Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs or the characters therein. Melinda Thompson is an imaginary character who should not be associated with any other person- real or fictional.

Author's note: Completely revamped the chapter. Questions about the ECT- yes, many case histories of people losing memory- depends on how much treatment and the individual person- even skills they had learned (read a person lost their master's level education). All the articles I read state that no one is really sure how ECT works- many theories, many indicate there is always brain damage. So many possibilities, I chose the ones that fit this story- hope I answered more with this rewrite. Next- though the complete loss of identity in Don seems to jive with what I read on ECT- I changed his transformation so he is not a completely clean slate- though close to one- because we want something of him in the story, and at least a chance of him getting back to his old self. Also, I think I wrote Melinda out of character- I don't think she would ever lose control. Thanks for the reviews- always, always appreciated.

Melinda continued to administer the electroconvulsive therapy to Don- one session each day of the week. She knew it would take anywhere from six to twelve sessions for the effects to "take"- in other words, cause enough damage to his brain so the effects would remain over time. Combined with Don's weakened physical state, she estimated it would be no more than six sessions.

She was wrong.

It took eight.

Administering the ECT became a daily routine. She woke Don up, administered the therapy, and fed him once he was settled in his bedroom again. As he became weaker, Melinda began to forego their morning walk to the bathroom, opting to clean him up after the treatment and before he became conscious again. By Wednesday, Don no longer needed the nightly sedatives, as he could barely stay awake at any point during the day or night. Melinda was quite satisfied with the results of her therapy- all except the bottle-feeding.

Don resisted her every time.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The effects of the ECT upon Don's memory were gradual and severe.

After Monday's session, he lost several months. He tried to remember the last case he had worked on.

When he woke from Tuesday's session, he thought he was at the academy at Quantico. He promised himself he would seek Terry out once this crazy training session was over.

After Wednesday's session, he began to lose places. He remembered doing such and such, but could not pinpoint where. Names of his high school and college disappeared, as well as the various cities he had lived in.

Thursday, he awoke wondering who he was. He dreamed fitfully as he could not remember anything but his first name- Don. People began slipping away from him- his first girlfriend, his prom date, his girlfriend at Quantico, the woman he had asked to marry him, then his aunts, uncles, and cousins.

The session on Friday took away his training. His college education, his Bureau training and experience- all disappeared in a flash.

Saturday's session stole the rest of his history. The people, the places, the things that made up his life became spectral images that, when he reached for them, were ungraspable. Slowly, they floated away. Somehow, he clung to the images of two men- one older, one younger. Clawing through his mind toward them, he tried to keep them within his reach.

But it was Sunday's therapy session- his eighth treatment-that filed away the last layer that had comprised Special Agent Don Eppes. As he burst into flames once again, the vague memory he had of his father and brother broke free from his mind and he was left with the unreachable fragments of his life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Melinda laid Don on his bed. He was sticky from the sweat of his final therapy session- and from going over a week without taking a shower or bath- his boxers and t-shirt grimy and clinging to his skin in several spots.

Still, he was clean-shaven, just as she liked him to be. She went to get his dinner.

Don lay motionless in the bed. His eyes stared forward, not really seeing anything. The only awareness he had was of the pains in his body- especially his head. Lights danced through his vision, the ceiling a wavy palette of blue. As awareness slowly came to him, a thick stream of emotions flooded over him: confusion, tension, anxiety, and, most of all, fear.

Don licked his lips, but there was no taste.

When Don thought about the last few days, he remembered nothing.

When he glanced around the bedroom, he recognized nothing.

He was surrounded by blankets, but everything inside him was so cold.

And terrifying.

Don closed his eyes, searching his mind for even a small part of his life-just a name of someone he knew, just a place, just his name. He could feel that the fringes of his life were somewhere inside his head, but there were bright lights shining behind everyone and everything, so brilliant he could not look straight at them, he could not make a direct connection to them. And when he looked for alternate routes to reach them, he found he was surrounded by darkness so thick that he became lost in his own mind.

Melinda entered the room.

Don stared at her, mentally reached out to her as his only touch-point with reality.

She offered a small smile to him.

"How's my baby doing, huh?" she asked, setting herself beside Don's head.

Her eyes surveyed Don's. Melinda could see the therapy sessions had worked by the hollowness at the center of his eyes, and the fear that circled them. She knew that everything was going to be perfect, just perfect.

Melinda carefully touched Don's temples, gently probing them. They were soft and mushy to her touch. From the way his head felt and her knowledge of ECT, she was certain that Don had suffered some degree of traumatic brain injury from the electrical current that had traveled through his head. In response to the injury, the natural fluid in his brain had increased, causing the brain to swell and the excess fluid to leak into the cranial cavity, as it had nowhere to drain. Though there was the possibility it could heal, the pressure of the swelling and liquid on the brain would currently be causing several adverse physical and emotional problems within Don.

First, she knew that Don was suffering memory loss; every time he had awakened from his therapy sessions, he had asked more and more questions, apparently forgetting a larger portion of his life after each one had finished. The shards of his life were still in his mind; but the connections his brain needed to make, in order to smooth the edges and melt those pieces back together, were cut off from one another. They would not reconnect until his brain had healed.

Next, she had noted that his levels of anxiety and fear were increasing. This she observed when she entered his room unannounced, as he would startle at her voice, his eyes moving wildly about the room until he found the source of the sound, his body quaking until she had calmed him with soothing touches and assuring words.

Then, there was his control of his muscles. Melinda noticed that Don became extremely tired when trying to say more than a few one-syllable words, as if it took all his energy to move his mouth; by Friday, he rarely said more than that each time he tried to communicate. Some words he could not remember, but the main problem was that the physical effort of speaking was too much for him.

This weakness was also apparent in his coordination. Sometimes it was hard for him to do something as simple as pulling his blankets over himself at night, as he appeared to have difficulty in getting all five of his fingers to work together.The pressure on Don's brain was effectively stopping many of his neurological signals from reaching the correct receptors in his body, and from reaching each other within his brain- the pressure was a tight defense line; his mind was derailed, short-circuited.

In this mangled state, Don stared up at Melinda. He searched the small remains of memory in his mind, trying to pick the one that would identify who she was. He saw the long black hair and warm smile of a fleeting spectral that dissipated when he reached for her. He knew in his heart that the image was his mother, but did not know if it coincided with the person that currently bent over him, smiling and rubbing his temple.

Don strained to form the words-

"Who are you?"

"Why, I'm your mommy. And you," Melinda explained quietly, "You're my little boy, Donny Thompson."

Donny- that feels right. I think that is my name.

Not being able to give forth the effort needed to debate the validity of the woman's identity, Don closed his eyes, his weary body begging for sleep.

Melinda continued to smile at Don, kissing him on the forehead. When he winced, she asked "Does your head hurt, baby?"

Eyes still shut, Don managed to murmur-

"Hurts bad."

Melinda left the room, returning with a glass of water and two painkillers. She held Don's head up and helped him take the pills, holding the water to his lips.

Don waited for the pills to take effect. He felt Melinda move behind his head, and then the smooth touch of a rubber nipple.

Opening his eyes, Don forced his head away from the bottle. There was a shallow pool of dignity still flowing through Don, which welled up in defense against his being treated in such a degrading manner.

"Drink your dinner, Donny- do what Mommy tells you," Melinda ordered.

Melinda tried to hold Don's head in place, but he kept his face turned away.

Sighing, Melinda placed the bottle next to Don's pillow and got up from the bed. She knew Don's disobedience did not mean it was necessary to have more therapy sessions.

Don's mind was already broken.

No- now she would have to work on breaking his will.

Don turned over to face the wall, his body demanding sleep. His breathing was becoming heavy when he felt Melinda's hand pushing against his back. Don's body was so weak it complied with the pressure, allowing her to turn him onto his stomach, while Melinda leaned a knee into his back. He was aware of his boxers being pulled down, cool air on his buttocks the only sensation,

till-

whack!

Don's body tried to escape, pull away from the pain, but Melinda continued to lash him with his doubled-up belt, once, twice, three times, the thick leather forming welts at each spot it hit his bare bottom. Don was helpless to fight her, though he tried to twist out from under her. This garnered him three more lashes.

The pain was too much and he was too tired. Don stopped struggling, though his body shook.

"Donny- will you be a good boy and drink your dinner?" Melinda asked, not moving from her position above Don.

Trying to breathe through the fire burning his backside, Don mumbled-

"Yes."

Putting a little more of her weight onto her knee, Melinda ground into Don's back.

Whimpering, tears started to flow down Don's cheek.

"Yes- what?" Melinda asked.

Don did not know what to say.

"Yes, Mommy," Melinda provided, waiting patiently for Don to respond.

"Yes, Mommy," he cried, "Please."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Don lay on his right side, staring at the dresser and the belt that Melinda had purposely left on top of it next to the television, coiled like a black snake about to strike. His bottom was too sore for him to lie on his back. When he had awakened that morning, the stubbornness in him caused him to refuse Melinda's offer of a bottle once again.

She had whipped him twice as hard and twice as long as the night before.

Mistakenly, Don had thought he had enough energy to fend her off. But when he had tried to use physical force, he discovered she was much stronger than he was in his current condition. He had also hesitated to really fight Melinda, as she appeared to be his mother.

It just wasn't in him to hurt his mother.

So, he had suffered the punishment she had dealt, and then caved in and sucked down two more bottles. Because of his injuries, Melinda had lain down next to Don in his bed. She had been lying on her back while Don faced her on his side, placing the bottle across her breast so he could drink. For some reason he could not understand, Don had felt comforted by the whole procedure, forgetting the pain that Melinda had so recently inflicted upon him. He had no idea that his brain was twisting up the loving memories he had of his real mother and his experiences with the insane woman in front of him, Melinda bearing such a strong resemblance to the wisps of Margaret Eppes that he had left in his head.

Turning his head toward the bathroom door, Don could see Melinda moving back and forth within the small room. She was running water for his first bath in over a week. Both of them were looking forward to it.

Hearing the water stop running, Don watched as Melinda came into his bedroom, her usual smile upon her face.

"Come on, baby," she said, helping Don lean forward and pull up, so he could avoid sitting before standing up.

Once he was on his feet, she helped him walk into the bathroom, undress and relieve himself. He felt little embarrassment; after all, Melinda was his mother.

Don stood naked next to the bathtub, looking at the bubbles that covered the surface of the water within. Leaning on Melinda, he stepped into the hot water and slowly began to sit down, gritting his teeth in anticipation of feeling the hard porcelain against his aching bottom. To his surprise, he felt the softness of an air-filled plastic cushion, which allowed him to sit without much discomfort. Relaxing, he put his head back against the tub and closed his eyes, letting the heat of the bath massage his body and ease the tension in his muscles.

Melinda let Don soak in the bathtub for twenty minutes before she began to clean him. He had gone so long without so much as a shower, it was a necessary step in order for her to get all the dirt and grime off him. After she crouched on her knees, she dropped three items into the tub. While she wet a wash clothe and covered it with soap, she addressed Don-

"Play with your toys, baby."

Opening his eyes and dragging himself into a sitting position, Don looked in front of him.

Three small plastic boats floated on the water. Despite recent history, Don allowed the sight of them to anger him. A portion of his personality reared itself up, a small piece of pride.

He wasn't a baby and would not be treated that way.

Not even by his mother.

Turning his head to look Melinda straight in the face, he challenged her with a strong "No."

Calmly, she put the soap and wash clothe in the sink. Don tensed up as he saw her leave the room and go to the dresser in his bedroom, picking up the belt that still resided on top. When she came back into the bathroom, his resolve ran scared and Don began pushing the boats back and forth, fearful of the leather beast that Melinda had wound around her right hand.

Melinda grabbed hold of Don's hair with her left hand, pulling his squirming body from the water and bending him over the side of the tub. Leaning over his exposed posterior, she lashed his wet skin three times.

Don screamed.

Melinda dropped the belt to the ground and helped Don slide back into the tub. He started crying when he sat all the way down, the cushion little help against his sharply stinging skin.

After placing the belt back on the dresser, Melinda re-entered the bathroom, took up her position by the tub, and began to clean Don again.

"Play with your toys, baby."

Don was crying so hard he couldn't see; his shoulders heaved from the harshness of his sobs. Still, he managed to move the boats back and forth with his open hand.

"Good little boys don't say no to their mommy," Melinda explained. "If you don't do what I say when I say it, you're going to be punished- even if you change your mind and try to do what I say later."

She emphasized-

"Once you say no, it's too late- there's no going back. I have to teach you."

"Do you understand, Donny?"

Trying to suck in some air so he could answer, Don managed to breathe out a whispery-

"Yes, Mommy."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Melinda folded up a thick towel and placed it on the lid of the toilet. She helped Don out of the tub and to slowly sit down. Using another towel, she dried Don off, and then she grabbed the electric razor and shaved him. When she finished, she brushed his teeth and combed his hair, using a touch of mousse to style it.

She helped Don into his bedroom, directing him to lean forward and place his hands on the dresser. Grabbing a large puff, she dabbed baby powder all over his naked body, from his shoulders down to his feet. After applying deodorant to his underarms, she carefully applied some salve to his bottom, checking to make sure she had not broken his skin open.

Finally, she helped him put on some fresh boxers, jeans, and a t-shirt. Don was beginning to feel good all over, the result of his bath and some pain pills that Melinda had given him after breakfast finally taking effect- even his bottom felt well, the medicine doing its job and soothing the redness from his tormented skin. He sat down in the lazy boy chair, watching as Melinda took the sheets, pillowcases, and blankets off of his bed; she sprayed the top of his mattress and flipped it over to its opposite side. She then put on fresh bedding, this time the pattern reflecting the many faces of a famous cartoon rabbit.

She told Don to sit on his bed- which he did unhesitatingly- and then she put a cartoon DVD in for him to watch. She cleaned his bathroom, grabbing his discarded clothing and towels, picked up his dirty linen, and left the bedroom, locking the door behind her.

Don watched the television, losing himself in the innocent antics of the characters on the screen, trying to keep his eyes off the belt that was constant companion to the television on the dresser.

Melinda went into her bedroom to grab the next item she planned to use in her quest to break Don's will. Of course, the first had been the belt. She knew that leaving the belt in Don's sight would always remind him what would happen if he disobeyed her. The resulting fear would help suppress any oppositional behavior.

But she needed a reinforcer for the good behavior she wanted from him.

This reinforcer she pulled from a plastic bag she had lying on her bed.

In her hands, Melinda held a medium-sized stuffed toy rabbit. It was light brown, with large floppy ears and feet. It was extremely soft, its filling made of goose down. She ran her fingers over the stuffed toy, pleased with its texture; its fur was actually comprised of small strings, which allowed her to wrap her fingers up in it.

Melinda's plan to reinforce certain desired behavior in Don was actually quite simple. She was going to make him hold onto the rabbit. When he was good, he would be allowed to keep the rabbit, a physical and visual indication that she approved of his current behavior. When he was bad, she would take it away. This would be a physical and visual indication that she did not approve of his behavior. Plus, if she took the rabbit away before carrying out any punishment, the effect of the consequence would be amplified by the fear that would be caused by Don's knowledge of what was to come and then having to wait for it to occur.

Picking up the rabbit, she went to Don's bedroom, unlocked the door, and entered, holding it by its feet behind her back.

Don looked over to her.

He wasn't sure what to think about his mother coming into his room with her hands behind her back and with a strange smile on her face.

Quickly, his eyes darted to the dresser to make sure the belt was still there.

It was.

Looking back to Melinda, he sat in trepidation while she came to his bed and sat next to him.

"Guess what, Donny? Mommy has a surprise for you!"

Don just sat rigid, waiting for her to continue. The word "surprise" conjured up so many horrible images of slithering creatures with buckles for mouths that he was afraid to see what she had.

Pulling the rabbit from behind her back, she placed it in Don's hands, clapping her own twice with excitement.

Using his hands the best he could, Don touched the rabbit's fur, pressing his open palms against the softness of its body.

"What do you say, Donny?"

"Thanks, Mommy."

Don continued to check out the rabbit, not quite trusting it to be as gentle as it appeared.

"What's his name, Donny? You have to name him."

Somewhere in his mind, Don was drawn to follow a broken path to the name of a face and body that made him feel safe, to a person who made him feel as if he was home. That person was fragile and soft, and needed gentleness when handling him, just like the small creature he held in his hands. Don did not immediately know what that person's name was- he tried to think really hard, travel around the pictures that continued to scatter beyond his reach, all vague and curling images. Don finally abandoned his wasted mind, searching his soul instead, finding the person's name in his heart, where the electrical impulses of his therapy had failed to completely wash out everything that flowed deeply throughout his blood.

"Hey, Buddy," he said to the rabbit, trying to please his mother.

Melinda was pleased. She had feared that Don with come up with the name of his father or, worse, his brother, or even a friend or coworker. She did not want the rabbit to remind him of his old life, but to be one of the means by which she was going to give him his new life.

With this goal in mind, she decided to start using the rabbit right away.

"Donny, put your thumb in your mouth."

Don looked at her. He felt this was something new to him, and did not particularly want to do it. However, he could see the belt past Melinda's shoulder, so he put his right thumb in his mouth, moving it around to get the feel and taste of it.

Neither was pleasing, so he took his thumb back out, wanting to tell his mother it was "yucky".

Melinda was too swift for him.

She grabbed Buddy from Don's hands, hid him behind her, and slapped Don hard across the face- all in one fluid motion.

Tears swelled into Don's eyes, his left cheek growing red. He quickly put his thumb back in his mouth- and Melinda quickly returned Buddy.

"Now, keep it there," Melinda directed.

She left to get herself a book to read, returning to sit in the recliner.

Don did not have the energy to hold his arm bent at the angle that would allow his thumb to remain in his mouth, so he laid down on his right side, watching cartoons and propping his right hand within the mounds of his pillow, his thumb carefully kept within his mouth. Afraid he would be hit again if he let go of Buddy, Don held him under his left arm.

Melinda hummed contentedly to herself when she observed Don's behavior.

Because, she was sure, it was an indication his old life was effectively over.