The Good Doctor (Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow)

II.

Apple in hand, she made her way down a series of long hallways lined with doors, Charlene guiding her by the elbow. Near the end of the hall, they stopped short of a door.

Charlene kept a firm grasp on her elbow as the woman knocked sharply and leaned inside the door.

"Doctor Crane, I've got your patient up from the infirmary. Are you ready for her?" she asked. Her voice was that of someone who was tired with their job.

"Yes. Please, bring her in," the voice Astrid remembered from Friday evening floated out of the room. Charlene gently hauled her to the center of the office, walls barren aside from two large bookshelves and a nondescript painting of a lake.

"Good morning, Ms. Monaghan," Doctor Crane greeted her passively, filing away some papers in the drawer of his large oak desk.

She sat down in the available chair, flinching hard with a look of panic as Charlene moved to strap her arms in place.

"I didn't do anything," she shouted, eyes moon sized as she looked up in shock, "I just sat down."

"Protocol. Unless a doctor orders otherwise, I'm supposed to —"

"It's quite alright," the doctor held up a hand as he interrupted Charlene. "I have no reason to suspect she will cause any issue."

Charlene gave him a dubious look that was answered with a firm but polite smile. Shrugging as if to say "it's your call", she backed away from Astrid.

"I'll be back for pickup in an hour," she said, making her way to the door. She turned and gave Astrid a stern look. "Be good."

The brunette nodded her head, her eyes flickering between the guard and Dr. Crane as the former of the two exited the room.

"The apple is contraband," he said without even glancing at the fruit in question, as soon as the door closed. He slid the wastebasket towards her with the toe of his shoe.

"You've got to be kidding me. She said I could have it," she protested.

"Irrelevant. You are in my office, and I am the one in charge of determining your psychological standing," he silenced any further argument. "It is my rules you should be concerned with following."

She resisted the urge to curse out loud and tossed the apple into the trash, ignoring the rumbling of her stomach. This was obviously some sort of power play that she had no choice but to comply with.

"Good. Now, straight into business," he muttered as he opened the thick manila folder that contained her file. "Have you remembered anything regarding Thursday evening?"

She shook her head wordlessly, toying with the fraying edge of her orange sleeve.

"Verbal responses, Ms. Monaghan," he prompted her curtly, never looking up from his reading material. What sort of control freak was this guy?

"I don't remember anything after probably, I don't know, five or so? Aunt Karen was leaving for bingo, so maybe five-thirty," she answered.

"You're missing approximately three hours of memory. A very important three hours, at that," he mused, finally looking up at her. "Did something take place that day, something of note?"

"Nothing unusual."

She continued with the truth; just as she told Dr. Crane, it had been like any other day — she woke up, smoked a joint, cleaned as per Karen's directions, then holed up in the attic in hopes of avoiding any face time with her aunt's latest beau, a drinker with a hell of a temper and a case of wandering hands.