Bryan hauled his growing stack of books to the next shelf, his eyes glued on the slip of paper with the scribbled call numbers. His first crack at internet research after interviewing Mei Ling had brought up a trove of generally useless garbage. Too many crackpot sites devoted to ghosts and spirit channeling, nothing based in research, nothing that would help him figure out William Adams.
It was something he'd always been good at, putting his mind in the place of another's, seeing through their eyes and being able to predict their actions because of it. He'd used it extensively over the last few years. It had not only given him the best clearance rate in the department, but the time spent in the heads of murderers had meant less time thinking about Claire and the baby. He'd been able to go hours without having to think his son's name.
But then Hayes had thought he was pushing himself too hard and had pulled his caseload and Bryan had been left with nowhere to spend his time but in his memories. At least until this William Adams case had grown into something that could pull him away. First meeting Jess, then when Mei Ling had identified William as her savior and finally talking with the doctor again this morning, he found himself more and more interested in why Adams had escaped. He knew he could start to see the world from William's point of view, would be able to distract himself further and catch the man that way, but he needed to research first, and the web had been useless.
The research materials at the University library were another story. He thumbed across the call numbers and pulled out another to add to the growing stack of books on schizophrenia, religion, and mental illness in other cultures. Bryan was sure he'd find something here to help him understand William, to help him catch the man. Then, he could convince Hayes that he could handle the real cases again. After that, the work, the exhaustion would begin to fill up and replace everything else again. He could go numb with the work.
Hayes had been wrong. His psych evaluation had been wrong. Bryan hadn't been trying to kill himself. He wouldn't have minded if that happened, but that hadn't been his goal. He'd simply been trying to fill his mind with something before it could focus on thoughts of his wife and son, and what had happened to them. Work had done it for him. Work could do it again.
He scanned across the books on the shelf above him, searching for the next call number.
*
Dr. Westen locked the car and hurried into the mental hospital. The jostling of her hurried steps produced a marked increase in pain from her hand, but it was nothing she couldn't put aside.
After a check for messages, she paused as she opened the door to Mary Gingerich's new room. She stared at the young woman, who was thoroughly sedated and still strapped down to the bed. She started to check the hallway, to see if anyone was there, but stopped herself.
She didn't need to worry about anyone coming in or seeing her here. That was irrational. It was an urge she could easily overcome. She turned her attention back into the room and closed the door behind her.
For a long moment, she stood at the foot of the bed and stared down at Mary. Years of methamphetamine abuse while suffering from severe bipolar affective disorder had caused so much damage to the patient's brain that Westen knew the young woman would never be truly functional. Not on anything other than a rudimentary level. The young woman could feed herself on good days, but the drug had eaten away at the interior of her brain and severely damaged her ability to process emotions. No matter what Doctor Westen did, this patient would never be whole again.
Susan sat on the side of the bed, her broken hand cradled against her chest.
So much of this was really Mary's fault. Dr. Westen knew that she wouldn't have been upset at the young woman if not for the outburst in the day room. She'd been able to control herself for years, but hadn't been able to stop herself from punishing Mary after the kick to the chest. The unbroken fingers of her left hand slid under the covers, moved up Mary's thigh.
She stopped, pulled her hand out, away from Mary. That wasn't necessary. No matter what she thought she needed to do, that wasn't necessary.
"We need to talk, Mary." She forced her hand onto Mary's fingers, squeezed them gently. "I should say I'm sorry, and I am. We both need to work on keeping control over ourselves. I was upset after your outburst. But I won't use that as an excuse."
Her eyes wanted to turn to the door. She wouldn't let them. There was no one there, she knew that.
"We can't let William tell anyone, can we? I need to find him before that detective does." She stood, walked back to the end of the bed. "I'll have to find him and keep him from talking."
*
(Author's note: Okay, seriously...what is up with Westen? And...research for Bryan. Do you think it will help him find William? Stay tuned...two big chapters are coming up, where Bryan finds out a big, big clue and the voices force William into an encounter with Jared. Thanks for the votes and notes!)