—

Pounding on the front door woke Ben and his first thought was: What now?

He pulled himself out of bed. His wife stirred and groaned softly, echoing his feelings exactly. He left the room and headed down the hall toward the front door, noting a bitter taste in his mouth. He wanted some water but first: The door.

He opened the front door to a cluster of people: Police, dogs and, in the midst of it all, Dr. Oliver Thredson.

"Police," said the nearest officer needlessly, flashing a badge. It was obvious who they were. "We've tracked a dangerous escaped mental patient to your home, sir. "

"What?" Ben blinked, fully awake now. His eyes felt gritty and burned with each blink, but he was awake.

"Please stand aside, sir," the man said with authoritative urgency. "We need to apprehend the individual. He is very dangerous."

"He knows that," supplied Thredson irritably. "He works at the asylum."

Now it was the officer's turn to be surprised. Then he was instantly suspicious. "Sir, I'm only going to ask you one more time. Stand aside." Only he wasn't asking.

Ben bristled inwardly but he moved out of the way. "He isn't in here."

"That remains to be seen, sir," the officer said. Then he waved his fellow officers inside.

The bunch crowded past Ben. Once they were past he was left facing Thredson.

"What's this all about anyway?" he demanded, sensing the man's involvement wasn't merely coincidence.

"You tell me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Ben.

"A patient of mine whom you've been stalking goes missing," said Oliver with quiet intensity. "And the police track him to your house. Seems pretty simple math to me."

"Oh, please!" Ben exclaimed, torn between indignation and amusement that the man actually believed he would kidnap Tate. "You're paranoid."

There was barking from the search dogs outside. Vivien came out of the back bedroom, tying a belt around her satiny robe.

"Ben? What's going on?"

"I don't know, honey," he said. "Tate's escaped and the police think he's come here."

Vivien's brows knit. "Why would they think that?"

"The dogs tracked him here," Oliver supplied with less hostility than he'd shown Ben.

There was a bustle of activity and a couple of the officers came back inside, including the one who had led the team into the house.

"Evidence says the patient's fled in a vehicle," he announced. "One that was parked in front of this house."

Ben squinted hurried to the front door again and looked out at the driveway. His car was gone.

"Shit," he muttered. Suddenly, Tate being at his house didn't seem so incredible after all. He looked back at the police and his wife. "He's stolen the car."

Oliver frowned. He was an excellent judge of character, and it was beginning to look like Ben was genuinely innocent of any wrongdoing. Disappointing.

Suddenly uneasy, Vivien decided to go check on Violet. She knew she was being silly. The girl wasn't a child anymore, but Vivien was still a mother, and always would be. So, she went and peeked in, to make sure her daughter wasn't scared or upset.

"Ben!" she yelled. "Ben! Violet's gone!"

He came rushing to the door followed by the police officers but there was nothing anyone could do at the door to the girl's room. She was, in fact, gone. He took his wife in his arms in an effort to console her. She was still reeling from the shock of the disappearance.

"Jenkins," the officer said. "Get on the radio to HQ. Tell them to upgrade this case from an escaped patient to kidnapping." While Jenkins darted out the door, the first officer turned to the Harmons. "We'll do everything we can to get her back safe," he reassured. Then he looked at Dr. Thredson. "Do you know why he might've taken the girl?"

Oliver shook his head even as he tried to deduce what Tate might have been thinking. Kidnapping Ben's daughter seemed so random, but then so did the clock tower shooting, on the surface.

"I'm sorry," he said, truly regretful. Then he frowned deeper. "Wait. She works at the asylum, too."

The comment drew blank looks.

"Tate was strapped down hand and foot and heavily sedated when he disappeared," the psychiatrist said impatiently. "He couldn't have just walked off. Someone would have had to free him and practically carry him out."

"What are you saying?" Ben demanded, incredulous. "That my daughter let some psycho loose?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," said Thredson bluntly. Whatever sympathy he'd felt for Ben evaporated instantly. "She's probably the one who took your car, too. Tate can't drive. Even if he wasn't heavily sedated, his mother never let him get a license. "

He hadn't meant to disclose that bit of information, but it hardly mattered under the circumstances.

"Look, we'll figure it all out later," the officer cut in. "Mr. Harmon? We need the make, model, and license plate number of your vehicle."

"Doctor Harmon," Ben corrected automatically. He had earned the title, so he wanted to be called by it. He gave the policeman the details of his car and a few photos of Violet.

The officer radioed the information in to headquarters and the bulletin went out. Then they had nothing to do but wait.

...

Violet drove south for a couple of hours, till the night sky started to turn navy. She knew people likely would be looking for the car by that point, so she pulled into a roadside motel. It was a bungalow-style row hotel where the rooms were positioned side by side, without an additional floor. There was just one level of rooms attached to a small office on the far left.

She peeked back at Tate after she put the car in park. He was still asleep. She didn't like the idea of leaving him in the car alone, but she wasn't about to try and take him into the office. So, she locked the doors and went inside.

The tiny reception area was neatly appointed and clean. It smelled of Pine-Sol. There was a 'Vacancy' sign turned on in the window and a check-in book on the desk but. She didn't see anyone behind the counter. She rang the silver bell on the counter. Almost immediately a man came up from the back room. He had dark brown hair and eyes as dark as Tate's, but not as warm.

"Hey," she smiled. "I'd like to rent a room."

"How many occupants?" the man asked. He didn't smile. He handed her a pen so she could sign the guest register.

She thought about saying two but decided against it. She could sneak Tate in and if anyone questioned the motel clerk later, he would say he hadn't had any couples stay there.

"Just me."

"Sign here." He pointed to a line in the book.

While she wrote a fake name, he rang her up on the register. She paid in cash. He gave her a receipt and a key to room 6.

"Will you be needing help with your luggage?"

"Oh, no thanks," she smiled. "I travel light. Have a good night."

She headed out then and hopped back in the car. She pulled the car around to the side of the motel and parked where it wouldn't be seen from the road. Then she got her bag out and took it into the motel room. Leaving the door to the room open, she went back for Tate.

That was the hard part: Getting him out of the car. She had to wake him up again and while it was easier than the first time, he wasn't as inclined to move since he was warm, and the seat was far more comfortable than the floor of the shed had been. She finally got him on his feet and helped him into the room as quickly as he would let her.

In the room she helped him to the only bed: A double with a quaint old bedspread. Once he was settled, she shut and locked the door, then pulled the curtain closed over the window. After that, she went to tuck the blankets over Tate and shook her head when she saw he was already asleep again. Whatever Briarcliff had given him sure was potent.

She looked around and took a deep breath, letting it go in a slow sigh. She had no idea what she would do after they'd both gotten some rest. She knew she should think of a plan, but at the moment she was tired and achy and needed something to soothe her. She decided to have a shower. While she washed, she tried to map out what her next few steps should be.

Avoiding the police was obvious, which meant staying off the roads by day and keeping to ones less traveled at night. It also meant having a destination in mind. There were road maps in the car's glove box. She just needed to pick a direction. Maybe California.

Shampoo stung one of her eyes and she had to rinse a hand before she could rub it. She didn't notice the shadow fall over the opaque white shower curtain: The silhouette of a man.

Anthony, the night clerk, had let himself into Violet's room with the manager key. Thinking she was alone and being fixated on what he was doing, he didn't notice Tate among the rumpled blankets on the bed. With a knife in hand and wicked thoughts in mind for what he would do to her wet, white flesh before he cut her open, he reached for the shower curtain.

When Violet heard the curtain slide sharply aside, she turned in surprise, arms moving to cover her nudity reflexively.

"What the hell?" she demanded angrily when she saw who was standing there.

The tall man raised his knife, his expression intense but not angry. Just crazed. Then he staggered to the side as a bleary but incredibly pissed off Tate tackled him. The motel clerk hit the sink headlong. The knife clattered to the floor. Violet got out of the shower and scrambled for the fallen weapon. She wasn't thinking; she was just reacting. She couldn't let the man get hold of the knife again.

Tate grabbed Anthony by the hair and tried to punch him in the face, but the man twisted aside so forcefully that Tate was left holding a fistful of black hair. He shoved Tate off and tried to rise. Violet panicked and thrust the knife at the clerk.

The blade sank into the man's torso so smoothly, it surprised her. She'd expected some sort of resistance since she'd planted the knife in his chest, but she'd managed by accident to get it right between his ribs. Skewered through the lung and nicked through the apex of his heart, the man stared at her in shock. Some blood bubbled up from his lips and he sank to the floor. Violet let go of the knife handle as he went down.

Stunned by the turn of events, she stood there shaking from the adrenaline. "Tate..?"

He got to his feet and went to her. He grabbed a towel from the rack and put it around her, then he shut off the shower. Water gurgled noisily in the drain. Ttate gathered Violet in a hug and looked at the body on the floor.

"Holy shit," he said, awed. A dazed grin broke out. "Holy shit, Violet. You killed him."

"I did?"

"I think so."

"Oh, God."

"Don't worry," he said brightly. He nuzzled her temple affectionately. "That asshole was gonna hurt you. He deserves what he got."

That was probably true, but it didn't make Violet feel any better at the moment. Dread and anxiety made her stomach cramp. She'd killed a person. She'd stolen a mental patient and killed a person in the same night. Her knees got quaky, and she would have sat down on the floor if it weren't for Tate's arms around her, holding her up.

"We need to get out of here," she mumbled through numb lips. "We don't know when the next shift starts. He'll be missed. Oh, God. Oh, shit."

"Shh," Tate said, squeezing her. "It's okay. We'll get through this. It's you and me. Okay?"

She nodded but her thoughts were racing. She felt like she needed to run; physically run. "I need to get dressed."

They were back in the car three minutes later and speeding away from the motel. They'd shoved the clerk's body into the bathtub and covered it with the quilt from the bed. They locked the door behind them after they left. Soon the motel was a retreating memory in the rearview mirror.

...

"Attention all listeners," the radio announced grimly later that day. "There has been a breakout at Briarcliff Manor. The escaped inmate, Tate Langdon, is believed to have killed a motel worker early this morning and may have a hostage with him. Institutionalized for shooting over fifty people at Boston University, he is considered armed and extremely dangerous. Do not attempt to apprehend him. Langdon is five-foot-ten, one hundred and thirty pounds. Blond hair, brown eyes. If you see this man, call the police immediately."

xxx

Author's Note:

Anybody miss the blatant Psycho reference? Also embedded in the end there is a nod to Room 6, another horror movie. The "attention all listeners' line comes from old suspenseful radio shows that would always start broadcasts about escaped serial killers or mad gorillas that way. Couldn't resist.

I was expecting to be at Halloween already but this story hasn't gone the direction I expected. This also happened with Season 1.5. I guess we'll get to Halloween when we get there. I was not counting on Violet going all rogue.

This episode was the Body and Soul. Next one is Blood and Guts.