A/N: You know the drill - I'm so grateful for all my readers, reviewers, followers, and favoriters. You make my day so much brighter. Thank you!

Enjoy!

She gasped and threw herself backwards, trying to get away from whoever was grabbing her arms. "Let go of me!" she screamed.

"Claudia, it's me!" Steve said. "It's Steve."

"Steve," she repeated. "Steve? Steve?"

"Did you hit your head?" he asked, releasing her forearms.

"What? No. No. I saw…" Her head hurt, though. Had she hit it?

She pushed herself upright and looked around the office. Vanessa and Artie were gone, and Adelie –

"Adelie!" Claudia breathed. "Where is she?"

"Some co-worker of Dr. Vanessa's showed up, and they took her down to the treatment room."

"They just… took her?"

"Yeah. The guy was huge. Very muscle-y."

"No, I mean…"

"She started going downhill really fast," Steve said. "It was frightening."

"What?" Claudia's head was still ringing.

"Yeah. Wherever you guys went… she started crying, even though she was still asleep, and then she completely panicked and couldn't breathe. It was…" Steve shook his head. "It was scary. I think it was even scarier because at that point she was awake. Clawing at her throat and shaking…"

He shook his head again, unable to finish. Then he rallied, squared his shoulders, and went on. "Dr. Vanessa cranked up the oxygen but Adelie was going blue… it was then that Mr. Muscles showed up. Artie tried shaking you, but you just… you wouldn't wake up. They couldn't tell which of you was more worrying, but in the end not-breathing wins out over not-waking-up. So Mr. Muscles scooped up Adelie and she and the oxygen tank and Dr. Vanessa and Artie sprinted out of here. Artie actually was running."

"What are they going to do?" Claudia asked as she tried to stand up. Her head spun and pain arced across her chest; the office suddenly grew a whole lot of black spots at the edge of her vision. "Whoa."

"Sit down," Steve said, and helped her back to the couch.

"I have to go down there," Claudia said.

"You're not going to be any use to Adelie if you pass out," Steve said. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Do you have cookies?"

"What? No, but I've got peanut-butter crackers in my bag." He grabbed his duffel bag from the floor near the desk and started rummaging through it. "I thought I liked rice… and then I spent four days in the temple. Turns out I didn't like rice. I liked the other things that people eat with rice."

"Nobody likes rice, Jinksy."

"Billions of people in China do! Japanese people do! I'm told it's pretty popular in the Philippines and India!" Steve pulled out a packet of peanut-butter crackers. "But I guess I'm destined to be an ugly American my entire life, because plain rice doesn't tickle my taste buds."

"Gross," Claudia said as she took the crackers from him.

"Yeah, well," Steve said.

He watched her eat crackers for a moment. "Can you tell me where you guys went?"

"We went to… I'm not even sure how to describe it," Claudia said, spewing cracker crumbs.

Steve rummaged around in the bag again and pulled out a blue Gatorade. "Please drink this," he said.

She obliged, taking a long sip. "But I know what's in the music box."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"It's her arm bone, Steve," Claudia said. "Her mother took it out of her arm… and then her mother blinded her… and then she left her in a scummy basement with a music box constructed out of her own body parts."

A sudden thought flitted across her mind and she tried to get up from the couch. The pain grabbed her and pinched at her ribs; the black spots made a sudden reappearance and the room spun.

"Sit down," Steve said forcefully. "Where are you going?"

"Computer," Claudia said.

"I'll get it," Steve said. "Eat those crackers, please."

He retrieved her laptop from the desk and brought it over. She stuffed another cracker into her mouth and took it from him, eagerly. "I know her mother's name! And her mother's occupation! It's a slam dunk, Jinksy."

"Drink," Steve said, and forced the Gatorade into one of her typing hands.

She took the quickest of drinks and then resumed typing.

"Even if you find her mother," Steve said, trying to speak with the utmost tact, "what are you going to do? Obviously the woman was nuts… and she doesn't want her. If you find her…"

"Not if, Jinksy. When."

"Okay, when. When you find her mother, what are you going to do? Demand that she take Adelie back? Hurt her? Make her pay for abandoning her severely disabled child?"

"She deserves to know what happened to her kid," Claudia said. "She deserves to know that her shitty series of decisions led her daughter to be imprisoned in a facility that performed unauthorized medical experiments on her, left her in the hands of child-abusing felons, and turned her into the perfect picture of an institutionalized child!"

Steve put his hands over Claudia's, forcing her to look up. "Hey."

"What?" she asked, clearly irritated.

"Who is this for?"

"What do you mean, who is this for?"

"Adelie's mother left her because she was a shitty mother. Adelie was rescued by somebody who cared. She was taken to a place where they could safely take care of her. I can't make excuses for the horrible things that happened while she was there, but I do know that at that facility, she found a piano. She fell in love. That piano, in that facility, was what set her free. And eventually, whatever was buried in the yard there set her free," Steve said. "If she had stayed with her mother, she might be dead. She might be worse – paralyzed, or in a place where she couldn't play the piano. And her mother – obviously she made the best out of what was obviously a sinkhole situation. If you find her mother, what's going to happen?"

"She's going to pay for what she did."

"How, Claud? For some reason, she mutilated her child and then left her," Steve said. "She's already paid for what she did. Over and over."

She petulantly stared at the computer screen.

"Trust me on this one," Steve said.

He put the Gatorade in her hand.

"I want her to see…" Claudia said, staring at the Gatorade as though it contained the meaning of life, "… that the little girl she broke turned out to be an amazing person. Smart. Funny. Inventive. Adventurous. Courageous. Somebody sweet, and caring, with a great sense of humor. I want her to see that she gave up on that person."

"Don't you see?" Steve asked. "If this woman hadn't given Adelie up, she wouldn't be that person."

That stopped Claudia totally, and to cover the sudden tears in her eyes she took a long, long drink of Gatorade.

"She is that person because of what happened to her after her mother left her," Steve went on. "And bringing her mother back into her life is not going to make either life any better."

The computer beeped.

"Unless, of course, you type like a fiend and you've already found her," Steve said, and rolled his eyes.

"Julie Arden isn't an optical surgeon," Claudia said, forgetting that was a detail only she would know. "She's a neurosurgeon. And she… she works for… oh my God, Steve, she works for the Open Minds people!"

"The who?"

Claudia gripped the edges of her computer tightly. The room was spinning again. "Steve, she works for the people who tortured Adelie. The ones who are trying to find her right now. The ones Myka and Pete are on their way to interrogate."

"Now, this place is nicer than the loony bin!" Pete declared as he pulled the SUV into the parking lot at Open Minds, Inc.

"Pete."

"What?"

"Two of the people back at the Warehouse have been in a psychiatric facility," Myka pointed out. "You might… want to refer to it with a little more tact."

"Neither of them is here," Pete said. "Plus, Claudia thinks it's funny."

"Does she?"

"She thinks I'm hilarious."

Myka rolled her eyes. "Just like everyone else, right, Latimer?"

They got out of the car and walked towards the Open Minds building. It was built like a cross between Falling Water and a futuristic spaceship – all glass, steel, soaring archways, majestic columns, gorgeous landscaping.

"These people have money," Myka said as they headed towards the entrance, "and they're not afraid to show it."

"If that doctor guy's getting payouts from these guys, why isn't there more money going into the hospital?" Pete wanted to know.

"It's a state-run facility," Myka said. "If a whole lot of money started coming in from a private research firm, there'd be a lot more scandals than a saint statue buried in the backyard."

They entered the lobby. It was muted, understated, decorated in soothing tones of gray and light green. A fountain burbled merrily in the middle of the entryway. A circular desk provided a workspace for a no-nonsense secretary. Her hair was pulled back into a stern bun. She wore a headset, and appeared to be speaking into it.

As Myka and Pete approached, she looked up at them. "Can I help you?"

"We're with the Secret Service," Pete said, and they flashed their badges.

"Is the President coming to visit?" she asked, clearly unflappable.

"No, ma'am," Pete said.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

"Then what are you still doing here?"

"We're working with Dr. Gabriel Wilson-Farrell," Myka said.

"My condolences," the secretary said.

"I suppose you've heard that one of his patients escaped," Myka said.

"Yes. Tragic. Autistic children have a tendency to wander. Have you found her?"

"Not yet."

"And you're still here," the secretary said.

"We have it on good authority that Dr. Wilson-Farrell is working very closely with some researchers here," Myka said.

"I can't release that information."

"You don't have to. We already know it," Pete said.

"And you think his escaped patient is here?" The secretary was ice.

"No," Pete said.

"And yet you're still here."

"Listen, Anya," Myka said, reading the nameplate on the desk, "is there someone else we could talk to?"

"You want me to bother someone higher up on the food chain so that you can tell them the same bundle of non-information you've told me?" She smiled. "You must think I'm a fool."

Myka leaned in closer. "We know that this organization pays large, undocumented sums of money to Dr. Wilson-Farrell. Money, if you don't mind me saying, that he clearly is not earning. We believe he's doing that at the expense of the mental and physical health of his patients. And, Anya, since you don't seem to have a checkbook or any authority to dole out large sums of money, could you please put us in touch with someone who can?"

At this the secretary straightened up. "Someone will be with you shortly," she said crisply.

Forty-five minutes later, they were still waiting, reading old copies of The Autism Studies Journal. Pete nearly jumped out of his skin when the Farnsworth started vibrating. He grabbed for it and stood up. "Yeah?"

"Pete, listen to me," Claudia said, seriously leveling her gaze at the Farnsworth screen. "Have you gotten to the Open Minds offices yet?"

"Yeah, we're sitting here waiting to see somebody," Pete said. "But I think the secretary's just trying to screw with us."

"Get out of there," Claudia said.

"What? Why?"

"Adelie's mother is there."

"What?"

His raised voice got Myka's attention, and she came over. "What is it, Claud?"

"Adelie's mother is there," Claudia repeated, speaking quietly, leaning in towards the screen. "Her mother works there."

"How did you find her?"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you," Claudia said. "I'll explain it fully when you get back here. But you have to get out of there."

"Why?" Pete asked. "She doesn't know we're here. She doesn't know that Adelie's with us."

"No, but what do you want to bet that Dr. Wilson-Farrell has already given the heads-up to his Open Minds stooges?"

"So they know two Secret Service agents are coming. Again, they don't know she's with us."

"They're probably already on high alert," Claudia said. "Adelie's missing and her mother's there. And her mother? Not a nice lady. She created an artifact."

"How?" Myka asked.

Claudia paused and took a deep breath. Then, somewhat incongruously, she took a long drink of Gatorade. "She took a bone out of her daughter's arm and put it in the music box. And then? And then she blinded her daughter."

"Claudia, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Claudia said tensely. "There's just a lot going on. Please, just leave."

She sounded so confused and out of it that Pete and Myka exchanged a series of glances. "If we leave now, we won't find out how Dr. Wilson-Farrell is getting the money," Pete said. "Or why he's trying so desperately to find Adelie."

"Excuse me," a smooth, cultured voice said from behind the agents. "Agents Bering and Latimer?"

"Gotta go," Pete said.

"Just… keep her safe, okay?" Claudia whispered, leaning in towards the Farnsworth. "She's safe with us."

"I know, Claud," Pete said, and closed the Farnsworth.

The woman who had approached the agents was tall, slim, and redheaded. She wore an expensive-looking business suit in a light shade of plum. She had small, round glasses and wore a smile. "Hello. Welcome to Open Minds," she said, and shook their hands. "I'm Dr. Cynthia Villanders. I understand you have some questions about our work at the Great Cooper Lake facility. Please, step this way."

She led them to a small conference room. "Please, sit. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee? Orange spritzer?"

"No, thank you," Myka said. "We're fine."

Dr. Villanders sat down. "Then I am all yours."

"We understand that your organization is working with hospitals to provide treatment for children with autism," Myka said. "Including the Great Cooper Lake hospital."

"Yes, that's true," Dr. Villanders said. "We're very excited to work with these patients. We feel that our treatments can provide long periods of mood stability and a decrease in behavioral outbursts."

"Were you aware that a woman calling herself a doctor was administering unproven electrical shock treatments to patients at the hospital?"

Dr. Villanders looked solemn. "Yes. Unfortunately, we did not become aware of it as quickly as we would have liked. Dr. – I suppose I can't call her that, though? Um, Ms. Hanover came up through our research laboratory program. She told us that she had been working with scientists at Ball State University. She was looking for a grant to extend their treatment program. We didn't find out that treatment was ESM until six months after she began the program at Great Cooper Lake, and we didn't find out she wasn't a doctor until two months after that."

She looked very seriously at Pete and Myka. "Please take me very seriously when I say this – Open Minds, Inc. does not condone the usage of ESM treatments. We believe that ESM treatments are harmful to patients and that they do more damage than good. ESM treatment is not something we endorse."

"I don't think anyone endorses it," Myka said.

"Except maybe Not-Doctor Crazy-Pants," Pete said. "She seemed to be pretty into it."

"We had nothing to do with her program," Dr. Villanders said. "And I intend to testify against her in court so that she gets the punishment she deserves."

"Did you know that the patient she fixated on is missing?" Myka asked.

"Yes," Dr. Villanders said. "Dr. Wilson-Farrell informed us when the young woman went missing. Are you looking for her?"

"We are," Myka said. "Do you have any information about her disappearance?"

"I wish I did," Dr. Villanders said. "I can only imagine the issues raised for her following the ESM treatment. She must be very confused and upset. If we had any information about her, I would turn it over to you immediately."

"You mentioned that Ms. Hanover spent some time here," Myka said.

"Yes. She worked with our research team. And, unfortunately, we were allowing her to perform experimental treatments here."

"Did she leave anything behind that might give us a clue?" Pete asked.

"I'm not sure what remained after the police went through," Dr. Villanders said. "But I suppose you're all on the same team, so you are welcome to look at her office and the laboratory space she used."

"That would be very helpful," Myka said.

"Of course," Dr. Villanders said. "Right this way."

She ushered them through similar well-appointed offices and up a flight of stairs. Myka caught glimpses of other people working at computers, or talking in small groups. Whatever they were doing, they all seemed to be very dedicated to it.

"This was her office," Dr. Villanders said, stopping in front of a gray door. "Her research space is attached to the office."

She unlocked the door and turned on the light for them. "I'll be in my office. It's the last door on the right. Please come and find me when you're ready to leave. And anything you find in here, please feel free to take it. The sooner our institute forgets about Carrie Hanover, the better for us."

"Thank you," Myka said.

She and Pete slipped into the office. Pete closed the door behind them.

The office in front of them was well-appointed but spare. There was no computer, but a keyboard still rested on the desk. A filing cabinet sat at the far end of the room. Two well-padded chairs were adjacent to the desk, as though waiting for the doctor to reappear.

On the far side of the room was another door. This one was open, the room beyond it dim. Pete moved towards it. "I'll check out the research space," he said.

Myka pulled open the top drawer of the desk. Nothing. The next drawer contained two paper clips, a square pad of Post-It Notes, and a bottle of White-Out. The other two drawers were empty. The first two drawers of the filing cabinet were similarly empty, but in the bottom drawer was a thick black binder. Myka pulled it out and flipped it open. "Pete, look at this."

Pete stuck his head back into the office. "What is it?"

"DVDs," Myka said. "There must be a hundred of them."

She flicked through the clear plastic sheets. "And they all have Adelie's name on them."

"Then I guess that explains all this," Pete said.

Myka stood from her crouch and walked into the research space.

"This is like a bad movie," Pete said.

The research space was a simple room with a cabinet, a couch, and a low table. Behind a clear plastic panel was a video camera, its blank eye staring out into the room.

"I think she videotaped all of the sessions," Pete said.

"She must have needed an insurance policy," Myka said. "Proof that her treatment was working."

Pete opened the cabinet door and let out a low whistle. "And here's our fake doctor's co-star."

For a moment they just stared at the brutal-looking machine in the cabinet. It was square, blocky, bulky, reminiscent of both a car battery and a mini refrigerator. Six dials were attached to the front. A wide variety of switches, buttons, and knobs were arrayed below. A series of four wires trailed off the top of the machine; each wire ended in a plastic adhesive circle.

"I don't even like looking at this," Pete said.

"No, it's awful," Myka agreed.

"Take the DVDs. We're leaving."