The door to the secure ward was locked from the inside, but the Doctor made short work of the mechanism with his sonic screwdriver then stepped into the corridor. His first reaction was to recoil; waves of dark anger lapped at his psyche.

"Sir? Doctor?"

He didn't realize someone was speaking to him until the nurse stood directly before him. He blinked, forcefully pushing the torrent away from his mind.

"Are you all right?" the woman was asking, eyeing him with clear concern.

"Fine, right as rain," he lied, plastering a smile upon his face. "You're Nurse Adams?"

"Yes, and you must be Doctor Leeds. How did you get in? I was sure the door was locked."

"Must not've been," he responded.

She shook her head. "I'll have to speak with the orderlies. Anyway, I'd heard you'd arrived, but I didn't expect to see you up here."

"You've got patients, and I'm the Doctor," he replied, "so of course I'm here." He walked toward the nearest heavy, bolted door. There was no window, only a narrow slot toward the top of the portal. He peered inside.

The cell—because this could not be called a room—was padded and contained no furniture. In the corner a white-swathed figure crouched. It took the Time Lord's eyes a moment to adjust to the interior dimness, but when he did he realized the man wore a straitjacket.

"Is it really necessary that he be restrained like that?" he asked, unable to hide his disdain fully.

"Oh, yes, Doctor. He goes into fits of rage and slams his arms and legs against the walls. It's for his own good."

The Doctor looked down the hallway. "And the others?"

"Some are appropriately restricted in their movements; a few aren't, at least not yet."

"These patients up here, they all suffer from uncontrollable rage?"

"In one form or another, yes."

"Did they come into the hospital like this?"

"Yes."

He squinted through the slit again. "Open the door."

The nurse was clearly taken aback. "Oh, I can't do that! Even though he's in a straitjacket, he may still attack you. We need three orderlies just to feed him—"

"I'll be fine."

"I can't take that risk, not without Dr. Poile's permission."

"Then go and ask him."

She hesitated, glancing at the phone at the nurses' station then back at the secured door. "I can try calling him…" she began.

"You do that." He ambled along to the next door, finding a similar sight as he looked inside.

The moment the nurse had picked up the phone the Time Lord's expression shifted to one redolent of pain and deep concern. He pushed aside the sturdy bolts and opened the door.

The man within was wiry, with a frame similar to the Doctor's. He was less than thirty, but deep lines creased his brow as though he'd been scowling for years.

"I'm here to help," the Doctor said immediately, closing the door and moving toward the patient. "Someone's done this to you, and I'm sorry." He extended his hand in a placating gesture.

The man's eyes widened, and he drew a deep breath.

"It's all right," the Time Lord assuaged, "I won't hurt you—"

In an instant the patient had shot to his feet and lunged at his visitor. The Doctor was knocked back, hard, against the door. His elbow and temple collided with the thick metal; the force of it reverberated through him. For an instant he felt consciousness flickering away.

He blinked and shook himself bodily, trying to keep on his feet. The patient's leg shot out, and the Doctor narrowly avoided a solid kick to the shin.

"Please," he said, his thrusting out his arm to press his hand over the man's brow, "I only want to find out what happened to you. Don't fight it; just relax."

The man sank to his knees as the Time Lord's suggestion manifested. But the effect was brief, and the patient wrenched his body to the side with a grunt, severing the contact. He kicked viciously. The Doctor hopped back but lost his balance, falling against the door.

Raw rage twisted the man's face into a grotesque mask barely recognizable as human. He lunged again.

The Doctor fumbled inside his pocket for the sonic screwdriver. Setting 352 would create a blinding flash of light…

And then he fell back fully and felt himself tugged by the shoulders. The door was open now, and he was being dragged from the room. Thick legs stepped over him as two orderlies pushed inside.

"Don't hurt him!" the Doctor panted. "He can't help himself."

Then the door was shut firmly, and he was out in the corridor. Nurse Adams helped him to his feet, her eyes moving over him with concern.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

He raked a hand through his hair. His head, in fact, was close to throbbing, but it wasn't from his knock against the door. The surge of brutal emotion was painful, magnified by the intensity of a dozen minds similarly affected.

"I'm fine," he replied. He leaned over to peer through the slot again. The orderlies were hunched over the patient, who was back in the corner now.

He waited until they emerged from the cell then asked, "How is he?"

"He's all right," one orderly answered. "We've sedated him. He'll sleep for a few hours."

"Then let me see him," the Doctor said, reaching for the door.

"He could have killed you!" the nurse protested.

"He's in a lot more danger than I am," the Time Lord retorted, entering the cell once again. This time, however, the orderlies stepped inside, too, positioning themselves near the patient.

The Doctor crouched before him. The man's eyes were glazed. A drop of blood smeared over his neck where he'd been injected. His pulse had slowed, and his respiration was approaching normal as his adrenaline levels stabilized. He didn't appear to be in any immediate physical danger, but his mind was terribly damaged, perhaps irrevocably.

The Doctor rested his fingertips against the man's temple for a moment, but the sedative had effectively blocked whatever emotional turmoil roiled within this unfortunate creature's head. The Time Lord sensed little beyond a blank exhaustion. It was a shame, really, because if he'd been able to glimpse even a hint of memory he might be able to determine what had happened to the fellow.

The orderlies observed his examination with wary expressions, prompting him to cobble an explanation. "The pulse at the temple is more sensitive than the radial or carotid—lets me check his heart without a stethoscope." He pulled his hand away then stood. "He's fine for now."

They left the cell. Nurse Adams was waiting in the hallway.

"Is he all right?" she asked.

The Doctor shook his head. "Not even close."

Distress crossed her features. "Is he hurt?"

"Physically? No. But his mind is deeply damaged."

"That's why he's here," she said gently. "Dr. Poile believes he can help him."

"How?"

"He's found ECT to have some positive effects on these patients."

The Doctor considered this for a moment. The electrical stimulus would suppress neuronal function, reducing the nerve cells' conductivity, thus flattening the patient's affect. It was a temporary solution, at best. But this wasn't the time or place for a lecture on the pros and cons of this increasingly popular therapy, so he refrained from further comment. The real issue was the cause of the problem.

"…he'd like to see you as soon as possible," she was saying.

"Hmm?" He didn't realize his thoughts had drifted off. "Who would?"

"Dr. Poile. He's asked that you go to his office. He has some questions—"

"Good idea," he interjected, "because I have some for him, too." He stalked off toward the door.


Rose sat upon the narrow bed with her back against the wall. She'd been locked in the room for over an hour and judged that it was near noon now. The Doctor had not returned to speak with her again, and she was growing mildly worried. Mostly, though, she was anxious to tell him what she'd found and hear about his own observations and discoveries.

She'd gotten up more than once to try the door, but of course it was fully secured. She could probably call for help or feign illness, but she wanted to spend more time with the patients, and she was afraid those actions would result in her continued confinement.

Several times the redheaded nurse had peered through her window. Rose was fairly sure she'd managed to look away before the woman noticed her clear, cogent gaze. Still, arousing suspicion wouldn't do, so she sat and waited and hoped that she'd be let out soon.


The Doctor spent over an hour with Poile. To his surprise, he found the psychiatrist fairly forthcoming in sharing patient histories and discussing his course of treatment. While he showed little overt compassion, he appeared to care about his charges; at least he used the right words to convey such thoughts. However, the Doctor couldn't help but feel slightly suspicious of the man's motives.

"Isn't it unusual for so many people in one geographic area to be affected by severe emotional disorders?" he asked as they talked about the patients' backgrounds. Over half were from the Laurentides, and most of the others had lived near Quebec City.

"Frankly," replied Poile, "yes. At least statistically. But we've established a reputation, and I think it's likely that we're seeing patients who might otherwise be placed elsewhere or perhaps receive no treatment at all. So it's difficult to know, really, whether this is a statistical anomaly or merely the result of circumstance."

"Is there any correlation between the type of illness and the place of origin?" the Doctor inquired.

Poile considered the question. "I'm not sure. I'd need to review all of the charts."

"I can do that."

"I'm not sure it's necessary—"

The Doctor leaned forward, his gaze pointed. "Has it occurred to you that there could be an external cause for these patients' conditions? Something environmental perhaps." He knew perfectly well that a toxin was not the culprit; it would not explain the gaping chasm he'd sensed in the patients' psyches. Still, he was interested in the psychiatrist's response.

"No, I… I hadn't really considered that. I'm not aware of anything that could cause this sort of mental illness."

"Could be something not yet recognized—new chemicals are being invented all the time. Let me review that charts and I'll see if I can find any commonalities."

Poile nodded. "If you like, but I don't think you'll find anything."

"Oh, you'd be surprised what I can find," the Doctor replied rather obliquely. Then, to quash any misgivings on the psychiatrist's part, he added, "I can familiarize myself with the other patients' medical histories, too."

"I warned you that we kept them in isolation for protection," Poile reminded him. Of course they'd already discussed the matter when the Time Lord had first entered his office. With a scrutinizing look, he asked, "Are you sure you weren't hurt?"

"I'm fine," the Doctor said, rising from his chair. "Should I see Nurse Adams about the charts?"

"No. I'll call upstairs and have them brought down to you. It'll be a bit hectic up there for the next hour or so; it's lunch time."

Much as he loathed the thought of the orderlies pinning down the patients and forcing food into them, the Doctor compelled himself to focus upon the big picture. Perhaps the answer lay within the charts.

He realized he hadn't checked back with Rose, either. He decided, however, to wait until after lunch. That would give her further opportunity to interact with the other patients. After the meal he'd find her and see what information she'd gathered. He felt fairly confident that whatever had harmed the patients originated outside the hospital, so she should be safe within the building for at least a little while longer.


Rose was quite relieved when the door opened and an orderly took her back to the dayroom for lunch. Her little room felt too much like a jail cell, and it kept her from nosing about.

She sat placidly at the table and did not resist the nurse's efforts to feed her. She swallowed her tomato soup obediently and sipped a little apple juice through a straw.

"There's a good girl," the nurse complimented. "I think you're feeling better."

Rose muttered something about spirits in the gas pipes then permitted her head to sink down against her chest.

"Had enough? Well, I suppose that's all right. Maybe you'll have a little more later." The nurse patted her hand then walked to the next table.

Rose sat still for a few minutes then slumped over to the side, close to the woman next to her. She tapped her arm gently.

"Hello," she said softly.

The woman sighed in response.

"Hey, are you listenin'?" Rose asked.

"Yes," was the whispered reply.

"You can understand me." For a moment a smile crept across Rose's face. "I'm glad. Can you tell me how you ended up here?"

"The orderly brought me."

"Yeah, me too. I mean before that. How'd you end up in the hospital? Do you remember what happened?"

The woman swallowed, and her fingers curled into a loose fist. "It hurt."

"What did?"

"When it…" She closed her eyes.

"It's all right. You can tell me. I have this friend—he's called the Doctor—an' he can help."

"Doctor… no, the doctor can't help."

"That Poile bloke? No, probably not. But my Doctor can. You just have to tell me what happened to you."

"The woods…I was in the woods."

"Yeah. And then what?"

"I don't…" she shook her head sluggishly, squinting. "Something… it touched me, hurt me, and I can't remember…I lost something."

"What did you loose?"

"I… can't… it's gone, but I still feel it… I feel it here." Her fingers uncurled as her hands gestured stiffly toward the floor.

"Here? You mean there's somethin' in here? In this building?"

The woman exhaled slowly then nodded.

Rose took a quick glance around the room, and when the orderlies' and nurse's backs were turned she parted the woman's hair to find the marks upon her scalp.

"No," the patient moaned, "don't." She twisted away from Rose, her body sliding off the chair.

Rose's first instinct was to reach for the woman as she fell. She leaned forward to grasp the sleeve of her robe, preventing the patient from falling to the floor but succeeding in capturing the nurse's attention.

"Here now, what do you think you're doing?" she questioned, hurrying toward her two charges. However, her expression remained benign as she considered the situation.

The female patient had pressed her hands over her head, murmuring, "Don't touch, don't touch."

Now Nurse Lebou, the redhead who had fed Rose at breakfast, strode into the room. "What's going on?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. I think perhaps Beatriz started to fall and the girl tried to catch her."

Nurse Lebou bent down before Beatriz to listen to her stuttered mantra. Then she glared at Rose. "I think she pushed her."

"Really? She's been so cooperative—"

"Well, that must have been the remains of the Thorazine. It's worn off now. We can't have her going around bothering the other patients, and certainly not shoving them about."

The redhead took Rose's arm and pulled her up from her chair, saying briskly, "She's scheduled to be taken to Montreal at 4:00, but I think we'll need to be certain she doesn't try to hurt anyone before that."

Rose was bustled away, Nurse Lebou on one side and an orderly on the other. She anticipated being taken to her room, but instead she was ushered to the treatment room and taken inside. The orderly held her as the nurse prepared a syringe.

Rose was about to protest, but she remembered that the Doctor's pills would render whatever they gave her harmless. However, they wouldn't know that; they'd think her sedated, and that could provide her with the perfect opportunity to snoop about further. She just had to find a way to keep them from locking her in her room…

The nurse injected her with little heed to preventing discomfort; Rose flinched automatically at the sharp jab. The orderly kept her within his grasp until she made her legs wobbly and began to sink down.

"Get her back to her room," the nurse instructed. "And keep an eye on her. In her state we wouldn't want her wandering away, getting near the stairwell…"

Rose's senses prickled with apprehension at the woman's tone of voice. She wanted to run, to get away as fast as she could, but the orderly was dragging her out of the room and down the hall. His hand clamped over her mouth, and his bulk was sufficient to prevent her from breaking away.

The nurse followed with rapid steps, scooting ahead as they reached the door to the stairwell. No one else was about; the other patients and staff were still in the day room dealing with lunch.

She was hauled bodily through the door, and then suddenly the orderly released her. She teetered for a moment on the top stair.

"You've been a very bad girl," Nurse Lebou rebuked, her eyes narrowing as her expression hardened. "You've put your pretty little nose where it doesn't belong. And now look where it's got you." She gave Rose a hard shove.

There was nothing to grab, nothing to reach for to prevent her fall. Rose tumbled down the stairs as the door slammed shut above her.


Nurse Lebou had just closed the door when Nurse Morton stepped out of a nearby room.

"Oh, Gayle," the redhead said, "I thought you were in the dayroom."

"Mrs. Warren needed her sweater…" Her eyes moved to the stairwell door then back to the orderly's face. "What's happened?"

"I'm not sure," replied Nurse Lebou. "I heard the door slam and was just coming to see what it was."

"Might've been a patient," the orderly said quickly. "My key's missing."

Nurse Morton reached for the knob and pulled open the door. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed, rushing down the stairs. "Get Doctor Leeds! She's hurt, and it looks serious!"


To be continued...