There were pigeons below in Market Square, as she leaned over the balcony of the hotel room in her underwear. Underwear? The cool air and hastening breeze that came in off the water indicated that nightfall would be coming soon. The smell of the wharves infiltrated her nostrils, but it wasn't quite right. It smells like a river. She looked up across the city skyline and noted that the skies above seemed to be the most interesting shade. Another look down from the balcony as the pigeons took flight, swirling up around her. For a moment she swore they all had maroon eyes. Her gaze followed them up into the aubergine sky, alighting on one in particular. She watched it tumble over backwards in the sky, heading towards her with frightening speed. She saw it with the wide eyes of a child as it sped earthward. There was a moment of fright as it neared the balcony. She whispered a prayer that it would pull up out of its dive. It did not.

There was a sickening thud as the pigeon slammed into the balcony. She could do little more than stare at it. Finally finding herself again, she knelt to it, feeling the hard surface on her bare knees. As her hand reached out to it, it disappeared. Gone. Like the cat. She heard the metallic rasp bouncing around the rotunda of the Colorado Springs Carnigie Library, perfectly preserved in her memory palace. She stood there now, assaulted by the voice.

"There are shallow rollers and there are deep rollers. You can't breed two deep rollers or the offspring will roll all the way down, hit, and die. Agent Starling is a deep roller, Barney. Let us hope that one of her parents was not."

Roller pigeons. his discussion with Barney over inherited, hardwired behavior. The voice continued on with his lecture, with a few comments and questions from Nurse Barney. She could hear the pops from the well used tape. Her eyes flew around the room, looking amongst the shelves and the small tables. The rotunda is preserved in a state from the 1930s, and the bookcase are spaced like radial spokes on a wheel, positioned between the glass windows that look out towards Pikes Peak and Manitou Springs. She passed by the reading tables and chairs in a rush, seeking the tape player that she knew had to be there. Through the wrought iron decorated front doors and into another room. There it was, sitting atop a tiny square table. She raced for it, unawares of her surroundings.

Only when she reached for the stop button did it dawn on her where she was now. The blood spatters on the player, the puddle on the floor. Memphis. One of her locked rooms that she knew he shared. She was in the cage, and she timidly reached out for the bars. Cold, hard, bare. The tape stopped, ending with a loud click. The doors with the frosted glass windows were opening. The smell of fresh paint was carried in on the breeze that accompanied their closing. She hears her name being called. Gently and constantly, it seemed to come from a greater distance than from where her visitor stood. That maroon gaze burned into her soul, into the depths of the well there.

"What do you see, Emily?"

The voice is light, with a sing-song quality to it. She can hear herself scream as she lashes out against the bars. Tears spring to her eyes at the sharp and sudden pain in her wrist. The sing-song is repeating endlessly in her voice like a broken record. He is there suddenly, holding her tight, securing her arms to her side.

"Emily…. Wake up Emily."

Eyes wide open now, taking in deep lungfuls of air, restrained against a soft mattress. The ceiling is white, and painful to her tearing eyes. Slowly the voice loses its distance and she realizes that it is by her ear. Warm breath on the side of her face as she turns towards him. It is the first time in a long while that she sees even the slightest trace of a smile on his face, however grim. It soothes her, along with the sound of his voice. The pain, however, does not subside and pushes to the forefront of her attention. She moved her arm just slightly and gasped. An explanation was given before she had found breath to ask for one.

"You're wrist is broken, Emily. Your scream brought me in here to check on you. It seems you were intent on beating the wall with it."

Broken wrist? How did I do that? "Broken?"

There was a heavy moment as he drew in a breath and looked at her. "You were swinging a vise-grip at me, Emily. I grabbed your wrist to keep you from bashing my head in. I wrenched your wrist a little too hard in my attempt to thwart you."

"Oh." In the garage before he slammed her back against the car. Futile was the word for her actions then.

"I would never intentionally hurt you, Emily. Even now."

Oh, well that's nice to know. The shadows inside twist at this knowledge, dark with glee. He cannot hurt her, but she can hurt him. "Where are we?"

"A cabin. Far removed form the city. You've gone too far, Emily. We are staying here until you have resolved your new found thirst for murder."

She glared at him and had all at once lost any thought of feeling comfortable in this room with him. Her eyes went dark and she looked to the closet doors opposite her. Another lovely stint as prisoner and him playing the noble psychiatrist. So he wanted her to tell him why, huh? She had lulled him into false security before, and she could do it again. If not, if he resisted… Well, then one of them might not leave this tidy little cabin prison alive.

*****