Author's Note: Thanks everyone for the wonderful reviews! Knowing that my story is being read and enjoyed makes it easy to get motivated for the next chapter...so here it is! Be sure to let me know what you think of it, as well!

Chapter Four: Heather

When that orderly, Simon, pulled open her cell door the next morning, Heather was already sitting up awake on her bed. She cocked her head to the side and beamed a bright smile up at the balding man. "Are you my servant boy, this morning?"

"Come with me, please, Ms. Herst. I've got to take you to the cafeteria before the rest of the patients wake up." Simon said reaching out for her.

"I'm not hungry." Heather snapped recoiling violently from his advancing hand.

"Do I look like I give a damn? Dr. Crane told me to take you to eat, I do as I'm told." He spat.

Heather froze at the mention of the name. Her mind was flooded with images of the previous night. She really wasn't sure what had happened or what had come over her and made her so bold. Maybe she had been bored. Maybe he had just looked too appealing standing there with his tie jerked loose and his pretty blue eyes. It was still no excuse; she should not have done what she did. It wasn't right of her. She suddenly thought of the moment when she had touched his neck. his skin had been so warm and soft, his hair so silky and smooth. Her body had reacted accordingly and she had wanted to feel more of him. She sensed something about him, something that she couldn't quite put a name to, but it was there. No! Bad thoughts! She snapped herself back into reality and found herself being guided by her elbow down the hall. How in the hell had she gotten there? She looked to her side and her eyes landed on Simon. She instantly twisted her arm out of his grasp and flew to the other side of the hall away from him.

"Please don't touch me!" she hissed.

"God, no wonder Dr. Crane didn't want to put up with you." He snarled coming toward her.

To say that Simon was far from an intellectual superior would be a dramatic understatement. If he had two brain cells in his entire head his own mother would have been shocked. Hence, he wasn't perceptive enough to realize that the remark had stung her. She knew that she shouldn't have been surprised, hell she had more or less molested him, but there was a part of her that was very surprised. She crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes at the orderly. Dr. Crane damn good and well would deal with her. He was, after all, her couselor.

"Come on." Simon commanded.

Heather glared at him, "No."

"Oh, now what?"

"I want to speak with Dr. Crane," she said, "Now!"

"I'm not here to hand out wishes."

"Good thing I'm not asking for a wish, then."

"Sorry, girly, nothin' I can do. Let's go!"

Heather stiffened her body in determination and set her face into a stern stone-like expression, "Well, I won't move unless it's en route to Dr. Crane's office."

"Is that right?" Simon said as both of his enormous hands clamped down on her upper arms, "We'll just see about that."

Heather set her feet in a firm stance and struggled aggressively against him, but the orderly held tight. He had subdue stronger patients than her, no doubt. She squirmed in his arms, repeatedly kicked him in the knees and shins, and stomped on both of his huge feet. When he reached for her throat, a primal instinct made her bite down hard on the fleshy part of his hand.

Simon yelped like a dog and pulled away from her. "You stupid little bitch!" he snarled as he drew his hand back in the air as to strike her.

Heather flattened herself against the wall, turning her face away and closing her eyes in preparation for the impending blow. What she received instead was the sound of a clear, confident voice.

"Don't even think about it." Said Crane, who had appeared suddenly and as from out of nowhere.

Simon froze as though someone had hit a pause button. Heather glanced at Crane and had to admit, he seemed pretty intimidating at the moment. He was standing perfectly still in his smart black blazer and slacks with his hands behind his back. He face was stern, his jaw clenced, eyes cold and threatening as they glared at the orderly from behind his glasses. There was something powerful and dominate about him as he stood there, like a patient Cobra just waiting for a reason to strike. Heather didn't think she had ever wanted to jump someone's bones so bad in her life.

Simon lowered his hand very slowly and took two steps back from Heather. "Sorry, sir." he said.

Crane stepped forward, his posture perfectly straight, his gaze never leaving Simon. "You can go now, Simon." he stated, "I'll take over from here."

"Yes, sir." Simon replied quickly. He cast Heather a menacing glare, which was not missed by the doctor, before turning and retreating to God knew where down the hallway.

Crane shifted his attention to Heather, who straightened from the wall and smiled up at him. "My hero." she cooed.

"My apologies," he said professionally, "As I told you before, my staff is used to dealing with an exceptionally disorderly group."

"He wouldn't have had to deal with me at all had you come to get me as you should've."

Crane ignored the statement. "Come, Heather." he said coldly, "We should start you session."

"No breakfast?" she asked.

"Not today."

Heather eyed him suspiciously as he turned his back to her. He was giving her the cold shoulder, trying to pretend that she had not had an affect on him last night. He thought that he could put her off by being cold and cruel and mean. Did he really think that she was stupid enough to believe that he had scrambled out of her cell last night because she had had absolutely no affect on him whatsoever? Well, if he thought that he could just make the incident go away, he had another thing coming. She followed him up the stairs to his office and shut the door behind her.

Crane unbuttoned his blazer and turned toward her, revealing a burgundy sweater he wore underneath. For some reason, the sight of that sweater made him seem less intimidating to Heather. He looked more like a teacher's assistant in college than he did the respected director of a well-known psychiatric facility.

"So, doc," she chirped, propping her hands on her hips, "Where do we stand on those razors? I'm startin' to feel kinda fuzzy."

Crane exhaled, "I'm still not convinced that you won't try and hurt yourself."

"What, and miss out on all this fun? Never."

Crane shuffled through a folder on his desk nervously. The dim lamp on his desk cast shadows over his face really accentuating his strong jaw and high cheek bones. Heather smirked and sauntered toward him, brushing her fingertips along the smooth surface of his desk. "What's the matter, doc? You seem a little...distraught."

Crane looked up abruptly and Heather felt her breath catch in her throat at the icy glare that was at once in his eyes. She unconsciously took a few steps backward. He didn't look like a harmless teacher's assistant anymore.

"Let's talk about Scott." he said.

Heather's stomach churned and twisted wildly at the name. "S-Scott?"

"Yeah," Crane said, "Scott, your brother, right?"

"Half."

"Of course, your half brother. Let's talk about him."

"I don't see what there is to talk about." Heather said, her gaze dropping to her feet and staying there.

"You don't?" Crane asked incredulously, folding his arms over his chest and stepping out from behind his desk, "Oh, Heather, I think there's plenty to talk about."

He came toward her and Heather retracted from him, her knees hitting the couch and giving out, causing her to fall onto the cushy surface. Crane's blue eyes bore down on her, holding her there, trapping her. She would have clawed and scraped until her fingernails came off if it only meant that she could escape his venomous glare.

"I don't want to talk about Scott." she said trying not to let her voice tremble.

"He was what, seven years older than you?"

Heather didn't say anything.

"Heather, how much older than you was he?"

"What does it matter?" she said still glaring at the floor.

"How much older than you was he?" Crane repeated, his tone both firm and cold.

"Seven years."

"How old were you the first time he molested you?"

She could actually feel the vile rising in her throat and feared that she would vomit all over the office, "I was ten."

"Intercourse?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, "Yes."

"How many times did it happen?"

She could feel her lower lip quivering and mentally chided herself, willing it to stop; willing herself to not show weakness. She pressed her hands between her knees in an attempt to keep them from shaking. "About five."

"And how many times were consensual?"

Her head snapped up, her gaze focusing on him as her breathing became shaky while struggled for control. She saw some unfamiliar emotion flash through his eyes. "Please..." she begged, a tear sliding down her cheek.

"Answer me." Crane demanded.

At that moment she hated him with a passion like no other. He had no right! Who was he to judge her? Who the hell did he think he was to knock the world out from under her like that? She couldn't crumble. She didn't want him to have the satisfaction of seeing her break, but she didn't no how much of this she could withstand.

She stared back at his unflinching gaze dead on and hissed, "Once."

After she admitted that, there was no hope of control. She looked away from him as tears began to fall freely from her eyes. Her head dropped to her hands and her fingers were instantly in her hair, tugging at the strands. She didn't want to think about it ever again. She didn't want to think about him or what he had done to her. She was just fine as long as she didn't think about it. She was starting to get angry, which was fine with her. Anger felt better than sadness. She had more power with anger; more control.

She glared back up at Crane to find him rubbing his fingers over his eyes and up through his spikey hair, his glasses between his lips. When he finally slid them back up onto his nose, he looked at her.

"All right," he said, clearing something from his throat, "I think that's enough for today."

"What's the matter, doc?" she snapped, "Aren't you gonna fix me?"

"That's enough, Heather."

"Don't you wanna hear details?"

"Enough, Heather."

"Don't you wanna hear...how he tied a little ten year old girl to a head board with fishing line..." by this point, her voice had risen to a scream.

"Heather!"

"And handcuffed her ankles..."

"That is ENOUGH, Heather!" Crane boomed.

Heather stared at him for a long moment, "I'm finished."

In what seemed like one motion, she leapt to her feet and raced to the door only to find it locked. She spun on her heel to face Crane. "Let me out."

"Heather..." Crane said taking a step closer to her.

"LET ME OUT!" she screamed, grabbing the door knob and jerking and pounding fiercely on the door. Crane rushed over to her and bodily pulled her away from her only exit. They both tumbled over the sofa and landed on the hard floor. Crane quickly rolled on top of her and pinned her down by the wrists. He was lean guy, but for being so thin he was surprisingly strong.

"Is that why you did it, Heather?" Crane asked sincerely, "Is that why you tried to kill yourself?"

A strangled sob escaped from Heather's throat as she struggled to squirm away from Crane's grasp.

"But, it was so long ago." he said holding on tight to her.

"Oh, what do you know about anything?" she cried out, finally wrenching herself free.

Crane sat up, his back against the wall. He let his head fall back against it with a light thud, his breathing shallow and quick. He stayed that way from a long time as though he were trying to decide something.

All of the sudden, he stood and shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his sweater up over his head. Heatehr felt a sudden bolt of dread deep in the pit of her stomach. What was he doing? He walked toward her, rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt. He knelt down in front of her and held out his arms, palms up. With slight hesitation, Heather tore her gaze from his eyes and looked down at his arms. Crisscrossing up his wrists and forearms and tracing along the small blue veins were several white, winding scars. Heather couldn't stop her sharp intake of breath anymore than she could keep her hand flying up to cover her mouth. She suddenly felt as though she and Crane were linked. That's what it was about him. They were kindred. Without even realizing what she was doing, she flew at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off balance. She just needed to hold him for some reason. His body immediately tensed, but it wasn't long before he was wrapping his own arms around her shuddering body. She had needed to hold him, but it felt ten times better when he held her. She felt good in his arms. In his arms she was warm. In his arms she was safe. In his arms, for once...she was okay.

Suddenly, Crane pulled away from her and stood. He went over to his desk and mumbled something into his phone with Heather just staring at him. A moment later, that round little Dr. Mildred entered with a key. She looked from Crane to him and back to Crane again.

"Dr. Mildred will escort you back to your room." he said.

A fresh batch of tears built up behind Heather's eyes as Dr. Mildred offered her a hand to help her to her feet. He led her to the door where she paused and gave Crane a final look before walking through it.

Dr. Mildred seemed like a very nercous creature. His little pug eyes kept darting from side to side as they made their way down the corridor to her cell. He seemed almost uncomfortable in her presence, but then she figured him the type to be uncomfortable in all women's presence.

He let her into her room and then paused as if to say something. But then he decided against it and closed the metal door, leaving Heather all alone once more. Normally, she was fine being by herself, but she hadn't felt this vulnerable in a really long time. Seh curled herself up on her cot and cried until she finally passed out.