Few things made You Haibara's blood run cold, but the young woman sitting in front of him was one of them. He'd seen evil in the reflection his entire life, but like his father told him, "wicked" suited him better. Mischievous. He had humor and knew how to make things interesting. Not once had he seen someone's stare come from a place so frozen.
As if reading his mind, she turned her gaze to his desk, the movement of his hands as he wrote about treatments, but never him. As someone who depended on eye contact to maintain a façade this was really unnerving, and he sensed she knew that. How frustrating.
To make matters more uncomfortable, he couldn't address her directly. Her psychiatrist suggested all contact with her should be limited to when only absolutely necessary. She won't say, eat or acknowledge much of anything, though how much this is due to her illness was anyone's guess. All his father's staff could really do for her is provide what she asks for, which turned out to be remarkably little, until today.
A nurse brought a torn page of a diary to his attention that morning, a single word scrawled on the paper: me. Apparently the girl handed it to the nurse and nothing else, but it intrigued him enough to confront her. It was the first notable sign of progress after the camera.
That in itself made him feel uneasy. The photos she produced had a gloomy, oppressive atmosphere that just wasn't to his taste. He'd found the old thing in the storage room beneath the stairs and considered throwing it out before deciding the museum was a better place for it. It probably wasn't one of Asou's, but You admired his work, and kept it on the off chance. He'd bumped into her in front of the old man's portrait, tracing an invisible line across his face. He hadn't intended to give her the thing, but her eyes found it in his hands, contaminating it, making his skin crawl. He hadn't seen her without it since.
Glancing up, he noticed she went back to peering into the same empty seat next to her's, as if willing something to be there. You could tell from observing (for as long as he could stand, anyway) she was constantly aware of space; she needed her's and kept precise distances away from particular people and places. More interestingly, though, she maintained space not just for herself but someone else. Yet she was always alone.
"Are you expecting someone?" he managed to ask, masking his curiosity with a bored tone. The responding silence was piercing enough to make him flinch, but he busied himself with the torn page just in time. She wasn't going to get the better of him.
"Can you explain what this means?" was his next question, tone actively curious. Spreading the diary page on the desk between them didn't stir any movement, though he knew she could hear him just fine. Being ignored was starting to test his patience.
I know the Sendous don't exist. It was on the tip of his tongue, but questioning her like this was pushing it enough. He'd read almost every written word about her and all of them were a lie. Who was behind it he didn't know, but from personal experience, the truth was more interesting anyway. What everybody knew is that Kageri Sendou is the daughter of a family practically in hiding. Her psychiatrist is the family doctor, and he's been overseeing her treatment for the past year, maintaining a close relationship with her parents - which was false. Meeting the doctor in person proved as much. If there was a benefit from telling lies other than getting what you want, it's that you can spot one a mile off. In this case, it was an entire medical history, back story and family, which is difficult even for a Haibara. Cracks can appear anywhere if you're not careful, especially with so much dependent on another person. Ultimately, this is where it fascinated him: the lie seemed more for her benefit than anyone else's. With that thought, a question left his lips.
"Who are you?"
It was there, in a first floor office of the Haibara clinic, she finally spoke.