the wall. Keeping her left hand on the wall, she put her right hand out in front of her and began to trace the room.

Claudia and Artie stared as the girl made a lap of the room. She was uninterested in anything she touched; it seemed to be more of a fact-finding mission. The doors held no special intrigue for her; she touched them, catalogued them in her mind, and moved on.

Once she was back at her starting point, the table, she walked the length of it and held her arm out into thin air.

Claudia took her hand.

There was a flash of light and then images started pouring through Claudia's mind –

Men in white uniforms. Nurses? Quickly moving. Grabbing. Hurting.

Flash of a needle, silver. Hurting.

Arms hurting. Screaming. Screaming. Nobody's listening. Where are they?

No-no-no-no-no-no-no –

Help me!

"Claudia!"

"Make it stop," she breathed. "Make it stop!"

"Claudia, it's over! It's over!" Artie grabbed her by the shoulders.

She wrenched herself away from him. "Let go of me!"

"Claudia – it's me. It's Artie," he said.

Her head was ringing. "Artie."

"We're in the Warehouse," Artie went on. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Where'd she go?" Claudia asked. She shoved herself upright.

"She's right there," Artie said, and pointed to the corner. The girl had curled into a ball again, her hands pressed over her ears. "What happened?"

"When she touched my hand… it was like I went somewhere else."

"You did. To the floor."

"No, like – where she was."

"And? Any clues?"

"Um…" The room was spinning around her. "I need to…"

And with that, she crumpled to the floor.

"That girl was wearing a bracelet," Myka said as soon as they entered the B and B.

"With a number, if I recall," Pete said. "Do you think there's fresh cookies?"

"A bracelet with a number. What kind of places put numbers on bracelets?" Myka mused.

Pete slung his jacket over a chair. "Hell's Angels?"

"Pete."

"Uh, okay – concerts. Conventions. Big… events. Seriously, do you think there are…"

"Cookies," Leena called from the kitchen.

"Yes!" Pete scrambled off.

"Leena," Myka said, as she followed him into the kitchen, "you saw the girl's bracelet. Where do you think it came from?"

"Maybe a school?" Leena suggested. "Some sort of residential program?"

"Residential," Myka murmured. "Hmm."

His mouth full of cookie, Pete said, "A hospital."

"A hospital!" Myka snapped her fingers. "That's it!"

"Really?" Pete seemed surprised.

"It makes perfect sense! It explains her outfit… her confusion… the bracelet." Myka was gathering speed. "We just need to trace the number."

"Do you remember it?"

Myka grabbed a pencil and pad from the counter and scribbled away.

"Of course you do," Pete said.

"E-six-four-eight-nine-two-one," Myka said with satisfaction. "Let's get on it. I bet we'll figure out where the girl's from before Artie and Claudia do."

Artie checked Claudia's pulse again. Thready but steady, and she was groaning something about monkeys and oatmeal. She'll be fine. He turned his attention to the girl in the corner. "You've come a long way, haven't you?"

She stopped rocking; the frantic movement of her hands against her ears stilled. She brought her hands up and held them out, palms down, as though she was expecting him to handcuff her.

"You've come a very long way," Artie said, looking down at the purple-blue bruises encircling her wrists.

She moved her fingers.

"Are you…?" Artie looked from the girl to his keyboard and back. "You are… you're playing the piano."

He leaned in, grabbed the girl under her arms, and pulled her to her feet. Quickly he carried her across the room to the piano and forced her into a chair.

Her fingers found the keys and music began to spill out into the room.

Claudia groaned. "Not the monkey…"

Artie watched the girl as she played, flawlessly, emotionlessly. The music was familiar. "Mozart – Rondo Alla Turca. You play beautifully."

"Artie – don't taunt the monkey," Claudia said.

"Don't worry about her," Artie said to the girl, though she appeared not to even have acknowledged that anyone else was in the room. Over and over, her fingers played Rondo Alla Turca.

"Artie, the monkey can play the piano…" Claudia moaned, and then sat up, suddenly clear-eyed. "Is she…?"

"She's a savant," Artie breathed.

"An escaped savant?" Claudia asked. "Where do savants escape from?"

Alla Turca started over again.

"Listen to her," Artie said. "She plays with technical precision but no emotion. Classic savant syndrome."

"So, um… Beethoven's ear trumpet?"

"That would have made her deaf, not blind."

"Uh – the conducting baton of Glenn Miller?"

"If I recall correctly, that one had more to do with changing the tempo of events rather than moving through time and space."

Claudia shook her head. "Sorry. My head's still spinning. She did a number and a half on my brain."

She ran her fingers through her hair as she thought. "You think that's all she knows?"

"Savants generally have an extremely wide repertoire," Artie said. "It's all in how you trigger the response."

"Hmm." Claudia reached for her jacket and yanked her MP3 player out of one of the pockets. With quick fingers, she scrolled through the options before selecting a song. She let the first thirty seconds or so spill out into the room.

It was all the girl at the keyboard needed – her fingers moved from Alla Turca to the song that had started playing on Claudia's iPod, "Morrison's Jig," a traditional Irish classic. Again, the technical precision and speed were there, but there was no emotion.

"Amazing," Artie said.

On his desk the Farnsworth began to vibrate. He turned and opened it. "What?"

"Well, hello to you too," Pete said. "Myka thinks she's found where our mysterious intruder escaped from."

"Yeah?"

"A pediatric residential psychiatric facility in Great Cooper Lake, Illinois, reported a missing inmate two days ago. Myka's still looking, but it seems like their missing inmate is fifteen, female, and violent."

"I want you two there ASAP to find out if our mystery guest is in fact that missing patient," Artie said.

"Really?" Pete sounded surprised. "Are you sure? I mean, we don't even know if an artifact was involved, and…"

"She's in our Warehouse, Pete," Artie said. "And she certainly didn't come in of her own free will. If that's not an artifact, then I'm not sure what is."

"Um, okay," Pete said. "What are we looking for?"

"Anything out of the ordinary," Artie said, moving towards the computer to call up flight information. "And anything that…"

"Smells like fudge. Got it," Pete said. "I'll tell Myka. Um, Artie?"

"What?"

"Be careful."

"Morrison's Jig" turned into Alla Turca again, still emotionless and precise.

Artie closed the Farnsworth.

"We can't send her back there, Artie," Claudia said

"Back where?"

"Wherever she came from. You saw the marks on her hands. What were they doing to her?"

Artie stared at the girl, whose hands moved fluidly over the keys. She was lost in her own world. "I don't know. And we're not sending her anywhere. For all we know, that might not even be…"

"It is," Claudia said with certainty. "It fits with what she showed me."

"Showed…?"

"Like this," Claudia said. "Give me your hand."

"Claudia…"

"Give me your hand," she repeated, and with a sigh, Artie acquiesced.

Claudia reached out and took the girl's hand. Light flooded through the room, and with a crack –

Running. Running. Hiding.

Hurt. Hurt. Hurt.

Hurt. Everywhere.

Lost. Reach out –

Bruises. Bruises everywhere. Too much. Too much. Too much.

Havetogetaway!

No-no-no-no-no-no!

Help me!

Claudia yanked her hand away from the girl, her head ringing. She didn't feel like passing out, though, which she took as a good sign. "See, Artie? We can't send her back there. Ever."

Artie grabbed the edge of the desk and forced himself into a chair. "Oh. Well. Huh."

He looked at the girl, whose fingers rested on top of the piano keys, lightly, not moving. She tilted her head and stared somewhere over his head, blankly. Then she raised her hands to her mouth and bent her head downwards. As tears started to stream down her face again, she whispered, "Sorry."