Author's Note: Here's the next chapter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm glad you're enjoying my story. Be sure to let me know what you think of this chapter too!

Chapter Six: Heather

Heather woke up on her cot with what felt like the worst hangover of her entire life. She had scattered memories of a meeting with Dr. Crane and of him getting upset with her...the rest seemed almost like a tame nightmare. Tame, at least, compared to her usual nightmares. The walls had been bending in toward her and...Satan or...someone had been standing in front of her. There had been maggots on his face and worms coming out of his mouth and nose, and his eyes were a terrible glowing yellow. He had spoken to her, but she couldn't quite remember what it was that he had said.

She struggled to sit up, but her head was swimming and her entire body ached. She felt as though she had just gone on a three day bender and then run a marathon. It was not pleasant. She climbed to her feet, wobbling back and forth, nearly falling but catching herself against the soft wall. She clasped a hand over her head and struggled to clear her vision. What messed up medication had Crane put her on? Her world was swimming. She stumbled to the door and, keeping one hand to her head, she pounded on the door with her other fist.

"Hello?" she called, though her voice sounded very far away even in her own head, "Could I get some Aspirin, please?"

After about three more minutes of continuous pounding, the heavy metal door gave a loud clank and Heather scrambled back away from it to give it room to swing open. Sadly, she was in no shape to scramble and went tumbling backwards, landing on her backside on the cushy floor with a bounce. When the door opened, Dr. Mildred came toddling in, concern covering his round red face.

"How are we feeling today, Ms. Herst?" he asked.

"It's Heather," she answered, smacking her lips together in attempt to get some saliva flowing through her dry mouth, "and I feel lousy. What did Crane spike my drink with?"

Mildred gave a hearty chuckle. "Nothing, my dear," He said, "So, you're not feeling well, then?"

"That's one way of putting it." Heather said, propping her elbows up on her knees and looking up at the robust doctor.

"Well, then," he said, "perhaps I could walk you to breakfast and you could tell me what's wrong?"

"Breakfast? How long have I been asleep? Did I have an early session with Dr. Crane?" Heather said, wanting badly to know if she had dreamed the whole thing or if it had actually happened.

"Well, actually, we were a tad worried about you yesterday. You had a brief session with Dr. Crane yesterday morning, but ended it rather abruptly saying that you weren't feeling well. You slept most of the rest of the day."

"I think I may have had a bad dream." she said.

"A nightmare?"

"No." Heather said quickly, "This was nothing close to what my nightmares are like. It was a bad dream, nothing more."

"Hmm." Mildred said, trying his best not to sound too interested. "Well, let's get you something to eat and talk about why you're not feeling so good."

"You mean other than the fact that I'm in here?" Heather smirked, staggering to her feet.

Mildred reached out a hand to help steady her. "Obviously," he said with what he apparently thought to be a good natured smile. To tell the truth, it was a little creepy.

Mildred escorted her to the cafeteria where she had a breakfast of runny eggs, soggy bacon, and orange juice that was heavy on the pulp. As she ate, she told him what was bothering her most; about her headache, fatigue, slowed alertness, and how her equilibrium seemed to be off. He listened politely, nodded when he deemed it appropriate, and took diligent notes. She wondered briefly why he was taking such detailed notes over what was probably no more than a common cold and lack of sleep, but then it occurred to her that he was a doctor and taking notes was what he did. She didn't give it another thought.

"Will I be seeing Dr. Crane, today?" she asked.

"Yes." Mildred answered without looking up from his notepad, "You'll have a session later this afternoon."

"Oh." Heather said, "All right."

"Now, as for your crumby feeling. Probably just a cold. I'll see if I can't rustle up some meds for you." He said.

Heather smiled a small sad smile at him, "Unless it's a lethal dose, doc, I ain't interested."

Mildred didn't know what to say to that, so he just chuckled and treated it as a light hearted joke. Heather decided that he was a decent little fellow. He didn't really fit in at Arkham.

After breakfast, Dr. Mildred walked her back to her cell and left her there, promising to return with some Advil and orange juice for Vitamin C. She was antsy and pacing back and forth when the room started to spin again. On trembling legs, she made her way over to her cot and collapsed onto it. Her head still swimming, she curled into the fetal position and closed her eyes.

She winced and woke up when the door clanked open with a resounding bang. She handn't even realized that she had fallen asleep. When she managed to force her eyes open, she saw Dr. Crane entering the room. In one hand he carried a small clear plastic cup containing two small brown tablets and in the other hand was a carton of juice.

"So, I heard we're feeling a little under the weather." He said, his voice so crisp and clear.

The sudden image of her dream's maggot infested face flashed before her eyes as he spoke, causing her to draw a sudden intake of breath. She blinked and the image disappeared and all she saw was Dr. Crane. She rubbed her temples in a vain attempt to steady her equilibrium, then smiled brightly up at Dr. Crane.

"Yeah," she said, "you gonna make me feel better, doc?"

He didn't answer. He offered her the pills and juice and she took them without a word. She was pretty much willing to do anything to ease her throbbing head by that point. Dr. Crane seemed tense. She may have been a bit fuzzy in the head at the moment, but she could still pick up on that. She had a weird feeling in her stomach. Like he had slipped her something and was scared that that was what was making her sick.

"So," she said, trying to play off his tension, "What'd you dose me with, doc?"

"Advil." Crane said without missing a beat.

"I mean yesterday." Heather said.

Crane cocked a single eyebrow, "I'm not sure to what you're referring, Heather. Did an orderly give you some medication, because you've not been authorized for any?"

Heather had a sudden feeling of unease that stirred deep in her stomach, and it was from a lot more than just being sick. It almost felt as though she and the good Dr. Crane were playing a game of chess. A dangerous game in which he always seemed to be one step ahead of her. Perhaps it was time for her to switch tactics.

"Shall we?" Crane said, gesturing grandly to the door, indicating that she should walk through ahead of him.

Heather eyed him for another moment more before stepping through the doorway. She was not in any particular hurry to turn her back on Dr. Crane, so she stepped through with her side to him, making certain to keep him in her peripheral vision at all times. He joined her and they walked up the corridor to his office side by side. Crane walked straight and tall with perfect posture, his hands clasped as ever behind his back. Heather shuffled along at his side with her shoulders hunched forward and her arms wrapped protectively across her chest. When they reached his office, Heather moved immediately to sit on the couch, craning her neck so that she could keep him in her sights.

"I understand you had a bad dream last night." Crane said as he shut his office door and moved around behind his desk.

Heather watched him take his seat before speaking, "I don't want to talk about my dream."

"Why not?" Crane countered, a hint of a grin at her stubbornness on his lips.

"Because, today," Heather said, narrowing her eyes in a calculating manner, "I want to talk about you."

"About me?" Crane chuckled.

"About those scars on your wrists." Heather mimicked the very words he had said to her.

"There's nothing there to talk about, Heather." Crane said, though his smile faltered slightly, "I've worked through my problems. Now, I'd like to help you work through yours."

"Come on, doc!" Heather exclaimed standing up, "Play the gentle psychiatrist! Try to relate to me on some other plane! You know, appeal to my more fragile and sensitive side."

"Sit down, Ms. Herst." Crane commanded.

"Heather." she corrected him.

"Sit down."

"No."

"I said sit down!" Crane was now on his feet as well.

"Make me!" Heather screamed.

In the blink of an eye, Dr. Crane was around his desk and descending on her. He didn't seem the type to resort to physical violence, which meant that she had pushed his buttons pretty far. Heather laughed madly and tauntingly as she scrambled around behind the couch out of his reach. In the mental chess game she envisioned in her mind, she couldn't help but feel that she had just taken one of his knights. He reached for her, but she managed to just duck out of his grasp. She could hear her own laughter echoing throughout the room.

With one final and rewarding effort, Dr. Crane reached out and caught Heather by the elbow. He spun her to him, clasping his hands fiercely onto her upper arms. But when he spun her, it was with such force that they toppled over the top of the couch and onto the cushions with Crane landing on top. Heather writhed underneath him and tried to wiggle out of his grasp. Things didn't seem so funny anymore.

She tried to swing at him, but Crane caught her wrist and pinned it above her head, following suit with her other hand. She looked up at him. His blue eyes looked cold as ice behind his glasses and his lower lip was jutted out in a kind of frustrated pout. Heather felt her body go limp as a sudden urge overcame her. Without even realizing what she was doing, she tilted her head up and kissed him.

Author's Note: That's all for now. Tell me what you think!