Hello everyone! I hope you all had a very safe and wonderful Christmas/New Year! May the New Year bring many new stories!

Now, I'd like to thank all my faithful reviewers. You all have been the best and I wish many blessings upon you all.

This chapter is a little slow. I wanted there to be a good taste of melancholy in Kyra's current situation. So hopefully, it succeeds.

Sorry it took me so long to update, what with the holidays, college revving back up, and a new job (waitressing, uh). Whew, I'm swamped! I've enrolled in a psychology class this semester, so there's bound to be another Crane story in the future. I'll be an informed writer now, this is good. You know you got it bad when you start picking classes that parallel with the characters you like…or to improve your fan fiction. I'm hopeless really.

Hope everyone enjoys!

Chapter 9

Dr. Crane is keeping me highly sedated as the weeks pass by like quiet phantoms. I am unsure exactly what his motives are as I am kept in my cell continually. My constant state is drugged and starving. Dr. Crane still hasn't seen that my meals consist of anything more than bread and water. I wonder how much longer my body will hold out. I make sure to adjust my attitude whenever I am visited. I am polite and compliant as to avoid further abuse. Demitri seems to disappoint as he is no longer given reason to throw me around. He would enter with medication and leave fairly quickly with no exchange of words other than, 'take your pills' which I would respond with an enthusiastic outreach of my hand. It is doubtful I could stand another beating.

All I can do is lay completely inhibited on my cot and stare at the ceiling with my half closed eyes. The medication is high powered and I have lost all fine motor skills as well as some of the major ones. I could probably walk but I feel it an unneeded risk, if I fall, it is quite possibly I wouldn't be able to pick myself up. Needless to say, using the facilities is a daunting task.

The air pressure in the room shifts just as the large door to my cell creaks open. I groan, dreading the appearance of the good doctor. I am pleasantly surprised that it is none other than Cathy. I flick my eyes in her direction and manage to turn to look at her. Disorientation fuses through my head as black spots quickly sprinkle into my vision. I close my eyes to ward off the black veil that would inevitably be next.

"Good afternoon Kyra." She greets with a warm, genuine smile.

'Is that what time it is?'

Time has a way of shifting itself in unequivocal patterns under the influence of high dosage tranquilizers.

"Dr. Crane has decided to give you one hour of time in the rec. room." Cathy explains as she begins to dress me with a straightjacket.

'Should I be excited about this?'

"Goody and do what? Lay incapacitated in a different room?" I manage, words slurring together. "I hardly know how to express my gratitude." I finish, rolling my eyes to then focus on the wall.

Cathy shoots me a smile of mild annoyance as she tightens the last of the straps. "Very funny you, Crane warned me that you had a mouth on you. Although, I suppose that's what I get for letting you stretch your legs during my break time."

'Wow, such generosity today.'

I am well aware that Cathy is indeed not the likes of Dr. Crane and is perhaps, just as much prisoner as I. Although, under a much different circumstance.

Cathy has to hold fast onto my arm as she leads me down the hallways and through the elevator. This gesture is not due to risk of me fleeing as much as to the risk of me falling. I am drunk with medication as she escorts me through the lighted hallway to a room with walls practically of Plexiglas, to keep a watchful eye on us patients, no doubt. She slides her authorization card through the I.D. lock and guides me inside. Despite the room's rather clean appearance, it smells of musk and tile grime. I crinkle my nose as the new smell assaults my senses.

I drowsily gaze around the room and my accompaniments. There is a broad array of patients as young as I to those well into their seventies. Most daze into an awkward silence, staring into nothing. Or quite possibly they were gazing at something, seeing as how Crane loves to drug his patients. There is a faint cacophony of shuffling feet and disconnected voices, mumbling such that I cannot not quite hear let alone understand. A couple of patients wore padded helmets and for good reason I note as I watch them thud into nearby walls, slurring words of discontentment. I am the only one in a straightjacket; I think this strange for these poor souls among me seem in far greater need of physical restraint. A twinge of envy shoots through me then is gone. I would rather have it as such, stake my comfort for the sake of my sanity, hardly a question of bargain.

"Where would you like me to sit you darlin'?" Cathy's accent soothes me as I lazily bite my bottom lip in contemplation.

'Since when the democracy?'

"The window…" I croak. Cathy nods and hauls me over to the window, sitting me down in a nearby chair.

I blink and focus on that beautiful light. It has been so long since I've seen the sunlight. I've forgotten what a simple pleasure, a luxury it actually is. I sit mesmerized by the intrinsic patterns the grate's shadow of the window created as it spilt cross-hatching over my still form. For a moment it is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I stumble out of my chair, its wooden legs shrieking against the tiled floor. I fall onto the ledge by the window and wriggle on top of it. Getting as close to that window as I can, to feel the sun warmed metal against my skin. I've been cold for so long. I nestle against it, leaning my head onto the mesh covering. I find it sharp, but warm and beautiful.

I sit here, head foggy but wondering if I would ever be able to lie in the warm grass, blanketed by a veil of sunlight. Listening to the birds chirp as they passed overhead. Would I ever be able to escape the heat and find comfort under the deep shade of a tree or only the cold hardness of my cell's cement floor? What would it take for me to get out of this insufferable place?

As I begin to doze off, a voice shouts in short protest from the nearby hall. Immediately I perk up. I know that voice. I squint my eyes and focus through the Plexiglas just a second too late. I see a male orderly pass by, pushing a patient forward. Disappointed, I slouch back down. There is no possible way that I know any of the patients here. Yet I am so sure of the familiarity of that voice. Light footsteps can be heard outside the room. I turn my head toward the sunlight. I know who is passing down the hall. I have no desire to look at Dr. Crane, no matter how much free time he allows me.

I hear the light steps fall silent; he isn't even halfway down the hall. I close my eyes. 'Rain, rain, go away…' I want to focus on my sunlight. I can feel his cold gaze upon me, even in the sun's warm glow; I shiver under his heat penetrating gaze. I have to give him credit for that. As quickly as it came, it went. Then I am warm again as those light footsteps descend down the hall. I relax at once. Is that what he wanted; to see my adherent discomfort under his scrutiny?

My mind reaches a childlike state as I lay under those intoxicatingly cozy rays of warmth. I'm rendered helpless in a pool of evaporated gold, the equivalent of laying in a warm bath. If the saying holds true, 'an apple a day keeps the doctor away,' then I will need a whole fucking orchard.