They had to take the long way, keeping off the road while staying near it, so as not to get lost. Every time a car passed they would duck down in the ditch that ran alongside the pavement. It meant getting down in the dead leaves and muck to remain unseen.

It was a surreal experience for Tate. His eyes adjusted to the darkness easily, but the world looked alien to him in his altered state of mind. Everything seemed to have a silvery lining etched around it. It made the world look flat, yet everything in it glowed faintly. He reasoned it must be moonlight, though he'd never seen moonlight look like that before.

It was cold outside. He could see his breath come in puffs of misty silver fog. In the darkness, Violet was shades of dark gray. Like a ghost. More than once he reached out to touch her just to be sure she was actually there. The third time he did it she looked at him funny.

"Why do you keep doing that?"

He smiled, dimples showing in the pale moonlight. "Just making sure you're not dead."

"No," she said. "I'm not dead. But you will be if we don't hurry. Come on. Let's hurry up before you freeze."

..

When they finally got to Violet's house, Tate was shivering so badly his teeth were chattering. His feet were numb, and his ears hurt from the tips all the way inside to the ear drums. It felt like he had icicles in his nose. His arms felt frozen solid in the tight hug he had around his waist.

Violet led him to a shed in the small back yard, a tin structure resembling a barn. Quietly, she let him inside.

"Wait here," she murmured. "I'm going to get you a blanket and stuff. Don't. Go. Anywhere."

She pushed the door shut then and hurried up to the house, pulling her sweater tight around herself. She was so anxious, her arms felt weak. Not her knees, like the stories always said, but the bends of her elbows. It was enough to make her fingers tremble. The cold might have something to do with it, too.

In the house she felt obligated to stop by her father's den when she saw his light was on—not just to say hi; she wanted to make sure he was going to be in there long enough for her to gather the things Tate needed. She had never felt so much pressure in her life, thinking about what she needed to do while hoping that the blond boy stayed where she left him.

"Hey," she said. "I'm home."

"Hi, sweetheart," her dad said, barely glancing up from the file he was looking at. "Mom's lying down but there's stuff in the refrigerator to make a sandwich with."

"Okay," she said, leaning on the doorjamb like it was a normal evening. "What're you looking at?"

She didn't really care but she needed to seem normal.

"Just a case file from work," he said distractedly.

"Oh," she said. "Okay. I'm going to go eat now."

"All right," he said.

She hurried to the kitchen then and gathered up a dishtowel full of lunch meat, bread, mayonnaise, orange juice, and a butter knife. Then she practically ran to the linen closet to grab a spare pillow and a few old blankets. Heavily burdened, she moved as quickly as she could back out to the back yard.

"Tate," she hissed as she neared. "It's me."

She managed to get the door open. He was sprawled on her dad's riding lawnmower, but he got to his feet when she staggered in with the stuff. He smiled and moved to help her.

"Wow. Thanks," he said.

It wasn't as cold in the shed as it was outside in the wind. The three blankets she'd grabbed would make the place livable. Shivering badly, Tate wrapped the thickest one around himself. Then he stood on another and kicked it around to spread it out without having to come out of his blanket poncho.

Violet put the towel of food down on the work bench and looked around for something more that could be used for a bed. They had lawn chairs but nothing that would double as a bed. She did find an old tarp, though, and she spread that out behind the sawhorse, where Tate would be out of direct sight should someone come in.

"Here," she said. "Come over here."

He did but he left the other blankets behind, so she went and got them. She spread one out on the tarp.

"Do you want the other one on the floor?" she asked. "Or around you?"

He thought about it. Thinking was even more difficult than before. He just wanted to sleep. "Around me."

She went to wrap the blanket around his shoulders, but he ducked aside.

"Wait," he said. "I wanna lay down. Then wrap it around my legs and feet. Okay?" He was too worn out to be more polite than that.

Violet waited till he was settled then she swaddled his legs up. After he was bundled she fetched the pillow and slid it under his cheek. He smiled a blissful smile, eyes shutting.

"Do you want to eat?" she asked.

"Nah," he sighed. "Sleep."

"Okay," she said. "I'll leave it here on the work bench for you."

"'Kay."

"I'll stay a bit, if you want."

"'Kay."

She sat down beside him on a corner of the tarp and pet his hair back from his face. He fell asleep almost instantly. As she watched him sleep, she wondered what the hell they were going to do next.

...

Frustration had Oliver on edge. He considered himself an even-tempered individual, understanding and kind. He didn't like it when someone else forced him out of that mold.

Why couldn't others just leave him alone to do his job?

He thought about Ben again and ended up pressing down too hard, cutting too deep. Further angered by the careless mistake, he slammed the X-acto knife down on the table. He took a deep breath then. Peeled off his bloody gloves so he could rub his temples. Massaging, he released the breath slowly in a long sigh.

There was nothing he could do at the moment. As frustrating as that was, it was a fact.

He looked down at the plate-sized piece of skin on the art desk before him. The corner of the mouth he'd been working on was a lost cause. The whole piece wouldn't be good for anything now. It wasn't like a length of flank or shoulder. The workable area was too limited for anything other than a mask.

Oliver tilted his head and considered the woman's face, seeing inspiration suddenly.

He picked up the knife again and began to cut, trimming away the lower portion entirely. Once he was done he set the blade down and carefully lifted the skin off the wax paper. He held it up. Light poured through the eye holes, making the whole thing look black for a moment. It looked just like a masquerade mask - a domino, it was called in the Mardi Gras circuit.

His lips twitched in a small smile as he turned the gruesome mask around. He brought it up to his face then. It was cool and wet against his skin and stuck to him like it was still alive. Thredson brushed his fingers over the cheek and felt a hint of his touch through the flesh-mask.

He peeled the thing off again and heaved another sigh. He'd salvaged the project, but he still felt like he'd wasted a lot of time a resources for what he was getting out of the effort. It was disappointing. It really was a crappy day when even the things that gave him pleasure were frustrating him.

But he had to finish the process or the whole thing would be completely wasted. He mopped his face with a rag, lit a cigarette, and set to tanning the skin. The owner's body behind him on the floor would have to wait.

He was busy for several minutes before he heard the ring of the telephone over the sound of Tommy Dorsey and Frank Sinatra's "I'll Be Seeing You" playing on the radio. Stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray, he got up and turned the radio down but not off completely; he loved the classics. He lifted the telephone receiver and put it to an ear.

"Hello?"

"Doctor Thredson?" the voice that came thinly down the wire belonged to Sister Jude. "We have a problem."

...

"How could this happen?"

Oliver was beyond angry. As soon as he heard Tate had escaped, he had cleaned up, thrown on his coat, and sped back to the asylum. The facility, usually quiet by night, was bustling with activity. There were nuns and police and orderlies and nurses and people of all kinds everywhere.

Sister Jude was a whirlwind in the midst of it all, managing multiple individuals with ironclad self-control. She and Thredson had retreated to her office where she took a position behind the desk but didn't sit. Instead, she pressed both hands to the surface and met Oliver's angry gaze with a steely one of her own.

"We're still trying to figure that out," she responded tensely. She was just as furious about the security breach as he was, if not more so. "He was bound hand and foot and when he was last checked on. The nurse injected him with a sedative strong enough to knock out a horse. He didn't just get up and walk away on his own, doctor. Someone took him."

Oliver paced. Who would want to abduct a drugged up mass murderer? His thoughts went immediately to Ben Harmon, but his instincts railed against the idea. As much as he disliked the man currently, he didn't believe his colleague was stupid enough to risk his career on literally stealing a patient from Thredson.

"Who all came and went during that time?"

"Barney, the guard who was on lobby shift, only saw three people during the time frame that he could have disappeared in," the nun said, straightening. She tucked her hands into the openings of her sleeves. "One was a deliveryman who dropped off a parcel and left. One was a nurse, and one was a candystriper. The police are already working on getting statements from them."

"What's being done right now to find him?" Oliver paced some more. He was trying not to imagine what could be happening with Tate at the moment. The possibilities were too wild and disturbing.

Sister Jude took a breath. "The police are searching for him on the roads. There's a K9 unit on the way with a couple of dogs."

Dr. Thredson paused in his pacing to push his glasses up and rub his forehead. "Apart from the sedative, he's completely unmedicated."

"You think I don't know that?"

Oliver kept his hand on his forehead, unable to hold back the tidal wave of worries any longer. Once the sedative wore off, there would be nothing between the volatile patient and his overwhelming pain. Nothing to stop him from arming himself and acting on some of his bizarre notions. Unless whoever took him had a plan for incapacitating him somehow. Which was worrisome on another level to the doctor.

"What can I do?"

He was thinking out loud, but Sister Jude answered him. "Put together a press statement for the public. If the news gets wind of this, we need to be prepared. We need to tell them something that won't scare people."

"You want me to talk to the press about this?" he blinked, snapped out of his worries by this newest undesirable twist.

"Someone has to," she said. "And you're his doctor."

"I wasn't even here when he escaped!"

"That doesn't matter," Sister Jude said archly. "You know him best. Who better to reassure the public?"

"I'm not certain they should be reassured," he said.

"Do it anyway."

...

"Did you see anything unusual when you left?"

The police officer speaking was sitting on one of the two couches in the Harmons' living room. It was late and Vivien was in her nightclothes. Violet sat between her parents, arms wrapped loosely around her middle, doing her very best to look normal. Her thoughts were split between the questioning and Tate out in the shed, sleeping and unaware of the danger nearby.

"No. I talked to the night guard," she said. "Then I left."

"You drive?"

"No. I took the bus."

"Did you see anyone on the bus that looked suspicious?"

Violet resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but her expression soured anyway. "Half the people on there. I've got school tomorrow. Is this going to take much longer?"

The man looked at what he'd written on his notepad then shook his head. "No, I think that's about all for now." He reached in his breast pocket and pulled out a card that he handed to her dad. "If she remembers anything that could be helpful, give us a call."

Ben took the card, glanced at it, then put it into his pocket. "Thank you, officer," he said. He got up then to show the man to the door.

"I'm going to go get ready for bed," Violet told her mother.

"Okay, honey," Vivien said. "And Violet? Make sure your window is locked?"

Violet couldn't resist an eyeroll any longer, though she paired it with a tolerant smile. "Okay, mom."

The teen disappeared into her bedroom then where she paced and watched the clock till she heard the officer's patrol car pull away. Then she shoved open the window and climbed out into the dark yard. Keeping low, she ran to the shed and quietly let herself in. She worried that she might startle Tate, but he didn't even stir.

"Tate," she whispered.

He shifted, smacked his lips, and was still. His pallet on the ground didn't look at all comfortable but he was unaware. Violet was still panicking inside but she hesitated to say anything more. If she woke him up, what would she do? He was in no condition to go anywhere or manage on his own.

She sighed and hugged her knees. Just one evening was enough for her to completely overturn her whole life.

Violet sat with Tate for several minutes, until she started to get stiff from sitting in the same position for too long. She knew what she would have to do next but knowing didn't mean she looked forward to it. She adjusted his blanket then got up and went back to the house, crawling back in through the window.

She grabbed a duffel bag from her closet and threw a few clothes into it along with her piggy bank money and some of her personal items that she didn't want to leave behind. After checking to make sure her parents had gone to their room, she went to the kitchen and grabbed some canned goods, a manual can opener, and a roll of toilet paper. She took one of her dad's jackets from the closet and a pair of slippers he never wore. They looked like they might be too big for Tate, but better too big than too small.

Once she had everything she put on a coat and grabbed her dad's keys off the hook on the wall near the phone. She took the bag to the car and put it on the floorboard of the back seat. Then she went around to the back yard and into the shed.

Tate was exactly where she'd left him. She crouched down next to him and shook his shoulder.

"Tate," she said. "Tate, wake up. We have to go."

He stirred but didn't wake so she shook him harder.

"Tate. Wake up. We have to leave. The cops were here."

He opened his eyes and blinked at her a few times without recognition. Then a switch seemed to flip and his features relaxed. "What?"

"The cops were here," she repeated. "They're looking for you. We have to go. I've got my dad's keys."

He pushed himself up slowly. He was having trouble processing what she was saying. "Oh. Okay. Um. Okay."

She helped him to his feet and, with one of the blankets still around his shoulders, led him to the car parked out front. She helped him into the back seat where he lay down again. She got into the driver's seat and put the key in, but she didn't dare start the engine. Her parents might hear. Instead, she put it into neutral and let the car coast silently out of the driveway.

Only once they were fully on the street did she start the car. Her heart leapt with the engine. She was really doing this.

She took one last glance back at Tate then she put the car in drive.

...

"Hey, Doctor Thredson," Patrick greeted the dark-haired man in the upstairs hall as he was coming out of his office. "I heard they called you back in."

Oliver gave the tall orderly a grim look. "They did. And I'm going to need some coffee."

"There's a fresh pot down at the nurse's station," Pat said. "You going to be here all night?"

"I don't know," admitted Thredson. "I'm hoping they'll find him quicker than that but... who knows what will happen? So, I have to put together something to tell the press. They're going to be anxious to get the scoop on the mass murderer that escaped Briarcliff."

"Oh, that's a tough break," the orderly sympathized. "Is there anything I can do?"

"No," said Oliver. He forced a smile. He appreciated the other man's attempt at being helpful. "Not that I can think of."

"Yeah, well," said Patrick. "If you think of anything just let me know."

Thredson nodded and the two men went their separate ways. A cup of coffee later and he was ready to write.

..

When the K9 unit arrived, there was some necessary delay while the coordinating officer led the two German shepherds and their handlers around Tate's cell so the dogs could get a good scent on him. They used his pillow since there were no clothes in the room for them to sniff.

Once the animals knew his smell, they set to work sniffing frantically this way and that, down the halls. There were a couple of immediate false leads when the dogs followed the patient's scent to the bathroom and into the common room. Then they oriented themselves on the correct trail and the chase was on.

Oliver went with the search party. He wanted to be there if and when they located Tate, both to help them corral the young man but also to protect him from potential brutality. He was confident he could get Tate to cooperate with him if he could talk to him. He didn't expect the police would even try that tactic.

It was a cold and dark search. The boy had gone quite a distance on foot. He hadn't done much to hide his path. Here and there, the environment had wiped out traces of his passage, but his trail was easy enough for the dogs to find again. It was a long walk and the further they went, the more uneasy the doctor grew.

When he recognized the neighborhood they came to, he could scarcely believe it.

When they approached Ben's house, he was beside himself with outrage and confusion. Why on Earth would Ben Harmon kidnap a patient from Briarcliff?

—

Author's Note:

Violet: Ghostlike... a nod to Season 1. Next chapter's the last one of this episode. Will Tate and Violet be caught?

I won't spoil things, but I can tell you the last chapter's a real killer...