Disclaimer: Those characters who were not created by Joss Whedon or Glenn Eichler were created by me.
X X X X X
After breakfast, it was time for Daria to do Faith's job for a while. There were two morning classes, the first one a life skills class given to inmates who were within six months of being released, the second a GED prep class. Daria could see the benefits of the second one. The first one struck her as being very easy to game. All one would need to do is figure out the answers the teacher wanted to hear and say them. From what she observed while handing out papers, that was exactly what about half the students in the class were doing.
Well, she supposed the ability to tell authority figures what they wanted to hear was a life skill.
Halfway through the GED prep class, one of the guards -- the older one who'd come around yesterday morning and asked her if she wanted to go to religious services -- came in and told her she was needed elsewhere. The teacher protested mildly, but the guard said, "I have my orders."
So Daria got led through the prison halls back to a very familiar room.
"Same rules as always, Lehane," the guard said.
"Yeah, I know. Don't try to escape till you're off duty so you won't get blamed for it."
"Exactly," the guard said, smirking. "Have fun."
Dr. Vaughn was sitting there.
As soon as the door closed, Daria dropped the pretense of being Faith. "Dr. Vaughn," she said. "This is a surprise. And probably an unpleasant one."
Dr. Vaughn said, "Daria? How long?"
"Since Saturday night," Daria said. "Faith and I had another shared dream, and at the end she pinched me again. I've been here ever since. You know," she said, taking on Faith's intonations, "It ain't hard to fool people 'round here, Doc. Ain't no reason for them to think I wasn't Faith, so they see me, they think Faith, not 'who's that girl who looks like Faith?' You know?"
"No one's been suspicious?"
Still mimicking Faith, Daria said, "Well, there was this one got a little suspicious when I didn't make with the worshippin' yesterday, but even he bought the excuse that I needed to do some studyin'."
Shaking her head, Dr. Vaughn said, "Daria, are you actually accessing Faith's memories? Because that's an uncanny impression."
"No," Daria said, resuming her own voice, "I've always had something of a talent for imitating voices. Were I less ethical, I could have made a small fortune from my sister by taking money to imitate our mother and excuse her from school. Or possibly, if I'd liked my sister better." She was sorry she'd said it as soon as the words came out of her mouth.
Either Dr. Vaughn didn't notice, or she had more important things to worry about. "Damn. I was hoping you were spontaneously integrating."
"No such luck," Daria said. "I've discovered that I can fight like Faith -- muscle memory. But I don't actually have any knowledge of fights she's had. She's also told me about her history, so I know about the things she's done. But the only memory I have that I can't place is still the one of those dark, giant letters spelling out 'HAVE FAITH.' And that's even after I read my aunt's book."
"It was a long shot anyway." After a second, "You read your aunt's book?"
"Everything but the chapter on my family's deaths. I couldn't take that."
"Understandable." She seemed somehow disappointed that Daria hadn't been able to bring herself to read that part of April 10, 1997.
"But you're still disappointed that I couldn't?"
"Not disappointed, exactly," Dr. Vaughn said. "I wish you could have done so, but in the long run it doesn't really matter. Your inability to consciously deal with the details of their deaths is a niggling thing, all things considered. You may never be able to learn the details. It doesn't detract from your mental stability."
"Hmmm. And I thought psychiatrists were all about forcing people to confront parts of themselves they didn't want to confront, all in the name of 'the greater good.'"
Dr. Vaughn winced at that last phrase, but said, "Only when it does serve some greater good, in the long run. I have all the details I need, and even if you live the rest of your life unable to face the events of April 10, 1997, it's not likely to affect you. There is no 'greater good' involved here." After a second, "It's taken me a while to figure this out, but you don't have a high opinion of psychiatrists, do you?"
"And I thought you people were supposed to be so insightful," Daria said with a faint grin. "It's not that I don't have a high opinion of psychiatrists. I don't have a high opinion of anyone." Then, more seriously, "You actually seem to take your work seriously, and you don't seem wedded to any particular theory, which you will then twist the available facts to fit. That alone puts you ahead of 99 percent of the people on the planet. So while I may not have a high opinion of anyone, my opinion of you is less low than it is of most." After a pause, the Mona Lisa smile returned. "Slightly less low."
"So you trust me?"
"As much as I trust anyone, under the circumstances -- anyone except Faith."
Dr. Vaughn frowned slightly at that; whether it was a frown of annoyance or confusion, Daria couldn't say. "Why do you trust Faith?"
"Because, so far, everything she's told me has been the truth. She could have pretended to have been an innocent victim, unjustly incarcerated, in order to enlist my aid in trying to make sure that in the long run she sticks around; she's done nothing of the sort. To the contrary: She's given me a near-exhaustive list of the crimes she's committed, and her sexual habits. Which, by the way, would put Don Juan to shame. I suspect the only reason she didn't start detailing her traffic violations is because we didn't have the time."
"Do you like Faith?"
"I'm not sure the question even applies," Daria said. "She's part of me. Would I have been friends with her if we'd been different people? Almost certainly, no. But we're kind of stuck with each other. Given that, I'd rather try to get along with her than be her enemy."
Dr. Vaughn asked, "Would you prefer not to have her around?"
"In an ideal world, sure. Of course, in an ideal world, my parents and Quinn would still be alive and I'd currently be ending up my sophomore year at St. John's College, or Raft, or someplace like that. This world is so far from my ideal I suspect, like Mark Twain, that God is a malign thug. It's not about what I prefer. She's around. In some fashion, she will be around for the rest of my life. I'm going to have to deal with that."
"Mature attitude," Dr. Vaughn said.
Daria said, "Mature, hell. It's not mature to accept something you have no choice about. It's simply not being a moron." After a second, "Anyway, I assume at some point you're going to want to talk to Faith."
"Of course," she said. "It doesn't have to be now --"
"No," Daria said. "You may as well get it over with. It'll mean canceling that racquetball appointment with the governor, but I think I can fit you in."
"Faith Ellen Leha--"
X X X X X
The emergency hearing went exactly as Angel had feared it would. Carla Fisk was an excellent and persuasive speaker, and backed up by Dr. Vaughn's report and the willingness of Amy Barksdale to serve as the person to make decisions on Faith Lehane aka Daria Morgendorffer's behalf, she had no trouble getting Faith declared temporarily mentally incompetent.
Maggie Silber did the best she could -- she was no slouch in the "persuasive speaker" department -- but, as she'd told Angel shortly before the hearing, judges in these cases almost always sided with the prosecution. Unless Maggie had been able to come up with spectacular evidence or an argument worthy of Cicero, Faith was doomed.
And unfortunately, she'd been right.
Angel did notice a couple of people at the back of the room whose head shot up when they heard the name "Daria Morgendorffer." Angel sidled up to the nearest and said quietly, "Does that name mean something to you?"
"Damn right it does," the man said quietly but excitedly. "Daria Morgendorffer disappeared four years ago. Case got all kinds of publicity. And now she's been found in jail going under a different name and there's a psychiatric disorder involved? Oh yeah. This is a story."
"I'm a private detective. My name's Angel," he said, handing the man his business card.
"Kal Endicott," the man said, taking it. "What's your connection to this?"
"I'm a friend of Miss Lehane's -- that's the name I know her by, anyway. If Ms. Fisk and Amy Barksdale don't want to talk to you, give me a call. I'll tell you everything."
X X X X X
Carla Fisk couldn't have been happier with the way things went at the appeal. She'd been nervous that Maggie Silber would find some way to a pull a last-minute miracle and get the judge to reject the declaration of incompetence, but she didn't. And while Angel had come, he didn't testify. Good thing; despite his juvenile prank yesterday he seemed like a good-hearted person, and Carla would have hated to have had to rake him over the coals.
She would have; it was her job. But she wouldn't have liked it.
After they were done, on their way out of the courtroom Amy Barksdale turned to her and said, "What now?"
"Well, now you're in charge," Carla said. "So, assuming you still agree with me on how to handle the matter of her multiple personalities --"
"I do," Amy said. "I have to." Then they saw Maggie Silber enter the courtroom. "Mrs. Silber!" she said over the bustle of the courtroom hallway.
"Yes?" the woman said.
"I'd like you to continue being Daria's lawyer," Amy said.
"Yes," Mrs. Silber said. "Because I've clearly done such a good job of it so far."
"The deck was stacked against you," Carla said. "You know that."
"And you still came up with a hell of a case," Amy added.
"Well, I don't count moral victories as successes. And at this point I don't know what you'd want me to do."
"Do what you've been doing," Amy said. "Look out for her interests."
Mrs. Silber shook her head. "I can't do that, at this point. 'Her interests' have already been compromised, in my opinion. A young woman who is perfectly capable of looking out for herself has just told she can no longer do so. You're still bound and determined to eliminate the Faith persona despite their stated wishes. I can't in good conscience work for you under the circumstances."
Amy Barksdale looked at her and said, "I'm sorry to hear that. For what it's worth, I also agree that it's a bad idea. But, as the saying goes, 'It may be a crooked game, but it's the only game in town.' I'd at least like to reserve the right to call you in the future."
Nodding, Mrs. Silber said, "You're free to do so. Whether I'll listen is another matter entirely. Good day." As Mrs. Silber left, a young black man in a mismatched business suit came up to Carla and Amy.
"Ms. Fisk. Ms. Barksdale. Is what I just heard in there true?"
"No," Carla said sarcastically. "I'm often in the habit of lying to judges to win cases."
Scribbling something down on a small notepad, the man said, ". . . in the habit of lying to judges . . ." He raised his head and grinned. "Thanks, Ms. Fisk. That's not the headline I was hoping for when I heard you mention the name Daria Morgendorffer, but it'll do." He gestured in the air as though pointing out words: "LA ADA Admits Lying to Judges to Win Cases. This should make my career."
Irritably, Carla said, "I was joking, Mr. . . ."
"Endicott. Kal Endicott. LA Times," he said, still grinning. "And I knew that. Now. I heard you say that Faith Lehane, who's currently in jail for two counts of second-degree murder, is actually Daria Morgendorffer, the missing girl from the Willard Jay Harbaugh murders of four years ago."
"That's correct," Carla said.
Mr. Endicott said, "I also heard you say that multiple personality disorder was involved . . ."
"Anything you heard me say in the courtroom," Carla said, "You can assume I was telling the truth on. I'm not prepared to make any other statement at this time." She'd been hoping no one would notice quite yet. The LA court system was big enough that there couldn't possibly be a reporter in every courtroom. It had just been bad luck that this second-stringer for the Times happened to be in the, for her, wrong place at the wrong time.
"Fair enough. I think I have enough to get started anyway. Ms. Barksdale --"
"No comment."
"Just confirm one thing for me and I'll quit bothering you for the moment. Are you the Amy Barksdale, who wrote the book on the Harbaugh murder spree?"
Deadpan, Amy said, "No. It's just an amusing coincidence."
"So that would be a yes?"
"That would be a yes. I'm Daria Morgendorffer's maternal aunt."
"Thank you," he said cheerfully. "Ms. Fisk. Ms. Barksdale. Have a good day."
After he left, Amy said, "So how long does that give us before the shit officially hits the fan?"
"The good news is that the Times is likely to want to keep this as an exclusive. The bad news is that I'd say the odds are one in ten they pull it off. So I'd say anywhere from two hours till tomorrow morning."
"So if I want to quietly get Daria started on a program to have the Faith personality removed, I'd better do it now?" Carla nodded. "I'll get to work, then. I'd appreciate a list of the more reputable ones, though. I've heard horror stories about some of these places --"
"Despite Daria being declared mentally unfit to take responsibility for her own actions, though, you don't have to have her moved to an institution. You can simply have her sessions take place at the prison, if you think that would be easier."
"I do. And thanks." They parted company there.
The first non-internal call she got that afternoon, to her mild surprise, wasn't from Kal Endicott or any other reporter.
It was from Lynette Vaughn. "I hope you're happy," she said angrily, without preamble. "It's done. There is no more Faith." Then she hung up.
Okay, what the hell?