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"Ah, Miss Hart, I was wondering when you'd come to see me again."

Elliot was sprawled on his cot, his back pressed against the wall behind him and one leg drawn up toward his chest. He looked positively pleased to see her. Geniva couldn't quite contain her smile. Sociopath or not, he was her patient; she wanted her patients to look forward to her visits. At least then she'd know that she was doing something right.

"Where's your guard?" he asked mildly, stretching his neck and craning his head as if searching for the man.

"He was a bit more trouble than he was worth," Geniva admitted, casting a glance down the hall toward the circular room where she knew Johnson was watching television with Edwards. "After the incident with you I decided I'd come alone to these meetings."

"How very brave of you." He seemed amused. His tone was sardonic, almost mocking. Geniva brushed it off. "What should happen if a patient were to get violent and you were without guard?"

"Entertaining ideas, Elliot?"

"Hardly," the deer scoffed. "Yours is the first friendly face I've seen. Besides, I don't have a problem with anthros." He paused, eying her from his position on the cot. "Even if you are on the other side of those bars you're still one of us. No, my dear, I can get more use from you than I can from the simple rush of stomping on your skull with my hooves or using what little remains of my antlers to gouge out your eyes, puncture your stomach, and watch you bleed to death. That's quite a painful way to go, I'd imagine. Very slow. No vitals in the stomach."

Geniva's expression hadn't changed as Elliot spoke. Gore wasn't new to her with all the work that she'd done in the hospital, though she'd never heard anyone speak of it in such a casual tone. Her patients were anything but normal. She could picture Elliot seated at some sort of formal dinner with an ambassador, or perhaps a congressman, nonchalantly discussing the best way to remove a limb. He'd discuss the intricacies of bleeding a man over cocktails and finish it off with the slowest way to take a life over dessert. His host would be scandalized no doubt, probably the first victim to go once Elliot had tired of the game of politics. Or perhaps he'd take the lady wife first and make her husband watch. Tie their hands. Yank an arm out of its socket. Listen to their screams echo through the house, feel the warm splatter of blood on his face and hands.

No, this was Elliot she was thinking of. He'd be more refined about it. Make the husband watch, yes, but she didn't think he'd stoop to such levels as getting blood on his hands or clothes. Would he use a knife? He had in the past to cut through bone, muscle, and fat. He'd tie them to chairs on opposite sides of the room. Facing each other, of course. Gore the woman in the stomach so she didn't die right away, letting her linger in pain. Pain. What an understatement. Agony. Her entrails would be leaking into her body cavity. She'd be screaming, but Elliot would tire of that. A gag for both of them. The woman would still be alive to see him work on her husband. She'd watch him cry as Elliot started in on him. Cut open his stomach, pull out his intestines. His bowels would release. The sociopath would call him pathetic and end his life. What shape would he twist their bodies into? Maybe a six and a nine, a mockery of the sex position humans seemed to enjoy so much. He'd demean them even in death.

"You'll find, however, that not all of the inmates are as friendly as I," Elliot continued, pulling Geniva from her rather morbid thoughts. "I only concern myself for your safety, for without you I have no doubt conditions will not improve much around here. I heard," he whispered conspiratorially, "that the grizzly in the other wing can literally rip a man in half with his _bear _hands." He chuckled at his pun.

"I've no doubt of it," Geniva agreed. "I've seen him. He's a monstrous fellow." Though it's not __he_ that I'm afraid of. I worry more about the white wolf that preys specifically on women. _"The warden has kindly given me my own line of defense should I ever find myself without guard."

From the front pocket of her lab coat she pulled a syringe encased in a plastic tube, holding it up for her patient to see. The warden had given her the syringe just this morning at breakfast, explaining that all of the doctors, nurses, and orderlies carried one. The clear liquid inside was a very powerful sedative that could presumably stop a charging rhino mid-step, or perhaps down a very horny, very strong wolf if he were too close for comfort. Geniva supposed that the effects could temporarily be resisted given enough adrenaline was in the blood stream, but then adrenaline was said to do strange things to people. Hopefully she'd never be in a situation where she had to use it, let alone worry about the drug not working. That would, most assuredly, be the end of her.

"Let's just hope you're quick enough to use it," Elliot said as she slipped the syringe back into her pocket. "What brings you here today?"

"I"m meeting with Mr. Blackhorn this morning," Geniva told him. "I thought I'd stop by and chat before I speak with him."

"Always a welcome pleasure," Elliot assured her. "I get so few visitors these days. You're always a welcome respite from the monotony of these gray walls."

"Well then, you'll be pleased to know that I brought you something."

"Oh? A gift? You shouldn't have."

Geniva smiled at the deer's tone. She unzipped her bag and pulled out a rolled up newspaper. Elliot sat up straighter on his cot at the sight.

"Today's paper," Geniva told him, extending her hand through the bars of his cell with the paper clutched between her fingers. "I thought you could do with a bit of entertainment."

Elliot rose and strode toward his nurse, taking the papers from her with an appreciative nod. He returned to his cot and perched on the edge, where he unfolded the paper and glanced at the front page.

"A human paper?" he asked in disdain, shifting his gaze toward Geniva. He watched her nod.

"It is, unfortunately, the only paper that can be found on the grounds. Fur Associated Press moved their headquarters to California and is rarely seen on the East coast."

"What of the Daily Anthro or Wolf Den?"

"DA took their publication online two years ago and the new editor of Wolf Den made their work exclusive to wolves. Even if I wanted to read about red meat, hunting, and chasing tail they'd require proof of species."

"Do they still have their predator-prey pin ups?" Elliot wondered, rifling through his newspaper. He tilted his head when he reached the comic section, offering a snort at what he saw.

"I would assume so."

Geniva felt his eyes on her, assessing. His gaze swept her from head to tail and then down to her toes, taking in her scruffy sneakers and pristine lab coat, each at odds with the other. She arched one delicate brow at his haughty expression, not liking the way he was undressing her with her eyes. Did he imagine what was underneath the lab coat or what she'd look like when her hair wasn't pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head?

"You should send in a photo," he finally said. "I'm sure you could be their next centerfold."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Geniva informed him. Her tone was somewhere between stern and teasing.

"I don't care enough about you to fill your head with empty words, Miss Hart."

Ouch.

"Please, Elliot, don't soften your words on my account," Geniva said dryly.

"You don't strike me as the type to want sweet nothings whispered in your ear. But perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps when a man takes you to bed you'd like to hear how beautiful you look. Most women like such things. Do you enjoy roses at the work place? Red I'm sure, such a contrast against that beautiful white fur." Elliot moved across his cell as he spoke, stopping just in front of the bars of his cage. He was close enough to touch. "Do your lovers tell you all the wicked things they want to do to you while you blush prettily and pretend to not want the attention? I bet you'd put on a cute little nurse outfit for them. Is that why you work here? Are you looking for a patient nurse romance? The proverbial bad boy? You have quite a selection to choose from."

Elliot extended a hand, stroking the side of Geniva's face with his fingers. His touch was cool and light against her heated cheek. She hadn't had the presence of mind to step away from his cell as he approached, too distracted by the images that he conjured. He smiled when she shivered and stepped backwards.

"I could be your bad boy," he continued. "Sociopath. Murderer. You seem so vanilla, but I'll bet you're into being tied up. You present this tough exterior when really all you want is to be held down and mercilessly fucked."

"That's enough, Elliot," Geniva said sharply.

"Am I off base? Do you prefer to be in charge? Do you enjoy the role of nurse? It's like the doctor game, just...backwards."

"This is entirely inappropriate."

Geniva was surprised by Elliot's chuckle. He stepped backwards, staring at her with a rather mocking grin.

"You can hardly take me seriously, Miss Hart. I just think that you'd look cute in a little white nurse's outfit with the red crosses and Mary Jane stilettos. Don't give me that look. I'm sure you manage quite well in heels."

"Not while I'm working," Geniva protested, grateful for the minor change in subject. "Besides, no one has worn a uniform like that since before I was born."

"That's the point, dear. It's so very classical. And I'm sure that bear would love to pose with you -"

"Wolves only," she reminded him, referring to their earlier discussion of the Wolf Den magazine.

"Right, right. The wolf, then."

Geniva felt a chill. The wolf. Kure. Rapist, killer, torturer of innocents. She could see herself in the ridiculous getup that Elliot described, tripping over her heels as Kure backed her into a corner. Eyes wide in fear, heart thrumming painfully in her chest. Stalking closer. Saliva dripping from his fangs. Claws extended, ready to rip into her, to consume her completely...

"I could even take the pictures," Elliot continued. He paid no attention to the shudder that ran down his nurse's spine or the way she blinked rapidly, pulling herself back to the matter at hand. He had returned to his cot and the rather disappointing paper he'd been given.

"You mean you wouldn't need to rearrange my limbs for this?" Geniva's voice shook, but Elliot was too busy staring with disdain to notice.

"I'll have you know that I was quite the famous photographer in my day. I did freelance work for the New York Times and Boston Globe before they figured I was an anthro and refused to accept my work."

"Is that why you took to killing humans?"

"One reason," Elliot sniffed.

There was silence for a moment as Geniva absorbed everything that just happened between them. She couldn't even begin to wrap her mind around the thought of one of her patients flirting with her. Though, really, she shouldn't have been so surprised. Bianca had flirted last night, and Elliot was used to working people to get what he wanted. Charm was just an easier method than force.

"If you'll excuse me, Elliot, I have another patient to see."

"Of course, Miss Hart. Good day."

Genvia did not have far to travel to reach Blackhorn's cell. He was one over and across the hall from Elliot; she could feel the deer's eyes on her when she paused outside the cell, staring in at her patient. As before, Blackhorn was slumped in the middle of the cement floor of his cell. He looked uncomfortable. His shoulders were stooped and head bowed despondently. He wore the traditional jumpsuit of the prisoners; the leafy green color matched his black, white, and tan fur nicely.

"Good morning, Mr. Blackhorn. My name is Miss Hart. I'm your new psychiatrist." Geniva spoke softly so as not to startle the gazelle. He looked positively frail crouched as he was on the floor. A touch of gray was evident at both his temples; he was getting on in years.

"Good morning, Geniva."

The simple words shocked her. Surprise flitted across her face. She had never given her first name to her patients; she had decided early on that it would be unwise and in poor taste to give mentally ill patients a way to get under her skin. By refusing to answer to anything other than Miss Hart she was putting herself in control, much like a teacher in kindergarten or middle school. How, then, had this one known who she was?

"Don't seem so surprised, Geniva. Why wouldn't I know who you are? I taught your psychology classes for two years when you attended university."

"...Professor Blackhorn?"

Geniva was stunned. She knew she'd recognized his name when she had been going through the files last night, but she'd brushed it off as nothing. She hadn't actually expected to know the man; seeing him now after all these years was startling. What on earth was he doing here? He'd been a kind, elderly professor, one of her favorites if she was going to be honest. He wasn't someone that she'd expect to see behind bars.

"Quite right," Blackhorn said mildly, not at all perturbed to see his student again after so long. "After hearing your discussions with Mr. Clefthaven I knew that it had to be you. You were always quite the little deviant."

Geniva blushed.

"Pardon my ignorance, Professor, but what are you doing here?"

"Locked up. For life, I was told. Not that it matters. Didn't have much to live for anyway after the wife died, and each year my classes grew a little more distant. Students were always disrespectful. None of them wanted to be there. Took the class for their required credits. Well, I sure showed them."

Geniva hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about. She'd been out of college three years now and hadn't kept up on the happenings at her alma mater.

"You still look surprised, dear," Blackhorn commented.

"I...well, I'm not entirely sure what you're talking about. 'Showed them?'"

"Of course you didn't hear about it. School wanted to keep it all hush-hush. Wouldn't do well for admissions if potential students knew what was going on behind closed doors. Crazy psychology professor. Heh." He dissolved into a fit of coughing, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand before glancing up at his former student. His eyes seemed to pierce right through her; she felt as if he were devouring her very soul, reading the innermost secrets of her mind. "You had potential, of course. Always a bright young girl. Did your homework, never talked back, took on all that extra credit. But so set on your nursing career...never thought I'd see you working as a psychiatrist. How'd that happen?"

"I was a nurse for some time. I worked in the emergency room. But the humans had their way and shut down the hospital to make room for a shopping plaza. Your teachings...I hate to gush, Professor, but your teachings inspired me to move on from nursing once the hospital closed. I enjoyed it, I really did, but the human mind is so fascinating." Geniva paused, aware that the professor hadn't answered her question. "Are you going to tell me what you did or do I need to drag out the files?"

Blackhorn eyed her for some few moments. She imagined that he was sizing her up, assessing her potential as a psychiatrist. Under his scrutiny she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, fixing him with an impenetrable stare.

"They called me crazy," he muttered, finally looking away. He pushed himself slowly to his feet and tottered toward the bars. "I just wanted to see how it worked."

"How what worked?"

"I took it apart. They called me crazy, but I took it apart, and I learned. Oh boy I learned." There was a gleam in his eye as he spoke. He rubbed his hands together eagerly.

"How what worked, Professor?" Geniva pressed.

"Did you know," Blackhorn started, fixing her with a stare, "that your body can survive with your head split open? Who'd have thought? It was exposed, the whole mess of twisting tissues, and I touched it. I could feel it. It was amazing."

"How _what _worked?"

"The brain! The brain, you silly girl. I thought you were bright! Keep up, keep up." Blackhorn thrummed his fingers against the bars of his cell, his excitement getting the better of him. "It goes like this. I took a student at a time and I _cut open their skulls. _Their whole skull! And they lived while I did it. It was fascinating. The first one died after an hour, but he wasn't very bright anyway. Useless waste of space. I asked him if he knew he was stupid as he was dying, but all he ever did was stare and blink at me. I'd done too much poking and prodding for him to form words. Shame, shame. I needed to know. I still don't know."

The gazelle caught Geniva's gaze. His eyes were burning in their intensity as if some sort of fever had him its its grasp. He's mad, she realized, well and truly mad. The brilliant professor I knew isn't in there anymore.

"Do stupid people know they're stupid?" he asked her. "Do you know? All those brains and I still don't know." He shook his head, stepping backwards from the bar. "Their brains didn't look any different. They didn't feel any different."

Geniva didn't know what to say to him. She couldn't find the words to express her disappointment. She'd adored him when she was his student; he'd been one of her favorite professors, the reason that she'd stuck with psychology for so long. To find out that he was barking mad now was like being told Christmas wouldn't be coming this year. She couldn't believe it.

She didn't bother excusing herself. Blackhorn had retreated to his cot, staring at the opposite wall with a far-away look in his eyes. He didn't notice when she turned around and fled, Elliot's laughter echoing through the hallway behind her.

* * *

What am I doing here? She wondered later, seated between Frank and Thomas in the cafeteria. I don't belong here. This isn't what I was meant to do. This isn't anything like I'd imagined. And to see Professor Blackhorn like that, to know that he's lost it..._Was everything a lie? All the words he'd spoken that she thought were little gleaming nuggets of wisdom. _Wasted. It was all just a waste.

And now I'm to go see the worst of them all. The cannibal, serial killer, rapist. This day couldn't possibly be anymore fantastic.