OMG, that took forever to write. I hope everyone likes this chappy cause my best friend, Joanna, and I worked so hard on it.

Thanks to my non-Beta, Shade's Crusnik, Persephone Perez Pott, and SweetCherryCandy for the reviews. And eternal thanks to by friend for sticking with me and working through this vitally important chapter.

Just to give everyone a heads up, I will be changing my name to WhiteDragonBad soon, so be on the lookout for it.

Slowboat to Hades is going well, but I don't think you guys are giving these authors the love they deserve. Make with the reviews: PM them if you don't want to add to my reviews.

One Year Later

"Just wot the 'ell do you think yer doin'?"

The man bared his teeth as he turned his head toward the overweight-but-attractive nurse who had just invaded his tiny sanctuary. He pushed himself off of the cold rack of medical supplies against which he had been leaning and took an obnoxiously long drag from the cigarette clamped between his bony fingers, pulling his lips into a sneer.

"W'dya think, Swee'heart?" his voice rumbled as he grasped her wrist and pulled her into the closet with him, "I wos waitin' fer you."

He leaned forward to press his lips against hers, but she turned her head. Undeterred, he buried his face in her neck as she began waving her arms about madly, desperately trying to diffuse the heavy smoke that hung around their heads.

"Murdoc," she whined, and he cringed. As much fun as what's-her-name was for a good romp in a closet, she had an astonishingly annoying voice, and as such, he had made it a point on these little trysts around the looney bin for which she worked to not allow her much time for talking. Much to his supreme disappointment, however, she continued, "We can't, now. They's sure ta smell this smoke a mile away. I'd be su'prised if someone ha'nt smelt it already and wos on their way right now to bust our arses."

Murdoc bit his lower lip and growled his rolling laugh, "Yer assumin' tha' we're gonna be here when they break down this door to, as you so eloquently put it," he mocked her tinny nasal voice, "'bust our arses,' now ain't ya?"

She stopped her frantic flailing and turned her head toward his slowly, narrowing her eyes as she did, "Wha' d'you mean? Where're we goin'?"

"Oh, but that would ruin the surprise, now wouldn't it, Swee'heart?"

A small smile appeared on the edges of her lips. She was intrigued, "Wot kinda su'prise?"

Internally, Murdoc rolled his eyes. He knew that Gladys or April or whatever the hell this particular chick's name was was thinking that he had bought her some sort of lavish gift or some useless bauble to woo her, and maybe secretly, she hoped that one of those baubles would represent some sort of commitment from him, but she was sorely mistaken. His intentions for her had nothing to do with the "long haul" or some other such nonsense as that. As with all of the women whom Murdoc Niccals had bedded, or, in this case, closeted, she was meaningless, a nameless face useful for only one purpose: sating his rather active libido.

However, tonight, he did have an extra use for her and that was to satisfy his equally active curiosity. Several nights before, after one of their wilder rendezvous, Murdoc had found himself wandering down the wrong hallway only to be yanked back almost violently. Furious, he turned to give her a good telling off only to see her staring behind him with an almost terrified look upon her face.

"Don't go down there," she hissed.

Immediately intrigued, he played the concerned boyfriend and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders.

"Wot'samatter, Swee'heart?" he crooned, inwardly vomiting. "You look like you seen a ghost."

"She's down there."

Curious, he turned and looked. The hallway was completely empty, save only themselves and a door with a small sign that read "Isolation Ward" at the other end.

"You might have ta be a little more specific, hun."

Immediately, a change occurred in her appearance. Where there had before been a fearful look, there was now blank emotion, and with a cold, clinical voice, she droned, "We don't discuss her."

Barely contained rage flashed fleetingly across his face, but was quickly replaced with a calculating smile.

He nodded, "Sure, Swee'heart. Whateva you say."

Not one to be so easily dismissed, Murdoc began searching for a way to find out exactly what would so easily scare a nurse trained to deal with the worst society had to offer.

Obtaining the information he needed had been easy enough. It was simply a matter of picking a security guard, following him to his favorite pub, getting him drunk, and taking his access key when he had been sufficiently soused. Thanks to his lady-friend, getting on to the premises was an easy venture as well as she had clearly demonstrated holes in the security system. That was how, a few days later, he found himself heading directly to the records room he had passed many times on the way to his trysts.

Once inside, he fished a small torch out of his pocket and flicked the switch on the side, not wanting to turn on the lights and attract possible attention to the room. Shining the light over the rows of filing cabinets, Murdoc's salacious grin faded. While the room was not cavernous by any stretch of the word, it was brimming with filing cabinets stacked one upon the other. It would take him days to sort through all of the patient files housed in this room! And even then, how was he supposed to know which person he was looking for?

Once again, however, Murdoc Niccals' infernal good luck came to his aid: Upon closer inspection of the cabinets, he saw that they were divided by wards. He scanned the room, reading the signs that marked what division the cabinets belonged to until he found the sign he was looking for: Isolation Ward.

"Bingo."

Pulling the top drawer open, he was surprised to see that it was populated with only five impossibly thick files. He shrugged and after balancing the flashlight on his shoulder and holding it in place with his chin, he grabbed the first file greedily.

"Brown, Samuel," he mumbled to himself, turning open the file, "hmm...Severe schizophrenia. Slaughtered his parents. Dog told him the blood of his victims cleanses the earth. Lovely fellow."

Shaking his head, picked up the next file and scanned it.

"Meacham, Charles. Antisocial personality disorder. Attempted to murder his neighbor by setting her on fire. Said if he couldn' have her, no one would. Nice, but not wot I'm lookin' fer," he scanned the next few files. "Oppenheimer, John; Parsons, Daniel; Webster, Frederic. No, no, no. What's-her-name said 'she'"

It was then that his eyes fell on the last file in the stack, and he smiled, "Hello, my pretty. 'Winstonford, Winifred.' Don' know too many male 'Winifreds,' now do we? Lessee," he skimmed the file quickly, gleaning from what he read that Winstonford, Winifred had drowned her two children after her husband left her for their nanny, then attempted to strangle a nurse with her bedsheet, claiming that the nurse had been plotting with her husband to kill her. Murdoc grinned and muttered to himself, "I wouldn' wanna go near her either if she'd tried to snap my neck with the linens, you spicy tart. Seems we might wanna arrange a reunion between you two."

He deflated, however, upon flipping to the last page and seeing the word 'DECEASED 17/8/2010' stamped in large red letters. He cursed under his breath and slammed the file shut. Only one woman on that floor, and she didn't even have the decency to still be alive. He jerked the drawer further out to allow him to replace the file and paused as a flash of pale yellow caught his eyes. He peered in and grinned. Hidden at the rear of the drawer was another file folder. Apparently, it had been hastily stuffed behind the other files and had fallen. He reached in and pulled it out, frowning. It was much thinner than the other patient files. In fact, it seemed to be comprised of a solitary page.

WALLINGTON HOSPITAL PATIENT: Patient2323

MR#: QO-11-60

ADMISSION: 13/8/2010

Ward: Isolation

ROOM#: IW 304

ADMISSION PSYCHIATRIC EVALUATION

Date of Exam: 14/8/2010

IDENTIFYING DATA:

Patient 2323 an Asian female believed to be between the ages of 16 to 21.

HISTORY OF PRESENT ILLNESS:

13/8/2010: Patient 2323 transferred to Wallington after unexplained fire at previous hospital. The patient is said to have been found in catatonic state in isolated area. Initial examinations have confirmed that patient suffers from profound catatonia probably due to severely traumatic event. Identity remains remains unknown.

17/8/2010: Patient has been placed on close observation after staff have discovered her with unexplained bruise marks on neck. ADDENDUM 18/8/2010: Even though bruising appeared to be extensive, patient has fully recovered with no apparent permanent damage.

20/8/2010: Staff and patients report personal mental and emotional disturbances after prolonged exposure to the patient. Possibly due to mass hysteria.

26/8/2010: Patient rushed to medical after it was discovered that she had deep lacerations on her wrists. Instrument used remains unknown. Note: Injuries similar to patient discovered dead in room this morning.

3/9/2010: Patient discovered with massive wound to chest. Released this afternoon. Appears that Patient 2323 possesses abnormally accelerated healing ability. Patient has been submitted for scientific medical examination.

4/9/2010: Recent events in relation to patient 2323 have necessitated the complete isolation of patient. Specially authorized personnel will be charged with the care of patient from this point on. No personnel will be allowed in the presence of 2323 without the accompaniment of security staff.

PAST PSYCHIATRIC HISTORY:

Unknown

PAST MEDICAL HISTORY:

Unknown

He paused momentarily upon reading "Asian female," but immediately dismissed the thought, shaking his head. She was dead. It was no use to dwell on the past. He cleared his mind of the memories that washed over him and focused on the second to last entry.

"'Appears that Patient 2323 possesses abnormally accelerated healing ability. Patient has been submitted for scientific medical examination?'" he chuckled to himself. "Yea, right. I'm sure there's gon' be a lot more 'testing' than 'examining' isn' there?"

Scanning the file again more carefully, he read back over the few dates listed, his eyes focusing on the second date: For some reason, it nibbled at his consciousness. He paused momentarily before retrieving Winstonford, Winifred's file and flipping to the back page. Once again, the date, 17/8/2010, stamped in large red letters flashed before him. He read more carefully down the page.

The last entry said, "Subject was found dead in room this morning. It is apparent that she strangled herself using her bedsheets."

"Strangled herself," Murdoc placed patient 2323's file alongside Winifred's. He looked back at the date that doctors had found her with bruising around her neck: They were the same. Reading on, he found the next date on which she had been discovered with mysterious injuries: August, 26. "I wonder..." he growled to himself.

He reopened Brown, Samuel's file and flipped to the back page. No luck. It would appear that he was still among the living. Reaching back into the cabinet, he produced Meacham, Charles' file and once again turned to the back page and grinned. "DECEASED: 26/8/2010" glared back at him in angry, red letters.

"'Subject was discovered dead after evening rounds. Apparent suicide by wrist cutting.'" Once again, he consulted 2323's file, "'Deep lacerations on her wrists,' fascinating."

Now deeply intrigued, he scanned down the file to the last injury she had received: "Massive wound to chest."

He now greedily dove back into the patient files, pulling "Oppenheimer, John" out with shaking hands. Murdoc was crestfallen, though, to read that "Oppenheimer, John" was most decidedly alive and crushed to find that "Parsons, Daniel" had not been shuffled off this mortal coil.

"All my hopes rest on you, "Webster, Frederic," Murdoc mumbled. He was not disappointed upon turning to the last page and seeing the glorious crimson date, "3/9/2010", blazoned across it. He frowned, however, when he read last entry in the file.

"Deceased: Suicide."

He slammed the files roughly back into the cabinet and cursed. How had Webster, Frederic died? Did his mode of death match Patient 2323's injuries? Had Winstonford, Winifred; Meacham, Charles, and Webster, Frederic injured 2323 before they killed themselves? If so, why? He frowned. So many questions left unanswered, and these files, tragically, weren't going to give him the answers.

He did know, however, exactly who could. His daggerlike teeth gleamed as he began to formulate a plan by which he would find out everything he wanted to know.

Now, back in the closet, Murdoc was brandishing a red handkerchief.

"Aw, Swee'heart. Now why woul' you wanna go an ruin tha surprise by askin' nasty questions."

He leaned in and kissed her roughly while his hands moved the handkerchief up and around her eyes. He began humming a tune that made her think of childhood jaunts on a carousel and placed his hands on her hips, spinning her, making the room dance madly around her.

Then, still humming the tune, he peeked his head out of the door to ensure that they were still alone. Once he was sure they were safe to leave the room, he led her out, spinning her occasionally and effectively disorienting her.

After several minutes of dancing quietly down the hallway, they reached the doorway that led to the Isolated Ward. As he reached into his pocket to retrieve the keycard, he bean singing the words to the song he had been humming.

So call in the submarine

'Round the world we'll go

Does anybody know

If we're looking out on the day

Of another dream?

Hidden beneath the soft lyrics he was singing, the small beep of the electronic lock went unnoticed by his dizzy, giggling companion. Once the door had been opened, he waltzed her down the hallway, his mismatched eyes scanning the room numbers, looking for room 304. The hallway was empty, save for a small red cart at one end, the kind of cart used to move medical supplies.

He was feeling particularly confident that his plan was coming off so well, and with a flourish, he gave one last twirl. It proved to be one too many, however as her feet became tangled in themselves, and she tripped, placing a hand on the wall to steady herself.

Her reaction was immediate. She took a ragged breath and snatched her hand back as though it had been burned.

"Where are we?" she whispered as she began to visibly shake. Her hands quickly snatched at her bindings, but Murdoc dove forward to stop her, pinning her arms at her sides.

"Uh-uh-uh."

Her face paled to a sickly green, "Murdoc, something is wrong. We 'ave ta leave. We 'ave ta leave now!" she choked, twisting her body violently, attempting to free herself from his grip. Suddenly, her voice dropped to a rasping whisper, "It's here."

Murdoc looked at her, fascinated, "'It?' I thought you said 'she.'"

It was then, she became frantic, clawing at Murdoc's arms, "No! NO! It's here! She's here! Don't take me to her! Don't make me go! Please, Murdoc."

He let her go, and she collapsed at his feet, sobbing. He cursed under his breath. She was making this no fun. He couldn't stand a woman with no backbone, too much work.

He glared at her contemptuously before flapping his hand in dismissal, "Stupid slag," before turning and stalking down the hallway. His eyes scanned the door tags, reading off the numbers as he went.

"301, 302, 303...yes," he growled greedily and rubbed his palms together as he stood before room 304. Finally...

He peered into the small window and nearly collapsed against the doorframe as his brain grappled with the information his eyes were sending him. He wanted to tell himself that he was mistaken, that what he was seeing couldn't possibly be true, but the shock of purple hair, the bottle-green eyes, the straight lips and upturned nose, and the long, gangly limbs were unmistakable: Inside the sterile white room, with her white hands placed placidly on her lap, Noodle sat on the bed.

A sound somewhere between a whine and a wail escaped his throat, and he clawed at the doorknob, desperately trying to wrench the door open, but it was locked fast.

"Noodle!" he shrieked as he began to pound his fists against the metal door, "Noodle-girl, hold on. I'm gonna get ya out!"

He turned, prepared to dart back down the hallway with the intention of relieving his companion of her keys, and fell back against the door. She was standing next to him, but her back was to him. By the way her shoulders were shaking, he thought that she was sobbing, but he was unconcerned.

"YOU!" he bellowed, grabbing her shoulders and spinning her to face him. Once he did, he froze. She wasn't crying. Much to Murdoc's absolute infuriation, she was laughing, her face turned toward the ground. He felt a white hot bubble of rage rise within him, and he tightened his grip on her arms. "Wot have you lot done to her?"

She continued to laugh, not looking at him.

"ANSWER ME!" he roared, shaking her.

Her eyes rose to meet his; cold, lifeless blue eyes. The bubble inside him turned to ice as she pulled her lips into a scathing sneer.

"Parvulus abyssus. Ego have perfectus meus secu."

She raised her hand, and Murdoc jumped backward upon seeing that she was wielding a diamond-sharp scalpel.

"Wot're ya doin?" he snarled, backing into the doorframe.

Suddenly, her face changed, and tears began to fall as she brought the instrument to her neck.

She choked, her voice shaking, "Is est vestri verto iam," and drug it across her throat, spilling her blood.

Murdoc howled in horror as she staggered forward a few steps and collapsed on the ground, a sickening gurgling sound issuing from the gaping wound in her neck. He couldn't help but look into her terror-stricken eyes as they slowly glazed and went blank. Her body jerked violently several times and then finally went still.

He wasn't sure how long he stood watching the red circle of blood grow around her, but he knew some time had passed before he breath returned to him. When it did, he gasped desperately and crumbled to his knees. He had thought himself long past the capacity for tears, but as he watched the woman whose name he had never taken the time to learn lying on the floor in a sea of her own blood, he felt the telltale chill of liquid leaking down his cheeks. He tried frenetically to understand what had just happened, but his stubborn brain refused to accept it.

"Noodle!"

Reality finally wove its way into his consciousness, and he crawled forward toward the nurse's body. Her keys glinted, silver on the crimson of her blood, strangely beautiful. He snatched them up and spun round. Once again, he peered into the window, but was horror struck at what he saw: Blood was pouring down the front of Noodle's smock from an open flap in her neck. Murdoc howled, frantically stabbing at the lock with each key until one slid in. He twisted it, but it refused to move. Cursing under his breath, he grasped for the next one, but the slick keychain slid out of his hand and fell with a delicate tinkling sound to the floor.

"Fook!"

Once again, the keys were in his hand, and he fumbled until, once again, a key fit into the lock. He turned it, and laughed when this time, it turned easily. He bolted into the room and slid to his knees in front of her.

"Oh, God," he sobbed, grabbing the bedsheet and placing it against her neck in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood. "Noodle-love, please don' die on me. Please," he wailed, pulling her off of the bed and onto his lap. "Please, don' die."

He looked down at her face. Her eyes gazed past him, focused on something that Murdoc could not see. It was then that he noticed that she was breathing normally. There was no gurgling sound as there had been with the nurse. He remembered the files and how one had said she seemed to possess an unnatural healing ability. Tentatively, fearfully, he lifted the sheet and inspected the wound, which was now much shallower than it had been.

With a quick sigh of relief, he grasped the now bloodied bedsheet and wrapped it tightly around her body.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Love. I'm gonna get you home."

How was that? I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Review and tell me what you think.