"Well, that was a waste of time," Woody complained as he followed Jordan out the door of Dr. Kitchmen's office. "He wasn't exactly forthcoming with the information."

"Would you be?" Jordan asked, starting down the hall. "I mean, after feeding your residents what possibly could have been one of their friends, you wouldn't exactly be bragging either."

They passed by several rooms filled with patients when suddenly one stepped right in front of them, grabbing Woody's arm. "Have you found Milly?" an elderly man pleaded desperately with them.

"Excuse me?" Woody asked, looking at Jordan for help.

"Milly," he repeated, agitated. "I haven't seen her since supper. We were supposed to play bridge this afternoon but I can't find her."

"I'm afraid we don't know any Milly," Jordan replied, taking interest in the man's ramblings.

"Well then, they've just taken her then," the confused man muttered, throwing his arms up in defeat. "They take everyone. And not in the usual way, if you know what I mean…" he finished, whispering to Jordan and Woody.

Woody shrugged, simply ignoring the delusions of an old man. Jordan smacked him on the shoulder. "What do you mean they take them away?" she asked, demanding more information.

The man realized that he finally had someone's attention and latched onto Jordan. "It happens all the time," he said emphatically. "I just didn't think they'd take her."

"Milly?" Jordan asked, looking at Woody, trying to find some assistance. "Why would they take her?"

"It doesn't matter. For any reason at all," the elderly man spoke with regret. "Dr. Kitchmen just tells them to take us and it's done. No one ever sees them again."

"Who takes them?" Woody immediately took notice at the mention of Dr. Kitchmen.

Suddenly, the director appeared from behind them. "Now Howard, don't pester these nice people," he commanded, grabbing a hold of the older man's arm and handing him over to a passing orderly. "Take Howie to his room."

Dr. Kitchmen then turned apologetically to the two investigators. "Forgive Howard. He doesn't always know what he's saying."

"He mentioned someone name Milly," Jordan questioned, as she and Woody were being directed towards the exit.

Dr. Kitchmen shook his head. "We don't have anyone here by that name. Howard just likes to make up these companions. Keeps him company. It might be Milly today and then it'll be Lucy tomorrow."

Jordan nodded slowly, looking at Woody with a suspicious glare. "Yeah, funny how someone can be there one minute and gone the next."

XXXXX

"So, my mother tells me that you specialized in pharmacy," Bug stated, trying to make polite conversation with Neha. The couple sat in an upscale restaurant, the atmosphere stuffy and strained. Bug picked at the food in front of him, his stomach a good indication of his nervousness.

"That's right," Neha answered, sounding slightly annoyed. "And you look at insects, right?" Bug nodded. "We discussed this last night, with your parents," she reminded.

"Oh, right…" Bug said sheepishly, looking back at his plate. "Sorry."

With a large sigh, Neha put down her fork, apology written on her face. "Mahesh, look." she began, "My father asked me to try this and I have but…"

Bug raised his hand. "You don't have to finish," he said with defeat.

Neha patted his arm. "There is already someone in my life. Someone my father hardly approves of," she chuckled at the thought. She then looked at Bug, straight in the eye. "Do you know what it's like when you're trying to please everyone but yourself?"

"Yeah," Bug whispered. "I do."

"How then, do you keep yourself happy when it seems no one else really knows what you want?" Neha asked, taking a sip of her wine and finally taking interest in their conversation.

Bug sat thoughtfully for a few moments before cracking a small smile. "I guess you get to a point where you need to make yourself happy, regardless of what anyone else thinks," he reasoned.

Neha grinned. "Yeah, well, with parents as traditional as mine, I don't see that happening any time soon."

Bug simply shrugged, understanding her situation. "But some times you have to go after whatever it is you want." He picked up his fork, returning to his meal. "Or else you'll never be happy."

XXXXX

"We need to talk to Howard again," Jordan demanded as she stormed through the trace lab doors with Nigel and Woody at her heels. "He knows something."

"Jordan," Woody warned. "The man is crazy. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Crazy – not exactly, " Nigel corrected as he scooped up a file from a nearby desk. "I checked into your 'source' and it seems that South Boston's Seniors Home has only one registered Howard." He read from the file. "A Howard Rempel. And from the looks of it, Mr. Rempel was admitted in the early stages of Alzheimer's disease." Nigel looked apologetically at Jordan while Woody grinned with triumph.

"Sorry, Jordan," Nigel said with a shrug.

"See?" Woody taunted. "He's even clinically crazy. How can we trust this guy?"

"Alzheimer's patients have a certain level of lucidity," Jordan reasoned. "Depending on the advancement of the disease. If we can get him to talk to us…"

Woody rolled his eyes. "So we talk to him… then what? Anything that he gives us will be hard pressed as admissible."

Jordan stood thoughtfully for a few moments, trying to sort through the situation. "If he knows something, then chances are that someone else does too."

"Fine," Woody conceded, knowing she would never quit. "We'll go back." The group started from the lab and into the break room. "But if anyone pinches my cheeks, you're going to get it." He snatched a donut from a box on the table and marched out of the room.

Jordan shrugged before grabbing a coffee. "Probably spent too much time with Aunt Gertrude," she said, taking a long sip.

A large sigh came from the corner of the room where Bug sat, papers surrounding him. "A little frustrated, my friend?" Nigel asked, stepping towards the table.

Bug looked up at Nigel, a scowl on his face. "I don't know why I ever agreed to this." He threw down his pen.

"Awww, Bug," Jordan said with encouragement. "You know exactly what to write. Some of your research is amazing."

"Doctors who have discovered cures for a myriad of diseases will be listening to me, Jordan," Bug cried. "They really don't want to hear some little foreign guy who plays with insects."

"Oh come off it," Nigel shook his head. "You're better than this, Buggles. Your research is just as good as any of those cocky blokes out there."

"You're just saying that," Bug replied.

Nigel sighed in desperation. "You're right, Bug. I'm just talking to hear myself." He tapped the papers on the table. "You've been in this self-loathing mood ever since you got that stupid invitation. And now you have the chance to prove yourself worthy to speak amongst those head honchos and you're still sitting here wallowing in pity." Nigel berated, starting out of the room. "And I would have thought that you would be in shear bliss with that little number your parents brought in." He shook his head. "Go figure."

As Nigel left, Jordan stared inquisitively at Bug. "Little Number?" she asked, watching Bug whimper and lay his head on the table. "What did I say?"