The Good Doctor (Jonathan Crane / Scarecrow)

IV.

She offered no translation, but there was really no need to.

Astrid understood well enough the picture that was being painted for her and though she wanted to dismiss it as nothing more than a spooky story or the ramblings of a lunatic, she found her mouth had gone dry at the tale.

-

By the time she made it to Doctor Crane's office, Astrid found that her hands had adopted a slight tremble.

She had tried with all of her might to put aside Max's words, to remember that this doctor had basically saved her life, but it proved to be an impossible task.

She couldn't collect herself enough to give the impression that everything was normal, something Doctor Crane's perceptive eyes picked up on almost instantly.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, peering at her over the rim of his lenses. She froze up under the weight of the question.

"No," she lied.

He allowed his eyes to linger on her for a long moment, each passing second tying another knot in her stomach. She held her breath as she hoped and prayed to whatever deity might be listening that he didn't notice.

"Very well," he dismissed the idea, returning to packing items into a briefcase. She wasn't sure if he believed her or simply did not care, but decided not to question it too deeply.

"We're moving today's session to medical," he added as though it were merely an afterthought. Her stomach clenched.

"Medical?" she repeated in a croak.

"Yes," he confirmed tersely, "medical. There are certain tests that must be run in order to begin your treatment."

"They just ran my blood two days ago," she argued meekly. "What kind of tests do you need to run?"

"It is in the best interest of your treatment that you acknowledge my expertise rather than challenge it at every turn," he admonished her, snapping the locks on the briefcase closed as he rose from behind his desk.

"Please do not cause uncessary fuss," he warned her preemptively, rolling his blue eyes at the idea. "It will take a guard ages to get here if I'm forced to call someone to transfer you to medical rather than do it myself."

She swallowed thickly.

Maybe she was deluding herself into believing a crazy woman's story, she rationalized, getting herself all worked up over nothing.

She wanted to believe that but her gut would not allow it.

Still, she had little choice. Dutifully, she rose to her feet and followed him wordlessly to one of the many elevators in the hospital, watching him swipe a keycard to prevent an alarm from ringing out as they boarded.

The elevator itself was a relic, a cage style lift that was a remnant of the old asylum before the renovations had been finished. It rattled and shook with every inch it moved, giving a ding with each floor it passed.

"The infirmary was on three," she pointed out, watching as the number on the panel lit up one by one, passing three with no stop. She remembered exactly where medical was from her time spent there.

Panic was rising in her throat. Crane adjusted his tie at the neck but otherwise made no movement or response, his eyes staring straight ahead as the car shook and trembled down another level.

"Doctor Crane," she pressed urgently, "the infirmary was on three. Where are you taking me?"

"Calm down, Astrid," he instructed her numbly.