A difibulator was rolled into the room which Dr. Branigan used on her several times until at last her heart began beating again, the monitor beeping its regular rhythm. Gasping and coughing she was miraculously conscious, pushing herself into a sitting position.

"Ellen," asks Maria who'd observed, astounded, at the whole display.

"What's that, sugar," she cocks her head at the nurse.

"Are you all right?"

Ellen touches her head and shrieks. "My hair! What the fuck happened to mah hair!"

"Oh, shit," Branigan hisses under his breath. Had the long-dormant Baby reared her head?

"Who the fuck are you people? Where am I? WHERE'S OTIS?"

What's your name," ventures Dr. Branigan.

"Baby, B-A-B-Y, should be easy enuff for a fancypants doctor like yew. Holy shit, I can't move mah legs. What'd you cocks do to me?" She searched for something to use as a weapon and clutched a water pitcher. She hurled it at the nearest nurse who ducked and squealed, running to the far side of the room.

A long string of differing expressions chased themselves across her face as if she was struggling internally. She slumped forward and was so still everyone thought she had passed out, or worse. Ellen stirred, pushing herself upright and looking around the room, puzzled.

"What the hell just happened," she wanted to know.

"This is not good. Not good," sighed the head doctor.

"Do you have your memory back," questioned Lowell.

"No, I don't. I started flopping all around then I wake up with all you lookin at me like I just growed a third head."

"This..this is more like a split personality than straight amnesia--usually the person remembers the flashback they have."

"So I got summin else wrong with me? Just great."

"It may have something to do with all the medication she'd cruelly been given," Branigan mused. "This will damage her case, too, though. She could be considered a dangerous loose end, a ticking time bomb if she has any more of these episodes."

Meanwhile, at neighboring Spring Hill Medical Center, a guard and nurse entered Otis's room to find the ever-clever madman had scrambled up onto his bed on his good leg, pulled off his long-sleeved shirt and tied it around a light fixture, then leaped off his bed. The body was swinging, foot still twitching. It must've just happened, the nurse screamed for assistance while the guard cut him down. After doing CPR the red-faced psycho coughed and took a breath, then seized the man's neck in his awkward three-fingered grip.

"Dammit you sunofabitch," he hollered at the guard. "I was tryin' to go out on MY terms and you fucked it up!" Otis bit him in the neck.

The two missing guards appeared, taking hold of Otis's arms in an attempt to pull him off the prone guard. The psycho hillbilly's teeth were as yet calmped to the poor man's neck and tore out a chunk as he was pulled away. Blood immediately pooled under his head as he clutched at the jagged wound.

Physicians were soon at the scene. One of the braver souls darted forward to jab Otis in the arm with some tranquilizers. After a few moments the kicking and swearing ceased and everyone got their breath. Then the nurses noticed the fallen man and acted swiftly to sotp the bleeding and dress the injury. The man lost a lot of blood but upon inspection he had a good chance of surviving.

"How in the HELL did he come to be by himself," demanded Dr. Greene, the director of the hospital.

"Well," stammered a blood-spattered guard. "He was under sedation and strapped to the bed and we wanted to grab a Coke. We stepped out for just a minute--"

"He's NOT to be left alone, ever. Under no circumstances is he to be left unmonitored. Is that clear," the head of the facility snapped.

"Yes Doctor," murmured both chastised employees.

Dr. Greene sighed rubbing his balding head, then told the attendants to get the patient cleaned up and properly restrained. Wanda, the nurse who'd discovered Otis hanging from the ceiling, helped move his wiry, limp body to a gurney. He had a plentiful helping of new scars to add to his collection, all over his slender form. Wanda gazed at the tattoo covering most of his chest--a skull with demon-bat wings. Looking at his maimed hands and mangled leg with her dark eyes she could almost feel sorry for him. Almost.

Ellen was quietly reading in nurse Grace's Bible, thumbing through the illustrations with curiosity. She still had trouble--due to her amnesia she had to be retaught how how to read. What strange ideas contained in that book that was so important to most, she thought. Some of it made sense, like do unto other what you would have them do unto you, and let he who has no sin cast the first stone. But a lot of it simply confused her with its contradictions.

The young woman became aware of someone watching her and glanced out of the corner of her eye. She recognized the bespectacled Lance Brockwell but there was a woman with him she didn't know. "Hullo, Mr. Brockwell. Or is it Lance," she teased him, closing the Good Book respectfully.

"Hi there, Ellen," he greets her. "This here is Eve Grant, president of the Capital Punishment Abolilitionist Group. She wanted to meet you." The hulking orderlies let them pass, and the well-dressed blonde woman stepped forward smiling. She could tell from the pictures it was the infamous Baby Firefly from her beautiful eyes and smile, but there were numerous scars now all over her face and head which were just beginning to be hidden by the thick golden hair growing back. It was forming little ringlets all over her head since her hair had such vigorous natural curl.

Then there was the total lack of expression of pure hatred or malice which greeted the slim, long-legged woman, which prompted her to extend her hand. Ellen took it in a firm but friendly handshake. Eve had several questions for the amnesiac and things she wanted to go over to present her case to the Texas Governor. She wanted to save Vera-Ellen Firefly and not only that, get the death penalty abolished. Ellen engaged her but her gaze kept swinging back to Lance in his clashing wardrobe and slicked-back hair managing nevertheless to look hot. Must be his grin, she thought absently. Jeez, was she getting horny? She had no time to be lusting after men, nor did she know how to acomplish a lot sexually since a. forgetting everything and b. having legs that didn't work.

"Is there any chance for Otis," Ellen asked hopefully. She didn't remember him and he was a cold-blooded rapist killer, but he was the only family she had left. And she'd loved him, she knew that much.

Eve looked away, not wanting to meet the other woman's bluish gaze. "He may be able to offer a plea of insanity, but it's a long shot. People are calling for blood, they are outraged by the number and nature of the crimes."

"You understand, I have to try."

"I know you do. You must've been very close to him," the activist said carefully.

Ellen snorted. "You don't have to beat around the bush about it. From all evidence I was a part of a monstrous kidnapping, robbing, murdering family. That don't mean we didn't love each other, now does it? Or that I'd abandon him?"

"Of course not," Eve acceded. "In my business I have to be...well, diplomatic hahaha. And that was thoughtless of me."

"I would like to speak with Lance now, if ya don't mind."

Eve Grant thanked Ellen and exited, watched with interest by the two orderlies. "I'll be in the lobby," she told Lance before she closed the door.

"Girlfriend," the woman asked him.

"No...just a real good acquaintance," he didn't elaborate. Just how good, Ellen wondered.

"Come here, Lance. I'll try not to kill you."

He approached, surprised at not being afraid of her. She'd killed numerous men (and women) with no compunction--but that obviously wasn't the person laying in the hospital bed. No, the person in that hospital bed was innocent and vulnerable but with a core of hardened steel, wrapped up in a tasty wrapper.

Lance was so intent he nearly tripped and fell, causing Ellen to giggle. "That's right...fall and squash Ruggsville County MC's most famous patient," she jibed. Blushing he pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down. Carefully. "You're such a dork," she said.

"Gee, thanks," he rolled his blue eyes. "And here I brought someone who could help you."

"I'm grateful," she says, a sly grin spreading across her face. Taking his hand in her own delicate ones she rubbed her cheek on his knuckles, relishing the contact. He pulled his appendage away when she began suckling his fingers.

"Oh boy, that's...that's enough," he declares.

"Are you afraid to touch me, too," she asks in a hurt tone. "I watch television an' I see the people communicating, laughing, sharing things with one another, which is good, and I get a lot of that here. But no one will touch me unless they have to. No pats, no hugs, no kisses."

"No, it wasn't you, Ellen," Lance asserts. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. "I mean, we've only seen each other a couple of times. I, uh--I also don't like this public setting."

"The fact that legally I killed 75-plus people doesn't enter into it," she sounded like she wasn't buying it.

"Well..maybe a little bit. Shit, I'm telling the truth! Don't look at me like that. Ellen, you're positively exasperating," he stood, stooped and put his lips to hers.

His lips were very soft, she thought, as he probed her mouth with his tongue. The mustache sort of tickled her but the overall feeling was wonderful. She ran her hands over his angular face and high cheekbones as his own slid under her back, arms encircling her waist. Lips still on hers he brought her to him, melding her upper body against his. The drab cotton dress she wore was suddenly hot and clingy. Finally, breathless they parted, but Ellen's arms were around his neck, continuing the intimate embrace. "Sweet Jesus, Lance," she breathed in his ear.

"God, you are somethin', girl," he whispered back, turned on something fierce. He could see how men couldn't resist her...as Baby she must've been a force unstoppable. He let her back down on the bed slowly after hearing one of the guards clear his throat. They apparently percieved no threats, at least to anyone's safety. The patient's virtue was another matter.

"Thank you," she told him, squeezing his hand.

"For what?"

"For being a friend," she said. "Being a man, and being a dork."

Lance just didn't understand women sometimes.

He'd definately be checking up on her, though. Yes indeedy.