Disclaimer: All Buffy and Angel characters were created by Joss Whedon. Daria was created by Glenn Eichler.
X X X X X
Warden Bonita Juarez sighed as Lynette left the office. She could feel a headache coming on already.
You had to kind of be a Renaissance woman to be a prison warden; at least, that was her theory. You had to be part psychologist, part animal wrangler, part cop, part lawyer, and part bureaucrat. And every one of those parts was telling her that there was no way this was going to end up well for everyone. Either Lehane would end up in a psych ward – and despite the crimes she'd committed she'd been a model prisoner – or she'd be released – and putting a multiple murderer back on the street was a publicity nightmare – or she'd stay in jail – and Lynette would probably scream bloody blue murder about it.
And she wouldn't have even thought to try to intimidate Lynette into changing her mind. The woman didn't need this job. She'd married into money and was doing this because she loved it. And, of course, the thought of 5'1" Bonita Juarez intimidating 6'3" Lynette Vaughn was ludicrous on the face of it.
If it had been any other of the psychiatrists who came through here, she'd have probably told them to fuck off the second they brought up Multiple Personality Disorder. The thing was, though, is that Lynette was really pretty good at figuring out when a prisoner was lying to her and when she wasn't.
Too damn many of the shrinks were all touchy-feely, willing to believe that all these poor girls had needed was to be hugged as a child. Lynette wasn't like that. So if she said that Lehane had a split personality, then she was probably right. And if she thought a girl needed help, she'd move heaven and earth to make that happen.
Bonita could tell – Lynette already felt that way about Lehane. She was convinced that Faith Lehane was actually Daria Morgendorffer.
It was the only reason she was making the phone call.
First was to the prison hospital wing, where she ordered the results of Lehane's last full set of X-rays sent up. (Even in prison, patients retained some right to doctor-patient confidentiality. This was one of the exceptions.)
The next part was harder. She called a friend of hers on the LAPD – someone she trusted not to go blabbing the story to the fucking world – and asked him to ask the Highland, Texas police to send up Daria Morgendorffer's dental records and to see if she'd ever been fingerprinted.
If that didn't work, they'd have to go with DNA. And that would bring more publicity than she needed.
"Daria Morgendorffer?" her friend asked. "Isn't she the girl who vanished four years ago?"
"Yeah. I think she's one of our inmates under a different name and I wanted to doublecheck."
"Wow. That would be – wow."
"Yeah. Can you do it?"
"Sure, Bonnie. Do you want me to arrange an appointment with our dentist as well?"
"That'd be great. You set it up and I'll shoot the records of my inmate over."
When she hung up, she reached into her drawer for her aspirin bottle.
Headache. Definitely.
X X X X X
The next thing Daria knew, she was sitting at the same table again, with the same woman facing her.
"That wasn't very nice. What you did," she said.
"Sorry about that, Daria. I'm Dr. Lynette Vaughn. I don't remember if I told you my name the first time I was here."
"For all I know, you've told me your name hundreds of times. I mean, when you can apparently induce amnesia like that, who knows how many times I've put in an appearance? Maybe you bring me out at parties."
"Nothing like that," Dr. Vaughn said.
"What did you do, anyway? I mean, I know time has passed. If for no other reason than that the drip marks on the far wall have gotten longer. And the rats in the corner are now making love." Dr. Vaughn whipped her head around. There were, of course, no rats. Daria smiled faintly. "Made you look."
Dr. Vaughn said, "It's been a couple of days. And there's no amnesia involved here."
"Apparently I've lost four years of my life. Plus at least two days. If that's not amnesia, what is it?"
"DID."
"Daria Is Dead?"
"No."
"Damn Idiot Drivers?"
"Dissociative Identity Disorder. You might know it better as Multiple Personality Disorder."
"Wait, so I have more than one personality?" Dr. Vaughn shook her head. "The last day I remember is April 9, 1997. Are you saying I've been someone else for nearly four years?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, why don't you tell me who I've been. And whether it has anything to do with my stylish accommodations here in California's highest-rated penal colony." She looked at Dr. Vaughn hard. "You know, the Michelin Guide gave it four stars."
"I imagine you use sarcasm a lot, Daria. As a way to distance yourself from the world."
Perceptive. "Are you saying the world isn't worth keeping at arm's distance?"
"Not all the time, no. Tell me. How many friends have you had? Real friends?"
"None." No one in Highland counted. "But I haven't met anyone worth getting to know, yet."
Dr. Vaughn smiled. "That's something you and your other identity have in common. I think it may be the only thing."
"Could you tell me something about myself? Obviously this other identity of mine did something pretty heinous, if I not only am stuck in jail but have mandated therapy sessions." She paused, then said, "I suppose this could all be a grand conspiracy, but the last time I checked we were not in fact all living in a Philip K. Dick novel."
Dr. Vaughn shook her head. "No. Nor is this an Oliver Stone movie." She took a deep breath. "I'm not going to give this to you all at once. There's a lot to deal with. But your other identity's name is --"
"Faith. Yeah. I got that already." Still, the name sounded familiar.
"Daria?" the psychiatrist continued. "Is everything okay?"
"I recognize it from somewhere," Daria said. "It's not a relative and it's not a pet. And before you ask, no, I don't remember anything of my other identity, so that's not where I know it from." After a second, "You said Faith and I had almost nothing in common. What else can you tell me about her?"
"I'm not going to tell you her crimes. We'll get into that at a later session."
"I wasn't asking about her crimes, just her personality." Though that Dr. Vaughn wasn't mentioning Faith's crimes told her enough. You didn't get locked up and forced to see the prison shrink because you'd spit on the sidewalk.
"Faith is . . . uneducated, but cunning and smart. She's tough. She rarely lets people see who she really is. She's a lot more profane than you seem to be. At least until she got here, she was lively and sociable. She's sexually active. Nobody messes with her because they know they can be in a lot of trouble if they do. She knows how to fight. She's quick to anger and she wears her emotions on her sleeve. She has maybe one person, at this point, she can call a friend."
"So if this were a competition, she'd be ahead, 1-0."
"It's not a competition."
"It's not? Darn. And to think I spent all that time learning how to twirl fire batons." She paused. "Anyway, thank you. I expect eventually you'll tell me what happened to me. And where my family is."
"The last date you remember is April 9, 1997?"
"Yes. Up until two days ago." After a second. "Why is that important?"
"Because Faith says April 10, 1997, is the day she was born. And she can't remember it, either. And now, I'm going to need Faith back."
"Wait. Does she know she's a split personality?"
"No."
"Tell her. Please."
Visibly thinking for a second, Dr. Vaughn said. "I'll think about it. Faith Ellen Leh—"
X X X X X
The phone rang at Angel investigations. Since Angel was closest, he picked it up.
"Angel?"
He recognized the voice on the other end. Former detective Lockley. "Kate. Hey. How's it going?"
"I've got a couple of opportunities lined up – all well away from LA. I think I need to get away from the weird for awhile." She'd taken a couple of months off, in the meantime, to decompress from her recent traumas. Angel fully understood why.
"I can't honestly blame you. Just remember there's weird everywhere."
"I know. Look, I called because I was having lunch with one of my old colleagues – one of the few who doesn't think I'm completely insane -- and heard something interesting about that Faith girl you talked into confessing."
Worried, Angel asked, "Is she okay?"
"As far as I know," Kate said. "This is more along the lines of 'odd' than 'scary.' The warden of the prison she's in sent her dental records in to be compared to that of some girl from Texas who vanished four years ago."
"Texas? Faith's from Boston."
"That's what I thought, too. Apparently the case made national headlines. The rest of the girl's family was killed and she disappeared. She wasn't a suspect or a victim, but she hasn't been seen since."
"Do you remember the girl's name?" Angel said.
"Daria something. Some long last name. Sounded German to me. Anyway, since you're so interested in keeping track of her I thought I'd pass this on. Don't know if there's anything you can do about it."
"Thanks, Kate. I appreciate it. Look. When you know where you're going, let me know, okay?"
"I will. And thanks, Angel."
"You're welcome."
Wesley came into the room before Angel could hang up. "Angel, I -- sorry, didn't realize you were still on the phone."
Putting down the receiver, Angel said, "Just got off, Wes. Found out something weird about Faith." He explained what and finished with, "They're checking her records against some girl named Dara, Dora . . ."
"Daria," Wesley said.
Angel looked at him. "Yeah. How did you know?"
Wesley looked a bit abashed. "Funny story, actually . . . "