Ang: Yah? Well, I like it when you review. x3
Fracture: Well, it's based on a few movies. Maybe one rings a bell? Manic, Girl Interrupted, On The Inside...
Normal: Thanks! Hope you continue to like it!
Jamie: Thanks! Hope you continue to read and like it.
Lessthan13: Welcome back! Glad to have you hooked and on board, Matey!
A.: Well, I hope this chapt is less confusing.
Esuedros: Well, Thirteen appears in this chapt. Enjoy!
Sheepish: I'm sorry that you're sick. It's kinda ironic. I started writing it because I was sick, and managed to find an array of people with different health problems along the way. I'm glad my fic could help, even as just a boredom curer for being stuck in bed. I'm horrible at writing original stuff to get published, so unless OW and JMo decide to get together and hire me, you're all stuck with Cadley fics. x3

Hopefully this chapt will be less confusing! Enjoy!

Allison's POV:

The lobby area looks more like a hallway, lacking in width. The length of it is empty aside from multiple folded chairs propped up against the wall. Behind a plastic window on the side sits a plump, middle-aged woman with an overly round face. She adjusts the sign that says 'secretary' by pushing it to the side with her pen. "May I help you?" she asks in a nasally voice.

"Austin Kendall, police and medical security officer," he introduces himself. "I'm here with Allison Ford."

You fidget. Getting used to a last name that isn't your own will take some getting used to, and you panic you might accidentally slip up.

"Oh." There's a hint of disappointment in the secretary's voice and she glances to the side, apparently just now noticing you. "Wait one second and I'll get a nurse." She pushes her chair back and stands then hobbles out of the small office.

You absently scratch your arm and silently scan the room and as much as you can see of the inside of the office. A sign labeled 'Visiting Hours' catches your eye, but it's on the far side of the office and most of the print is too small to read.

"Four to six, every day," Kendall states, not so much reading it as reciting it by memory from your meetings. "I'll be back in three days."

You nod. It's already been decided that any of your friends or family visiting would be too much of a risk. Your heart aches, being unable to have any contact with your child for at least a week, but he seemed quite thrilled that Chase was allowing him to stay over.

A door next to the office swings open and a man dressed in blue scrubs walks out. "Nurse Emery," he introduces himself immediately, reaching to shake Kendall's hand and then your own. "I'll be your nurse on the first shift every day," he explains. "You'll meet the other two as they come in."

You purse your lips together and force a polite smile.

"She's a quiet one," Emery states. "That's always a nice change from the usual." He steps out of the way and holds the door open with his foot as he ushers you two through it and into another hall. It has three doors, one of which you assume leads to the secretary's office.

Emery pushes a door open to your right. "This is the exam room," he says, standing out of the way again as you and Kendall walk inside. "Hopefully this is the only time you'll see this place until you leave." He shuts the door once he walks in then kneels down beside a cabinet.

You give the room a quick once over. It's nothing special, just a typical exam room you'd expect to see in a hospital. You're not sure what you were expecting. They're under investigation for neglect and maltreatment; it's not like you're in Saw and about to be put in a death trap.

Emery stands up straight and holds out a hospital gown, robe without a rope, and socks with grips on the bottom. "Everything off but your underwear," he commands and nods to a bathroom that's hidden by nothing but a sea-green curtain. "You can leave your clothes, shoes, and any possessions in the corner."

"Alright." You take the clothes from him and slip behind the curtain then pull it closed. For a moment, you thought they might watch you change. The privacy calms your nerves a bit. Not paying much attention to the conversation Emery and Kendall begin having about previous hospital stays and your psychological assessments, you take your clothes and shoes off, folding your shirt and pants before laying them neatly in the corner. After a moment of staring at them, you pick them up and unfold them then toss them back down, attempting to seem careless.

The hospital gown is at least a size too big. You slip it on and tie it behind you as tight as possible before also putting on the robe so your backside isn't visible. You balance yourself with your elbow on the edge of the sink as you put on the socks. Once you're content that you're fully covered by the hospital gown, you push the curtain open again and slowly walk out.

Emery glances at you and pats the exam table. "I can take her from here," he tells Kendall. "The secretary will give you a few papers to fill out before you leave."

Kendall nods. "Take care," he says. He gives you a hopeful smile then turns and exits the room.

You puff out your cheeks as you exhale and hoist yourself up onto the exam table. "Don't I have to fill out papers too?" you ask, your voice wavering. You're not sure if you're more nervous about ruining the investigation or staying what feels like utterly alone in an asylum.

"Someone from the treatment team will give you assessment papers tonight or tomorrow," Emery answers. He takes your blood pressure and feels your pulse before pulling a drawer open and grabbing a needle. "Blood tests are mandatory to rule out anything not psychological that could cause your symptoms."

You cross your arms as he uncaps the needle. "You're not going to clean my arm first?" you question, keeping your eyes focused on the needle.

He pauses before realization seems to sink in. "I'm so sorry." He grabs the sanitizing wipe from the drawer. "My mistake; thank you so much for reminding me."

One strike against them already. Clenching your jaw again, you hold out your arm and allow him to use the wipe on your skin in the crook of your arm. "Ow." You frown and tug your arm as he tries to insert the needle, clearly missing your vein. It's no wonder considering he hasn't even banded your arm with a tourniquet.

"Hold still." He pulls your arm back toward him and tries again, still not managing to hit a vein.

You yank your arm back, already dreading the bruising that's going to be there later. "I worked in an ER," you remind him. Even if it's not the truth, you still know how to draw blood. "You're not doing it right."

"Egotistical wasn't mentions on your chart." Emery pulls your arm forward once again, this time managing to get it right.

You gape for a moment then turn your head away. "An F in drawing blood probably wasn't mentioned on your certification either," you mumble purposefully, almost instigating conflict. Under different circumstances, something so rude would have stayed in your head. Even given a chance to say whatever you're thinking isn't necessary, but you're curious of what his reaction would be to someone who couldn't help but say such things.

He finishes filling several tubes of blood without a word then roughly yanks the needle out from under your skin. Not bothering with a bandage, he pulls your down off the table and gives you a nudge toward the scale. "Height and weight," he demands, "Now."

You press your thumb to the miniscule hole in your arm and apply pressure as you step up onto the scale. 105lb.

"You starve yourself?" Emery asks, grabbing a clipboard. He marks down your weight then proceeds to fill out your blood pressure information.

"W-what?" you stammer. "No." You quickly shake your head. Sure, you don't eat as much as you should, but you wouldn't consider yourself to have an eating disorder. Not to mention the stress of the previous few weeks had caused your appetite to decline.

"Make yourself vomit after you eat?" he inquires.

You furrow your brows. "Of course not," you reply, a little put off by the questions. You chock it off to exhaustion and anxiety. "Everything you need to know about me is listed in my chart. There's nothing else."

"Uh huh." Emery grabs the measurer and lifts it up then adjusts it to check your height. "Sweetheart, there's no way you're 5'5" and weigh 105 pounds without something going on there."

"My name is Allison." You step back down off the scale and try to get a look at the notes he's scribbling down on his clipboard. His handwriting is illegible and he's tilting the paper at an angle away from you.

He puts the clipboard down then lifts the earpieces of his stethoscope up to his ears. He presses the stethoscope to your chest, just above where the hem of your gown falls to. "Heart rate's a little fast," he says. "Maybe some Ativan would help."

"I don't need any drugs," you answer. "I'm fine."

"Turn around." He places his hands on your shoulders and spins you in a circle, causing you to almost trip over your own feet. The back of the robe is lifted up and you feel a breeze on your backside. Your cheeks turn a light shade of crimson and you quickly reach behind you, holding the lower half of the gown together. If he was a little more professional, it wouldn't bother you, but now it does. "Deep breath in," he commands.

You suck in a breath then follow his instructions to let it out again. After repeating the process four more times, he finally lets the back of your robe drop then grabs his clipboard again.

"There will be a folder on your bed," he says as he opens the door again. "It will contain the rules and your schedule. I trust you'll make an effort to ask your roommate to show you around."

You step back out into the hall and follow him to another door. He presses a button on a speaker beside the wall. "This is Emery," he speaks at the small black box. "Hit the lock." A small light above the door turns green and he pushes the door open.

You follow him into the central part of the building, the lounge. Several people are curled up on chair, staring up at a TV hanging from the wall and a few more are sitting at tables in the dining area talking. Off to your right, is a plastic window that's a great deal larger than the one the secretary sat behind. Several nurses and doctors are seated behind it, chatting. It almost reminds you of the time you joined your son for recess at his school, with the teachers standing a distance away but still keeping a close watch on all the kids.

"That way is the men's corridor," Emery says, pointing to the left. "You are not permitted there for any reason, understand?"

You nod and follow him to the right, which you logically assume that's where the women stay. The hall has four doors on either side, all of which are wide open. He stops outside the second door on the right. "This is your room." He makes a slight hand movement before turning and walking away.

You almost feel abandoned, unsure of what to do with yourself. Swallowing thickly, you turn and walk into the room, almost expecting your roommate to be curled up in front of the TV with the others. She's not.

She's sitting cross-legged on the floor with a deck of cards all spread out in front of her, playing solitaire. She flips a card over then rubs her hand up and down her face before running her fingers through her frizzy hair.

You quietly clear your throat and step further into the room.

Her head snaps up and she stares at you for a moment before smiling warmly. "Hi," she says quietly. She glances at the empty bed for a moment before back at you again, her eyes lighting up a bit at the sight of her new roommate.

"Hi," you mumble, also glancing over at the bed with the folder on it. It has a white pillow without a pillowcase and a thin blue blanket on top of it. The other bed in the room is identical, only the folder is on a small table between the beds. The walls and floor are so white, it's almost painful to look at them. Fortunately, the furniture and brown closet door provide a contrast. "I'm Allison."

She itches at a red spot on her arm for a moment before flipping another card over. "Remy," she introduces herself.