Sitting in the luxurious chair that decorated the west wall of the psychologist's office, Samantha Manson found herself fidgeting with her silly-skull bracelet like she used to do when she was nervous. Waiting patiently for her target to show up, she found herself wandering around the office, picking through the various books and degrees that were on display, something that would have reassured anyone else but only made her more nervous about what was about to happen. "Easy, Manson," she breathed, blowing her uncharacteristically blonde hair out of her face, "it's just therapy, not like I'm going up against the mistress of misery again, haha." Unfortunately for her, that was exactly what was about to happen.

Thinking back to a few days ago when she first agreed to go undercover for Kwan and Jazz, Sam remembered how excited she was to be back into the ghost business after so many years of just being another faceless student on a big campus. "Are you sure it's her," she'd asked, half excited and half terrified, "are you sure Spectra's back in town?"

She remembered Jazz nodding in uncomfortable agreement, sipping coffee as she, Kwan, and Tucker all sat around the table where they'd been assembled. "Positive, nobody leaves the imprint on a room full of psychotherapists like the embodiment of teenage misery in designer heels."

"Yeah but I mean, we still have to be sure," Kwan said, obviously not happy with being reminded those miserable few weeks of his freshman year at Casper High, "I mean, you guys can't just go in there guns blazing on the assumption that all psych majors may be evil, right?"

"Hey!" Jazz cut in, playfully punching his arm.

"You know what I meant," he said, sheepishly taking off his glasses and wiping them off while turning red, "one of us should probably go get proof."

"But she's seen all of us before?"

"True, but Star still has killer make-up skills, I'm sure she could probably throw something together for one of us. The only problem is who wants to go in?"

And then Sam had volunteered, so eager to escape the acute soul-crushing monotony that her life had become since her last year at college. "Anything beats going over chemical compounds while slurping down wheat grass again, even a date with the headmistress from hell." Soon enough, she'd been in disguise, her once amethyst eyes now covered with bright gray contacts and her hair now a blonde curtain atop her head.

"Remember," Tucker told her as he adjusted her microphone before sending her in, "you feel like you're in trouble, just say the word and we'll come and get you."

"I'll be fine," she remembered saying, waving off his concerns as nothing, "after all, I'm a big girl, can tie my own shoes and everything."

Now, as she was brought back into the present, a woman stepped into the room, wearing a hot red power suit and fiery pumps. There were a few slight differences that Sam noticed- such as the fact that her cinnamon-toned hair was done into a bun and her sunglasses had been replaced with actual reading glasses that were now poised carefully on her nose- but there was no denying that it was, without a doubt...

"You must be Gracie Warner," she said, flashing her sharpest smile as Sam took her seat back on the chair, "hi! How are you, today? Well, obviously not too good considering you're here to see little old moi, ha ha am I right?"

"Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Ms. Despero," Sam replied, giving her most genuine fake smile that she usually reserved for annoying students outside the library, "I'm sorry to just cut in like this."

"No, no, no," Spectra said, sauntering over to the chair adjacent to the couch Sam had settled on and patting her shoulder, "honey, I am never too busy to see to a miserable child. Now," she continued, pulling out a notepad and relaxing into a not so subtle grin, "why don't you tell me all about your terrible little life?"

Momentarily thrown off guard by Spectra beginning to work her charms, Sam had to quickly snap out of it before she became to pawn in this game. "Well, I wouldn't say my life's terrible," she began, bouncing back into the agreed upon story, "I'm just having a little trouble feeling much of anything anymore that isn't violent rage or mind-numbing indifference."

"A common problem for people your age," Spectra/Despero said as she scribbled down notes in her pad, "but something tells me that there's something a little bit bigger weighing you down. You sure there's not, oh I don't know…a boy or a friend or a boy-friend on your mind?"

"Well…"

Leaning in to reassuredly pat her hands, Spectra gave a warm –if totally manipulative- smile and nodded. "Go ahead," she said, lowering her glasses and staring hypnotically into her eyes, "you can tell me anything."

"Okay, there is this one friend of mine," Sam began, unsure of whether or not it was her own desire to speak to someone or Spectra's velvety voice having grown more powerful and overriding the Fenton phones she was wearing, but never the less she continued, "we used to be super close, but over the last year we've been kind of drifting apart. I mean, we still talk and all, but ever since we broke up it's like we're running off of residual friendship fumes, y'know?"

"Ohh, honey…" Spectra said, inhaling deeply as she stroked Sam's face, "that's exactly what I needed to hear."

"Uhh... great," Sam said, uncomfortable to say the least, "can I have my personal space back, now?"

"Oh, but Ms. Manson," she grinned, undoing her hair and throwing her glasses aside, "we have sooo much more to cover."

Obviously delighted by Sam's sudden horror at being ousted, Spectra chuckled as she propped herself onto the desk and her prisoner struggled against the massive therapy couch in an attempt to get up. "Did you really believe a new hair-do and some make-up was enough to fool me? Please," she said, rolling her eyes and examining her nails nonchalantly, "I could smell that manic little Goth despair of yours from a mile away. A fresh break up, struggling in classes, the lingering traces of that rocky relationship with your folks…mmhhmmm, not even your ex-boo was a buffet of misery like you."

"Oh wow," Sam said, still struggling against the invisible restraints that held her in place, "were you this much of a bitch when I was fourteen?"

"Oh sweety I'm still the same old me," Spectra replied, the minimal wrinkles on her skin disappearing as she feasted on Sam's angst, "you're just a little bit less of one, but good for you!"

"Alright, Spectra, you got me," she said, now completely still as she rested in the deranged ghost's presence, "but if you really wanna get something out of me, you really got to dig a little deeper. I mean come on, what kind of despair inducing witch wastes their time scratching the surface of nearly a decade's worth of repressed emotions."

"Please, who do you think you're dealing with here, that idiot Skulker?"

"Nah, Skulker's boobs don't sag nearly as much."

"Why you insolent little cu-" Spectra began, her unbound fury causing the temperature in the room to plummet before she regained control, "no, no, no. Hahah you will not goad me with such simplistic tactics," she said as she adjusted her outfit, "besides, even skimming off the surface with you is enough to keep me in good shape for a few years."

"Really? You're really going with breakup drama over the lingering guilt of being a manipulative little witch for most of ninth grade? I mean, seriously lady, at fourteen I made my best friend go into in the untested experimental gateway into another dimension that made his life hell, you really think 'baby's first psychoanalysis' is gonna work on me?"

"Hmm," Spectra purred, walking confidently over to where Sam was and grabbing her face, "maybe not, but your session's not over yet and we have a lot of ground we could cover. Ohh, I know, how about we work through some of those mommy issues of yours?"

"Y'know, I feel like that's a conversation for me to take up with someone a bit more qualified, wouldn't you say so, Danny?"

Turning around in alarm, Spectra was annoyed when she discovered that no one was behind her. Rounding to Sam once again, she gave an angry smile and wagged her finger. "Nice try kid, now where were…." Pausing at the sight of the barrel of the Fenton Thermos resting in her face, Penelope Spectra cursed as Sam repaid her grin with a wickeder grin than even the spectral psychiatrist could give. "…oh you are kidding me with this."

"Sorry, Doc," she said, grinning through the restraints and slamming her thumb down on the capture button as Spectra was whisked into the spiraling ectoplasmic prison, "your services are no longer required for this session."

Pausing to catch her breath after the ordeal, Sam laid on the chair, no longer restricted but still too shaken up to move. After a while, she finally got the strength back to make the call to Tucker, Kwan and Jazz, all of whom were waiting in the Fenton RV for her to give some kind of signal (the signal was the word pineapple if she felt she was in trouble). "Well," she said, stretched out and exhausted from being emotionally drained, "it was definitely Spectra, emphasis on was."

"Alright," Tucker said, his voice guarded and unsure of what to say next, "but uh…you know we heard all of that, right? I mean, not that it's our business or anything, but, like… if you needed someone to talk to Sam, you know I'm always here for you, right? Jazz, Kwan, Danny…all of us are here if you need it, Goth indifference be damned."

"Tucker, believe me," she said, staring at the ceiling fan with a sad smile on her face in the moment of her victory, "I'm probably the sanest person in this ragtag group of misfits."